Liam eased fingers through his light hair, greased back with pomade, then adjusted the green sash around his waist.“Mere entanglements that steal a man’s freedom.”
“Or perhaps you’re afraid to settle down, have a real relationship with a lady,” Caleb offered.
“Afraid of women?”His green eyes snapped to the companionway where Miss Starr appeared and moved toward them.“Except perhaps that one.I say she’s bad luck, Cap’n.A witch or spy.Why not leave the lass here at port?”
“Aye.”Brandt leaned against his cane.“You said you’d turn her over to the authorities.”
“British, not French.”Caleb frowned, staring at her.“Leave her to me.”
Ayida popped up from below and approached the woman, smiling and taking her hand in hers.When had they become friends?
“I’ll stay aboard.”Brandt scanned the town with suspicious eyes.“There’s a few men whose rat bites aren’t healing well, and Edrick’s rash still bothers him.”
“Saints preserve us, Brandt,” Liam said with conviction.“Is there no jollity in yer veins at all?All toil an’ no tavern makes a man fit for naught but worms.”
Brandt growled, eyes narrowing.“Better to wear out my bones in penance than let them rot in idleness.Some of us carry sins that beg redress.”
“Ha!Then ye’ve a heavier conscience than most.”Liam snorted.
“At least I have one.Can you say the same, O’Neill?”
“Enough.”Caleb all but shouted, tired of the constant battle between those two.However, Liam did have a point.The doctor worked too hard, despite Caleb’s constant urges to rest.
He faced Alden, hating to ask him, but… he glanced at the woman still conversing with Ayida.“I need to settle Miss Starr somewhere safe.She can’t stay aboard with the deck tilting for repairs.”
“Not to worry.I’ll take charge tonight,” Alden said.
Caleb smiled.He could always count on his friend.“Depending on the safety of her quarters, I may return tonight.If not, I’ll see you first thing in the morning.”
Ayida’s laughter brought his gaze back to the cook, who left Miss Starr’s side and made her way to the railing.“A good evening t’ you all,” she said before hoisting her skirts and clambering down the ship’s ladder to the dock below.
Odd that the woman didn’t tell him where she was going.Not that he owned her, and there would be no need for a cook while they made repairs.But unless she had an acquaintance here, there was nothing for her in a tiny port town.
♥
The moment her shoes touched the warped planks of the dock, the air thickened, heavy with woodsmoke, brine, and something musky Desi couldn’t name.Beyond the line of ships at anchor, the town climbed a slope in uneven tiers—a jumble of stucco and timber buildings huddled beneath steep, red-tiled roofs.Shouts in French rolled over her like waves, mingled with the clatter of hooves on cobblestones.Somewhere nearby, a hammer struck metal, ringing in the salty air.
They proceeded down the docks, ignoring the strange glances of sailors and dockworkers, not the looks of curiosity, but guarded looks behind whispers of “troublemakers”, “cursed”, and “ghost ships”.
Caleb kept a steady pace at her side, his presence both a shield and a magnet for every inquisitive eye.“Keep close.”His tone harbored a seriousness that made her want to obey.
The main street stretched ahead, bright with awnings and stalls.Barefoot children chased chickens as they darted between the legs of merchants carrying crates of citrus and barrels stenciled with strange symbols.The smell of fresh bread and roasting meat mingled with the sharp tang of tar and fish.French sailors lounged in doorways, their brazen eyes following her with frank interest.Snippets of other languages—Dutch, English, even the deep lilting patois of the Caribbean—peppered the air.
Dark-skinned women in brightly wrapped headscarves balanced baskets of plantains and fish on their heads as they wove through the crowd.Two armed guards drove a group of bare-chested men toward the quay, their ankles shackled.Each metallic clink of their chains sent a cringe down Desi.She knew slavery existed in this time, but it was another thing to witness it.
They passed all types of shops, announced by pictures rather than words on signs hanging out front—candles, coopers, butchers, fishmongers, blacksmiths, stables and more.Desi must look like a kid at Disneyland, glancing wide-eyed at each new sight.
At the mouth of a narrow alley, a tall figure watched from the shadows, skin weathered, hair in tight coils—a Maroon, she thought, the defiance in his gaze as palpable as the humidity pressing against her skin.
Everywhere, colors and textures fought for her attention.Bolts of indigo cloth fluttering in the breeze, a cart piled with sugarcane, the flash of a scarlet feather in a hat.She could almost forget her fear in the sheer vividness of it—almost.
Even in the afternoon shadows, the town was alive—louder, grittier, more colorful than anything she’d seen outside of a movie.And every step deeper onto the street felt like walking into a history book from which there was no escape.
She could feel the stares following her, weighing, measuring, condemning.
Especially as they passed what was a bar of some sort.Or saloon?What did they call them in this time?Regardless, the distinct sting of alcohol bit her nose as the clanging of some type of piano made her cringe.Drunken men draped over the front steps and posts, big-busted women in their arms, yet still, they gaped at Desi.
She snapped her gaze away.“This is…” She trailed off, unable to put it into words.
