Prize of My Heart Read online

  “Aye, Captain. Thank you. I’ll tell him, sir.”

  Lorena watched with rising anticipation as Brogan took full possession of the wheel, honored by his invitation to stand at the helm of his ship. He trained his eyes across the Yankee Heart’s vast length, where Lorena followed his gaze to the black sea. Even beneath the moon’s reflection, she could detect movement only when a whitecap broke the surface.

  “Be sure to take firm grasp of the spokes, for there’s a good breeze and quite a sea running.” He made way for her to stand before him at the wheel.

  At her hesitation he urged, “Where’s my willing helmsman, eh? Come, Lorena, take the wheel.”

  “Are you quite serious? Do you intend I should turn it by myself?” Chin held high, she shored up the corners of her mouth in a pretty, though incredulous, grin.

  “You doubt your abilities?” He gave her a knowing wink. “‘Behold also the ships, which though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whithersoever the governor listeth.’ Come, be my small helm. I find the wheel easily steered. And I shall man it with you, my hands alongside yours, standing behind you the whole while.”

  Lorena cast a discerning eye over him. “You know your verses better than you let on, sir. That was the book of James.”

  “Well, you’ve no argument with James, have you? It’s possible for the mightiest to be moved by even the most humble. If Drew were awake, he’d remind you of the story of David and Goliath.”

  The night wind blew brisk, yet Lorena felt no chill, only a sense of refuge and peace with Brogan at her back, an acute awareness of his arms surrounding her, legs braced solidly on deck. She brought her hands to the spokes beside his and held on, waiting for direction.

  A great swell raised the stern under their feet. It sent the bow plunging into a towering crest, and as the huge wave continued to roll beneath the Yankee Heart, it sent the ship listing to larboard. Brogan pulled upward on a spoke as they held it together, then guided her right hand to an upper spoke and, closing his fingers over hers, instructed, “Now we heave right.”

  Lorena put her weight into turning the wheel with him, and the stern settled with a roaring splash, plunging the Yankee Heart into a blanket of spray as she raced ahead into the night.

  Lorena was taken with a tremendous surge of daring and excitement. She laughed, exhilarated. It was as if the stars twinkled just for her. She tilted her face up to the misty salt air and inhaled.

  “It is my desire that you enjoy this journey as much as your homecoming,” Brogan said at her ear.

  Lorena radiated delight at the sentiment, her spirits soaring. “Then you have your desire already. For since I boarded your ship less than two days ago, my destiny, as well as my course, has been altered completely. The voyage I anticipated to endure with sadness has now become a holiday cruise.”

  She’d expected her words would please him, but Brogan grew silent and pensive behind her. She felt him balance with the roll of the deck. One leg braced, the other knee bent, he leaned into the ship’s heel, then straightened, keeping himself steady in order that she might lean against him.

  “And now our lesson,” he said, speaking at her ear again. “Glance aloft, Lorena, at the sails and the stars in the sky.”

  Three masts towered above, the tallest reaching a height of ninety feet. Their square sails billowed on a steady breeze, the white of the canvas in sharp contrast to the deep midnight of the sky, where stars twinkled in a scattering of white-gold light.

  Lorena admired the view. “It is a lovely night, isn’t it?”

  “Indeed, but I have another purpose in directing your attention aloft. Tell me, which is the topgallant of the mainmast?” Brogan’s breath was at her cheek, and Lorena felt her heartbeat quicken because of it.

  “It is there, third sail from the top, beneath the skysail and the main royal.”

  His laughter rumbled in her ear. “As a shipbuilder’s daughter I should hardly be surprised you’re no saltwater sailor. All right, Lorena, let your gaze drift past the luff of the topgallant. Its forward edge, rather, and there I want you to focus on a single star in the sky.”

  Lorena obeyed, though she failed to see what this had to do with steering the ship. “Very well. I have a star in sight.”

  “Set your eye on that star, and as long as it remains in the same position in relation to the topgallant, the Yankee Heart keeps straight on her course.”

  “Ah, clever,” she said, understanding.

