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“Insolent bastard.” Her clammy skin flushed unaccountably hot. “It’s no wonder you had trouble with Captain Warre.”
He grunted. “Stodgy old cuss...” They made it to the last of the casks, and he lurched toward the stairs. “Never did approve—” he dragged in a breath “—of ravishing.” His hands curled around the railing and he rested there, ashen-faced.
“Can you climb the stairs alone?”
His eyes swept their length, and he gave a nod.
“Then above and to bed,” she ordered in a tone she might have used with Anne. The man had lost his mind as well as his strength.
He pulled himself up the first step and glanced at her. “A tempting offer...Captain.”
A tempting— “Above!”
This was no demoted midshipman. He was an officer, or she’d swallow her cutlass. As soon as they were safely through the strait, she would instruct William to lock Mr. Barclay in the cabin André had occupied. And then she would force the truth from him.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_2723e6ae-f7a3-585b-9c73-3eb69897ea80)
THE TRUTH HAD to wait for two days while the lecherous Mr. Barclay, now occupying his new quarters, slept. Millicent fed him broth four times a day and ruthlessly shooed everyone else away.
They were safely through the strait with the storm long behind them, but the story of Mr. Barclay’s heroics would not die. Anne insisted on retelling it to everyone. Multiple times.
“Mama, may we go see him now? Please? Millicent says he’s awake.” Anne tugged on her sleeve. “Please, Mama. He’s better now.”
Apparently that was supposed to be good news. “In a moment, dearest.” Katherine dipped her quill, started to scratch another coordinate in her massive logbook, but veered away at the last moment and added another name to the scrap of paper that held the short list of people in Britain who might be able to help her. Lord De Lille. Hadn’t he been one of Papa’s friends?
Her father’s voice echoed in her mind: Damn me, Katie, there’s not a soul in all of England or Scotland that can outwager De Lille.
She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember names and relationships from more than a decade ago. But Papa had had so many friends. The only one she truly remembered was his best friend, Lord Deal, and according to the solicitor’s letter, he was already working to fight the bill that threatened her inheritance.
Her fingers tightened around the quill. What if Mr. Allen’s letter hadn’t found her? The bill was unlikely to pass, he’d written. That it had been read once in the Lords meant little—that the second reading had been put off six months was far more telling.
“Mama, please. What if he goes back to sleep?”
Then the inevitable would be delayed a few pleasant hours longer. Perhaps Mr. Barclay’s actions had been—in the most attenuated sort of way—laudable. And as galling as it was, she could no longer deny that his folly in the hold had been for Anne’s sake. Midshipman or officer, he would have known a one-man insurrection would fail.
Katherine would have been happy to ignore his sacrifice for Mr. Bogles. But it was not to be.
Anne’s dusky lips pursed a little with impatience, and small, dark brows dove with frustration. Sometimes she looked so much like Mejdan’s mother it was hard to know whether to laugh or cry.
“Very well,” Katherine said, finally setting down her quill. “Come along.” With all the enthusiasm of a convict on his way to the gallows, she led Anne into the passageway.
“I can give him the scroll, right?” Anne whispered outside the door to André’s old cabin.
“Yes, sweetling.”
“But you’ll tell him.”
“I will tell him.” Many things, but most of them not until Anne left. Mr. Barclay may have yet been unwell—she knocked once and turned the key—but she intended to have the answers to her questions. “Mr. Barclay—”
The bed was empty. There was a splash, and her attention shot to the bureau. He leaned over the basin with his hair slicked back and water dripping off his face, wearing only a pair of William’s trousers.
“Mama, ow!” Anne tugged at her hand.
Katherine eased her grip. “Perhaps we should—”
“Mr. Barclay,” Anne called into the cabin, “we’ve come to pay you a special visit.”
Return later. “Anne...”
