by Merry Farmer
“Steady,” I called. The closer we sailed, the higher my heart climbed into my throat. I had never been seasick a day in my life, but now I felt as though I would cast up my accounts. Hannah started shouting numbers, degrees for Grand-mère to steer the ship to catch the wind in our sails. We cut across the waves in a zigzag pattern in our approach to cut off the Fortune from her pursuers.
The British ships were close. Too close? For one impossible moment as we crested a wave, we hung suspended, looming over the ships below us. One three-decked ship and a pair of two-decked ones closed on the Fortune, a fourth rate. Between the three ships, they must have three hundred guns to the Fortune’s fifty. Tamara didn’t have a prayer of winning a direct confrontation.
But if we distracted them, she might be able to outrun them.
Our ship, the Lady’s Gambit, crested the wave. Our nose dipped and we plummeted down at the ships below, rising up to meet us with the swell of their own wave. Hannah clutched the rail in a white-knuckled grip, muttering numbers under her breath as she watched our approach. Grand-mère pressed her lips together, the only sign of unease she gave in the face of overwhelming odds.
The British ships faced us head on. The first rate, nearest to the Fortune, bore down as if its captain intended to run us down into the seabed. I held my breath, gambling on the fact that the British Navy wouldn’t squander a seventy-four-gun ship by blowing us to high heavens. I grabbed the rail and braced myself for the inevitable plunge to put our ship between the enemy and the Fortune. The Brits broke rank and turned away. My crew shouted their glee, at least until the first cannonball hit the water off our prow.
My breath hissed through my teeth in relief. It was short-lived. We weren’t out of danger yet.
“Ready the warning shots!” Aludra’s voice boomed like cannon fire.
We slid past the Fortune. I didn’t spot Tamara on the deck amid the dark-clad, toy-sized figures. Another shot pierced the water, throwing spray to our starboard side and drawing my attention.
“Eighty degrees to port. Turn, turn, turn!” Hannah shrieked.
The ship lurched. My feet slipped from beneath me for a dizzying moment before I found my footing again, my hands tight on the rail. I counted the sea of heads below me, clustered around the sixteen guns on the quarterdeck and forecastle. Did we have a woman overboard? Seventy-five women. All above-deck crew members accounted for, with double that number in the gun deck. In her fierce, controlled aura, Aludra stormed the deck, shouting orders for the women at the guns. The Brits retreated out of reach.
“To the shoals,” I called.
Hannah and Grand-mère adjusted our course, leading the sea dogs away. For one exhilarating moment, satisfaction crashed over me.
Had the Fortune fled?
I turned, ready to lift the spyglass to my eye. The black shadow of a cresting wave in the inky sky separated us. Spray flung over our deck as the wave rolled to lift us. The Fortune…
Hannah shouted a course correction as the Fortune turned for the shoals at a path that would have intercepted us. “What is she doing?”
“Trim the sails! Grand-mère, hard to port. She’s coming in too fast!” Tamara would crash us both against the cliffs less than a mile distant.
Grand-mère yanked on the wheel. The brewing storm fought her. The Lady’s Fortune slipped between us and the shoals. They matched our slowing speed—slower still as the crew adjusted the sails. We would both be caught, our crews sent to the gallows for piracy. Where were the Brits?
A falling wave revealed them. They’d split, two ahead and one behind to box us in. I cursed the air blue. For once, Hannah didn’t reprimand me. Her wide eyes seemed to reflect the ocean as she stared at the smaller ship pulling alongside us.
“Why isn’t she turning for the shoals?”
Tamara had cut off her escape—and ours.
Startled cries rang from the quarterdeck. I took an involuntary step forward, searching for the threat. Grappling hooks along our starboard side where the Fortune sailed. They were swiftly followed by hands and the blue uniforms of the British navy. Where had they come from?
I hadn’t spotted Tamara on deck among the plain-clothed sailors. I hadn’t recognized anyone in that brief glimpse as we sailed past. If these British dogs had waited on the lower deck…
I recognized the figure in the lead with a sickening lurch.
