Seawater sloshed over the rim of the cutter, wetting Chloe’s and Jane’s feet. The cold, salty spray added to the dousing they’d received on board the wrecked ship and left her shivering and cold as they sailed toward the Fury.
Chloe licked her lip, tasting brine, wondering how men preferred the sea, the unending cold, and the fathomless darkness to the welcome glare of the sun, a garden in bloom, and especially a good book. She used the back of her hand to wipe moisture out of her eyes and off her chilled face. It did no good. Seawater continued to slosh and spray about them, moistening her skin, as men groaned, fighting the tide, and oars clonked against the sides of the cutter in a steady rhythm.
Clonkety-clonk. Grind. Clonkety-clonk. Grind.
Chloe flinched. She’d never been in a small boat before and despised being cramped in such tight confines, especially when the abyss was her only escape.
Dread cinched her heart. To locate Markwick, she’d obtained passage on two ships—first the Valerian and then the Mohegan—but at what cost? Men were dead. Pierce had been searching for her. He’d find the wrecked Mohegan. His access to ships, ports, and customs information assured that discovery.
Botheration! Pierce will locate the ship’s remains. He’ll gather the bodies lying on shore and believe I am dead!
What was she to do? She’d never felt so unhinged. Blood-stirring turmoil coiled within her. She sucked in a stabilizing breath and bit her lower lip to keep it from quivering.
Tears filled her eyes. Pierce would tell their parents that pirates had murdered her. Oh dear. Oh dear, that simply wasn’t true! She had to find a way to get a dispatch to her family. She had to let them know she’d survived, that the Earl of Markwick had saved her life.
Besides Markwick, family was the most important thing in the world to her. She couldn’t allow her parents to suffer because of the choices she’d made. No. She’d have to find a way to let her brother know she was alive. He couldn’t be too far away. He’d always been one step behind the Regent. She had to prevent his pain and grief. She’d seen Pru go through such unnecessary hell, and Chloe would never wish that on anyone.
She gasped, realizing once more that while her family would learn that she was alive, Captain Teague and his thirty-six men were not. They’d receive no burial, no hymns or prayers over their bodies. Their remains would never be returned home. Who would tell their families? How would they survive?
A sob lodged in Chloe’s throat, nearly strangling off the air she breathed. Agony gripped her so fiercely she nearly doubled over to empty the contents of her stomach.
The boat clanked against a solid object, jolting Chloe from her musings. Had they arrived at Markwick’s ship?
“Heva! Boat ahoy.” The low-hollered welcome came out of the void, ominously snaking down Chloe’s spine.
“Keep her steady,” Quinn snapped. “Stow your oars.”
Water swished and wood clunked as the men retrieved their oars and battened them down in the boat.
Markwick stood with ease, his tall body one solid mass of glistening muscle as he gazed upward. Chloe followed his range of vision up the solid black wall, craning her neck, straining to see the single yellow light perched above their heads.
Gracious, I feel so tiny and vulnerable next to this towering mass.
A rope slowly descended from the ship’s deck.
“Help the ladies first, men,” Markwick ordered.
Jane whimpered as a pirate clasped her by the shoulders and she was immediately lifted off her feet. The boat swayed with the movement, forcing Chloe to clutch the gunwale out of fear that the small vessel would overturn and dump them all into the water.
The pirate named Quinn slipped the rope around Jane’s middle. “Let loose your bundle.”
Jane’s stubbornness ripened on a frown. “I will not.”
Quinn didn’t ask a second time. He tore the bundled clothing from her grasp and cinched the end with a rope, then looped the satchel over his head and across his chest, pushing the bulk behind him. Without another word, he took her by the hand.
Horrified, she cried out. “No!”
“Shh. It’s bad enough that we need a light to guide us in the darkness, but your screams will give our position away.” Quinn cleared his throat when Jane began to cry. “Don’t be afraid, lass. Step your foot onto the battens along the hull.”
Jane glanced over her shoulder at Chloe, eyes wide, tears streaming down her face. “What if I fall?”
