Brogan paced his quarterdeck and stood facing the sea. His throat constricted, strangled by the emotion rising inside him. Emotion Brogan did not comprehend. He’d succeeded in his mission. Lorena was safely aboard the Yankee Heart. He’d been wrong to believe she’d ever willingly flee with Louder. There’d been no love for the shipwright in her eyes, nor even sympathy. Brogan never believed Louder’s lie about having Lorena, not unless the weasel had forced himself on her, and Lorena’s spirits were too high for a woman who had undergone such an ordeal.
No, what bothered Brogan was that within a short period of being reunited with her, Lorena had managed to touch something inside him he’d thought long dead. A frozen place in his heart was melting, leaving him vulnerable in a way he strove never to be again.
It frightened him in a respect, thinking from force of habit that he might be punished for allowing such tenderness to affect him, and yet Brogan had no idea exactly what he was feeling that made him afraid.
13
Behind the drawn draperies, lantern light cast quivering shadows throughout the great cabin.
“Who would care to give the blessing?” Lorena asked. She glanced expectantly around the supper table.
Brogan nodded to Jabez. It was the mate’s habit to give thanks, because if left up to Brogan there’d be no prayer. Yet before Jabez could begin, Drew announced, “I should like to say it.”
Brogan made quick note of Lorena’s proud smile. No mother had looked more adoringly upon her son and certainly not Drew’s natural birth mother.
“By all means,” he said, experiencing a tightening in his chest as he clasped his hands with those of Lorena on his right and Drew on his left.
“Almighty Father,” the lad called in his clear, sweet voice. “We come before you with grateful hearts for bringing Lorena back. I especially give my thanks. Please let her not be taken from me again. And everyone else here does feel the same. Show your favor to Captain Talvis and Mr. Smith and the ship and the crew and may they always remain under your care. Amen.”
Jabez cleared his throat and Drew opened his eyes. The mate smiled approvingly, then nodded to the repast set before them.
“Oh! And thank you for this food,” Drew added.
Here sat the folk who mattered most to him, Brogan reflected. The closest he’d known to a family meal, including any he’d shared with Abigail during their married life. He gripped the hands he held that much tighter before releasing them. “Amen,” he said.
“That was wonderful, sweetheart,” praised Lorena.
Brogan gave the lad a wink before contemplating his bowl of creamy chowder. He dipped in his spoon and brought a sample to his lips, first inhaling the scent of bacon before actually tasting the corn chowder. He let the flavor settle on his tongue before swallowing. Made from a lobster base, the corn was sweet and the potatoes hardy. It was delicious, and yet . . .
“Warrick,” he called to his young steward now setting before him a serving platter of golden-brown fish cakes. Brogan gave them a queer eye. “I’m curious as to our cook’s choice of dishes. I specifically told Mr. Mott to prepare a meal with the best of our provisions. We are celebrating Miss Huntley’s safe return, and he sees fit to serve us the fare of a public supper?”
“I see exactly what the dear fellow has done.” Lorena beheld the platter of fried fish cakes with an expression of shining delight. “As wholesome a meal as this likely appears, these dishes are among my favorites. Fred Mott has obviously prepared them in my honor.”
“And there is bread pudding for dessert, miss,” Warrick added.
“Bread pudding? I do love bread pudding. Did you hear that, Drew?”
The boy nodded excitedly as his mouth was full, and while he chewed, a bit of mushy potato escaped the corner of his mouth.
“I see I’m not the only one who enjoys a public supper. And what have you to say, Mr. Smith?” she asked. “You seem to be enjoying the chowder and cakes.”
“Aye, miss. You’ll hear no complaint from me.”
Brogan’s attention was drawn to her long, slender hands as Lorena lifted the teapot and began to pour Jabez’s tea and then a cup for herself.
She had changed into a pretty pink calico frock with large puffed sleeves that tapered in from elbow to wrist. A wide, ruffle-edged satin ribbon cinched her high at the waist. The modest, straight neckline covered her collarbone yet disclosed the lovely curve of her long white throat as it met her shoulders. It was there that the lanterns’ quivering light played on the paleness of her skin.
“And you, Brogan, as a man who admittedly prefers the simplicity of gingerbread, you can’t deny Fred Mott’s Yankee fare makes for a satisfying meal. And yet you scowl. Are you displeased?” She offered him a cup of tea.