On the twelfth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

When another hour passed and he still had not seen her, Jayce started walking in the direction she had gone, wondering if he should be concerned for her well-being. He only walked five minutes before he saw her standing at the crest of a hill, her back to him, her skirts and tartan shawl blowing in the breeze. Even from the distance his heart quickened at the sight of her. She was so beautiful!
He made no effort to be quiet as he approached her, but she jumped at the sound of his voice. “Do you still want me to leave you alone?”
“No,” she said and actually looked glad to see him. “Forgive me . . . for walking away like that. I don’t know whether I was embarrassed, or . . . shocked; or both. But I just . . . needed some time.”
“I understand,” he said. “I really do. But I do wish you would talk to me, because . . . quite frankly I feel like I’ve thrown my heart at your feet and if you don’t want it there, I need to know. And there are some points that have come up between us that have left me . . . shall I say, confused?”

On the eleventh day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

“Tim,” Jayce said, going to his knees beside him. He carefully rolled him over just as Garret squatted down, holding the lamp nearby and Timothy’s face came into view. “Good heavens,” Jayce murmured. It was readily evident he’d been struck in the face only once, but it must have been good and hard, judging by the dark bruising around his eye and a deep cut that was bleeding profusely.
“Jayce,” Tim muttered, “what are you doing here?”
“I don’t know; call it destiny. Your father is here, too.”
Tim chuckled then groaned. “It must be destiny.”
“Where are you hurt?” Jayce asked gently.
“Everywhere,” Tim muttered, “but I don’t think . . . anything is . . . broken.”
“Do you think you can get onto a horse if we help you?” Garret asked.
“Yes,” Timothy said. Garret set the lamp on the ground, then Garret and Jayce helped him to his feet. Tim couldn’t stand up straight, but with support he did manage to mount Jayce’s horse. Jayce mounted behind him and put one arm around him to keep him in the saddle, then he rode at a smooth gait toward the house.

On the tenth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

“One question at a time, cousin. First of all, convincing her should not be a problem when your sincerity is evident. I think she’s intelligent enough to know sincerity when she sees it. And secondly, I shouldn’t be concerned about her affection for you; that is at least as evident as yours for her. If you can’t see that, you are blind. And if you don’t declare your feelings for this woman and do something about it, you are also a fool.” Timothy’s voice deepened, “Take some advice from a man who has loved and lost one of this world’s finest women. If you love her, take hold of her and never let go. Do whatever you have to. Deciding which country to make your home in is trite and irrelevant, in my opinion. As long as the two of you are together and committed to each other, your happiness will make home wherever you may be.”
While Jayce was attempting to let that sink in, Timothy added earnestly, “Declare yourself to her, man. Then take her to Cornwall to meet your parents.”
“Now, that’s a pleasant thought.”
“It is indeed,” Timothy said. He sighed and added gravely, “I have a feeling we should be returning to Cornwall.”
Jayce felt a bit startled. “I’ve had the same feeling,” he had to admit. “Perhaps we’ve both just been . . . gone too long and we need to set our feet on Cornish soil.”
“Perhaps,” Timothy said. “Whatever the reason, I think we should sail with the Phoenix when she comes back into port.”

On the ninth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .


Once the outside door had closed, Jayce stepped quietly into the kitchen to see Kate sitting at the table, her head pressed into her hands.
“Are you all right?” he asked, and she shot her head up.
“I’m fine,” she said, looking the other way. “Were you eavesdropping, then?”
“I confess that I was. Which makes us even on that count.” He pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “I had noticed him watching you, and I . . . didn’t want you to come to any harm.”
“Ah, he’d never harm me; he’s a good man, in truth. A man of significant wealth, but like his father before him, he seems to prefer the company of the common people.”
“A man I should like to know better, then,” he said, and Kate looked hard into his eyes. He could almost hear her giving the same definition to him, and he couldn’t deny that it was true.
She glanced away and laughed. “I suppose I should be flattered by his affection for me, but . . .”
“But you don’t love him,” Jayce said when her words trailed off.
“No,” she said, seeming mildly embarrassed, “I don’t love him. But perhaps he’s right.”
“About what?”
“Perhaps at my age I should consider marrying for money a fair offer. I believe he’d treat me well.”
“But is that enough?”

On the eighth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

It took Jayce a moment to accept how completely straightforward she was, as opposed to her sister who had seemed to take pleasure in keeping her thoughts from him. When her words finally sunk in, he took a step toward her and lifted a finger. “Let me make one point perfectly clear, Miss O’Shaugnessy. I take no accountability for anything my cousin might have said or implied in his drunken state, but I was perfectly sober when I belted him in the mouth for his unfavorable comments about you, and I deeply meant it when I said that you are a lady in the truest sense, and I would gladly contend with any man who said otherwise.”
Kate looked into his eyes, seeing clearly the genuine anger there—not against her, but on her behalf. It was the same anger that had initially provoked him to strike his cousin in her defense. She found herself briefly lost in his eyes as she recalled Timothy’s next words. You see, you do love her.

On the seventh day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

Later that afternoon Jayce returned to his cabin, feeling his lack of sleep overtake him. He quickly drifted off and woke to the subdued light of evening shining through the porthole. He was barely awake when he felt a harsh jolt that nearly heaved him out of his bed, and before he could grab his boots, distant sounds of commotion filled his ears.
“Heaven help us,” he muttered, not finding it difficult to assess what might be happening. He had one boot on when Timothy threw open the cabin door.
“What’s going on?” Jayce demanded, pulling on his second boot.
“We’ve been boarded. Get your weapons. It’s not looking good.”
“Are we at war with somebody and no one told us about it?”
“Apparently. We just don’t know who the somebody is.”
Jayce followed his cousin up the stairwell to see the deck a mass of confusion. The clashing of swords and the firing of weapons was intermingled with the cries of anguish as the wounded fell. In a split second he surmised where he was most needed and moved toward the ongoing skirmish.