“The rope will catch you if you fall.” Quinn grabbed Jane’s chin and turned her back to him. “Step easy and slow. I’ll guide you.”
Jane looked down at the brackish chasm between the two ships, though the pirate gripped the ropes for her ease. “I c-can’t.”
Quinn put his hand over Jane’s. “As you climb, our crew will lift you up from above. There is nothing to fear. The rope will not allow you to fall, lass, and I will be with you every step of the way.”
Poor Jane. Chloe had never seen her so afraid. The poor dear had never been anywhere outside of Exeter and the grand adventure Chloe had taken her on was no longer . . . grand.
Chloe braced herself for the eventuality that her turn would come. She raised her gaze, trying to measure the distance up the Fury’s impressive heights, steeling herself for the task ahead. “Do as he says, Jane. I am sure we shall laugh about this experience in no time at all.”
Jane’s frantic stare fell on Chloe. “Do ye really think we’ll ’ave that chance?”
“I know we will,” Chloe said, assuring Jane and trying to keep her voice even. Inside, however, she quivered with powerless fright. Was it possible to climb such a steep structure in skirts? Were these men capable of preventing them from getting lost in the unrelenting swells?
Jane nodded and whimpered slightly as she took the first step and began her ascent. True to his promise, Quinn stayed close to her side, speaking calmly with reassuring words meant to fill Jane with confidence.
Chloe watched Jane’s progress until meaty arms grabbed the maid’s hands and she disappeared over the Fury’s railing.
Markwick turned his attention on Chloe. “Your turn, my lady.”
“I cannot help but wonder if I am trading one disaster for another,” she confided.
“You have no choice.” He held out his hand to her. “Come. We must hurry before all hell breaks loose upon us.”
Chloe swallowed thickly. What was he alluding to?
“Those wreckers will not wait for you to decide,” he went on.
Surely her mind suffered some catastrophic delay and the sight of Jane climbing the hull, knowing the girl had a fear of heights, had broken down filters Chloe usually relied upon to process the world she lived in.
Then her mind cleared, the fog dissipated, and everything began to make sense. She lifted her hand, taking his, absorbing the strength his touch offered. How could she have forgotten about the ship offshore? Her swift actions could very well save them because the ship Markwick had set ablaze might even now be underway!
Hysteria strangled the back of her throat. She fought to keep from searching the distance. She tried without fail to inhale air into her lungs. Could fate be this unkind?
“I am ready.” She bent over, bunching the fabric dangling behind her legs in her hands, pulling her skirts forward and up, simulating trousers of sorts. The same way she and Pru had fashioned their skirts when they rose astride.
When the Regent grimaced and the men around her tipped their heads back in mocking laughter, she offered this excuse. “A lady never takes chances.”
“If you hadn’t, you wouldn’t be here,” Markwick said, reaching for her hand.
She ignored his sarcastic remark and placed her hand in his.
He raised her arms and she complied, allowing him to tie a rope around her waist, cinching her skirts, forming a makeshift belt. As he did so, his face came intimately close. He kept his eyes downcast, focusing on his work. And for this she was grateful. The warmth of his b
reath stirred her in strange wanton places, coiling in her belly, making her ache, yearn to draw him closer and burrow into him for warmth. How much more affected would she be if he actually looked into her eyes or leaned in for a kiss?
Chastising herself for holding on to hope that Markwick had chased after her instead of the other way around, Chloe released a sigh. The Black Regent—Markwick—had been known to save countless men, women, and children in his legendary career.
“Do you do this often?” she asked breathlessly.
“No,” he answered, his tone flat.
“But that isn’t true! Trewman’s Exeter Flying—”
“Do not believe everything you read. Now prepare to board my ship.”
She would do anything he asked of her. Markwick had always been her lead light. But here he went too far. Books were her mainstay!
“Much can be gleaned from reading,” she said, clutching her satchel close to her chest as she stepped onto the gunwale.
“Give that to me,” he said, stretching out his hand, waiting for her to respond. “Get your head out of the clouds. Lives are at stake.”
