ship slipping into Nassau harbor to take our runner
Montmarte
the minute she loads on her supplies. We’ve no choice but to sail straight there, dock by morning, reach the captain of the
Montmarte
, and make plans.”
“Ah, well. You’re the only one out of your cabin,” David said lightly.
“There’s nothing else I can do.”
“You could leave the lady in Nassau,” David suggested.
Jerome paused, hands on his hips, looking at David. David was right. He could leave Risa Magee in Nassau. Wash his hands of her. No, he couldn’t. He had taken her aboard his ship, and it was his responsibility to see her back to safety—at the right time, of course. She was a sharp thorn in his side, and yet he was loath now to let her out of his sight. She was a general’s daughter. She’d managed to make her way south in pursuit of Alaina, and it was quite probable she could get other—damning—information to other parties. He had to keep her, for the time being at least.
David suddenly sighed softly. “It seems we’ve been at war a long time, eh, Captain? I know that I, for one, shall be dreaming of the lady asleep in your bunk. What eyes, eh, Captain? Not just blue, but crystal. And the length of her hair is sun-touched sable. She is perfection—”
“No one is pure perfection, David,” Jerome said irritably.
David shrugged. “Well, as I said, it’s been a long war! Perhaps I’ve been aboard ship too long. She appears damned perfect to me. Aye, indeed, I could easily lust over the lass. She has such pride and passion. And determination. Not to mention curves. Taper thin waist, beautiful breasts, and the curve of her hips. And her translucent flesh—”
“With any luck you’ll be free to roam the whorehouses of Nassau tomorrow night,” Jerome interrupted.“And if you’ll excuse me for the moment, I think I’d prefer my own company.”
He brushed past David, heading toward the aft. He called out an order to keep the course steady through the night, and found himself a seat on the decking. The sea wind was cold against his wet flesh. He was glad that it was so. There were fires within him that needed cooling.
He’d always considered himself a reasonable man. Fate had made him so. His father was only half Seminole; his mother had been born pure white aristocracy. They had chosen their home in the wilds of the southern peninsula because they had realized they loved one another in a world where James McKenzie, Jerome’s father, would always be torn by the injustices done his Seminole mother’s people. Jerome knew that to many whites, an ounce of Indian blood made a man a savage, just as an ounce of African blood made a man black. There was reverse prejudice, as James had realized when he had first fallen in love with Jerome’s mother, Teela—he had discounted her ability to see through eyes that never judged a man for his birth, but rather how he chose to live his life. Jerome was well aware himself that good people came in all colors and creeds, and that malice, jealousy, and cruelty were not traits particular to one people in themselves. He was a confident man, at peace with his existence within his own heart. He could even be arrogant at times regarding his own innate abilities. But he was able to maintain his equilibrium by expecting very little from the outside world. He fought mostly for medicine, because two of his closest kin were doctors, and through them he saw the tremendous suffering of individuals, flesh and blood men who were caught in the conflict of warring giants. The agonized screams of the wounded under a surgeon’s knife when no anesthesia could be had were enough reason to risk the blockade.
He was also good at it, he thought dryly. And though he abhorred the death and injury brought on by battle, he knew that he enjoyed the strategy of besting enemy ships. Nor was he opposed to the parties and dinners thrown in his honor when he broke through the Unionline and came into ports such
Montmarte
the minute she loads on her supplies. We’ve no choice but to sail straight there, dock by morning, reach the captain of the
Montmarte
, and make plans.”
“Ah, well. You’re the only one out of your cabin,” David said lightly.
“There’s nothing else I can do.”
“You could leave the lady in Nassau,” David suggested.
Jerome paused, hands on his hips, looking at David. David was right. He could leave Risa Magee in Nassau. Wash his hands of her. No, he couldn’t. He had taken her aboard his ship, and it was his responsibility to see her back to safety—at the right time, of course. She was a sharp thorn in his side, and yet he was loath now to let her out of his sight. She was a general’s daughter. She’d managed to make her way south in pursuit of Alaina, and it was quite probable she could get other—damning—information to other parties. He had to keep her, for the time being at least.
David suddenly sighed softly. “It seems we’ve been at war a long time, eh, Captain? I know that I, for one, shall be dreaming of the lady asleep in your bunk. What eyes, eh, Captain? Not just blue, but crystal. And the length of her hair is sun-touched sable. She is perfection—”
“No one is pure perfection, David,” Jerome said irritably.
David shrugged. “Well, as I said, it’s been a long war! Perhaps I’ve been aboard ship too long. She appears damned perfect to me. Aye, indeed, I could easily lust over the lass. She has such pride and passion. And determination. Not to mention curves. Taper thin waist, beautiful breasts, and the curve of her hips. And her translucent flesh—”
“With any luck you’ll be free to roam the whorehouses of Nassau tomorrow night,” Jerome interrupted.“And if you’ll excuse me for the moment, I think I’d prefer my own company.”
He brushed past David, heading toward the aft. He called out an order to keep the course steady through the night, and found himself a seat on the decking. The sea wind was cold against his wet flesh. He was glad that it was so. There were fires within him that needed cooling.
He’d always considered himself a reasonable man. Fate had made him so. His father was only half Seminole; his mother had been born pure white aristocracy. They had chosen their home in the wilds of the southern peninsula because they had realized they loved one another in a world where James McKenzie, Jerome’s father, would always be torn by the injustices done his Seminole mother’s people. Jerome knew that to many whites, an ounce of Indian blood made a man a savage, just as an ounce of African blood made a man black. There was reverse prejudice, as James had realized when he had first fallen in love with Jerome’s mother, Teela—he had discounted her ability to see through eyes that never judged a man for his birth, but rather how he chose to live his life. Jerome was well aware himself that good people came in all colors and creeds, and that malice, jealousy, and cruelty were not traits particular to one people in themselves. He was a confident man, at peace with his existence within his own heart. He could even be arrogant at times regarding his own innate abilities. But he was able to maintain his equilibrium by expecting very little from the outside world. He fought mostly for medicine, because two of his closest kin were doctors, and through them he saw the tremendous suffering of individuals, flesh and blood men who were caught in the conflict of warring giants. The agonized screams of the wounded under a surgeon’s knife when no anesthesia could be had were enough reason to risk the blockade.
He was also good at it, he thought dryly. And though he abhorred the death and injury brought on by battle, he knew that he enjoyed the strategy of besting enemy ships. Nor was he opposed to the parties and dinners thrown in his honor when he broke through the Unionline and came into ports such
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