  “Keep her as close to the wind as possible without her sails flapping. Full and by. And if she swings too far from that star, turn the wheel a spoke or two. I’m going to keep my hands alongside yours, but I’ll leave it up to you, Lorena, to decide when she needs a turn.”

  An excited, frightening rush of exhilaration surged through her. She had been around ships her whole life, but this was entirely different, a challenge to her mind and body, requiring the use of all her faculties. She held the wheel with fingers clenched, toes curled inside her sandals and fighting for purchase on the deck, all the while maintaining concentration on that star.

  At the same time she couldn’t resist wondering about the sea captain who stood behind her. Curiosity for him burned inside her.

  He shared old sailing stories, several of which made her giggle. He told of his escapades during the war.

  “The British had our American harbors heavily blockaded, so we adopted the practice of sailing out stern-first. That is, sailing backward so they’d think we were traveling in the other direction.” He chuckled at the memory. “On one occasion, Mr. Smith and I ran the blockade in an old sloop with a load of gunpowder, hoping to make delivery to Newport. We buried it in manure, and the stench was so great the British boarding officer gave it only a cursory inspection. We managed to slip past, undetected.”

  The time flew by unheeded, and with it the wheel grew more difficult to control. Lorena begged relief and transferred full command of the helm to Brogan.

  “You tell many fascinating and amusing tales,” she said, “but I sense in you a story you have yet to share. A story you keep to yourself. One more personal and far more interesting. Quite likely painful. You jest, and yet there are times your smile does not reach your eyes.”

  The sea churned, running higher than it had when they’d first gained the quarterdeck less than an hour ago. His sights remained trained ahead, the corners of his eyes creasing in concentration. Lorena suspected not so much concentrating on the ship’s course as on her words.

  She pressed further. “I am convinced there is something troubling your spirit. I know the look—that melancholy in your eyes, the tightening of your jaw. I’ve been there, Brogan. I understand what it is to be burdened by secrets. And your burden has increased since I’ve come aboard the Yankee Heart, hasn’t it? Has it something to do with me? With Drew? Won’t you talk to me, Brogan? What troubles you?”

  “The wind shall soon be blowing a gale,” he said. “I can feel its breath.” He alerted her to the ship’s increase in motion, the shift in pressure on the soles of their feet as the Yankee Heart began to rise and plunge with greater force over the waves.

  With a jerk of his chin he directed her attention to the skies. “Notice that vaporish halo surrounding the moon? Foul weather is ahead. Already I can see the Yankee Heart beginning to labor under her heavy press of sail. I’ll have to escort you below, Lorena. I need to alert Mr. Smith.”

  But Mr. Smith was already aware of the increase in weather. He called in the next watch to stand at the helm and met them as they descended the companionway ladder to the main deck, awaiting orders.

  “Have her topgallants and courses sheeted down,” Brogan commanded.

  Mr. Smith removed himself to relay the order. His booming voice projected over the creaks and groans of the ship’s timber and the wind as it whistled through the shrouds. Sailors leapt to their tasks, some working the ropes, others beginning the lofty climb up the ra
tlines.

  Taking firm grasp of her hand, Brogan pulled her toward the cabins while Lorena padded behind as quickly as her feet could find purchase on the slick deck. The gauzy cotton of her gown had grown damp from the spray, and she shuddered as they entered the quiet emptiness of the great cabin.

  Brogan was not going to respond to her plea. Or maybe he could not.

  He rubbed his palms up and down her bare arms, trying to warm her. “You’ll be all right,” he assured. “It’s just a chill.”

  She raised her face to his and trembled for another reason altogether. Candlelight flickered over the rugged planes of his handsome face. The air stirred with more than just the odor of whale oil from the lamps outside the door.

  From without, chains rattled ever so faintly. Yards creaked. The Yankee Heart rocked slowly, port to lee, the sea lapping at her sides. Brogan took her chin in hand to tilt her face and gaze more deeply into her eyes.

  Lorena’s lashes fluttered closed like butterfly wings as he angled his face down over hers. At that first exquisite press of his mouth, she quivered. His lips skimmed hers with a feathery lightness, and she felt herself drawn with an ebb and flow as timeless as the tide, swept away as easily as if she were a grain of sand.