He reached for a towel and—devil take it—caught Katherine watching him in the looking glass. One of his brows edged upward. “An honor indeed,” he said. His gaze shifted to Anne. “I see you’re not letting that errant cat of yours go far, Miss Anne,” he said. Katherine felt a push against her leg and realized Mr. Bogles had followed them in. Mr. Barclay ran the linen over his face, neck, shoulders. Muscles rippled beneath his skin with every movement.
“He’s better now that the big waves have stopped,” Anne told him.
“I’d say that describes every one of us.”
Anne gaped. “You don’t like the big waves, either?”
“Nobody does.” He reached for a shirt—one of William’s tunics, dark blue with long sleeves—and pulled it on as he came toward them, a head taller than Katherine and fully lucid.
Katherine silently exhaled. “You seem much improved,” she observed.
“A short-lived burst, I fear.”
Anne tugged impatiently on Katherine’s hand. “Mama, may we tell him now? Please?”
Mr. Barclay glanced down, raising a brow.
“Yes,” Katherine said. “Go ahead.” The sooner she swallowed these bitters, the better.
Anne let go of her hand and reached for Mr. Barclay, patting his leg as she held out the scroll. “This is for you.”
Comprehension dawned in those damnable eyes as he took the scroll, and amusement tugged at the corner of that hard mouth. “Thank you.”
Devil take Millicent and her restorative broth.
“Now, Mama,” Anne said.
At least he could be in no doubt as to whose idea this had been. “Thomas Barclay,” Katherine began solemnly. “As captain of the ship Possession I hereby commend you for your actions of bravery and sacrifice—” she absolutely refused to look at him “—on behalf of a most valued member of our crew, being that you did, during high seas, risk your life to save one Mr. Bogles, in service to Anne and everyone aboard this ship. For this, you have earned the highest level of respect and appreciation aboard this vessel.”
Anne could no longer contain her excitement. “It’s a commendation!” she cried.
“You do me too much honor,” Mr. Barclay said. It was an understatement of epic proportions.
“Did you look at the scroll?” Anne asked, with an achingly huge smile.
He untied the ribbon and glanced over the words Anne had insisted Katherine pen last night. “I will treasure it always,” he said, touching Anne’s cheek. “Thank you for recommending me for what I am convinced is a very coveted award.”
The temptation to soften her opinion of him wormed its way into Katherine’s mind, but she stopped it quickly. After all, two things remained unchanged: he was lying to her about his rank, so he’d served—no doubt very closely—under Captain Warre; and he remained every bit as virile as Phil had first claimed. The first she could simply force him to disclose. The second could not be remedied.
“Come now, dearest.” Katherine steered Anne toward the door. “Back to the great cabin while I speak with Mr. Barclay.”
“You mustn’t commend him any more without me, Mama. I want to hear.”
“There will be no further commendation. I promise.”
Moments later Anne was settled at the captain’s table with her box of beads, and Katherine returned to Mr. Barclay’s cabin. “Now,” she said, shutting the door. “You will tell me your actual rank aboard the Henry’s Cross, and this time you will tell the truth.”
He opened his mouth to speak but faltered, turning pale. “Do you mind if I sit? I’m feeling a bit—” He reached for the bed and sat down without waiting for her answer. He leaned forward and braced his head in his hands. “Told you it would be short-lived.”
She much preferred him weak and seated. “Should I send for Millicent?”
“God, no. She’ll only force me to take more broth.”
Katherine almost smiled. “Your true rank, then, Mr. Barclay.”
“What makes you so certain I’m not a midshipman?” he said to the floor. Solid forearms supported large hands with strong fingers that disappeared into damp, dark waves lightly salted with silver. Whatever his true rank, he clearly had the strength to do any job a ship required.
“Answer the question. I’ve had enough nonsense for one day.”
“Nonsense?” He looked up. “Please, Captain—I’ve only just received my first commendation aboard this vessel, and already you’re making me doubt its sincerity.”
“You need not doubt my sincerity when I tell you that you will regret withholding the truth.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least. And if I refuse, what will it be? The lash? The dreaded cat? Perhaps there’s a medieval rack hidden away in some lower hold.”
