Fire and Ice

Chapter 1

KATHLEEN stood alone on the crest of the hill. A breeze tugged at the skirt of her black silk dress, and her long red-gold hair whipped across her face. That face, lovely enough to start any man’s heart racing, was filled with sorrow. Her large emerald eyes reflected the color of the Irish sea into which she tearfully stared. She was an arresting sight even in her mourning dress, with her beautiful young figure outlined in silhouette as the wind molded her dress against her thighs and firm, high breasts. Arms clutched tightly at her waist, she valiantly blinked away the tears that clung to her long, dark eyelashes and traced a path silently down her cheeks. A shudder ran through her slim frame as she tried to quell the sobs which threatened to start anew.

“Mistress Kathleen, ’tis time to go. The carriage is loaded and waiting. Mrs. Dunley sent me to fetch ye.”

The girl turned to nod sadly to the elderly man climbing the hill toward her. “Thank you, George. I’m coming, though Lord knows why I have to go anywhere at all when I have a perfectly fine home and friends here.” She sighed. “But, no! They are determined to send me halfway across the world to a wilderness full of Indians and crude backwoodsmen, and relatives I’ve never laid eyes on. It doesn’t make a tinker’s lot of sense to me!” She stopped her descent to stamp her small booted foot for emphasis, then continued, “And that’s another burr under my saddle! Why is it just because I’m seventeen and a female, everyone thinks I haven’t the brains to manage this estate by myself? Papa left it to me in his will. He knew I could manage it. For years now I have handled the books for the estate. I’ll wager I know more about rents and sales of grains and stocks than most boys my age.”

“I’d bet on that, Miss,” George agreed, nodding. “Besides, ye did a fine job of runnin’ the house, too, since your poor dear mother took sick of the fever and passed away four years back. She was a fine Irish lady, she was. O’ course, yer pa was a fine gentleman, too, even if he was English. No disrespect meant, Miss.”

“None taken, George. To be sure, I’ll miss him dearly. I’ll never understand how his horse stumbled and threw him. Midnight was always so sure footed and Papa was a superb horseman.” A fresh sob broke through as she recalled both horse and rider found three days before with their necks broken.

The neighbors had all been very kind. Nearly everyone in the county had attended the funeral the day before. Edward Haley had been well thought of by all who knew him. He had come to Ireland twenty years before, fallen in love with a beautiful red-haired lass named Ann O’Reilly, and married her. Lord Edward did not endorse the harsh way England ruled Ireland and her people, but there was little more he could do than treat his tenant farmers and servants fairly. He fell in love with the country and would never consent to becoming an absentee landlord as many Englishmen did. Thus, he won the admiration and respect of his new countrymen.

Kathleen had been born in Ireland and had only left for two short years to attend finishing school in England. Although she had excelled in her courses, she hated leaving her father alone in Ireland. She worked hard at learning to conduct herself as a lady, not an easy task for such a high-spirited tomboy as she. She quickly learned to speak French, Spanish, and even English without a trace of Irish accent. However, she did not learn to curb her quick temper, nor her razor-sharp tongue. She had a natural grace, never seeming awkward or clumsy as some young girls were. There were lessons in manners, how to walk and talk, dress and dance, eat and sit; how to entertain a gentleman and have him think you were interested in his every word when you were bored to tears. She also learned how to flirt, and to politely reject a gentleman’s proposals, whether decent or indecent in nature. Kathleen learned to play the pianoforte tolerably well, and surprised even herself to learn what a beautiful full-throated singing voice she had. But most of this was extremely tiresome to her, so she determined to learn quickly and return home as soon as possible.

Once home, her father taught her more interesting things, such as fencing. As her father had hired the best fencing masters to tutor her, no one handled a rapier better than she. At first the rapier seemed extremely heavy, but gradually she grew used to its weight and length, and it became almost an extension of her right arm. Her reflexes were superb; her responses instantaneous. Soon she was besting each instructor in turn, much to their dismay and embarrassment.

Edward also took her on many of his sailing jaunts to England, checking with buyers for his small shipping line. She became an expert sailor, much of the time captaining the ship herself while her father busied himself with the merchandise or paperwork. The other sailors grudgingly respected her, but eventually grew used to having her command. Many took a great liking to the lass and were proud to sail under her. She seemed to inspire a rare loyalty in her men.

Rarely had Kathleen encountered anything she loved better than sailing, with the wind filling the sails and the sea changing colors beneath an azure sky or brilliant sunset. She gloried in the awesome power of the waves and the freedom of being perched in the rigging and losing herself in the beauty of a perfect dawn. The sights and sounds, smells and feel of the sea made her blood race wildly.

