Regency Vows. Kasey Michaels
had followed them in. Mr. Barclay ran the linen over his face, neck, shoulders. Muscles rippled beneath his skin with every movement.
“He’s better now that the big waves have stopped,” Anne told him.
“I’d say that describes every one of us.”
Anne gaped. “You don’t like the big waves, either?”
“Nobody does.” He reached for a shirt—one of William’s tunics, dark blue with long sleeves—and pulled it on as he came toward them, a head taller than Katherine and fully lucid.
Katherine silently exhaled. “You seem much improved,” she observed.
“A short-lived burst, I fear.”
Anne tugged impatiently on Katherine’s hand. “Mama, may we tell him now? Please?”
Mr. Barclay glanced down, raising a brow.
“Yes,” Katherine said. “Go ahead.” The sooner she swallowed these bitters, the better.
Anne let go of her hand and reached for Mr. Barclay, patting his leg as she held out the scroll. “This is for you.”
Comprehension dawned in those damnable eyes as he took the scroll, and amusement tugged at the corner of that hard mouth. “Thank you.”
Devil take Millicent and her restorative broth.
“Now, Mama,” Anne said.
At least he could be in no doubt as to whose idea this had been. “Thomas Barclay,” Katherine began solemnly. “As captain of the ship Possession I hereby commend you for your actions of bravery and sacrifice—” she absolutely refused to look at him “—on behalf of a most valued member of our crew, being that you did, during high seas, risk your life to save one Mr. Bogles, in service to Anne and everyone aboard this ship. For this, you have earned the highest level of respect and appreciation aboard this vessel.”
Anne could no longer contain her excitement. “It’s a commendation!” she cried.
“You do me too much honor,” Mr. Barclay said. It was an understatement of epic proportions.
“Did you look at the scroll?” Anne asked, with an achingly huge smile.
He untied the ribbon and glanced over the words Anne had insisted Katherine pen last night. “I will treasure it always,” he said, touching Anne’s cheek. “Thank you for recommending me for what I am convinced is a very coveted award.”
The temptation to soften her opinion of him wormed its way into Katherine’s mind, but she stopped it quickly. After all, two things remained unchanged: he was lying to her about his rank, so he’d served—no doubt very closely—under Captain Warre; and he remained every bit as virile as Phil had first claimed. The first she could simply force him to disclose. The second could not be remedied.
“Come now, dearest.” Katherine steered Anne toward the door. “Back to the great cabin while I speak with Mr. Barclay.”
“You mustn’t commend him any more without me, Mama. I want to hear.”
“There will be no further commendation. I promise.”
Moments later Anne was settled at the captain’s table with her box of beads, and Katherine returned to Mr. Barclay’s cabin. “Now,” she said, shutting the door. “You will tell me your actual rank aboard the Henry’s Cross, and this time you will tell the truth.”
He opened his mouth to speak but faltered, turning pale. “Do you mind if I sit? I’m feeling a bit—” He reached for the bed and sat down without waiting for her answer. He leaned forward and braced his head in his hands. “Told you it would be short-lived.”
She much preferred him weak and seated. “Should I send for Millicent?”
“God, no. She’ll only force me to take more broth.”
Katherine almost smiled. “Your true rank, then, Mr. Barclay.”
“What makes you so certain I’m not a midshipman?” he said to the floor. Solid forearms supported large hands with strong fingers that disappeared into damp, dark waves lightly salted with silver. Whatever his true rank, he clearly had the strength to do any job a ship required.
“Answer the question. I’ve had enough nonsense for one day.”
“Nonsense?” He looked up. “Please, Captain—I’ve only just received my first commendation aboard this vessel, and already you’re making me doubt its sincerity.”
“You need not doubt my sincerity when I tell you that you will regret withholding the truth.”
“I don’t doubt that in the least. And if I refuse, what will it be? The lash? The dreaded cat? Perhaps there’s a medieval rack hidden away in some lower hold.”
“You are not lying about having been under Captain Warre’s command,” she replied. “That much is evident. To date I have never found a need to resort to physical punishment aboard this ship—although there could always be a first time, I suppose.” She propped one knee on the bedside chair, where his borrowed waistcoat hung neatly across the back. “My crew and I enjoyed the most delicious pie at yesterday’s dinner,” she said conversationally. “Succulent gravy, tender beef and vegetables, topped by the lightest, flakiest crust. You know the kind, I’m sure? Melts on the tongue? Such a wonder what can be done with dried beef.” His eyes narrowed, and she knew she’d hit her mark. “What a shame that Millicent says you’re to have broth for at least another week—no, I take that back. She did say you could have a few bits of meat in it, I think, so under the strictest definition I suppose that isn’t broth. And of course, I faithfully defer to Millicent in all things medical.” She smiled. “Except when I don’t.”
“The depth of your ruthlessness, Captain Kinloch, has been wildly understated.”
“I’ll not deny it.” She held his gaze while he weighed his options. His penetrating stare teased a nerve in her belly.
“Very well,” he finally said. “I was a lieutenant. The captain’s third in command.”
A flutter of something—foreboding, probably—ran across her skin. A lieutenant. Of course. No wonder he hadn’t wanted to reveal his identity. “That carries a good deal of responsibility,” she observed. To Captain Warre especially.
“It does.”
“Tell me about your relationship with Captain Warre.”
He considered that. “I’m not sure we had a ‘relationship,’ per se.”
“Don’t be obtuse,” she said irritably. “You must have worked very closely with him.”
“I suppose you could say that.”
“Did you consider him a friend?”
“I wouldn’t use that word exactly, no.”
“You disliked him, then.”
“At times.”
“Disobeyed him?”
“Never.”
“You agreed with his decisions?”
“I’ll admit to having reservations about a great many of them, but generally, yes.”
Of course he had. “You are as ruthless as he was, then.” Lieutenant Barclay looked ruthless. And hard, and uncompromising, and shrewd. The half-delirious unfortunate they had pulled from the water was gone.
“I suppose we shared certain traits, but I’m not sure ruthlessness is one of them. Resolute, perhaps.”
She made a noise. “If you call Captain Warre’s tactics ‘resolute’ then you most certainly do share his penchant for ruthlessness. The captain’s reputation for being unmerciful at the helm is well-known.”
“I