Bound by the Heart (8 page)

"You would see your country declare war on
England?" she gasped. "You would fight over a few measly pounds of
profit?"

"Hardly a few," he said dryly. "And
yes, I would fight any country and any ship that tried to dictate who I may and
may not conduct my business with."

"Business?" she scoffed. "Is it part of
your business to kidnap helpless women and children and hold them against their
will?"

He grinned broadly. "I am not holding you, madam.
You are free to leave any time you wish."

"And go where?" she demanded.

"Wherever you would care to try swimming for."

Summer's eyes flashed with sparks of angry deep green,
and she jumped up out of the chair. "Where is Michael? What have you done
with him?"

"I've done nothing with him other than see he is
kept occupied and out of my crew's way."

"Are you forcing him to work?"

"I'm not forcing him to do anything," Wade
snapped. "He has been watching Thorny repair sails for the past
hour."

"Mr. Thorntree's influence is not exactly what
Sir Lionel Cambridge has in mind for his son's education."

"I'll tell Thorny you said that. Meanwhile you
should be grateful someone is at least taking an interest in the boy—you don't
seem to be."

Summer's mouth dropped inelegantly. "Whose fault is
that? Who ordered him out of this cabin? Who threatened to beat him and then
proceeded to . . . to . . ."

"To teach you a lesson in manners you don't
appear to have retained very well. I am beginning to grow tired of reminding
you that neither you nor His Lordship are at all special on this ship. For all
anyone knows, the pair of you drowned in the storm and lie at the bottom of the
sea."

"A fact which makes you doubly cruel and
heartless," she cried. "Sir Lionel is not a well man. How do you
think the news will affect his health when he hears that his only son is
drowned?"

"Perhaps it will improve his disposition when he
hears the boy is alive. Whether he thanks me for returning you or not remains
to be seen. I cannot see that your temperament would be of any benefit to his
health."

Summer clamped her mouth into a thin, uncompromising
line. There was no way to argue with the man. He was baiting her and enjoying
it! Michael's bright idea was beginning to fray badly around the edges. As a
governess she would have to realize her own expendability and suffer the
brigand's remarks in silence. She balled her fists and with a visible effort
bit back any further comments.

"Well, now," he murmured. "You may have
learned a thing or two after all."

He turned his back for a moment and thereby missed the
expression on Summer's face. She was saved from committing a fatal error in
judgment by a quick knock on the door.

"Come," Wade barked, shutting the lid on the
humidor. Summer's hand fell away from the heavy brass bookend as Thorny poked
his head around the door.

"Come ter see 'bout victuals," Thorny said.
"An' I brung yer rum."

Wade glanced up over the flame he held to the tip of
the thin black cigar. "I'll take my supper in here. Find the lad and send
him down; he'll join us for the meal."

"Aye." He set a small earthenware jug on the
dining table.

"Tell Mr. Monday I'll be taking the eight o'clock
watch."

"Aye. Supper's on its way."

Wade crossed to the dining table and selected two
crystal glasses from one of the wire-fronted bookcases on the wall. Summer
looked at him with some surprise as he filled both with rum and held one out to
her.

"No, thank you."

He grinned past the cigar clamped between his teeth.
"Suit yourself, but it might relax you."

"I am quite relaxed," she retorted. "If
I were any more so, I fear your attempts at civility would put me to
sleep."

He drew deeply on the cigar and exhaled a cloud of
bluish smoke as she presented him with her back. The air from the open gallery
windows blew the hair back from her shoulders but did nothing to ease the
discomfort of feeling his eyes boring into her.

Wade, conversely, was enjoying a sight he had not seen
many times in the past dozen years. Her hair had dried into fine strands of
spun silk, curling thick and soft over her shoulders to reach well past her
waist. The light was behind her, etching the wisps into silvery threads. The
oversized clothes did absolutely nothing to conceal the various curves and
contours of her body; if anything, they emphasized the more tempting areas and
made his hands burn with the recent memory of exploring them.

Wade drained his glass and poured himself another just
as Michael Cambridge knocked discreetly on the door.

Summer whirled instantly and ran to his side. She
started to hug him, caught herself in time and instead squeezed his shoulders
affectionately, hoping he could read beneath her restraint.

He looked changed somehow in the few short hours since
she had seen him last. The ever-present smattering of freckles across the
bridge of his nose had expanded to cover both cheeks. His eyes were bright, his
face tanned and healthy—not at all what one would expect to see on a boy forced
to toil unmercifully three decks below the sunlight.

"Good evening, Captain Wade," he said
formally. "Thank you for the invitation to dinner."

"No trouble," Wade shrugged. "In fact,
you can save me some trouble by telling your governess here that we haven't
whipped you into servitude. She seems to think I've set you slaving belowdecks
like a Moorish half-caste."

Michael frowned at Summer. "Oh, no. They're being
ever so nice, actually. Thorny . . . er, Mr. Thorntree has taught me how to
stitch canvas and tomorrow he says I may even be allowed to work on the sails
with him."

Wade crooked an eyebrow at Summer. "Satisfied?"

A voice bellowed, "W'hup ho!" and Thorny
pushed his way into the cabin burdened by the heavy tray again.