Now she would be sailing on her father’s ship again, only this time as a passenger. She was going to Edward’s sister’s home in America. Aunt Barbara and Uncle William Baker lived in Savannah, Georgia, with their two children, Ted and Amy. Kathleen did not want to go, and determined to try again to persuade her father’s solicitor and lifelong friend to let her stay. Somehow, the adventure of sailing unknown seas did not dull the pain of leaving home. “Perhaps,” the thought crept in, “forever.”

Reaching the bottom of the hill, they continued past the stables where Kathleen had already bid a final farewell to her beautiful black gelding, and circled around the corner of the huge stone mansion to the front entrance where the carriage stood ready. The servants were waiting to wish her well on her journey, all trying to look cheerful and failing miserably. Kathleen stopped before each with a kind word here, a pat there, an embrace for another. There were numerous sniffles and coughs, and nearly all were dabbing at their eyes by the time she climbed into the carriage with her faithful old Nanna and her father’s solicitor, Mr. Kirby.

As they started rolling along the curved stone drive, Kathleen could not resist the urge to take a final, long look at the only home she had ever known. The stone mansion stood majestically beyond a rolling green lawn dotted by huge oaks. Steep hills rose behind, their emerald glow intensified against the brilliant blue sky above.

Now they were passing numerous pastures where sheep, cattle, and horses grazed contentedly. Kathleen could see farmfields beyond being readied for planting. All the world was coming to life to greet spring in a profusion of color, yet Kathleen had never felt so numb inside. She felt nothing save her heart-wrenching pain and grief.

“How I shall miss all this,” she thought sadly.

Once again she turned to the portly Mr. Kirby and queried, “Why can I not stay here instead and run the estate myself with your help? I know I could do it. I promise not to be a burden. Please! I cannot bear this so soon after my dear papa has gone,” she choked.

The kindly Mr. Kirby leaned across and gently laid a hand on her arm, saying, “I’m sorry, lass, but I have explained all this to you before. It is unwise for you to remain here with political unrest becoming more pronounced each day. You are half English, and though you were raised here it is unhealthy for an unprotected young lady to ever consider staying. It would be very risky indeed. The Irish will resent the English blood you carry, and the English will not trust the Irish part of you. The situation here is fast becoming critical, and you should not be here when the cauldron boils over.

“In the meantime, the estate will be maintained through me, and kept running. The house itself will run with a small staff until you can return. Meanwhile, you must go to America and live with your aunt. A single lass such as yourself cannot remain living alone in a huge house with only servants. It would only invite gossip and problems. Being a bachelor myself, it would not be deemed proper for me to take you in. You cannot imagine the fortune hunters who would flock to your door. You are quite a wealthy woman with this estate. I know there are young lads aplenty who would sincerely court you for your love and beauty alone, but then there are none you have particularly favored so far. I must warn you there are others who would wed you for your fortune alone, since even now Catholic Irishmen cannot own land under English law. An enterprising young scamp could wed a Protestant lass such as yourself, and though he couldn’t claim a title, he would own the estates through marriage and his children could inherit the lands and the title of lord or lady. I would hate to see you marry for any reason other than a love such as your parents had. You need time to adjust to your loss so as not to jump hastily into a marriage you may regret. Give yourself this time, girl. You will see the wisdom of it.”

“You are right when you say I have not found a man I can love as Mama loved Papa, but I doubt I shall find one in America, either,” she said. “I would rather stay here and let the right man find me, but I can see I’ll get no place trying to convince you on that matter.”

Turning to Mrs. Dunley, she added glumly, “Well, Nanna, it looks like we are off to America—like it or not. I hope you will have little trouble developing your sea legs. From what I figure it will take six to eight weeks to reach Georgia, depending on the weather.”

“Once you get there I’m sure you’ll like it,” Mr. Kirby assured. “I’m told Savannah is a port city with a fine ocean breeze in the summer and not too dreadfully cold in winter. At least not as cold as England or the northern American cities.

“I’ve written your aunt of your coming, but could not really advise her on a time for your arrival. She is a lovely woman. In our university years, she was always underfoot of Edward and me. Her husband, Mr. Baker, seemed a nice enough sort, but they left soon after they were married, so we never saw either of the children. They are about your age, I suppose. Also,” he continued, “your maternal grandmother lives on a plantation just outside Savannah, so you will not lack for people who care for you.”

