Sailor's Freedom Read online

  Vivienne Cox

  Sailor’s Freedom

  A M/M historical romance

  Copyright © 2020 by Vivienne Cox

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  First edition

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  Contents

  Preface

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Also by Vivienne Cox

  Preface

  This is the eleventh instalment in the Pirates and Play series. It’s strongly advised that you read the first novel to become familiar with the characters and their relationships.

  Chapter 1

  Thomas tore his eyes away from the enticing view out his office window and sighed. His desk was awash in paper: reports, correspondence, lists. It was a continual amazement, the quantity of such things required to administer fort and fleet during this endless war with Spain. He sighed again. He was a sailor, not a clerk. He longed for the deck of a living ship beneath his heels and the open sea ahead. But part of what made him so successful a commander was his rigorous sense of duty; his was the responsibility, and shirking it was unthinkable. He turned once more to the quartermaster’s report and tried to concentrate on the quantities of rum, hardtack, flour, sugar, lamp oil, pipeclay, crossbelts, (another sigh) shot, powder, muskets, boots, varnish, cordage, sailcloth, oakum, tar, bootblack resting in the fort’s store rooms. He yawned, and his eyes strayed again to the window.

  The lookout’s cry of “Sail Ho!” provided a welcome distraction, and he stood to watch the arrival. Using his glass, he determined that it was the Antelope, 6 weeks overdue from England. Fresh news would be pleasant, he thought, and returned to his desk and the work already there.

  It was barely an hour later when his clerk entered, laden with the dispatch pouch from the Admiralty and a large stack of welcome, if somewhat out-of-date, publications and letters. He had just begun sorting through the official communications when a messenger from Government House brought him an invitation. Mrs. Thompson, in her capacity as her father’s hostess, requested the pleasure of his company this afternoon for tea. So sure was she of his acquiescence that the messenger had been told not to wait for a reply. Thomas’s mouth thinned and his brows drew together. By all accounts the Thompson marriage was a happy one, but Elizabeth, as doyenne of their small circle of society, seemed to feel it her due to command the attendance of her lonely cousin whenever it suited her. That he might be unwilling to visit her and her new husband, or that such visits might be painful to him, seemed never to enter her head.

  He hesitated on the verge of declining the invitation. The press of new business from London would serve as an ideal excuse. Just then, his eye lit on the topmost of the newspapers awaiting his attention The headline, “Being an Account of the Latelye Concluded Truce with The Kingdom of Spain”, drove Elizabeth Thompson and her unconventionality right out of his head. Hastily, he unfolded the broadsheet and read with eager attention. It seemed that Spain had sued for a truce to allow time for negotiations, and the King and his Ministers had graciously granted one of six months’ duration. He looked at the date of the paper – three months old. That meant the truce had yet another three months to run. He rose and crossed again to the window to stand, hands folded behind his back, gazing thoughtfully down at the harbour. As if by chance, in all the welter of a busy civil and military port, his eye lit on the Gull, a small sloop he had purchased some time ago for his personal use, but never had the time to take out. “That’s it,” he breathed, and smiled.

  Shuffling quickly through the still unopened official dispatches, he located what he sought and pocketed it. He shrugged into his coat, snatched up his hat, and strode out of the office, calling for his horse. He had urgent business at Government House.

  * * *

  “So, you see, Governor Mullen,” Thomas concluded, “this truce comes at a very opportune moment. I have been meaning for some time to familiarize myself with the coastline west of this place. It does not do to rely on charts drawn by others. Now I shall be able to take leave and do so, secure in the knowledge that an attack by the Spaniards is unlikely.”

  “Hmmm,” the Governor considered the beribboned document in his hand and turned twinkling eyes on the Admiral, feeling as ever a stab of regret that his daughter had seen fit to reject so fine a man. “Well, I see that the Admiralty is certainly very confident that this truce will hold. And I don’t doubt you are eager to escape the, shall we say, somewhat confining life we live here for a time.”