Milton Sterling, my jilted fiancé.
As he straightened, I was already running. The soles of my boots slapped against the salt-slick deck. Foregoing the tricky stairs, I leaped over the railing onto the quarterdeck. Panic closed my throat as the reckless action seized me in midair. Would I land on deck or would an unforgiving wave send me reeling off the ship?
My boots hit the deck, jarring my ankles. I rolled and regained my feet, mere paces away from the man invading my ship. I drew my sword, standing between him and my crew. He held up his hand, stopping his Navy dogs on the brink of pulling their pistols and swords and cutting us down. Momentarily appeased, I rested the dull edge of the sword across my shoulders, the sharp blade pointed to the sky and caught my breath. If this turned bloody, I could whip it into a guard position in the blink of an eye.
He looked nothing like he had two years ago. Then, he’d been fresh-faced and hopeful, possessed of the swagger of a young man who knew he was destined for greatness. The man in front of me was hard, unforgiving in demeanor and body. His black hair was clipped short, his complexion a testament to days spent at sea. The sun had aged him beyond the thirty or so years he must be. He looked nearer to forty, and the expression in his gray eyes was anything but warm. In fact, it dared me to defy him.
I’d done it once before. I’d do it again.
Thunder growled overhead. I forced my chin up, my shoulders back in false bravado. We were outnumbered, but I would not go down without a fight.
And I would do everything possible to see my crew safe. I brandished my sword, ready despite the fact he had yet to draw his weapons.
He waited for the growl of thunder to subside, cocking one eyebrow in satisfaction as he scanned the deck of my ship. He had nearly had it two years ago, but I’d thwarted him. He would take the Gambit over my dead body.
Which, given how obscenely he outnumbered me and my crew, he could achieve without breaking a sweat.
What had happened to Tamara and her crew?
Focus on this moment, this threat. I couldn’t outwit him if my attention was diverted.
“You have earned yourself quite the reputation, Lady Quickblade.”
Hearing his voice again sent a shiver through my body. Despite the difference of years and location, I still reacted to him the way I had during our walk in the garden. I knew it for what it was now—desire. Attraction. I buried it and faced him with the air of command I wore for my crew. He was the wrong man to acknowledge such temptation.
“Have I, Captain Sterling? Because I’ve heard nothing of you.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched, the only indication he’d heard me at all. His piercing eyes never wavered from me. His empty hands remained loose at his side, despite the weapons within easy reach at his belt. As if, despite my reputation, he didn’t think me a threat.
We’ll see…
“I hear your hand in marriage is available to the man who bests you in a duel.”
I narrowed my eyes. I’d already rejected him once, but I was confident in my abilities. Abilities I had learned after casting him off.
“My hand, yes. My ship, no.”
A smirk flirted with his mouth. His expression was one of arrogance, challenge, confidence. I stepped closer, rising to my full height even though I couldn’t hope to match his. He knew nothing of me—not two years ago and not now.
I matched his supercilious expression. “I’d be wary, were I in your shoes. I only fight if something of equal value is at stake by the challenger. If I win, you’ll forfeit your ship. My hand in marriage is worth a ship, wouldn’t you say, Captain?”
“Milton,” he murmured, his name so integrated with the wind I might have misheard.
“And,” I added, drawing out the word, “in this case, you have nothing with which to bargain.” I gestured with the tip of my sword to The Lady’s Fortune, which still bobbed nearby, though the current had widened the distance between us, driving the Gambit away from the shoals. “That ship belongs to my fleet.”
In a fluid motion, Milton drew his sword. He gripped the hilt loosely, the tip pointed at the ground. “The spoils of war.”
The edges of my vision blurred in a murderous red haze. I shifted the sword from where it rested on my shoulders and mirrored his position. I tightened my grip on the hilt until my knuckles cracked. I didn’t take a life if I could help it, but for him, I might make an exception. “What have you done with the captain and crew?”
