No!was the only answer that rang through his head.
Kieran ran a hand over his face.
“Or do ye think because ye paid Reverend Gillespie two thousand pounds to deliver me here,” she continued, the sharp bitterness of her tone cutting him, “that ye are nowowedsomething? That because of my behavior aboardThe Minerva, I am a woman of loose morals who can be purchased?”
Kieran flinched. “I will never take anything from yourself that is not willingly offered.”
She snorted, folding her arms. “So you will give me your word that I will be allowed to return home?”
“You’re not a prisoner here.”
“Without ready funds, I might as well be.”
She stared at him with those silvery eyes of hers, cold and flinty.
He rubbed his breastbone, trying to loosen the knot there—the place where, in his memory, she looked at him with adoration or love or frustration orsomethingother than brute indifference.
How could he promise to let her go when he had only just secured her presence?
“Let us see what the procurator fiscal has tae say,” Kieran finally replied. “I willnae make a promise I cannae keep.”
“Cannot?” Her chin notched higher. “Or will not?”
“Please dinnae push me, Jamie.”
She recoiled at the name.
“I am Miss Eilidh Fyffe. You would do well to remember that.” She pushed back her chair. “Jamie is dead.”
Kieran swallowed, unable to form a reply.
Because as she whisked out of the room, he abruptly feared she spoke truth.
3
August 1815
Nearly seven years earlier
How is the new lad coming along?” Kieran asked Mr. Chen, the ship’s carpenter.
“He is a fast learner, that one. Very quick.” Mr. Chen smiled, his teeth flashing in his sun-browned skin.
“Good.” Kieran looked across the deck to where James Fyffe worked on a replacement block for the mizzen mast. The boy was small for his fifteen years but wiry and capable, easily using a handful of horsetail to smooth splinters out of the wood.
“I thank ye for taking him on as an apprentice,” Kieran continued, turning back to Mr. Chen. “I owe the lad’s father an enormous debt. This is one small way to repay it.”
More to the point, Kieran could think of no one better suited to help Captain Fyffe’s son navigate these first months at sea than Mr. Chen. Kieran might be young in body—only twenty-six the summer past—but he had been at sea for nearly two decades. Sometimes, he forgot how hard adapting to ship life had been. But Mr. Chen had a way of seeing the bigger picture of things.
“I am glad of the help.” Chen stretched, arching his back. “Sometimes, I fear I am too old for a life at sea. But how could I give it up?”
Kieran knew Chen’s history—their years of serving together had led to more than one lengthy chat. Originally from China, Chen had left Shanghai aboard an English merchant ship nearly thirty years before.
“I prefer to look outward toward the world,” he said.“Not inward like many of my countrymen,”referring to China’s preference to avoid entangling themselves with other nations.
For his part, Kieran appreciated Chen’s skill as a carpenter. He brought innovation and a different way of viewing problems.
“When she’s not trying to kill us, the sea can be a charming mistress,” Kieran chuckled. “I love nothing more than an expanse of ocean before me.”