  The younger man stammered and disclaimed, until stopped by Mullen’s hand laid on his arm.

  “Calm yourself, James, my boy,” the Governor said, in a fatherly tone, “we have all gone stale during this war. No shame in admitting you wish for a change of scenery. This exploration sounds the very thing to refresh you. But, if you will take an old man’s advice, do not spend all your time on charts and maps. I hope you will do some hunting, or fishing, or something equally enjoyable.”

  “Sir, I hardly feel it is proper…”

  “Tush, man! You are mortal, just like the rest of us. Living always at full stretch is to lose all the pleasure in life. Carpe diem, eh? Seize the day.”

  Thomas was obliged to admit that the prospect of a holiday was tempting.

  “Good, then we will consider it settled. You are not to come back for a fortnight – and that is an order!” Governor Mullen linked his arm with Thomas’s. “Now come along and pay your devoirs in the drawing room. Elizabeth would be so disappointed to have missed you.” He noticed, but did not comment on, the slight hesitation he felt in the younger man; continuing blandly, “You needn’t stay long; I am sure there is much you wish to do before you leave.”

  Chapter 2

  Next morning, despite having worked half the night on the London mail, Thomas was up and about betimes, brisk and efficient. He sent his manservant down to the harbour to see to the provisioning of the Gull, giving instructions that supplies sufficient for three weeks should be stowed in her lockers, along with two dozen bottles of wine and some fine brandy from his cellar.

  Turning to the next order of business, he sent for Captain Leeds.

  “Ah, Leeds,” the Admiral greeted him, “you will have heard, no doubt, of the truce with Spain?”

  “Yes, Sir. The crew of the Antelope has been ashore for the best part of a day. I doubt there is a soul in Port Merrian who has not heard by now.”

  “Indeed. Admiralty confirms what the newspapers report, without adding much detail. But they are secure in their belief that the truce will last the time specified. It is for this reason that I have decided to take a fortnight’s leave, beginning tomorrow. I shall be leaving you in command, Captain, in my absence.”

  “Thank you, Admiral, it will be an honour. May one inquire as to your plans?”

  Thomas smiled. “I am taking the Gull and heading west. I don’t know the coast as well as I should like, and shall use the voyage to better my knowledge. I hope to get as far as the Black River before turning back.”

  “Beautiful sailing weather this time of year,” Leeds said, returning his commander’s smile. “The Gull is a sloop, is she not? You should make good time in her; it is the perfect rig for these waters.”

  “Yes, I anticipate a very pleasant sail.” He smiled again. “Now to business; I have gone over th
e London dispatches and replied as required. The clerks are making fair copies now, which you may use to familiarize yourself with the latest intelligence. Admiralty’s information squares with ours – the Dons are in disarray and it is doubtful, even leaving aside the truce, that they will regroup sufficiently to be a threat in the near future. I think we may safely careen the Forrester for repair as planned without rendering ourselves unduly vulnerable.”

  And so it went. The remainder of the morning was spent meticulously briefing Captain Leeds, providing him with a thorough knowledge of the status of their forces. Thomas was confident he would discharge his duties ably.

  After a light nuncheon with Leeds, Thomas left him reading intelligence reports, and betook himself to the harbour to inspect the preparations aboard the Gull. He spent several agreeable hours going over her stem to stern, stowing his gear, and assuring himself that she was entirely seaworthy. More than once he found himself smiling, and was amused at the contrast between his present mood and that of one day previous. Even his promise to dine at Government House, given with some reluctance the day before, did not dampen his spirits overmuch.

  Later that evening, seated at the Governor’s dinner table, Thomas was conversing with well-bred ease, but little enthusiasm. Listening with the appearance of interest to the prosy matron seated on his right, while at the same time fending off the unpracticed advances of a very young lady with matrimonial aspirations on his left, he found his attention wandering. Even Elizabeth, gracious and graceful, seemed less real than the prospect of freedom ahead of him. He suddenly felt he was in a room full of hollow mannequins, mouthing platitudes and nonsense. He was not in general a fanciful man, and he brushed the thought aside as unworthy, although the impression lingered for some time, distracting him. As early as good manners permitted, he made his farewells and escaped.

