Surrender (6 page)

“Oh, do quit whining, Miss Magee!” he said, suddenly stopping then with exasperation, cobalt eyes searing into hers. Then, despite her startled gasp of protest, he swept her up in his arms, and carried her out into the red-tinged darkness of the coming dawn.

A
small boat brought them from Belamar to the deep water of the bay. Risa fleetingly considered a second dive into the water—even if she didn’t escape, she could cause so much trouble that Jerome McKenzie might wish that she did.

Yet with that thought she turned to look at him, rowing behind her, and she discovered that he was watching her. He smiled grimly. He set a booted foot firmly upon the middle seat where she sat, firmly pinning her in place with his weight upon the skirt of her dress.

“No more swimming. Time is of the essence,” he said flatly.

“Where is Finn?” she demanded.

“I’ll tell you soon enough.”

“You swear that he is alive and well?”

He arched a brow, and for a moment ceased to row, leaning toward her. “I keep my word, Miss Magee. He is alive and well. You are the one who can’t be trusted. Here we are. The
Lady Varina
. She was once the
Mercy
. She’s been renamed.”

The ship that emerged in the burgeoning light of day looked like a ghost vessel at first, appearing from a gray shrouded morning mist against the crimson rise of morning. She was well named for a lady such as Varina—wife of President Davis of the Confederacy. She was beautiful, riding the water with sleek grace. She was compact, small as schooners went, yet long and elegant. As they came closer, Risa saw that she was fitted with five guns on her starboard side, and no doubt five guns port side as well.

She tried to tell herself that most decently sized Union Navy ships could blast this Rebel easily from the seas
with superior firepower, but though she had grown up around military men, she’d understood the value of speed.

As they reached the starboard side, a ladder was swiftly lowered. The small boat teetered precariously as Risa rose, a moment’s panic making her want to risk the sea again rather than sail away with this captain and crew.

But Jerome was right behind her, balancing the small boat. He took her hands, placing them on the rope ladder, and she had little choice but to climb. The sandy-haired fellow who had guarded her room at Belamar was first to greet her, helping her aboard. She quickly tried to assess the crew. There were perhaps fifteen men visible, though she assumed there were more about, preparing to set sail. The fellows surrounding her wore no uniforms, but worked in various stages of dress—and undress. They seemed to be of all ages, mostly young men, but a few graybeards among them. Many were barefoot and clad in nothing but breeches. Some wore shirts against the morning chill. They all stared at her with silent regard, awaiting Jerome’s arrival on deck.

He leapt aboard with the perfect agility of a cat, and stood beside her. “Gentlemen! We’ve a guest aboard for a spell. And though she deplores all our flag stands for, we’ll convince her that Southern hospitality is not a myth while she remains with us. In short, gentlemen, at all costs, we must convince her to stay—she has a penchant for swimming. Thank you for your attention—Hamlin, we sail!”

A tall, slim man with silver-tinged dark hair saluted and smiled. He nodded respectfully to Risa, then stepped forward, calling out orders as he did so.

Risa felt a hand on her shoulder. “Come, I’ll escort you to your quarters.”

Despite her situation, she had to admire the ship. She was led past the men who now hurried about in a spree of preparation. He propelled her forward along the main deck and then down a small flight of three steps. He pushed a door open there, and she found herself thrust into the captain’s cabin. She paused, blinking to adjust to the dim light. Though morning was coming quickly, a
handsomely globed lamp remained lit upon a large oak desk, illuminating the cabin. To her left, a large bunk was fitted into the wall. Wooden paneling rimmed the bunk, and around that, the bed was surrounded with shelving that housed an astonishing array of books and a number of crystal decanters. Curiously, to the left of the bunk, was a small door, and before it, caught in the corner shadows, was a large, leather-upholstered wing-backed chair. Across the cabin was more shelving, wardrobe space, and again, what appeared to be a closet. Center, to the far rear of the room, with leather upholstered seating before, were windows, covered now with masculine, deep cobalt drapes. It was a striking cabin, tastefully appointed in every way; the woodwork itself was exquisite. This appeared to be the master’s cabin of a rich merchant vessel rather than the captain’s quarters of a military warship.