“Grandmother O’Reilly,” Kathleen mused. “I think I remember her and Grandfather from when I was little. When did they move to America?”

“They left when you were just a wee lass of three,” contributed Mrs. Dunley. “Your mama used to say although your grandmother loved her new country, she missed her only daughter and granddaughter. You are her namesake, you know, Kathleen. She was called Kate. You look and act exactly like her. She was quite a spirited young lass, too, she was. Always into much mischief so I hear, just as you are most of the time, love.”

“Now, Nanna, don’t start on me,” Kathleen began. “I truly try to be good. I always have, but boys just have so much more fun. I never could resist climbing trees, swimming in the lake, catching frogs, and all.”

“To be sure,” Mrs. Dunley laughed, “but you didn’t have to fall out of the trees, swim in the altogether with the lads, and wallow in mud to get the frogs! Oh, you’ve led your mama and me a merry chase, and I’ve a feeling you’re not done yet. Just now it is the boy’s breeches I disapprove of so.”

“Nanna, I’m sure you’d not be pleased to see me sail or ride astride a horse or fence in a skirt,” Kathleen said. “They are not only uncomfortable and impractical, but also much more revealing than the breeches.

“Now I am wondering,” Kathleen said, leaning out through the window of the carriage, trying to catch a glimpse of the bay they were nearing, “if Grandmother lives in Savannah, why can’t I live with her? After all, she is probably lonely with Grandfather dead these past seven years.”

Mr. Kirby shifted to a more comfortable position on his seat. “No, Kathleen, it is best you live with your aunt. Your grandmother is probably in her late sixties and an active young girl would likely be upsetting to her. Besides, I suppose she is not very active in the social circles any longer, while your aunt and uncle will be attending numerous functions of society and can introduce you to other young people in the proper circles. Your cousins will be much company for you too, I know, especially at first when you know no one else. Of course, you may visit your grandmother whenever you wish, though your Aunt Barbara’s family, being English, does not associate with her overly much. In point of fact, they do not acknowledge any family ties to your Irish side of the family at all.”

“In that case, I’m surprised they want me to come.” Tossing her head, Kathleen thrust her chin out defiantly. Her already slightly uptilted nose tilted a little higher in her anger.

“Don’t judge them unfairly, Kathleen. Get to know them first,” Mr. Kirby advised. “Ah, we are almost at the docks. It won’t be long now. A few minutes at the most. I am glad we started when we did. I would not want to annoy the captain by being late.”

Kathleen breathed deeply of the sea and said, “By the way, who is this captain you’ve hired? It is my frigate we are sailing on and I could have captained it myself with my regular crew.”

“I realize what an excellent sailor you are, my dear, but this Captain Taylor I’ve hired is from Savannah. His family owns a plantation there and he knows the Baker family well. It is better to sail with someone who knows the Atlantic as well as he, having crossed it several times. Besides, many ships have been encountering pirates and privateers lately with England and France being at war. If you don’t get stopped by the English or French, a privateer will surely try. Sailing with your father to England was one thing; this is quite another matter,” Mr. Kirby stressed.

“Tell me more about Captain Taylor,” Kathleen said. “How does he happen to be in Ireland without a ship?”

“Oh, he has a ship, miss. They arrived four nights ago smuggling in contraband arms for Ireland, so the rumor goes. I ran into him in one of the waterfront pubs. Of course, he does not own the other ship either, but sails it for the owners. I hear his family wanted him to stay home to run the plantation, and so would not support him with the price of his own ship. Nevertheless, he still chose a life at sea. He agreed to sail the Kat-Ann on the condition he could fill the hold with cargo to take back to America and sell at his own profit. Also, he will bring along half of his own crew, as they are used to sailing under his command, and fill in the other half with men who have sailed with your father. It is my understanding that his quartermaster will sail the other ship—the Sea Fire I believe it is—with the other half of his crew and others signed up from the docks. You will be even safer traveling in the company of another ship.”

“Why is it we are sailing the Kat-Ann instead of the Starbright?” Though they sailed the Kat-Ann more often, the Starbright was Kathleen’s favorite.

“Kathleen, you forget. The Starbright is in drydock getting her hull scraped and tarred. She'll soon be on the seas again and putting in at Savannah with goods and mail every so often. I’ll tell her captain to be sure to let you know when she’s in port.”