  * * *

  In the dark before dawn, clad in stout homespun and serviceable boots, James Thomas left his quarters in the fort and strode down to the harbour. He whistled softly as he went, a most unaccustomed sound that caused the sentry at the gate to shake his head in wonder. The Admiral was on the gad, seemingly.

  The Gull awaited him at the quay, bobbing gently as he stepped aboard, and he smiled. Moving quickly but without haste he made final preparations, stowing the charts and spare linen he had brought with him, and making a last inspection of the water casks and supplies. He planned to catch the morning tide and make use of the land breeze to get well beyond the harbour by sunrise. Satisfied, he cast off and was under way at last.

  Leaving the harbour at Port Merrian behind him, he set a course southwest.

  Chapter 3

  The weather was perfect, as only July in Spain could be. The rising sun shone brightly, and the northeast trades were blowing, mitigating the summer heat. As Port Merrian sank astern, he felt a curious and pleasurable lightening of the heart, for which the joy of being under sail and at the tiller was only partly accountable. To be sure, the Gull was a lovely little boat; sloop rigged, fast for her size and easy to sail, and he had loved his infrequent chances to take her out for a few hours. This would be his first extended trip aboard her, and he found himself eager to get to know her better – her quirks and foibles, the idiosyncrasies that make each ship different. He wondered idly if those little individualities were what made sailors refer to their vessels always as “she”.

  From there, it was but a short step to thoughts of Elizabeth. Not that she was capricious! He understood her much better than that; saw clearly because of, or in despite of, his love. When she gave her promise to him that day aboard the Dauntless, she did so honourably; of that he was certain. She had honestly intended to marry him, although she did not love him. Friendship there was in her for him, and esteem, but not love. He had accepted her hand because he could do naught else; he chose to believe that a love such as his could not but inspire, in time, a return of affection. He still felt a flush of shame that he had been so self-deceived and willing to take her on those terms.

  Hers was a bold move in a desperate game to save her beloved Thompson. She believed herself able to give him up in order to save him. It was a heroic effort, worthy of so passionate and determined a nature as hers. He had watched her grow from an engaging, fanciful child to a lovely and willful woman, impatient at all times of the constraints imposed upon her by sex and class. Nothing she could do, no matter how outrageous or headstrong, would ever truly surprise him. He might be shocked and disapproving, of course, - or heartbroken - but not surprised.

  He was not a man generally to indulge himself with vain repining, to brood on lost causes; but the thought of her – so dearly loved and so nearly won – tormented him. He often wondered if she were as happy with Thompson as she appeared. She had pride enough to sustain her and enable her to hide any disappointment or regret in her choice so, mercifully, he would never know if she found herself dissatisfied in her marriage. To see her unhappy and her cure out of his power would be well nigh unbearable. He fell into a brown study.

  The Gull skimmed along, mimicking the flight of her namesakes as they swooped and glided above and beside, uttering the mewing cries that haunt the heart of every sailor born. Her varnished woodwork glowed warmly, and the polished brass gleamed as the sun rose higher, her sails full-bellied in the morning breeze. Gradually, the brilliance of the day penetrated his abstraction. Port Merrian was behind him, and already was becoming a little unreal; in that moment it was as if he awakened from a dream. He felt more alive, more aware of his surroundings, than he could ever remember – all his senses sharpened. The tiller smooth and moving beneath his palm, the rail at his back were all at once solid and real and ‘present’ to an almost painful degree. He glanced aft at the wisps of foam dancing in his wake, and forward to the misty heights of Portland Point with wide eyes. He was piercingly aware of sounds; the slap of wavelets against the hull, the cries of the gulls and the creak of the rigging, the faint whisper of the wind in the lines. Nature seemed to have been new made in this very moment; glittering fresh and poignant beyond description. Bereft of words, he laughed for pure heart’s ease, joyfully accepting the challenge laid before him by this smiling world. Carpe diem, indeed.

