Forsaken Dreams (38 page)

A woman’s moan made him charge around the capstan. “Who’s there?”

A bulky shadow spun around. Lantern light reflected off the blade of a knife. “None of yer business, Colonel.” Max spit to the side.

“Blake.” The voice emerged as a pleading squeak, barely audible above the rush of the sea, but it grabbed his heart and wouldn’t let go.

The brig shifted and moonlight shimmered over maple-colored hair.
Eliza
.

Fury tightened every nerve, every muscle within Blake. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Run along, now, Colonel.” Max pointed the knife at Blake. “The Yankee strumpet’s gettin’ what’s comin’ to her, that’s all.”

Blake studied the lecherous fool, weighing his choices. He could reason with the man, threaten to tell the captain, and have him locked below. Or …

With lightning speed, he clutched Max’s wrist and tightened his grip like a vise. Surprise turned to anger and then fear and finally pain in the sailor’s eyes. Blake squeezed harder, feeling the crack of bone.

Max released the knife. It clanked to the deck by Blake’s bare feet. Before Max could react, Blake slammed a fist across his jaw then slugged him in the gut. The sailor bent over with a groan. One final pounding of Blake’s fists on Max’s back sent him toppling to the deck.

Eliza stepped into the light. A cascade of hair tumbled around a pale face and trembling lips. Her gaze took in Max lying on the deck then shifted to Blake as if she didn’t believe he was real.

“Are you all right, Eliza? Did he hurt you?” Blake reached for her. She hesitated. Not waiting for her to respond, Blake gathered her in his arms.

Eliza sat on the cot in the sick bay, already missing the feel of Blake’s arms around her. Like steel bands of armor, they did much to assuage her trembling. A trembling that still racked her body.

Sitting on a chair beside her, he handed her a glass of stale water. The mug quivered in her hand, spilling water over the side. He cupped his hands around hers and helped her take a sip. That was when Eliza knew she must be dreaming. The tender way he held her hands, the lines of concern furrowing his brow, the look of adoration in his eyes. Yes, she was surely dreaming. No man who had ignored her for nearly two weeks would be looking at her like that. “Thank you.”

Setting down the cup, he eased strands of hair from her face. His eyes widened, and horror claimed his expression. “You’re cut.”

“I am?” Eliza pressed fingers over her neck. She touched something warm and wet. And painful.

Blake headed for the side table, returning in a moment with a damp cloth.

“Here, let me.” He tugged her hand away and dabbed the wound, his warm breath filling the air between them.

“I didn’t feel the knife.”

“You were in shock.”

In truth, she felt like she still was.

She reached up to stop him. “No need to do that.”

“Let me care for you. Lord knows you’ve tended to me enough times.” His commanding tone stopped her from further complaints. It had been a long time since someone had cared for her.

After he cleaned and bandaged her wound, he retrieved a blanket from a drawer and flung it over her shoulders. Her breath heightened as memories of the attack assailed her. “Thank God you came when you did.”

Blake’s jaw knotted. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and gave her a look of reprimand. “What were you doing on deck alone at night?”

She lowered her gaze. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t sl—” He stood and took up a pace. “There are still those on board who wish you harm.”

Eliza kept silent—both elated and confused at his display of emotion on her behalf. “Why should you care?”

He halted and studied her. “I do not wish you harm, Mrs. Watts.”

“Then stop calling me that. It hurts me every time you do.”

He huffed. “Would you prefer, Mrs.
Crawford
?”

Ah, there was the bitterness she’d come to expect. Eliza drew a shuddering breath.

He knelt beside her. “Forgive me, Eliza. You’re trembling.” Thick, rough fingers swallowed her hands. His eyes never left hers, searching, caressing her with his gaze. “You’ve been so kind to everyone on board, even those who have been cruel to you. Why?”

“God commands us to love our enemies.” At least that was one thing in which she’d been obedient. “Besides, I truly do care for them.”

“I’ve never met anyone with such a kind heart.”

“Have a care, Colonel.” She gave him a coy smile. “You speak blasphemy of a Yankee.”

His eyes twinkled in amusement.

An uncontrollable shudder waved through her. No doubt mistaking it for fear, he drew her close, encasing her in the shield of his arms. “You’re safe now.”

The words dissolved in her heart like honey in tea, erasing all the pain, the rejection of the past months. She began to sob.

Nudging her back, he wiped tears from her cheeks with his thumbs—hard and calloused but they felt so wonderful against her skin. His gray eyes swirled like gentle storm clouds, not churning in their usual tempest. He cupped her face in his hands, his gaze shifting between hers. His chest rose and fell. His masculine scent filled her lungs. He brushed his thumb over her lips and licked his own. Eliza’s breath caught in her throat. He was going to kiss her.

C
HAPTER
29

B
lake’s lips met hers.

Eliza’s heart sputtered like the flame of a candle, flooding her belly with heat. He caressed her cheeks with his fingers. His lips brushed over hers as if afraid to land.

“Eliza, sweet Eliza.”

His mouth melded with hers. He tasted of salt and man. Meaty arms swaddled her with protection and strength.

Eliza submitted, allowing him to kiss her fully, all caution, all sense, tossed overboard. How could she do anything else? She’d never been kissed with such need, such urgency, such tender yearning. Such love. She never wanted this moment to end.

The kiss was like none Blake had ever experienced. His body reacted. His mind spun with delight. He felt Eliza’s hunger, her affection in every touch of her lips across his. Pressing her close, he relished the way her curves molded against him.