Were Tamara and her crew already dead? She had left England with me two years ago, had pledged herself to our cause of independence and fortune. She’d been the first to command another ship, and as sorry as I’d been to see my sister go, I couldn’t begrudge her the choice. Aludra made a worthy second in her place.
Had I lost Tamara? I swallowed back bile. I couldn’t afford to be distracted.
Milton stepped closer until we were toe to toe. His sword was loose at his side, his stance deceptively casual. Every muscle in my body was tensed, ready for his swing. My heart thundered like the intermittent growls in the clouds overhead.
In an intimate a voice as would carry above the wind, he said, “I’ll tell you the fate of the crew if you accept my challenge.”
“You’ll tell me the fate of the crew and return the ship if I win.”
“Very well. You strike a hard bargain.” His eyes glinted. His expressive mouth turned up at the corner. “What do you say, my lady? Shall we duel?”
“If you have your heart set on defeat, I am more than happy to oblige.”
They didn’t call me Lady Quickblade out of irony.
Chapter 4
Earn a Fearsome Moniker
The ocean churned beneath the ship, bucking the quarterdeck beneath my feet as I squared off against Captain Milton Sterling. Grand-mère and Hannah remained at the helm, keeping the ship from being batted around like a kite by the howling wind. The remainder of my crew abandoned their posts to encircle us. They kept a wary eye as more vaulted up from the gun deck to join the contingent of Navy soldiers Milton had already brought aboard. Despite the crackle of danger in the air, no one protested to the duel.
No one save Aludra. My first mate elbowed her way between the gawkers, her scowl as dark as the clouds overhead. “Captain, this isn’t the time!”
I knew that better than she. However, this might be the only way to part without bloodshed—or without my crew in shackles.
Aludra snapped, “He’s stolen our sister’s ship! Where is Tamara?”
I wish I knew.
I twisted my wrist, flicking my sword through the air in a fluid motion and settling it into my grip. Once, twice, three times, and I fell into that moment before battle begins, when all is quiet. The rumble of the storm overhead, Aludra haranguing me over the wind, the stares and chuckles of the Navy men. Everything crashed against an invisible barrier and fell away like the ocean waves. Raising my voice, I called, “I will end this quickly. He will return what is rightfully ours.”
Murmurs eddied among my crew: English, French, Spanish, Arabic. The women, all hard-faced with sea-weathered complexions and roughened hands, shifted, hands moving to sword hilts and the grips of pistols. If they opened fire, we would lose this battle. Milton had not one, but four ships surrounding us and cutting off our escape. If we fought now, it would be a fight to the death.
No one made a move to engage, but it was only a matter of time. I lifted my chin. “To first blood?” That was the usual arrangement.
He nodded once, curt.
I glanced around the quarterdeck, the press of bodies stifling. “Move your men farther away. We need room to duel.” When he hesitated, I added, “Unless you distrust my honor?”
He narrowed his eyes. Unreadable, thickly lashed, and a lighter brown than mine. They were beautiful, if such an adjective had any place on a face as battle-hardened as his. After a long moment, he raised his free hand. His soldiers obeyed his unspoken command, retreating to the railing over which they had climbed.
One more battle to win.
Without warning, I lunged. With surprise on my side, I made two cutting blows. The first, for his head. Despite calling for first blood, I didn’t pull my blow. If I lost, it would mean the gallows for the lot of us. As he stumbled back, the blade sliced the air in front of his nose. I followed the advantage, swinging down toward his thigh.
The steel of my blade rang against his. He threw me off with a jerk of his hand and another step backward. When he narrowed his eyes, they held a wary sort of respect. It was an expression with which I was well acquainted.
I gave him a sardonic salute with my free hand and raised my sword into the guard position. When he moved in to strike, I yanked my dagger from my belt and flipped it in my palm so the blade ran parallel to my forearm. I used it as a shield, meeting his blade and pinning his sword arm between us. The muscles in his chest bunched as I brought us chest to chest. With all my strength, I wrapped my sword arm around us and aimed for his back.