“Well?” he inquired politely.

She turned to face him. There was a certain arrogance about him that he wore well. He was now clad in form-hugging breeches, boots, an open white shirt, and a deep gray frock coat. He definitely appeared to be the captain of his ship—and his own destiny.

She certainly didn’t intend to compliment him.

“Are you sure you and your ragtag crew are Confederate Navy?”

He laughed lightly, a husky sound that seemed to slip irritatingly beneath her skin.

“In the Confederacy, Miss Magee, we make do with what we have. Remember, the Union states entered this war with eighty-odd years of preparation as a country. We began with no government, no treasury, no army—no navy. Forgive our lack of uniformity.”

She was startled by his lighthearted response; she wished to have irritated him. “Is this to be my prison, then? If so, I admit to seeing no escape other than through the door, so you may feel free to leave me, and captain your ship.”

“Yes, this is to be your prison,” he told her. He said nothing more, though his cobalt eyes were now touched with a deep anger. He turned about and left. The door closed behind him, and she was startled to realize that
she hadn’t actually been ready for him to leave—she had longed to provoke a fight. She wasn’t exactly sure why, except that she was afraid. She wasn’t sure what she was afraid of, nor could she admit she was afraid—she was a general’s daughter.

Left alone, she stood still for several moments. Then she felt a sudden sharp sway, and found herself thrown across the cabin. She landed neatly on the bunk, and remained there. She had spent a fair amount of time aboard ship in the last several months, coming south from Washington to St. Augustine, then from St. Augustine to Biscayne Bay. Yet she was suddenly praying that she wouldn’t find herself seasick—it would just be too humiliating under the circumstances.

She lay still, feeling the ship pick up speed as they headed across the waves. She closed her eyes, thinking she would adjust to the sway.

She adjusted. The sway felt good. She kept her eyes closed just a few minutes too long. She dozed off.

She awoke, aware again of the movement beneath her. It was comforting and lulling still. Then she remembered she was a prisoner aboard an enemy ship.

She sat up quickly. The movement made her dizzy, more aware than ever of the continual sway of the ship. But after a moment, she was accustomed to the movement, and she rose carefully.

She wondered at the time. Light filtered in through the drapes, so she knew that she must have slept for several hours. She rubbed her neck, then looked curiously around the room. She stared at the desk, and couldn’t help but wonder what correspondence might lie within it. She was a prisoner now, but she wouldn’t remain so. And when she escaped …

She hurried to the large captain’s chair behind the massive oak desk. She sat down, then wrenched open the top drawer to find haphazard stacks of letters. Surely, they contained some useful information! With a pleased cry, she started sifting through them.

To her dismay, they all seemed to be personal. The first was from Ian’s sister, Tia, who described her longing to be of some use to someone, and her determination to work with her brother, Julian, at his makeshift field
hospitals along the St. Johns. A second letter was from Jerome McKenzie’s own sister, Sydney, who was living in Charleston. A third letter was from his brother, Brent, who had recently been called to Richmond to deal with a distressing medical problem.

As she glanced at the letters, she reminded herself that she had been seeking military plans—and that reading the private mail of others was in extremely bad taste. Yet she discovered herself reading Brent’s letter because she couldn’t quite manage not to do so.

“… God knows, disease kills more men than bullets can ever manage. I know that my Union counterparts suffer as we do, trying to keep our boys well enough from dysentery and fevers to stay out on the fields. To make matters far worse, you cannot begin to imagine the newest campaign I am set upon. The surgeon general has now determined that our boys are suffering from the most embarrassing of maladies—those caught from their contact with members of the fair gender. Yes, indeed, can you imagine, Jerome? The side who wins might well be the side who first reasons a way to cure the sexual diseases being transmitted at a cruel rate. Again, I remind you, we must have supplies. I can say with confidence that we have the majority of the best military minds. The war on land is fought by brilliant generals and the great heart of a strong people, but as we are both well aware, the Union leaders are not stupid, and they know that they can slowly force us to our knees by starving us out and letting our torn and mangled men left to live or die with no medicine or anesthesia. I remain based at Richmond if you are able to write. God go with you, brother.”

