“Then there was the time the captain gave the order to throw half the guns over the starboard bow and focus the rest on the masts of the Devil’s Joke. Why, we routed those blighters in less than an hour and they took off toward Portugal with a busted mizzen, limping like a three-legged dog.” Danielle listened attentively as this diatribe was proudly uttered by the first mate, a man named Danny McCummins.
It was yet another in a parade of stories featuring the captain’s heroics. In her short time on The Elenor, she’d already learned that these men were loyal, committed, and completely adoring of their captain. He had apparently fought traitors, saved helpless children, and even rescued a wounded dog from an enemy ship during hand-to-hand combat in the middle of the sea. The only thing she hadn’t heard so far was a tale about the captain wrestling a shark—though she’d little doubt that particular story would soon be told if she listened long enough.
She didn’t mind the stories. They served to distract the crew from asking her questions about herself and that was exactly how she wanted to keep it.
Bells sounded and Danny and the rest of the crew raced away. Danielle was left alone with the cook, a middle-aged man of few words who possessed a nearly bald head, a sturdy paunch, and spent most of his time rattling around in the pantry. She sat on a stool at the rickety galley table and dropped her head into her hands and allowed herself to expel her breath. It was the first moment she’d had alone since she’d been rowed out to the ship in a dinghy manned by Sean O’Malley, the second mate.
“I’ve never known an Irishman ta be second mate afore,” she’d said as she and O’Malley rowed toward The Elenor. She’d been attempting to make small talk with the man but it was true. She’d never known an Irish second mate, not on an English ship, with their prejudice against the Irish.
“Then ye’ll be even more surprised when ye learn the first mate is also an Irishman. McCummins is ’is name. Ye’ll be meetin’ ’im soon enough.”
“Is the captain Irish, too?”
O’Malley snort-laughed at that. “Nah, Cap’n is an English bloke. Oakleaf’s ’is name.”
Oakleaf? That sounded solidly English. Not that Danielle cared one whit. She’d been treated badly by both the French and the English at times. She knew the sting of prejudice. The captain of The Elenor seemed more kind to Irish than some of the French had been to her poor mother.
Danielle enjoyed her moments alone, for surely they would be brief and rare. All the other moments since she’d arrived on the ship had been fraught with tension as she hoped the crew believed she was a boy. Despite all the years she’d spent successfully pretending to be a boy and her familiarity with the role, she always experienced that moment when meeting a new person when she feared he’d see through her disguise and recognize her for a young woman instantly. Thankfully, that hadn’t happened after her advent to The Elenor. They’d all believed she was a lad. She’d held her breath at first. But she’d found over the years that most men didn’t stare too long or too closely at grubby little urchin boys, and the ones who did she’d long-ago learned to keep her distance from.
She’d spent the last hour after they’d got underway being regaled with distasteful jokes by the cook and a rotating cast of other crew members who made brief appearances in the kitchen after seeing to their chores. The galley, she learned, was the social hub of this particular ship. It was also hot as Hades with a constantly boiling pot over an open fire and a cookstove that belched black smoke into the air. The smoke leisurely dissipated through a dark hole that obviously wasn’t large enough in the deck above. The crew seemed a friendly, if bawdy lot and she’d already begun to feel she might fit in.
The door swung open and O’Malley came barreling into the galley. “Get up, Cross,” he barked at her. “The cap’n wants ta see ye.”
Danielle’s head snapped up. She’d expected to meet the captain eventually, of course, perhaps at dinnertime when she was serving him a meal, but to have a request for a private audience … that was rare. Her stomach dropped. Captains were often the most astute people on ships. If this one wasn’t just meeting her quickly in passing, but actually studying her, asking her questions … she didn’t even want to think about what might happen.
“Yes, yes. O’ course,” she replied in her best deckhand’s voice, using the common English accent she’d perfected over the years. She had a penchant for mimicking language that had served her well. She’d simply listened to a few of the younger males on a ship for a while and then said what they said just as they’d said it as if she were a quick-witted parrot. She’d blended right in.
“Come with me,” O’Malley said, gesturing over his shoulder.