On the sixth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

It all seemed a logical solution, and the only feasible one, but Jayce wasn’t surprised by the tears that leaked from the corners of his eyes into his hair as he stared at the ceiling above him. For a moment he desperately wanted a drink, but he reminded himself of the drawbacks and forced the temptation away.
Later in the day, Jayce felt better just being with Meg and Elizabeth. She had suggested a picnic on deck, and most of the crew joined them. Observing her with her bonnet blowing in the wind, her little daughter at her side, laughing at the tasteless jokes of the crew members, he wanted to absorb the picture into his mind like a painting, a memory to hold and keep forever of the joy she had brought into his life. If only it could last forever, he thought, then forced his mind elsewhere.

On the fifth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

“Well, thank you very much,” Jayce said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I had to get past the fact that she saw me here yesterday when I was quite drunk, and then you have to traipse in here and declare that I’m a no-good cad.”
“Forgive me, cousin, but I had every reason to believe that you are a no-good cad.” He chuckled, hoping Jayce would find the humor in his words. “If something has changed, you’ll need to let me know.”
Jayce looked at his plate and stirred his food with his fork, admitting quietly, “Something has changed.”
“And that change would be . . .”
Jayce glanced over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her wiping off tables on the other side of the room. He glanced back to his cousin, who was openly taking notice of her, as if he was trying to look past his impressions of just another tavern maid.
“She’s very beautiful,” Jayce said and proceeded to eat.
“Yes, she is.”
“She’s Irish.”
“How observant of you, cousin. And . . . she’s not skinny.” Timothy took on a sing-song lilt.
“No,” Jayce chuckled, “she’s not skinny.”
“She reminds me a bit of your mother,” Timothy said, and Jayce glanced up from his meal. “Is that what you like about her? She reminds you of your mother?”

On the fourth day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

“To serve my country,” Jayce answered in a firm voice. “And before you give me one of your speeches on why you ended up defending the cause you’d once fought against, let me remind you that in spite of your pride in being a traitor, we are British. This is our homeland.”
Jayce was surprised to see more sorrow than anger in Ritcherd’s eyes. His voice was softer as he said, “Yes, Jayce, we are British. I love my homeland, and I am grateful for the life we live here. But I cannot and will not endorse this ongoing colonization of the world. How can I sacrifice my son for a cause I cannot even believe in?” While Jayce was attempting to find a retort, Ritcherd went on to say, “Are you prepared to set your feet upon foreign soil for the purpose of forcing the natives of that land to submit to British rule, knowing nothing of their customs, their lives? Are you prepared to defend tyranny and oppression and ridiculous taxation?” Ritcherd shook his head and sighed loudly. “That’s what I did. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that’s what I did. I led troops through cities and villages where the people lined the streets to spit at us and profane our presence there. I woke up one day and understood that their hatred was valid.”
Through a long minute of silence while Jayce realized his mother was still crying, he honestly couldn’t think of anything to say. Ritcherd filled the silence by asking, “Are you prepared to die for your country, Jayce? You have to accept that it might come to that.”
“Truthfully, I really don’t care,” Jayce said.
Kyrah made a noise of astonishment and turned her back as if to hide her increasing emotion. Ritcherd sighed more loudly and said, “Well, I care. Your mother cares. So you tell us how we’re supposed to sleep at night while you’re engaged in this ridiculous crusade. Especially when you can’t even give us a reason.”

On the third day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

Jayce heard himself groan before he realized he was awake. The sun streaming through the cabin porthole hurt his eyes, even though they were closed. He pressed a hand over them and rolled over only to fall face down on the floor with a thud that reverberated through his aching head. He groaned again and pressed the side of his face to the cool wood slats, keenly aware of the movements of the ship that made it evident they were at sea.
“One of these days,” Timothy said in a jovial tone that didn’t sit well with Jayce’s mood, “you’re going to realize that getting drunk is not worth the hangover.”
“Stop preaching to me and help me up,” Jayce insisted, attempting to open his eyes.
Timothy stood, then stepped over Jayce, declaring, “Nah, I think I’ll leave you there for a while. I suspect it will be at least an hour before you are tolerable company.” He opened the door and added, “I’ll bring you some coffee.” He then chuckled and slammed the door purposefully loud, provoking another groan from Jayce.

On the second day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

While Timothy suspected that Jayce’s love affair with liquor was little more than a childish attempt to hide from painful affections long past, he feared that his cousin’s drunkenness would eventually land him into trouble that could not be sweet-talked away. Therefore, Timothy had charged himself with the sole occupation of being Jayce Buchanan’s shadow. But then, they had been practically inseparable from the nursery. His mother had once commented that they were like David and Jonathon in the Bible, and she had often rehearsed a particular passage of scripture that she was fond of for that very reason. The soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David, and Jonathan loved him as his own soul . . . Then Jonathan and David made a covenant, because he loved him as his own soul. And Timothy couldn’t deny his own sentiment on the matter. He truly did feel as if he and Jayce were of one soul—if he could only get his cousin to stop drinking!

On the first day of Christmas Anita gave to me . . .

A sweet tidbit from the Captain’s Rose . . .

Kate looked toward where she knew the sea existed somewhere beyond the horizon. She had never set eyes on the sea, and could only imagine what it might look like, given descriptions she’d heard from those who had seen it and sailed upon its waters. She willed her heart toward it, knowing it had taken her darling Meg from her, and her deepest wish was that the sea might bring her sister home again. Meg, with her willful determination and cunning ways would figure out a way to save the inn.