Why was he angry? Did he plan to toss her little darling overboard?
“Swear you will carry my book, not throw it into the water.”
Men began to cackle behind her, and Markwick’s irritation mounted.
“Swear,” she repeated, shivering where she stood, refusing to budge.
“I swear to treat your prize like my treasure,” he gritted out.
Chloe sighed with relief. Markwick had never lied to her before. But maybe he was . . . He was the Black Regent, though she couldn’t explain how. He’d been deceiving her and everyone else for some time.
Warily, she relinquished her bundle and accepted Markwick’s hand.
The Regent’s hand, because that’s how I must think of him from this moment on.
He’d saved her life. She owed him her loyalty. At least until she learned the truth.
When they finally touched, an energized charge shot all the way into the pit of Chloe’s belly. Daring a hint of a smile, she took the final step that would enable him to help her mount the battens.
“The book.” The request seemed silly even to her, but she continued.
Markwick glanced down at the bundle in his hand as if it had momentarily been forgotten. He cinched the bag, looped rope around it, tied the ends off, and then strapped the satchel across his chest, exactly as Quinn had done. “Satisfied?”
I am now. Trusting he would keep Otranto safe, she grabbed onto the ropes and placed her foot in the first rung of the ladder against the hull. Anticipation thrummed inside her as she began to climb—stepping up, grabbing hold, stepping up, grabbing hold—making her way onto the very ship of her fantasies.
Every now and again, when her footing and grip were sound, she cast a sly glance at Markwick. As they neared the welcoming glow of the golden ship’s light, she made herself a promise: I will discover why Markwick has chosen to wear the Regent’s mask, and then I will convince him to come home.
She was eager to uncover his secrets, to share this grand adventure. Now that she’d found him, she wanted to step out of the pages of literature and experience something authentic, bold, stimulating. She wanted to experience love—and preferably not the tragic kind—for herself.
With each step, Chloe kept her gaze on the ropes, her mind on Markwick, drawn to the ever-welcoming light from the lantern hoisted above her head.
Pfft. Boom!
What was that? It sounded exactly like—
“Douse the light,” Markwick implored, waving his hand to the men stationed above their heads. He swung over to Chloe, pinning her to the hull, protecting her with his body as a whistling sound whirred nearer. “Brace yourself.”
Panic rose within her breast, and she fought to remain calm, gripping the ropes as tightly as she could beneath him to keep from being knocked overboard.
There was a whir of sound and a whistling whoosh as something landed in the water nearby. The cutters knocked against the hull, absorbing the turbulent wake.
“Move.” His weight disappeared, and he gave her bottom a push. “She’ll be able to broadside us if we don’t get out of here and fast.”
Markwick shouted to the men below. “All aboard!”
Chloe’s breath escaped on a gasp. She’d never felt so isolated, alone, and cold as she did now, deprived of Markwick’s warmth. “How soon will they fire again?”
“It depends on how much damage she sustained.” They scaled the ship even faster. “If they’re using bow chasers, we may not be so lucky next time.”
Men scaled the Fury’s hull behind her, forcing her to hasten her pace. Voices below urged her on.
“Hurry, m’lady. Quickly.”
Soon they reached the gunwale where several men outstretched their arms to help her scale the rail.
Markwick placed his hands on her bottom again, giving her a boost.
“Oh!” she cried out unexpectedly.
“Do not take offense.”
Quinn grabbed her hand, giving her no time to argue. “Hurry, lady. Hurry.”
Pfft. Boom!
Chloe started as she climbed over the railing, landing with a soft thud onto the Fury’s main deck. She glanced frantically around, wondering if the next volley would make contact with the ship before she was quickly embraced by Jane.
Another strange whistling, whirring sound made her skin crawl as it produced a hissing, sputtering splash that jettisoned a plume of spray very near the Fury’s larboard bow. The ship listed to starboard, knocking Chloe and Jane into several men who braced for their collision.
