Free Heart's Safe Passage by Laurie Alice Eakes Page B

you, madam?”
    “I—well—” Her pale cheeks grew rosy in the morning sunshine. “You can’t be old enough to be Mel’s father,” she blurted out.
    “I’m two and thirty. She turned twelve years last month.” An ache punched through his chest for the mere lad he’d been at her birth, so joyful, so proud, so certain his life held everything he wanted and more, despite not expecting to be a father that young. “I married her mither at nineteen, so you ken there’s naught improper about her birth.”
    “I never—” Her cheeks turned from rose to cherry, and her hands flew to her face.
    The brig slid into the trough of a wave. Without support, without the strength of leg muscles that seasoned sailors possessed, she lost her balance.
    Rafe caught her beneath her elbows and held her until she steadied and the deck grew reasonably level again. She stood too close to him, close enough for him to smell the lavender soap, close enough that strands of her disheveled hair blew into his face like silk threads, close enough that a scar as fine as her golden locks glinted silver in the sunlight from her right temple to her ear. He raised one hand, tempted to trace the path.
    He reached out and grasped the quarter rail. “You’d best hold on to something when you’re standing. A midwife with a broken arm would be of no use.”
    “No, no use.” She sounded breathless and kept her hands on her cheeks. “I’m so careful not to hurt my hands most of the time.”
    “Then stay careful with these.” He drew one of her hands away from her face and curled her fingers around the rail. Slowly he pulled his hand away and shoved it into the pocket of his boat cloak. “You’ll need to keep them safe, though we should not need your services on this voyage, no?”
    “Yes, we may.” She huffed out a breath, and her color returned to normal. “Belinda is only two months from her time, she tells me.”
    “Tells you? You cannot tell? I do not mean to be indelicate, but you are her midwife, are you not?”
    “Not. I mean—” She compressed her lips. “I haven’t yet had the opportunity to examine her.”
    “I see.”
    He saw too much. His gut twisted with the notion of Belinda Chapman going into labor at the moment he needed her, or worse, while they were still at sea.
    “Which is another reason why I was so desperate to get you turned back to Virginia,” Mrs. Lee added.
    “Aye, so this is why you wished to speak to me? If so, the answer is no. We are nearly sixty miles from the coast, and I am not turning back, especially not in broad daylight. So if that is all you are needing, I have my work to do.” He gestured to the men aloft, setting the studding and royals to gain every advantage of wind they could. At the last drop of the log line, they’d been making ten knots. He wanted eleven or even twelve while the wind lay in their favor. Too many of the men stood around in groups of three and four, heads close, faces intent. They needed more direction than they were getting with Jordy entertaining Mrs. Chapman.
    And, Rafe hoped, questioning her over her loyalty to the mission.
    He started past Phoebe Lee, intending to pick up the speaking trumpet and call orders.
    She caught hold of his arm. “No, please, it’s not.” She gazed up at him with eyes so green he longed for land, for the sight and texture of moss that rich hue.
    His mouth went dry, making his voice harsh. “What is it then?”
    “I want to apologize.” Her own words rasped as though she too spoke from a parched throat. “No, I wish to ask your forgiveness for—for last night. I was desperate. We’re traitors now, or could be seen as such, and I lost my head a bit. But it doesn’t make an excuse for what I did. So please forgive me.”
    He stared at her this time, but with narrowed eyes, scanning her face for signs she played some game with him. Her gaze remained open and clear, meeting and holding his eyes without blinking.
    And something peculiar