Seasons of War 2-Book Bundle. Cheryl Cooper

      As Emily had already developed a distaste for the man, she replied, “How wonderful for you, Mr. Lindsay.”

      Octavius raised his black eyebrows in surprise, then looked askance at Captain Moreland. With a nonchalance that irritated the younger man, James held up the decanter Biscuit had brought in for their interview.

      “Would you care for some wine, Emily?”

      “No, thank you, sir.”

      Fly Austen addressed her amiably. “Have Dr. Braden and Mr. Brockley taken good care of you in the hospital?”

      “They have both been very kind. You have all been kind to me.” Emily excluded Octavius in her glance.

      “And your injuries?” asked James. “You are on the mend?”

      “I am much improved these past seven days.”

      “Good, good. It is our hope that you are comfortable while you are here on the Isabelle; however, Emily, your safety too is important, and you have given us some anxiety of late. As a result, we have felt it necessary to lay out certain restrictions for the duration of your stay.” James leaned back in his chair, resting his thick, intertwined fingers on the belly of his buttoned-up coat, trying to harden his facial features and inject a note of harshness into his voice. “Henceforth, you will be forbidden to set foot above deck during the day. Should you require exercise, you may take it, but only after the evening eight bells, and only with an escort of my choosing. Secondly, there will be no more mixing with the sailors. The areas on the gun decks where the men take their meals and where they hang their hammocks at night will be off limits to you.” Seeing Emily’s face fall, James felt a twinge of frustration. “You have proven yourself to be an affable young woman, but the men on my ship …” he stopped to choose his words. “I fear they will misinterpret your gregariousness.”

      While James poured more wine for himself, and Mr. Harding and Fly gazed at the view beyond the cabin’s mullioned windows, Mr. Lindsay fixed a hostile stare upon Emily.

      “But, sir, it was not my intention to end up in the mess yesterday,” she said. “I’m afraid I was hopelessly lost.”

      “Ah, but while there,” said James, “you were imprudent enough to sit among Biscuit’s messmates and accept their offerings of beer.”

      “It did not happen that way, sir.”

      “Are you telling me you were forced then?”

      “I was not, sir.”

      James threw up his hands. “Then I’m afraid I am quite confused.”

      “I understood you to be a woman of impeccable breeding,” Octavius eagerly interjected. “Obviously I was mistaken.”

      Emily lifted her chin to him. “You know nothing of me.”

      “Nonetheless, my good opinion of you has dropped a notch.”

      “I do not care – or need – to be held in your high esteem, Mr. Lindsay.”

      Octavius’s face flushed a deep red. “My father could ruin your family.”

      Emily threw him a direct look. “Are you quite certain of that?”

      James slammed his hand down on the table. “Enough! Mr. Lindsay, you forget yourself. You are not exempted from civility on my ship.”

      With a dramatic flourish of his shoulders, Octavius jerked his face away and fumed like a schoolboy. James set his weary gaze upon Emily. “And you, young lady … unless King George himself sits on a branch of your family tree, I suggest you hold that arrogant tongue of yours.”

      Emily tightened her grip on her walking cane.

      Mr. Harding pursed his lips, his eyes shifting expectantly between Emily and James. Fly fingered the crystal stem of his wine goblet and gave her a small smile which she did not dare return.

      “Do we understand one another, Emily?” asked James.

      She was slow to respond. “Yes, sir.”

      He pressed his fingertips to his temples and rubbed in circles. “The men involved yesterday,” he continued, “including young Magpie, have all heard their punishment for failing to return you safely to the hospital. They will lose their grog ration for three days, and it will be their sole responsibility to holystone the upper decks for the next four. Furthermore, unless under extenuating circumstances, they are not to keep company with you again.”

      Emily’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “But that is unjust! The men did nothing wrong. They … they thought I was a man.”

      “Ho, ho, ho,” said Mr. Harding, peeking up at her. “Did they now?”

      Octavius threw back his dark head to laugh. “They knew exactly with whom they were toying, you foolish child.”

      Emily’s eyes flashed as they fell on Mr. Lindsay. “You call me a child, yet I am astounded that someone such as yourself – with so obvious a belligerent and puerile disposition – is an officer of the Royal Navy.”

      Shocked by Emily’s insult, Mr. Harding choked and dribbled his mouthful of wine down the front of his dark-blue uniform. James looked annoyed, but made no comment; instead, he simply handed the sailing master a handkerchief. Not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner – especially by a woman – Octavius shot forward in his chair and grasped the edge of the oak table, an expression of contempt on his homely face.

      But Emily did not care. She gave Captain Moreland a beseeching look. “Sir, please, I am not a leper. And Magpie, of all people, I should like to see and speak with again.”

      “Magpie must learn to stay and sew his sails in his dark hole on the orlop,” said Octavius, in a low, threatening voice.

      Emily stood up quickly, swaying in pain as her injured foot hit the floor. “Perhaps we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all, Mr. Lindsay, if you had minded your own business in the first place, and kept your eyes and thoughts on your sea watches and not on me.”

      “Sit down, Emily,” ordered James. He turned on Octavius. “And you, Mr. Lindsay, not another word.”

      “I will not, sir,” cried Emily. “Do you not see? You will have every man on this ship despise me for this … this madness. Why, you might as well just string them all up on the Isabelle’s yardarms until their necks have broken.”

      The weary lines on James’s face dissolved in red anger. A deathly silence descended as if an unseen force had dropped a suffocating shroud upon the oak table. When James next opened his mouth his voice was frighteningly chilly. “We are currently fighting a war, and I have spent more of my time on your damned affairs than I have on fulfilling my orders from the Admiralty. Mr. Austen, summon Mr. Walby and have her taken back to her hospital cot. Madam – you are dismissed.”

      The moment James finished speaking, the Isabelle resounded with raised voices.

      “Sail ho!”

      “Four points off the larboard.”

      “What does she look like?”

      “A large vessel, standing towards us!”

      “Clear the ship for action.”

      The drums sounded to beat to quarters. Emily’s head hurt so much it seemed to her that every drumbeat was a blow to her skull. Almost instantaneously, there came a knock at the door. Fly moved swiftly to answer it.

      “There’s been a sighting, sir.”

      “British or Yankee?” asked Fly.

      “Too soon to say, sir.”

      “Thank you, Mr. McGilp. Have the men lower the boats. If lead is about to fly, we don’t need their scattering splinters killing us.”

      “Gentlemen,” said James, trying to regain his composure. “To your