“You are not lying about having been under Captain Warre’s command,” she replied. “That much is evident. To date I have never found a need to resort to physical punishment aboard this ship—although there could always be a first time, I suppose.” She propped one knee on the bedside chair, where his borrowed waistcoat hung neatly across the back. “My crew and I enjoyed the most delicious pie at yesterday’s dinner,” she said conversationally. “Succulent gravy, tender beef and vegetables, topped by the lightest, flakiest crust. You know the kind, I’m sure? Melts on the tongue? Such a wonder what can be done with dried beef.” His eyes narrowed, and she knew she’d hit her mark. “What a shame that Millicent says you’re to have broth for at least another week—no, I take that back. She did say you could have a few bits of meat in it, I think, so under the strictest definition I suppose that isn’t broth. And of course, I faithfully defer to Millicent in all things medical.” She smiled. “Except when I don’t.”
“The depth of your ruthlessness, Captain Kinloch, has been wildly understated.”
“I’ll not deny it.” She held his gaze while he weighed his options. His penetrating stare teased a nerve in her belly.
“Very well,” he finally said. “I was a lieutenant. The captain’s third in command.”
A flutter of something—foreboding, probably—ran across her skin. A lieutenant. Of course. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to reveal his identity. “That carries a good deal of responsibility,” she observed. To Captain Warre especially.
“It does.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Captain Warre.”
He considered that. “I’m not sure we had a ‘relationship,’ per se.”
“Don’t be obtuse,” she said irritably. “You must have worked very closely with him.”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“Did you consider him a friend?”
“I wouldn’t use that word exactly, no.”
“You disliked him, then.”
“At times.”
“Disobeyed him?”
“Never.”
“You agreed with his decisions?”
“I’ll admit to having reservations about a great many of them, but generally, yes.”
Of course he had. “You are as ruthless as he was, then.” Lieutenant Barclay looked ruthless. And hard, and uncompromising, and shrewd. The half-delirious unfortunate they had pulled from the water was gone.
“I suppose we shared certain traits, but I’m not sure ruthlessness is one of them. Resolute, perhaps.”
She made a noise. “If you call Captain Warre’s tactics ‘resolute’ then you most certainly do share his penchant for ruthlessness. The captain’s reputation for being unmerciful at the helm is well-known.”
“I should hope so, given that his job was to win battles—not lose them.” He rose to his feet and went to the bureau for water. “I have the distinct impression you don’t care for Captain Warre,” he said, watching her in the looking glass. “Do you know him well?”
“I know enough.”
He drank deeply and set down the mug. “Have you met him?”
“You could say I’ve had an encounter with him.”
One of his dark brows ticked upward.
“A maritime encounter,” she said sharply.
“Naturally.” He came toward her, reached past her for his waistcoat. His arm touched her knee.
She put her foot on the floor. “You must have been a terrible thorn in Captain Warre’s side.”
“Eternally.”
That made her smile. Just as quickly, desire began to smolder in his eyes. He did not back away as he shrugged into the waistcoat. Her smile faded, and that renegade nerve quickened in her belly again. She glanced brazenly at the front of his borrowed trousers but found no inappropriate salute to her authority.
“As you can see, Captain,” he drawled, “along with my renewed strength has come a measure of control.” His eyes wandered over her, and she felt them like hands.
She looked him in the eye and allowed the corners of her lips to curve upward. “I’m relieved to hear it. I would hate for you to spend the entire voyage in a state of torment.”
“Indeed,” he said dryly. “It’s been clear from the beginning that my comfort is your utmost concern.”
“Your lack of gratitude makes me wonder if I should have left the shackles on, after all. And let me be clear on one point—certain kinds of comfort are not available aboard this ship.”
“I will endeavor to contain my disappointment.” Boredom dripped from his tongue, but his eyes burned hot. He may have succeeded in controlling his anatomy, but in his thoughts he was doing with her exactly as he pleased.
She laughed derisively to suppress a shiver. “You will contain much more than that, or you will meet the end of my cutlass.” She went to the door. “I shall send up some pie.”