Danielle followed him out of the kitchen, up the ladder, over the deck, and across the planks into a gangway where they descended another ladder into a darkened, cool space near the aft of the ship. Danielle pulled her sweaty shirt away from her tunic. No matter how this meeting went, at least she’d have a few blissful minutes away from the searing heat of the galley. Grimaldi was going to get an earful about forcing her to pose as a cook’s assistant.
O’Malley rapped twice upon the large wooden door to the captain’s cabin.
“Come in,” came a muffled deep male voice. The captain sounded young.
Danielle held her breath while O’Malley pushed open the door. The second mate stepped inside first. Danielle followed him. She’d never seen a captain’s cabin so grand. It must have taken up the whole aft of the ship. There was a desk, a set of chairs, and a brass bathtub of all things, with buckets hung on pegs near it. A large bed dominated the rear of the space, with emerald-green satin sheets covering it. No small bunk for this captain. The room smelled like lemon wax and a spicy mix of cigar smoke and something else vaguely familiar that Danielle couldn’t quite place. She glanced around, curious for a glimpse of the man who inhabited such a grand space.
“Here’s the new cook’s assistant,” O’Malley said, doffing his hat and gesturing back toward Danielle. O’Malley was a large man. Given her lack of height, Danielle couldn’t see around him.
“Captain Oakleaf,” she intoned. She hoped to dieu he didn’t question why she didn’t doff her hat, too.
“Cross, did you say?” the captain asked.
There was something familiar about that voice. Fear snaked up Danielle’s spine.
“Aye, Cap’n,” O’Malley replied. The larger man stepped to the side just then and Danielle was afforded an unencumbered view of the captain’s tall, broad-shouldered form. He stood with his back to her, but his physique caused the hairs on the back of her neck to stand up. He seemed so … familiar.
“Welcome, Mr. Cross,” the captain said, turning to face her.
Their eyes met and Danielle had to brace her hand against the bulkhead to keep herself steady. Time stopped. Whatever O’Malley was saying was unintelligible noise in her ears. She blinked twice, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. It couldn’t be … Cade. Cade was Captain Oakleaf?
She had fooled the others, but there was no fooling Cade Cavendish. She sucked in her breath and with a small gasp, took an instinctive step back.
Cade betrayed her by neither word nor deed. His eyes didn’t blink, his brows didn’t rise, and there was no gasp, small or otherwise, from his quarter. He stood there, outwardly calm and entirely in control. Damn him. He had to be surprised, didn’t he? He couldn’t have possibly known. The implications of that line of logic raced through Danielle’s brain at a speed that made her head ache. No. No. He couldn’t possibly have known.
“Don’t be afeered o’ the cap’n,” O’Malley said, poking Danielle in the ribs with his elbow and laughing. “He’s a large man, ta be sure, but I promise he won’t beat ye. Unless ye steal sumpin’ o’ don’t do yer duties. Then it’s the cat-o-nine fer ye,” O’Malley continued, still laughing good-naturedly.
All Danielle could do was nod. Nod and stare at Cade, willing him not to reveal her secret in front of O’Malley. She plucked at her shirt again. It was practically plastered to her chest. Had she really ever thought it was cooler here than the galley? Ridiculous.
“Would you care for a drink, Mister Cross?” Cade asked smoothly.
Danielle did not mistake the emphasis he placed on her name. She closed her eyes briefly, praying. How long had it been since she’d prayed? No time like the present to begin again.
After a quick knock, the door swung open again and this time McCummins strolled in. The first mate was usually humming and this time was no exception. He stopped as soon as he saw them. “Ah, there ye be, Cross. I was looking fer ye ta bring ye here ta meet the cap’n. Seems me matey Seanny beat me ta it.”
“That’s what ye get fer snoozin’ on the job,” O’Malley replied, still laughing.
McCummins grabbed his tricorn off his balding head and slapped at the other man with it. O’Malley followed suit and a good-natured tussle ensued before Cade ended it with one word that shot through the cabin like the crack of a pistol. “Enough.”
Both men fell into line next to each other and jammed their hats back on their heads. Cade smiled. “I was just about to ask Cross here if he’d like a drink.” He made his way toward the desk. “Where did you say you found Cross again?”
Nearly panting from fear, Danielle couldn’t look away from him. It was as if their gazes were melded together. Would he betray her? Would he? Sweat trickled between her breasts. She clenched her jaw. Why was there a tiny part of her that was … glad to see him?