  He released her. His eyes opened slowly, a deep blue.

  Lorena reached up and pressed her palms to his lean cheeks, silently thanking Providence for bringing him to her so that she could experience this fullness of heart.

  Brogan’s stare deepened, then he turned, and with eyes closed pressed a kiss into her palm.

  When he looked again, Brogan found Lorena’s velvety brown eyes had taken on a vulnerable roundness. They reflected something he’d never before seen in a woman’s eyes. Never in Abigail’s eyes, though he’d often searched for it. Here it was, at last. Love.

  Brogan’s chest constricted with panic. This graceful young dove terrified him. What if he were unworthy of her?

  He must tell her the truth. He hated to keep putting it off, but then neither was he prepared to face the consequences of what his news might bring. Naturally a woman in Lorena’s position would feel threatened by the discovery of his blood relationship to Drew. She might withdraw her affection if she thought he intended to take the boy from her. But Brogan no longer had any desire for that. He wanted only his rights as a father. He wanted to be able to watch his son grow, to offer the lad his support and guidance and participate in his upbringing.

  He wanted to pursue Lorena without a child’s future weighing in the balance. His feelings for her stirred a thousand doubts and fears within him, yet they grew more affectionate with each passing day. He hardly cared to jeopardize those fragile emotions before his heart had had a chance to come to terms with them.

  He pulled away with a hollow laugh. “Don’t look at me so, Lorena. What is there to trouble me? Look around you. I have everything a man could ask.”

  “Everything?” she asked. “Mr. Smith says you have not the thing you desire most. Tell me what it is you desire most, Brogan.”

  His gut reaction was to kiss her again. The scent of her, soft and ethereal, surrounded him like a cloud. He pressed his mouth to her petal-soft lips, more firmly this time, and as he tasted the promise of her sweetness, he felt something click into place deep within his soul.

  When his lips parted from hers, it was with regret. Straightening, Brogan gazed down at her in complete surrender. “Very well. You’ve made your case,” he said. “It is true. There is something I have not revealed to you, but until I can find the words, will you be patient with me, Lorena? We cannot speak tonight. This gale increases, and I must attend to the safety of the ship.”

  16

  Lorena woke to a clamor of activity on deck.

  She flashed open her eyes as her body responded with alertness to the sounds overhead. Yards creaked and groaned. The wind fairly shrieked through the rigging. The Yankee Heart had sprung to life, and she heard urgency in the movements of her crew and their shouts.

  Waves thrashed the ship’s side, rocking her bed. Lorena rose onto her elbows for a deep breath, grateful for her empty stomach, which between the motion and the clamor had begun to recall its queasy upset of not so long ago from the vomit powder.

  A searing flash of light shone behind the silk brocade drapery, illuminating the cabin with an ominous brightness to reveal Drew’s slumbering form beside her.

  A peal of thunder cracked through the cabin and they plunged back into darkness. Drew woke with a cry. The ship rose on a heavy swell, lunging leeward, tilting their bed to such an angle they were pitched, bodies and bed linens, onto the deck.

  Suddenly, Lorena feared for their safety.

  Her backside crashed down on the hard wooden deck. Drew landed on top of her, swooshing the air from her lungs and leaving her dazed as they slid downhill before the floor leveled back. It took a few moments for the shock to subside enough for Lorena to lift her head and check on the child.

  “Drew! Sweetheart, are you all right?”

  She breathed with relief at his round, sleepy face and thought he gave a bewildered nod. The cabin was murky, full of shadow. With the porthole draperies closed, only a very dull light shone beneath. “It seems we’re having some weather.”

  Gently she rolled him off her, then climbed to hands and knees. She grasped the edge of the bed for support and then helped Drew gain his feet.

  Searching about, he rose on plump bare toes and danced anxiously while Lorena dragged herself up off the floor.

  “What’s happened to Captain Briggs?” he whined.

  “There! See, Drew. Over by the door. Hurry now and collect him. We must be busy about getting dressed. I’d like a word with the captain before he grows too busy with his duties. Where are your socks?”

