Captain Of My Heart by Danelle Harmon

Author:Danelle Harmon
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: colonial new england, privateers, privateers gentlemen, romance 1700s, sea adventure, romance historical, ships, colonial america, ships at sea, american revolution, romance, revolutionary war, sea story, adventure abroad, schooners
Published: 2012-09-11T18:22:26.484233+00:00

Chapter 17

Kestrel lay like a nesting hawk, her sides as black as the river. Her gunwales were lost beneath a mantle of snow, her sharply raked masts spiraled with the tide, and her blocks and rigging creaked and knocked. The sounds were loud in the frozen stillness of the night, and louder still as Brendan rowed their boat closer and closer.

“Beautiful, isn’t she?”

His tone was no longer frustrated but reverent. Again Mira felt that quick stab of jealousy. “Aye,” she agreed.

“You ought to see her under full sail. She’d take your breath away.”

I have seen her under full sail, she thought. Plunging through trough and crest alike, wreathed in the smoke of her own guns, and skimming the sea with fore and main set wing and wing.

Instead she said, “I’ll bet she’s gorgeous.”

“More than gorgeous. Sometime I’ll take you out for a short cruise. You don’t get seasick, do you?”

“Once in a while,” she lied.

“Well, we’ll go out on a calm day. Maybe I’ll even let you take the helm for a bit.”

He looked quite pleased with himself, as though taking the tiller of a fine and dancing ship would be a new experience for her. If he only knew. She’d taken Proud Mistress’s helm more times than she could remember—in battle, in calm, in stormy seas and in gentle ones. She’d brought prizes into harbor, guiding them through the tricky bars, sunken piers, shifting winds, and dangerous currents at the Merrimack’s mouth. She’d learned to sail before she could walk, tie knots before she could talk, and had been in and out of boats her entire life.

But what Brendan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. Especially if it might later be used to her own advantage.

“That would be nice,” she agreed. “Maybe in the springtime when the seas are calmer.”

As they passed beneath the schooner’s bow, she saw him gaze up at the little hawk that was her figurehead. Snow capped his shoulders like twin epaulets, and a gust of wind tugged at his queue, dark beneath his tricorne. Mira thought of him in command of this fine ship, calm, carefree, and dashing, and again flushed with sudden heat. Newburyport’s newest hero, the townspeople had proclaimed. The Captain from Connaught, the Irishmen aboard Kestrel called him. She sighed happily. Is this what love felt like? This feeling that the world could crumble to dust and it wouldn’t matter one bit as long as she was with him?

Fighting the pull of the tide, Brendan maneuvered the boat close to the schooner and secured it to her chains. Mira could have easily made the climb up Kestrel’s icy sides with no assistance, but she dared not reveal her seagoing skills. Besides, it was much more fun to tuck her hand in Brendan’s and allow him to help her.

Up the side they went, Brendan carrying the quilts and furs, still warm with their body heat, over his arm. The schooner’s decks were bare, her hatches, ringbolts, and guns looking distorted beneath the thick blanket of snow.

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