  * * *

  With the wind near astern he made good time. By mid-afternoon he had left Portland Point to starboard and was bearing west and a little north to keep the coast in sight, while staying far enough off shore to catch the trades as they blew across the heights. These were unfamiliar waters to him, and he observed the ever-changing view ashore with interest. The euphoria of the morning had stayed with him throughout the day, making each breath as heady as a draught of wine. He was at one with the sea, the wind, his boat; content for the time being to live without thought, entirely through his senses, a creature of the here-and-now. The past had no longer any hold on him and the future was veiled, and yet he was most uncharacteristically at ease, willing for once to wait for what might come.

  Well before nightfall, he took advantage of the sea breeze newly sprung up to sail in close; seeking a small river that the chart indicated flowed hereabouts down to the sea. He located it quickly, pleased with this indication of the accuracy of his map. Carefully navigating the sand bars set at its mouth, he sailed a short way upstream and tied up to the bank, intending to pass the night in that place.

  After a short walk ashore to stretch his legs, he returned to the Gull and set all to rights for the morning. He thought of fishing for his supper but rejected the idea, preferring first to make use of the perishable foods he had brought with him. He dined simply on bread, cold meat, and fruit washed down with wine, and felt it a most satisfying meal. By then it was full dark, and he sat at ease in the cockpit, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, arms folded behind his head. He leaned back, gazing at the stars and smiling as they twinkled and wheeled above him, and the night sounds from the riverbanks sang to him of sleep. He felt pleasantly tired; a little wind-burned and sun-burned and altogether relaxed. Shortl
y, he went below and fell quickly into a dreamless sleep.

  * * *

  With the instinct of the born sailor he woke at slack water, and came on deck to survey the morning. Another lovely day promised fair in the clear sky above him, and in the feel of wind and water. He stretched and yawned, well-rested as always from a night spent on the water, and grinned to himself. While he waited for the ebb to gain strength, he ate breakfast and made all ship shape for the day’s sail. Then he cast off and rode the tide down over the bar and out to sea, swinging west as the river’s current lost itself in the ocean, and setting the sails to catch the freshening breeze.

  The day was the twin of the one before, for the most part, with one notable exception. Late in the afternoon he was overtaken by a squall. He had seen it coming, and ran forward to drop the jib and had just time to take 2 reefs in the mainsail when it struck. The squall quickly blew itself out, but while it lasted he had ample opportunity to see how the Gull handled in a storm, and he was well pleased, even though he shipped a quantity of water that kept him busy bailing for some time after calm was restored. She was as sweet and willing to his hand as a lover, even with wild wind and water whistling and whipping at them. Truly, he thought with pleasure, she had been a good choice.

  At evening, he was passing a seemingly endless line of bluffs and highlands with no break to mark the location of a convenient river or stream. Consequently, he simply anchored in shallow water and spent the night where he was, quite comfortable and carefree.

  That night, he dreamt of Alexander Cruise. It seemed he lay in darkness, quite awake, and felt another body near his. As he drew a startled breath to speak, a hand, lean and hard, was over his mouth and that unforgettable smoky voice was murmuring in his ear, low and amused. “Ah mate, you can’t run away from me as easily as all that. I’m in your blood now, and you’ll have to square with that someday.” Thomas struggled to turn his head, to see the speaker, but, in the manner of dreams, he was powerless to move a muscle. The voice spoke again, “Not yet, love. Not quite yet.” and the dream presence was gone. Abruptly and fully awake, Thomas stood swaying in the tiny cabin and raised a trembling hand to his mouth. “Alexander?” he whispered. The Gull rocked undisturbed on the swell and the soothing lap of the waves went on unchanging. Slowly, he lay back down and stared, wide eyed, into the dark. Torn, as ever, by the thought of the pirate, into two warring parts – attraction and rejection, and no closer than ever to resolving his predicament. At last, he slept again, and in the morning retained no memory of his dream.