It was the evening of the third Sunday out, after a fine sunny day. The brig heeled slightly alee, a steady breeze filling her sails, and showed a fine beam to the windward. Shanna was light of heart as she made her way to the captain’s cabin for the customary evening dinner. With the little vessel pressing ever closer to her home, she tasted a growing anticipation. The sun was gone but had been replaced by a bright new moon as December was well upon them. The night air was balmy and warm, for they were near the southern climes.
From somewhere below deck a voice could be heard singing in a rich baritone. The tune was timed to mark the slow, gentle roll of the Marguerite as she skimmed along, treading the miles beneath her keel. The breezes would have snatched the words away, scattering them to the sea, but the haunting strains eluded the airy rushes of wind and drifted stirringly across the deck to Shanna. Wistfully she gazed toward the starlit sky as the melody invaded her mood, and she could almost imagine her own heart’s love, faceless and nameless, calling to her as he came over the waters. Some strange quality in the voice held her enthralled with its magic, and she was bound in its spell as the words were crooned:
“Vair me o’ rovan o
Vair me o’ rovan ee
Vair me a-ruo-ho
Sad am I without thee.
“When I’m lonely, dear white heart
Black the night or wild the sea
By love’s light my foot finds
The old pathway to thee.”
Warm phantom arms crept about her, and Shanna closed her eyes with the ecstasy of it. A hoarse whisper flitted through her mind, “Yield to me. Yield to me,” and her senses reeled in giddy delight. The vision stirred and broadened and became piercing amber eyes and a snarling sneer upon a handsome face. “Damn you deceiving little bitch!”
The illusion scattered, and Shanna’s eyes flew open. With a gritted oath, she whirled and entered the passageway to the captain’s cabin. At her sharp rap on the door, it was quickly opened, and the swarthy man bowed a flamboyant greeting.
“Ahhh, Madame Beauchamp! You are too radiant for mere words,” Captain Duprey exclaimed. “I am your humble servant, madame, now and evermore. Come in. Come in.”
Forcing a smile, Shanna swept in. She paused in sharp surprise as she realized they were alone in the cabin but for the young boy who waited patiently to serve them.
“Is there no one else this evening?” she questioned in dismay.
Jean Duprey’s eyes gleamed warmly as he fingered his dark mustache. “My officers have found duties to take zem elsewhere, Madame Beauchamp.”
“And Mister Ralston?” Shanna raised a quizzical brow in annoyance, wondering what errand the captain could send him on.
“Ah—he—” Jean Duprey chuckled and shrugged. “He found ze crew was taking salt beef and beans and convinced ze cook to have a plate of it sent to him. Thus it is, madame—ah—” He seemed to stumble over her name then continued cajolingly as he tried to take her hand. “May I address you by your given name—Shanna?”
With something of a pained smile, Shanna firmly withdrew from him. She was somewhat curious as to what Madame Duprey thought of her husband’s amorous bent and his apparent impartial fondness for women. Inclined to leave the harsh discipline at that woman’s door instead of causing an embarrassing scene, Shanna was lenient with the man and spoke with quiet grace.
“Captain Duprey, I knew my husband for only a short time, and he was taken from me not a month ago. I find the use of that familiarity too painful. Pray forgive me. I came here to seek the companionship of many and thus mask my sorrow. I beg you indulge my mourning. His was a stirring manner, and you have awakened memories of fond moments we shared, brief though they were. If you’ll excuse me this evening, sir, I must seek solace somewhere else.”
Jean made as if to follow, but Shanna put up a soft, white hand to halt him.
“Nay, captain. There is a time even for loneliness.” Her voice quivered sadly while the aroma in the room reminded her of her hunger. “But there is one thing—”
Captain Duprey nodded eagerly, anxious to please her.
“Could you send a small plate of whatever fare there is to my cabin later? I will no doubt be able to endure the sight of food by then.”
She swept into a delightful curtsy, and when she straightened, the comers of her lovely lips smiled upward mischievously.
“Remember me to your wife when we reach Los Camellos, captain.”
Before he could gather his wits, Shanna fled and slammed the door behind her. The sound of her hurrying footsteps echoed in the stillness of the passageway, but she breathed a sigh of relief only when she was again on deck and could see Pitney. He was partaking of a goodly portion of salt beef, sea biscuits, and beans. As she came from the companionway, he glanced up from his plate, studied her for a moment, then nodded, needing no explanation to realize her reason for fleeing the captain’s cabin. Jean Duprey’s infatuation with women was hardly a secret among the men on Los Camellos.
Thoughtfully Shanna strolled across the deck to the leeward side of the vessel. The white clouds took on dark shadows with silver edges as they passed between the high moon and the gently rolling sea. The light breezes touched Shanna. The night was still but for the gurgle of water passing beneath the hull and the creak of rigging and masts. The ship seemed to play a song of its own, a rhythmic whisper of sound that matched the gentle rise and fall of the hull as it took the sea beneath its heels.
Venting a long sigh, Shanna turned away from the rail. For all of her earlier jubilance, she felt pensive and lonely now, as if the night had lost its savor. The voice, wandering up from below decks, had snatched her happiness, and she could only wonder what it would have been like to share a marriage bed for a full, long night.
Chapter 5
IT WAS AS IF a tall, billowing cloud had given birth to a spot of emerald green. Several low hills crowded close upon a buff strand of beach which separated the living green from the tumbling surf that licked the naked shore with white-crested tongues of foam. The deep blue of the open sea gave way in the shallows near the island to a brilliant iridescent green that matched the shade of Shanna’s eyes.
The Marguerite came from beneath her own cloud, and her sun-bleached sails gleamed white in the brightness of the day. A puff of smoke drifted from the peak of the tallest hill on Los Camellos, and some moments later the dull boom of the signal gun reached them. The brig moved closer to her goal. Long verdant arms could be seen encircling a spacious cove, in the nape of which lay the sparkling whitewashed buildings of the village, Georgiana. A darker hue in the waters marked the open channel of approach straight between those arms to the harbor the hamlet served.
There were few on the island who did not drop whatever they were doing at the sound of the cannon and rush to the dock to greet the new arrival. There would be trinkets to exchange, special favors long awaited and, more importantly, the latest news and gossip from the world at large. Orlan Trahern himself was still much the merchant rather than planter, and it was a dire chore indeed that could stay the squire from mounting to his carriage and coming down to see how fortune favored him. If it was a strange vessel, there would be dickering and bargaining which he welcomed for the challenge and played as if it were a game.