She set the letter down, startled to realize that she was shaking. A sudden sense of unease filled her, and she looked up with a startled gasp.

Jerome had returned.

He had done so silently, or else she had been so involved in the letter that she hadn’t heard the door open. He leaned against the paneling, as if he had been there for some time, watching her. He had been working, she thought, sailing the ship, because he had stripped down to just breeches. A pulse ticked at his bronze throat.
Somehow, in the lamplight, bare-chested, his narrowed eyes very blue against his bronze coloring, his straight dark hair falling free to brush his shoulders, he appeared very much the native son.

She felt the blood rushing to her cheeks as she pushed back from the desk, rising with alarm. She backed away as he grimly approached, yet there was not too far she could go despite the grandeur of the cabin. Angry heat seemed to roll from him in waves. He stared at her, eyes flicking over her with such contempt that she cried out, certain he meant her physical harm.

But he didn’t touch her; he slammed the drawer shut and turned, propping a hip on the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Anything interesting?”

“Obviously, not. You’d know what you keep in your desk.”

“You had best be glad that I don’t keep military correspondences with my personal papers, Miss Magee. You don’t wish to remain a prisoner, and I don’t like having you aboard. Surely, you must realize you’ve been spared greater punishment only as a concession to my family. Your defiance, your
rudeness
, can easily wipe out that goodwill.”

“You—you can’t expect your prisoners to be polite, McKenzie,” she told him smartly.

His hand lashed out; he caught her wrist, drawing her close to him. She felt a wild tangle of fear grip her heart.

“Then, you cannot expect your captors to be merciful, Miss Magee,” he warned.

He released her. She retreated against the paneled wall, staring at him warily. He watched her still, and she was deeply distressed to discover words tumbling unbidden from her lips. “I’ll not seek further information from your desk. I—I swear it.”

He rose. “You could swear from here to Kingdom Come, Miss Magee, and I could not trust you. You will not read any more of my papers, because I will have them removed. I came to warn you that we may shortly engage in gunfire. You’re not to leave the cabin—unless the ship is sinking,” he ordered curtly, starting out once again.

“Which may well happen!” she called after him, feeling oddly hurt and ready to strike out in return.

He came back to her, taking her hands, his grip so strong she couldn’t begin to fight. His eyes impaled her own. “The ship will not sink. I built her. She is powerful, light, and faster than anything else currently sailing. When I cannot take my prey with surprise and speed, I escape heavier guns. It is a very simple method of warfare. I suggest, however, that you retire to the bunk and remain there, as I can’t promise there won’t be rough seas ahead.”

He released her again, starting out. She raced after him, startling herself as she slammed a fist against his back. He turned, a brow arching incredulously.

“You expect me just to stay here while you seek to blow my countrymen out of the water—”

“Miss Magee, I fight with all the respect due human life I can manage. I don’t seek to kill sailors. My aim is to confiscate supplies. Get in the damned bunk, or I’ll have you tied into it.”

She stepped back, gasping and furious. “Don’t you threaten me so, you half-breed savage parading as a military officer! How dare you—”

She broke off, a scream of alarm rising in her throat. He moved with uncanny speed, sweeping her off her feet. Before she knew it, she was down on the bunk, and he had straddled her. Despite her flailings, he lashed her right wrist to a spiral in the mock headboard with rope he procured from a shelf above it.

“Don’t do this!” she whispered. “Please don’t do this!”

He looked down at her, dark gaze impassive. He finished tying the knot that bound her in place. “I’m sorry to say, you asked for it.”

He rose quickly and left her. The business of battle was at hand. She longed to scream with pure frustration—and growing alarm. But no one would come. It was evident that Jerome McKenzie’s men were totally loyal to their captain.

Seconds later, she did cry out as the first gun was fired. It was the
Lady Varina
doing the firing. The ship shuddered with the force of each heavy cannon shot.

She shrieked again as the whole of the ship seemed to shake with a fury. She heard shouting, cries, more gunfire. The ship pitched and swayed as the balls from returned cannon fire fell into the nearby waters.