“Oh, m’lady. Are we going to die?” Jane asked, petrified as crewmen doused the lights.
Chloe shook her head, then realized Jane couldn’t see her reaction in the darkness. “No. Of course not.”
Did Jane believe her lie? She didn’t wait to find out. She rushed to the railing. “Where is the Black Regent?”
Chapter 5
Wrecks have multiplied off the MANACLES, to COVERACK, to FALMOUTH, and LOOE. EXCISE officers vow to EMPLOY countermeasures from PREVENTATIVE stations to AID vessels lost at sea!
~ Sherborne Mercury, 30 July 1809
Markwick shook off his stupor, then checked the ropes strapped to his back to see whether or not he’d lost Chloe’s book after he slipped about ten rungs downward to the boats. He breathed a sigh of relief when he discovered it was still tightly bound there.
Quinn called down from the railing. “Are ye all right, Cap’n?”
He raised his hand and waved. “Aye.”
But what had happened to his men? He lowered his gaze. Cloud cover shifted and shafts of brilliant moonlight illuminated the froth below. There, in the tethered cutters, several men labored to climb out or offered a hand to those who’d slipped from the battens.
They’d survived the second volley originating offshore, but now, in the dark blue brilliance, they posed an easy mark. If they didn’t weigh anchor soon, none of them would survive.
Markwick hollered up to Quinn. “It’s time to employ countermeasures. Tell Pye to ready the guns and bring me my pack. I’ll need several lanterns and cartridges if we’re to have any hope of evading that damned ship.”
“Aye, sir.” Quinn instantly disappeared to retrieve the items he’d requested, tactics Lords Nelson and Cochrane had used against Napoleon’s forces with great success.
Markwick commended himself. He’d been able to save Chloe’s life, yet his work was far from over. The heavy burden of protecting Chloe remained, weighting him down like submerged contraband hidden at sea from excise men. He wouldn’t—couldn’t—rest until Chloe was safely back in Exeter with her feet firmly on the ground.
“Heva!” Quinn’s shout alerted him that his orders had been obeyed. His quartermaster held up a lantern and a lumpy pouch filled with powder, rope, and anything he’d need to create a diversion that could very well save their lives.
�
��Brilliant.” Markwick leaned out and gazed down at the boats below before climbing back up to the Fury’s rail. He hesitated there, allowing his men to pass. Securing his feet in the ropes, he hefted Chloe’s book over his head and handed it to McHugh.
He glanced at Chloe, who stood beside Jane, wringing her hands near the railing. “Give the bag to the redhead. Understood?”
McHugh gave a nod, then turned to do Markwick’s bidding.
“Make haste,” he told Quinn. “Haul in the second cutter. If this works, we’ll make way before they can get a lead on our true heading.”
“Aye. Aye, sir. This be all Pye gave me.”
“Thank you.” He peered at the sky. “Pray the moon cooperates, eh?”
Quinn repeated the gesture. “Won’t be out long. Short break, Cap’n. I ’spect with a fine lady on board heaven will spare a cloud or two.”
“Not if the crew’s superstition holds sway.” Markwick grinned. “I’ve never quite understood why they object to a woman being on board.”
“Bad luck.”
“Men,” Markwick reminded Quinn, “make their own luck.” He shook off his concerns as he scaled back down to the boats.
The crew—his men and the men they’d saved from the Mohegan—moved in the opposite direction, one by one, scaling the ship like insects to a hive.
Markwick landed in the first cutter, dropped his burden, and then moved across the thwarts. He bent to work, quickly using three oars, tenting them in the form of a temporary mast in the middle of the ship. He set the lantern inside the makeshift steeple nearest the powder cartridge and said a silent prayer that their ruse would work before the boat crashed against the rocks. Then, without a backward glance, he leaped to the battens and cut away mooring lines connecting the boat to the ship.
Set free, the vessel eased off with the tide.
“Heave!” The shout coordinated the raising of the second cutter up to the deck. The capstan cranked, and the anchor was raised.
When a Rogue Falls Page 34