Free Bound by the Heart by Marsha Canham Page A

set you slaving belowdecks
like a Moorish half-caste."
    Michael frowned at Summer. "Oh, no. They're being
ever so nice, actually. Thorny . . . er, Mr. Thorntree has taught me how to
stitch canvas and tomorrow he says I may even be allowed to work on the sails
with him."
    Wade crooked an eyebrow at Summer. "Satisfied?"
    A voice bellowed, "W'hup ho!" and Thorny
pushed his way into the cabin burdened by the heavy tray again.
    "I 'ope ye're 'ungry, lad."
    "Famished," Michael nodded eagerly.
    "Good. We'll fix up some lard on them bones o'
yourn afore too long. Sea air, good victuals an' a clean constitution, lad.
It'll 'eal up what ever ails ye."
    Summer had not realized how hungry she was until the
aroma from the two covered crocks launched an assault on her senses. Her mouth
flooded and her hands trembled and she found the wait interminable while Wade
finished his drink and beckoned them to the dining table.
    Michael held her chair and took his own place, then
he, too, looked expectantly at Captain Wade, who only waved a hand
distractedly.
    "Go ahead, Governess, portion it out."
    Summer moistened her lips. "Plates, Michael,
please."
    Biscuits, soft and fluffy, were in the first crock
when she lifted the lid. She removed the second lid and felt a wave of
dizziness sweep through her as she saw and smelled the rich mutton stew. She
ladled a heaping scoopful on the first plate Michael handed her, added two of
the biscuits and placed it in front of Morgan Wade. He had not taken his eyes
off Summer's face during the serving, but as she leaned forward, they sought
the gap in the front of her shirt and settled on the visible white flesh.
    He took a deep breath and snuffed out the stub of his
cigar, then refilled his glass before reaching for his fork.
    Summer tasted a spoonful of the gravy and found it
worthy of the aroma. It was thick and heavily spiced; the mutton was tender and
the vegetables succulent. She ate every last morsel on her plate and broke a
biscuit into the gravy so as not to waste a drop of the juice.   Michael's plate was so clean she doubted if anyone
would bother to wash it. Neither of them had had food this good since leaving
New Providence. The cook on board the Sea Vixen had believed firmly in salt beef and potatoes.
    Coffee, hot and strong, followed a desert of fresh
fruit. Although she suspected the coffee was liberally doctored with spirits,
Summer found it so soothing after the strenuous day that she drained two
mugfuls and nursed a third. Her mood mellowed considerably, lulled by the
gentle motion of the ship and by the sound of friendly conversation.
    Michael had broken down early in the meal and between
mouthfuls plied the privateer with questions about his ship. How many cannon
did it carry? (Thirty-eight.) Were they all the same? (Long guns and
carronades, he explained. Different weights, different ranges.) Were they all
functional? (Naturally.) Had he used them against any British ships?
    This earned a shocked gasp from Summer and a laugh
from Wade.
    "But what would you do if a British warship
chased you?" Michael persisted.
    "Now why would any British warship want to chase
me?" Wade asked wryly. "Are you suggesting I have something to
hide?"
    "Oh, no, sir, I just meant. . . well. . ."
    Wade leaned back and lit another cigar. "Well,
what?"
    "One does hear rumors, sir," Michael
stammered.
    "Rumors, eh? And what do these rumors tell
you?"
    "That you're not much better than a pirate. That
you hide behind your country's flag. That you're responsible for a great many
of the ships that are waylaid and have their cargoes stolen."
    "All that?" Wade mused.
    "Oh, yes. And a great deal more. Father says you
cannot get away with it much longer. He says you Yankees will have to choose
one way or another and then it will be belly up for the lot of you."
    "Michael!" Summer exclaimed, forgetting her
weariness.
    "Well, that's what he says."
    Wade grinned and waved Summer's protest into silence.
"And which side does he