Free The Bastard by Brenda Novak Page A

another dog might be nice. Rusty died last spring.” The bosun scratched his hairless head. “But the wife ’ere looks a mite stronger’n yon lad.”
    Jeannette nearly burst into laughter. Mrs. Hawker stood behind her husband, a great hulk of a woman with shoulders almost as broad as Treynor’s.
    A kindred thought must have occurred to the lieutenant because he cleared his throat as if to conceal a chuckle. “He is young yet. He will grow.”
    Mrs. Hawker moved forward and poked Jeannette in the ribs as though looking for a good piece of meat. “Skin an’ bones,” she concurred.
    Jeannette stuck her chin out, trying to look belligerent. “I am strong enough, monsieur, madame .”
    “Ye’ll do,” the bosun replied with a shrug.
    “We thank ye kindly, Lieutenant.” Turning to the chest behind her, Mrs. Hawker withdrew two wrinkle-free shirts. “I finished yer laundry. They’re clean an’ pressed to perfection, that they are.”
    “Thank you.” As Treynor reached into the pocket of his knee breeches to hand the older woman a few coins, Jeannette couldn’t help admiring the long lines of his legs.
    “When do we sail?” Mr. Hawker asked.
    “I can’t say for sure. The captain was just telling Lieutenant Cunnington and me that he’s received orders to wait until tomorrow. There may be a change of plans.”
    A change of plans? Jeannette’s breath caught. Certainly that did not bode well.
    “We will see London a day later, then,” Hawker said.
    “Evidently.” Treynor turned to Jeannette. “You will be all right here, Frenchie.” He flashed her a ready smile. “If you need anything, I am not hard to find.”
    “Merci beaucoup, m’sieu,” she murmured. “You have been most kind.”
    Jeannette quelled the urge to beg him not to leave her as he strode through the door and closed it behind him. As Jean Vicard, she’d experienced a very likeable side to the lieutenant. Gone was the cool, unyielding man she had seen in the tavern with the serving wenches, the one she’d met before passion had transformed his reserve into something else entirely. Now that he thought her a boy, he treated her with nothing but frank kindness.
    She hoped the Hawkers would do the same.

*

    “Are you listening to me, lad?”
    Jeannette looked into Mrs. Hawker’s narrowed eyes and swallowed. For more than an hour, the woman had been drilling her with information and instructions, most of which Jeannette had been unable to absorb. Her breasts ached in their bindings to the point of distraction; she longed to tear the strips of cloth from her chest. How would she survive another two days of such misery? She must have been mad to think she could play the part of a boy for so long. But, of course, she hadn’t known their trip would be postponed.
    “Where will I sleep?” she asked and received a scowl for the interruption.
    “Mr. ’Awker will sling yer ’ammock over there.” She pointed to a corner of the small room.
    “You mean I will stay in here with the two of you?” Jeannette sputtered. For three days?
    Mrs. Hawker shook her head and chuckled, revealing a scant allotment of teeth. “Aye. Did ye think the captain might give ye ’is cabin?”
    Jeannette’s gaze circled the room, noting the small, confined space that contained the Hawkers’ hammocks, a shabby wardrobe, a cumbersome sea trunk, and the small desk where the bosun sat, absorbed in a ledger. A chamberpot sat at the base of a washstand, further proof of the complete lack of privacy in the cabin.
    Panic plucked at Jeannette’s nerves. She’d never be able to remove her bindings. She’d be under the Hawkers’ watchful gaze every minute until they reached London.
    Mrs. Hawker cleared her throat, her voice growing sharper. “Are ye listening, lad? I said yer not exactly a servant. Yer more like an apprentice, of sorts.”
    “Oui.” Jeannette nodded to placate the woman. Somehow she’d assumed she’d have her own small quarters in a dark nook or