But no. He withdrew. Passion glazed her eyes. She moved to kiss him again. Grabbing her arms, he pushed her back.

“Blake.” His name emerged breathless on her lips. “If that is the kiss of an enemy, then I fear I am captured.”

He chuckled. The woman never ceased to amaze him. Pulling her close, he pressed her head against his shoulder and ran his fingers through her hair. “It is I who am defeated.” Something he should have accepted a month ago.

She peered up at him with a trust he did not deserve. “I do not wish to defeat you, not ever.”

“Shhh now, get some rest. We’ll discuss terms of surrender in the morning.”

She released a heavy sigh and snuggled against him. It took every ounce of his remaining strength to resist the soft morsel in his arms, but thankfully, she fell asleep within minutes. Easing her down onto the cot, he covered her with a blanket and slipped from the room before he tarnished her reputation forever.

Four hours later, as dawn broke in an array of glorious color, Blake stood at the bow of the brig, watching a school of dolphins play tag with the
New Hope. New Hope
, indeed. For the first time in weeks, he felt new hope springing within him. Not only because they were to arrive in Rio within a few days, but because he’d made up his mind about Mrs. Watts—Eliza.

Shame pinched him. He shouldn’t have kissed her without an understanding between them. He shouldn’t have kissed her at all! But she had been so sweet, so frightened, so trusting, he’d been unable to resist. He’d gotten caught up in the moment, severing the string between his heart and mind. Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair. Now that he
had
kissed her, what was he to do? Could he truly consider a courtship with a woman whose husband had killed his countrymen?

Moving to the starboard railing, he crossed his arms over his chest and gazed at the Brazilian landscape as the sun lured sand and trees out from hiding. Coconut groves and plantains popped into existence, shading lazy fishing villages—all set against a background of ominous blue mountains.

“Have you ever seen a more beautiful morning?” James appeared beside him, faced the opposite direction, and lifted a hand toward the rising sun. “With water as smooth as glass, the sun rises upon its glorious throne, trailing robes of crimson and gold.” He smiled.

“Doctor, preacher, and now poet as well. Is there no end to your talents?” Blake said.

Splashes drew their gazes to dolphins and bonitos playing in the foam coming off the bow.

“Aha, a good sign! Dolphins leading us straight to Rio’s harbor.” James rubbed the back of his neck. “Though, I must say, if it’s already this warm, I fear we are in for a searing afternoon.”

“Get used to it, my friend. I hear it’s even more scorching on land.”

“You’ll get no complaints from me. Reminds me of Tennessee summers.”

Blake had heard that Brazil mimicked their familiar Southern climate, minus the cold winters, of course. He hoped that would aid the colonists in acclimating to the new land, for they would have problems enough just surviving. But he wouldn’t think of that now. For now he would enjoy the panorama of green lowlands passing by the brig as hundreds of small gulls whirled above a forest of palm trees. If all of Brazil was this beautiful and lush, their new home would be a paradise, indeed.

James’s yawn reminded Blake of his nightmare. “Sorry to wake you last night. And all the other nights.” He gave a sheepish grin.

“Don’t trouble yourself over it.” James spun around and gripped the railing. The lines at the corners of his eyes grew taut as he gazed at the sea. “It was another dream about your brother? Jeremy, was it?”

Blake nodded. “Killed at Antietam.”

“I was at that battle.”

Blake snapped his gaze to James as agony weighed down his heart. Surely the doctor wouldn’t have crossed paths with Jeremy. And yet hope surged within him, hope for any tiny morsel about his last moments on this earth. “Private Jeremy Wallace of the 7th Georgia Infantry. He died on the battlefield.” The brig pitched over a wave, shifting his brother’s ever-present belt plate in Blake’s pocket. Pulling it out, he ran fingers over the initials,
JSW
, picturing his brother standing in the parlor of their Atlanta home, dressed in his fresh uniform, excitement bursting from his brown eyes. He’d looked far too young to be dressed like a soldier. Far too young to be heading into rising hostilities that would become war. Hadn’t it just been a year earlier that he’d roamed the city streets playing pranks on the neighbors and flirting with pretty girls? Blake’s mother had cried. His father had embraced the young lad with pride. And Blake had felt sick to his stomach. None of them ever saw him again.

“I’m sorry,” James said. “Is that his?”

“All I have left of him.” Blake slipped it back into his pocket as shame burned a hole in his heart. How could he have tossed his brother’s memory aside so flippantly, defiled it so vehemently, by kissing Eliza? Or had he? Perhaps her brief marriage to Stanton did not make her a traitor at all. Ugh, the confusion was driving him mad! But he did know one thing. He would not kiss her again until he was sure they had a future. Until he was sure a relationship with her would not betray everything he held dear.

“I tended some of the wounded after the battle. Perhaps I came across him.” James loosened his necktie, as if the memory of that day stole his breath.

“I doubt it. He was sliced through by a Union officer on the field after the battle was done, or so I was told.” Blake clenched his fists until they ached. “For a pocket watch.”

James froze. His mouth hung open.

“What is it?” Blake asked.

“Nothing.”

“You remember something.”

James snapped his gaze toward the mainland as pain tightened the corners of his mouth. His long silence threatened to unravel Blake’s carefully wound control.

“It was a horrible battle,” the doctor finally said, rubbing his eyes. “We lost thousands that day. I don’t remember specific soldiers. Though I do recall that many of our wounded were finished off by Union troops scouring for treasure.”