  She found them hidden within the lump of bed linens, a tiny pair of striped knit socks. As she rolled them in her fingers, she could not help but incline an ear outward with increasing alarm. A howling wind rattled the running rigging, and the sails could be heard slatting against the masts.

  Hurriedly she donned a checked gingham work dress and emerged from the cabin with Drew to find the great parlor in sorry disarray. Dining chairs had been knocked onto their sides. Books, charts, and navigational instruments from Brogan’s desk lay scattered across the carpet. Her needlework basket was overturned. As a way of showing her gratitude, she’d taken to sewing for the crew, mending tears, replacing missing buttons, darning socks. Now their clothing lay strewn, along with her crewel embroidery and sewing notions. Her thimble, however, remained with her always, tucked deep inside a pocket.

  She didn’t know whether to start tidying or immediately go out in search of Brogan. The angry tempest heard raging behind the stern window’s curtains left her flummoxed, and it was Drew who jumped into action by racing across the cabin to the window seats. He pushed aside the draperies to a threateningly somber sky and roiling, churning seas. Only the bleakest of light trickled in.

  Behind them, the door to the outer corridor burst open, and Warrick stumbled in, breathless and drenched from head to toe, escorted by his brother William.

  Warrick looked at her forlornly, his brown hair sopping wet and lying flat to his head. “I am truly sorry, Miss Huntley.”

  Lorena worried after his appearance. “Whatever for, Warrick?” She looked uncertainly from one to the other of them, the elder William, by all appearances, only slightly older in years. “This storm … did something happen?” she asked.

  “Warrick’s fine, miss.” William removed his round top hat, and seawater dripped from its rim as he greeted her with a nod. “Not injured, except for his pride. A comber crashed over the bulwarks and swept him off his feet and into the lee scuppers. Sorry to say, it also took your breakfast tray and washed it into the sea.”

  “Oh, I hardly give a care about that. What’s important is that Warrick was not injured.”

  Warrick bowed his head. “Thank you, miss.”

  Lorena felt for him in his
embarrassment, for she was certain the loss of the breakfast tray pained him more than his fall. “You had better go quickly now and change your clothes.”

  “He’ll have time for that later,” William announced sternly, hastening toward the stern windows. “A seaman gets used to working in wet clothing, miss. Warrick, step lively and come help me close these deadlights.”

  Lorena’s concern multiplied. “Pray, tell me of this weather we’re having, Mr. Farragut.”

  William and his brother drew the damask curtains out of their way, allowing her a clear view of the storm for herself. Below, the ocean rolled white with foam. A greenish-gray sea lashed violently—rising, rising, then curling into a foaming, towering crest that crashed down in an explosion of spray.

  Drew gasped in awe. Lorena lifted him off the seat and away from the windows.

  “A mighty gale has come upon us, Miss Huntley,” William explained, working quickly with Warrick to close the heavy wooden shutters. “The Yankee Heart rides under close-reefed sails, and the great height of her quarterdeck has been a blessing in breaking the force of the sea. Captain Talvis and Mr. Smith are presently completing a tour of inspection. The captain has asked me to inform you that he has ordered Warrick to remain inside with you and Drew. None of you are to leave the cabins until further notice.”

  Off in the starboard horizon a flash of white-hot light appeared just before William secured the last deadlight into place. The shutters were fitted to keep out water and the threat of broken glass, but they also blocked what little daylight shone into the cabin.

  Drew shook off Lorena’s embrace to approach the second mate. “But, Mr. Farragut, I must come with you. The captain needs me to help shorten sail—”

  The cabin rattled with a deafening boom, cutting him off and startling Lorena, regardless that she’d known thunder was coming.

  Lorena felt hard pressed to contain her smile, as it seemed did William. “You heard Mr. Farragut. You’ll not be going anywhere,” she told the boy. “Off to your cabin, Warrick. Quickly now, and change into something dry. Here, Mr. Farragut, allow me to help you close the draperies over these deadlights. Do you think there’s any chance I might be able to speak with Captain Talvis?”