Heart's Safe Passage by Laurie Alice Eakes Page A

ship full of sailors.
    Not comfortable bringing the latter matters up to a near stranger, Phoebe addressed her curiosity about the former. “Who sees to her education?”
    “I do, mostly.” Docherty cast his daughter one of those heart-meltingly tender glances. “She’s a canny lass. Her celestial navigation is nearly as good as Jordy’s, and he’s better than most.”
    “Not yours?” Phoebe gazed up at him from beneath her lashes.
    He didn’t look at her. “I do a’right, but I was not raised to the sea like Watt.”
    No, he wasn’t. He spoke uncommonly well too. The accent was there, strong with rolling R’s and musical cadence, but his grammar was better than hers.
    What were you raised to? She thought the question, urged it onto her tongue.
    He walked away before the words found voice. The rain pounded on the deck, creating a curtain between them. Just as well. She hadn’t wanted him to walk away. Worse, part of her wanted him to carry her below.
    She inhaled the briny freshness of the air. It worked on her system like an elixir. Not a bit of sickness while she huddled under the canvas awning, chilled, damp from the rain blowing into her meager shelter, but invigorated and well.
    Until the wind increased. Within an hour, the waves began to raise as high as the deck and send rivulets of greenish salt water cascading over the boards as the brig canted, then back the other way when it twisted and fell into a trough. Phoebe braced herself, fearing the sickness might return in such heavy seas. It didn’t. Cold air kept away the specter of sickness, cleared her head of anything but how she could free herself through their calling at Bermuda, how to persuade Belinda not to remain with a man who couldn’t forgive a minor transgression.
    All right, it wasn’t so minor. But he could have subdued her in seconds if he’d chosen to do so. Why he hadn’t she couldn’t be certain. Maybe he, unlike her, couldn’t practice violence against the opposite sex.
    She sought him out, couldn’t find him or anyone else on deck. They had to be there. Someone manned the helm. The rain had grown too dense to see through. She couldn’t go below now if she wanted to. She’d take the wrong direction and possibly get swept overboard. She should have listened to him, should have risked her health and gone below. Now—
    A gust of wind slammed into the canopy. With the drumroll rumble of tearing heavy cloth, the awning ripped from its moorings. Phoebe flung up her arms to protect her head from pelting rain and hail.
    The canopy crashed down on her. It slammed into her hands, sixty square feet of sodden canvas. The weight knocked her from her chair and onto the deck. Seawater swilled into her mouth. She gagged on the saltiness, coughed to breathe, swallowed a scream with a quantity of the ocean.
    And the canvas held her down like a soaked shroud. Like an angry man.
    She did scream then, kicked and cried out, punched at the enveloping fabric with her fists. “Stop! Stop! Stop!” Blackness surrounded her. She was going to die because he was angry, because he couldn’t forgive. Because she thought for herself and—
    A hand grasped her arm. She struck out with her other fist. Another hand grabbed her wrist and pulled.
    “No, no, you can’t make me. You can’t—” The cold rain and wind struck her face like a slap. She choked on her cry and went limp in the man’s hold, the hysteria stopping as quickly as it began. She was aboard the brig again, drenched and cold and held by a man who had touched her only in kindness.
    She sagged against him, too mortified to speak.
    “I told you to get below.” Half carrying her, Docherty headed aft. “Will you be listening to me next time?”
    So he’d left her on deck to teach her a lesson.
    She nodded against his chest.
    He snorted. “I doot it. Now get you below and change your dress before you catch a chill.” He left her at the top of the companionway.
    She obeyed him this time.