He leaned into my dagger and twisted, reversing our positions as he drew back out of harm’s way. I breathed deep, exhilaration humming in my veins and making me giddy. I rarely drank wine or spirits, and I smoked no opium or tobacco. This feeling, the rush of adrenaline, was my drug.
His eyes were bright with interest as he flexed his hand. His expression was wary, ready to fend off another blow. “Where did you learn to fight?”
I darted in, trying several lazy blows to draw him into making another move. How quick were his reactions? Which patterns did he prefer? He parried me easily, adding a few swipes of his own but not enough to predict him.
He seemed to prefer conversation to fighting. “I’m surprised to find the rumors so accurate.”
If he had breath to talk, I should be pushing him harder. Two years ago, he’d scarcely said a word to me at dinner. Now it was too late. Fueled by simmering anger and bitterness, I shook my curls out of my face. If I’d stopped to think, I would have tied them beneath a scarf.
When it came to Milton, apparently I didn’t think.
“Did you expect to find me easily won? I did not amass my fleet that way.”
He saluted me with his blade, his full mouth tipping up in a smirk. “I don’t know what I expected.”
I rolled my eyes and darted forward again. He parried two of my blows and darted out of range of my third.
“So tell me, Quickblade, where did you learn to fight?”
I cocked one eyebrow and twisted the sword in my hand again to settle it. This chatter was knocking me from the balance I found at the end of the blade.
“Where did you?”
I was well practiced, and not yet out of breath, but if he kept this up, I would have more breath for talk than for fighting.
His smile grew. “The Navy. And you haven’t answered my question.”
I rolled my shoulders. “I found a teacher three months after leaving home. I took him for a lover.”
I said it casually, mostly to enrage him, a man who had tried twice now to possess me. My teacher had been a woman—though the statement was not entirely a lie. When I’d taken our liaison too seriously and suggested a permanent arrangement, we had parted ways. The memory of my naivety scalded my cheeks. I itched for action. I swished my blade three more times and lunged in.
This time, he made a more concerted effort to get me out of breath. I darted in and back again, not wanting to fall prey to his longer reach and stronger arm. But I was quick on my feet and I practiced daily. Steel rang in my ears, and I focused on his body language, searching out his weakness. Surprisingly, he didn’t look the least bit perturbed.
His indifference stung. Apparently, he hadn’t cared to possess me at all. He had only cared for the ship.
Anger. I had to reach for anger, not the disappointment or offence I’d felt when he’d first offered for my hand. He might not have wanted me, but I’d made a place for myself aboard this ship. I’d made myself a home.
He stepped back out of reach again, his chest rising and falling with more vigor. Good. At least I affected him in some way.
I feigned bravado. The longer he kept pace with me, the more worried I became. My matches usually ended more quickly. Perhaps distracting him was the smartest option, after all.
“How did you come by a ship of your own? As I recall, you were rather desperate to acquire one.”
Milton grinned, transforming his face from attractive to downright devilish. “I stole it from the French.”
He didn’t notice or care as I advanced closer. As the dreaded F-word left his lips, I crouched and kicked his legs out from under him. He hit the deck hard, the swell of a wave bringing it up to meet him. Standing far enough away that he would not be able to return the favor, I loomed over his prone body. The battle instinct in me swelled, and I envisioned the blood dripping down my deck if I lunged forward and stabbed his throat. But if I drew first blood—or better yet, convinced him to yield—I would secure the freedom of everyone aboard the Gambit. If I stabbed him, I would only start a battle I couldn’t win.
Cocking my head, I gave him a smug smile. “Ah, the way I took my second lover.”
Beneath me, he stilled. I lowered my blade to the bridge of his nose, my demand for him to yield on the tip of my tongue.
He rolled away, quicker than I anticipated, and got to his feet in a movement almost as fluid as one of mine. He panted, but the look in his eye was far from one of a beaten man. “You seem to have made quite a life for yourself.”
I jerked up my chin, done playing with him. “It’s a far better life than the one you would have given me.”