“I told ye, Cap’n,” McCummins began. “O’Malley met his pa in—”
“No.” Another crack like a pistol. “I’d like Cross to tell the story.”
Danielle sucked in her breath. She could do this. Grimaldi wasn’t a fool. He’d prepared her well by explaining how she’d come to be on the boat. She expelled a breath and focused on her earlier conversation with the general. It was not possible Grimaldi hadn’t known Cade was the captain of this ship. Known and not seen fit—for some godforsaken reason—to tell her. She was going to gut the general from ear to navel when next they met. Ironic, considering he’d been the one to teach her how to use a knife so deftly. There would be time later to fantasize about how she’d murder Grimaldi.
At the moment, her only concern, her greatest concern, was ensuring that Cade kept her secret. She’d be no better than horsemeat on a ship like this within minutes if word got out she was a woman.
She kept her eyes trained on Cade. “I’ve done a few things I ain’t proud of, Cap’n,” she said, silently willing him to hold his tongue.
His brows rose when he heard her accent. A quirk of amusement? She deftly continued. “Me pa were looking out fer me, wanted ta find me a spot on the first ship what was leaving ’arbor.”
“And that was my ship?” Cade drawled. He crossed over to a cupboard near the desk and took out two glasses. Next, he pulled a bottle of whiskey from the cupboard. He splashed a healthy portion of the brown liquid into both glasses.
“Aye.” She still eyed him warily.
He held up both glasses. “Care for a drink, Cross?”
“No, thank ye, Cap’n,” she answered politely, folding her hands together in front of her.
“Ah, come now, Cross,” he replied, a lazy smile covering his handsome features. “On this ship it’s bad luck not to drink a toast to the newest member of the crew. How else will we thank you for coming to our rescue when we so desperately needed a cook’s assistant?”
She shifted uncomfortably on both feet. “If it’s all the same ta ye, Cap’n, I don’t like ta take spirits whilst I’m workin’.”
That statement sent Danny and Sean into peals of laughter.
Cade arched one blond brow. “It isn’t all the same to me, Cross. As I’m certain you know from all your experience on ships. We sailors are quite odd about our superstitions … the things we consider bad luck. Not drinking a toast to a new crew member’s health is considered extremely bad luck on The Elenor. Isn’t it, lads?” He directed his words to McCummins and O’Malley but his eyes remained locked with Danielle’s.
“That ’tis,” McCummins agreed. “I, fer one, am quite willin’ ta drink ta yer health, Cross, me boy.”
“Aye,” O’Malley added with a resolute nod.
“It’s nearly as bad of luck as say, killing an albatross or having a woman aboard,” Cade drawled.
Both O’Malley and McCummins gasped and both men quickly crossed themselves. “Oy, Cap’n, don’t say somethin’ like that even in jest,” O’Malley pleaded, shaking his head.
Cade held the whiskey glass at arm’s length to Danielle.
With tight lips, she took it. “I wouldn’t want ta cause no bad luck, Cap’n,” she ground out, giving him a withering glare.
“Excellent.” Cade replaced the stopper on the bottle and put it back in the cabinet.
“None for us, Cap’n?” O’Malley looked hopefully toward the bottle and licked his lips.
Danielle eyed Cade. He was toying with her. Letting her know he held the power in this exchange of wills because he knew her secret. She squared her shoulders and took a swig from the glass. She’d had whiskey before. This was some maudit fine whiskey, but she mustn’t drink too much. She needed to keep her wits about her. Cade may have scored the first blow, but she wasn’t about to let him win the battle. It was time to fight back.
“Yes, Captain Oakleaf. None fer the others?” She blinked at him innocently. “Oakleaf is a mighty interestin’ name, by the by. Who are yer kinsfolk if’n ye don’t mind me askin’?”
Cade’s gaze narrowed on her and he tilted his head to the side almost imperceptibly as if acknowledging the point she’d just made. He turned to his first and second mates. “McCummins, go see to it that we’re on course. O’Malley, climb up to the eagle’s nest and get a report.”
“But Cap’n, Hendricks usually gets the rep—”
“Now!” With that one word, both men scrambled toward the door. “I’d like to speak to Cross alone.”