"I 'ope ye're 'ungry, lad."

"Famished," Michael nodded eagerly.

"Good. We'll fix up some lard on them bones o'
yourn afore too long. Sea air, good victuals an' a clean constitution, lad.
It'll 'eal up what ever ails ye."

Summer had not realized how hungry she was until the
aroma from the two covered crocks launched an assault on her senses. Her mouth
flooded and her hands trembled and she found the wait interminable while Wade
finished his drink and beckoned them to the dining table.

Michael held her chair and took his own place, then
he, too, looked expectantly at Captain Wade, who only waved a hand
distractedly.

"Go ahead, Governess, portion it out."

Summer moistened her lips. "Plates, Michael,
please."

Biscuits, soft and fluffy, were in the first crock
when she lifted the lid. She removed the second lid and felt a wave of
dizziness sweep through her as she saw and smelled the rich mutton stew. She
ladled a heaping scoopful on the first plate Michael handed her, added two of
the biscuits and placed it in front of Morgan Wade. He had not taken his eyes
off Summer's face during the serving, but as she leaned forward, they sought
the gap in the front of her shirt and settled on the visible white flesh.

He took a deep breath and snuffed out the stub of his
cigar, then refilled his glass before reaching for his fork.

Summer tasted a spoonful of the gravy and found it
worthy of the aroma. It was thick and heavily spiced; the mutton was tender and
the vegetables succulent. She ate every last morsel on her plate and broke a
biscuit into the gravy so as not to waste a drop of the juice.
 
Michael's plate was so clean she doubted if anyone
would bother to wash it. Neither of them had had food this good since leaving
New Providence. The cook on board the
Sea Vixen
had believed firmly in salt beef and potatoes.

Coffee, hot and strong, followed a desert of fresh
fruit. Although she suspected the coffee was liberally doctored with spirits,
Summer found it so soothing after the strenuous day that she drained two
mugfuls and nursed a third. Her mood mellowed considerably, lulled by the
gentle motion of the ship and by the sound of friendly conversation.

Michael had broken down early in the meal and between
mouthfuls plied the privateer with questions about his ship. How many cannon
did it carry? (Thirty-eight.) Were they all the same? (Long guns and
carronades, he explained. Different weights, different ranges.) Were they all
functional? (Naturally.) Had he used them against any British ships?

This earned a shocked gasp from Summer and a laugh
from Wade.

"But what would you do if a British warship
chased you?" Michael persisted.

"Now why would any British warship want to chase
me?" Wade asked wryly. "Are you suggesting I have something to
hide?"

"Oh, no, sir, I just meant. . . well. . ."

Wade leaned back and lit another cigar. "Well,
what?"

"One does hear rumors, sir," Michael
stammered.

"Rumors, eh? And what do these rumors tell
you?"

"That you're not much better than a pirate. That
you hide behind your country's flag. That you're responsible for a great many
of the ships that are waylaid and have their cargoes stolen."

"All that?" Wade mused.

"Oh, yes. And a great deal more. Father says you
cannot get away with it much longer. He says you Yankees will have to choose
one way or another and then it will be belly up for the lot of you."

"Michael!" Summer exclaimed, forgetting her
weariness.

"Well, that's what he says."

Wade grinned and waved Summer's protest into silence.
"And which side does he think we'll choose?"

Michael bit his lip and answered reluctantly,
"France. He says you have too many war birds in your congress for you to
ever reach a peaceful agreement with Britain."

"I believe the term is war hawks, and he's
undoubtably right. But it's not just us, boy. Too many men on both sides of the
ocean want to fight."

"Then you agree we shall soon be at war?"

"I can see no other end to it."

Michael frowned. "And will you fight us?"

Wade studied the boy's earnest expression. "Well,
lad, I've always taken life one stride at a time. War could be two, three . . .
ten years down the wind yet, and I cannot say what my inclinations will
be."

"His inclination will be to profit from the
conflict," Summer said derisively. She felt Wade's eyes on her, but she
kept her own carefully lowered.

Michael broke the silence. "You haven't said what
you would do if a British man-of-war intercepted us tomorrow. Would you use
your cannon, sir? Would you fire on one of His Majesty's ships?"

"If they fired on me, yes. Without a minute's
hesitation. But then I'd also fire on the French or the Spanish or anyone who
tried to get in my way and stop me from going on about my business. The
Chimera
is a high-spirited lady with a
high-spirited crew. Neither take kindly to a broadside. You might bear that in
mind if you are hoping to see a friendly sail on the horizon. We're in open
water now. There are no rules out here as far as private merchant ships go; any
and all of us are fair game, not just for revenuers."

"You mean the
Chimera
could be attacked by other
privateers?"

"There are some who might try," he nodded.
"But I rather think it would be the other way around."

"You mean you would attack another ship if you
saw one?"

"If the mood was on me, aye."

Michael leaned forward excitedly. "Honestly? A
real sea battle? Oh, jolly good!"

"Michael, that will be quite enough," Summer
said archly. "You have had a long day and a busy one, and I'm sure you
will be having an even busier one tomorrow. I suggest you save some of your
energy for then."

"Oh, but—"