The carriage jolted to a halt, nearly throwing all three passengers from their seats. Not waiting for the coachman to open the door, Kathleen jumped down in a flurry of skirts. She shielded her eyes from the sun with her hand and peered out into the bay. The Kat-Ann was riding at anchor about a quarter mile out. Glancing quickly about, Kathleen located the dinghy that would row them out to the ship. Taking off her glove, she put two fingers between pursed lips and gave a shrill whistle. Old Dan Shanahan looked up from the dinghy, gave a broad smile, and waved. Climbing nimbly from the boat, he hastened toward her.

“Cap’n Kathleen, ’tis a pleasure to see ye again. We’ll be sailing together this voyage, though I must say ’twill seem queer not having ye in command. Mr. Kirby here warned us not to mention ye being a captain and all, seeing as that Captain Taylor knows yer relatives in America. I guess yer aunt would take a case of the vapors if she ever got wind of some of your unladylike talents, eh?” Dan chuckled.

“To be sure, Dan, that she would. Best keep our secrets to ourselves for a while,” Kathleen grinned.

Mr. Kirby assisted a frowning Mrs. Dunley from the carriage, and Dan went to help the men take the bags aboard the dinghy.

“Kathleen, kindly conduct yourself properly,” Mrs. Dunley pleaded wearily, “before I lose all these lovely gray hairs you’ve put on my head.”

Grinning impishly at the older woman, Kathleen took her by the arm and together they walked toward the waiting dinghy.

When the dinghy came alongside the Kat-Ann, Kathleen was the first to climb aboard. Shrugging off the offer of assistance, she scurried sure-footedly up the ladder. Next came Nanna, very reluctantly and requiring much help and encouragement.

“I knew you could do it, Nanna,” Kathleen soothed the older woman. “See, I told you it wasn’t so hard.” Kathleen patted her lightly on the arm as Nanna stepped wobbily aboard.

As she turned from the rail, Kathleen nearly collided with the captain. The first thing that impressed her was his size. Kathleen stood five-foot-six, which was tall for a woman, but this man towered at least eight inches above her. He stepped back and she saw that he was powerfully built, his uniform jacket seeming barely able to constrain his broad frame. Though he had wide shoulders, his hips and waist were slim above long muscular legs. She raised her eyes and gazed straight into icy blue eyes fringed with thick black lashes. His dark hair was trimmed to collar length, and an inky wave of it fell rakishly across his forehead. His handsome face was etched with impatience.

Mr. Kirby stepped forward. “Captain, this is Lady Haley, of whom I spoke, and her escort, Mrs. Dunley. Kathleen, may I present Captain Reed Taylor.”

The captain gave a curt nod and spoke brusquely, “Ladies, ten more minutes and I would have set sail without you. The bo’s’n will see to it that your trunks are taken to your cabins, and you will be assigned a cabin boy to see to your needs.”

Through her irritation Kathleen noticed full sensuous lips set above a strong jawline. His cheekbones were high and well defined, and he had straight white teeth that contrasted sharply with his deeply tanned face. His nose looked as if it had been taken directly from a Roman statue. He was by far the most handsome man she had ever met, and she flushed as he caught her studying him.

“Thank you for seeing the ladies aboard, Mr. Kirby,” the captain continued, “but as we are about to be underway, perhaps you had better bid them farewell and return to shore. Unless, of course, you are prepared to travel to Savannah.” His deep voice carried a slight southern accent that sounded foreign to Kathleen’s ears, but in no way concealed his impatience and contempt.

“Ladies, if you will excuse me I’ll be about the ship’s business.” With that Captain Taylor turned and left them.

“A man of few words, I would say,” Kathleen commented wryly, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “I do hope he is not so unpleasant during the entire voyage.”

“He’s probably the type who feels that women aboard ship are bad luck,” Dan whispered over her shoulder. “Little does he know! Hee! Hee!” Dan ambled off chuckling merrily.

Turning to Mr. Kirby, Kathleen inquired peevishly, “Does Captain Taylor know that I own this ship?”

“I did not think it was necessary to reveal family business to him, dear,” Kirby secretly squirmed beneath Kathleen’s angry gaze.

“I beg to differ with you, and I can assure you that if his present attitude is normal for him, I shall take great pleasure in informing him just whom he is dealing with.”

“Kathleen,” he warned gently, “don’t get your back up and start making problems. Just sit back and enjoy a pleasant voyage and let the captain manage the ship.” He cleared his voice nervously. “Now I really must go,” he said, hugging her affectionately. “We’ll miss having you here to liven up our dull lives. Have a safe journey and convey my greetings to your family, especially your Aunt Barbara,” he added.

“Goodbye, Mrs. Dunley. Take good care of our girl.”

Kathleen watched the dinghy cast off toward shore. Then with a final wave of her hand, she led Nanna down the passageway leading to the cabins at the sterncastle. A thin red-haired boy of about thirteen was just coming out of the doorway next to the captain’s quarters.

“Captain Kathleen—er—I mean Lady Kathleen, you’ll be in your usual cabin next to the captain’s and the other lady is in the one across from yours. Your trunks are there already.” He paused, then added, “Sorry about your father.”

“Thank you, Bobby. This,” she said, gesturing to Mrs. Dunley, “is Mrs. Dunley. Nanna, meet Bobby, our cabin boy. He will provide us with anything we may need and help you in any way he can.”

“Right now all I need is to get to those trunks before our clothes get so wrinkled that I spend the entire voyage pressing them.” She shuffled off into the cabin, her gray head bobbing in perfect rhythm with her short, round body.

Kathleen entered her cabin and glanced around. Everything was as she remembered it. She had always occupied this room when she sailed the Kat-Ann with her father. It was smaller than the captain’s, but larger than the quartermaster’s. Definitely, it was not your usual, Spartan cabin. Her trunk sat at the foot of the bunk against the wall which divided her room from the captain’s. On the other side of the connecting doorway was a curtained corner with a chamber pot. Along the passageway bulkhead was an anchored washstand with pitcher and bowl. A few towels and washcloths were neatly stacked on shelves below it and there were cupboards above it for storage. To the right of the passageway door stood a roomy oak wardrobe lined with cedar. Near this was an enormous highboy and a low dressing table with hinged mirror. Below the porthole was Kathleen’s writing desk. Along each wall lamps were mounted, and a small table was bolted to the floor in the center of the room, circled by four chairs. In the far corner stood a small stove, an orderly stack of cordwood next to it. A rocking chair sat in front of the stove on a colorful little rag rug.

The room had been redesigned by Kathleen for her own comfort. The bunk was extra wide, with a comfortable mattress. Turned down over a blue coverlet was the eiderdown quilt Kathleen’s mother had made for her. Curtains to match the coverlet hung over the porthole. Because the cabin was used by other passengers when she wasn’t sailing, only two of the desk and dresser drawers could be opened without the key that only Kathleen carried.

Now Kathleen unlocked the drawers and her trunk. She shoved her reticule with her money into a desk drawer along with her jewel case and relocked the drawer. She hung the key on a ribbon about her neck, and tucked it between her breasts. Closing her door, she hurried back on deck.

The frigate had already raised anchor and was heading out of the bay. The wind-filled sails reminded Kathleen of huge clouds. Men were scurrying about setting sails and performing other necessary tasks.

“I feel so useless just standing here,” she mused, allowing herself a moment of self-pity. “I should be up there on the bridge with my hands at the wheel.” Automatically she raised her eyes to the upper sterncastle.

He was standing there, feet planted firmly apart, hands on the wheel, his head thrown back surveying the sails. As if her look was a physical touch, he lowered his head and saw her standing below him at the rail. Blue eyes caught emerald in a long, curious gaze until she turned away to watch Ireland’s coastline grow smaller in the distance, finally fading away altogether. Now, in every direction, all to be seen was the deep blue of the sea melting into the lighter azure of sky.

Reed stood on the bridge and watched Kathleen. Somehow, with just a glance, this girl had the power to unnerve him. Her tall, lithe frame, her emerald eyes, the upturned nose. Or was it her stubborn chin; the tilt of her head, or the way she unconsciously squared her shoulders? Something about her disturbed him. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he was positive he didn’t like the feeling.

“Lady Haley; Kathleen is what Kirby had called her,” he mused. “Probably nothing more than a beautiful spoiled brat used to having men fall at her feet and beg for her favors. Well, Lady, here is one man who won’t. What a jolt it will be for you to find your title doesn’t mean a thing in Savannah!” Still, he had to admit she was a beauty. “A raving beauty!” Her red-gold hair was glistening in the sunlight and the wind was catching loose tendrils from her coiffure. He wondered how long it was when unbound and flowing down her back.

“And a beautiful ivory back it would be, too.” He drew himself up short, scolding himself for letting his mind wander off on such a ridiculous tangent. “Besides,” he told himself, “she has brought good old faithful Nanna to keep the wolves at bay.” With a terse laugh, he turned the wheel over to the quartermaster and headed for the hold.