by Ruth Langan
“Ye seem willing to work hard,” Newt muttered. “But can ye handle the work of a sailor?”
“I’m willing to try.”
“Do ye like the sea?” Newt asked.
Again that shrug of the shoulders. “I think so. At least I have no fear of it. And I feel drawn to it. More so than to the land.”
Newton glanced at Darcy, who was studying the man with a look of fascination. Feeling his gaze on her she turned to the old man and nodded.
“All right then. Ye and the lad are welcome.” He turned the ship’s log toward Whit. “Sign here, lad, and ye’re a member of the crew.”
The boy scratched his name, then grinned at his friend before turning to Newton. “You promised us each two gold coins.”
“I did. But since ye’r not yet a man, and we have no way of knowing how much ye can do aboard ship, I thought I’d pay a single gold coin each.”
The boy shook his head. “Nay. Fair’s fair. Two gold coins each, or we have no deal.”
Again Newt turned toward Darcy, who was biting back a grin. It was easy to see why this boy had survived on his own. When he dug in his heels, he was as obstinate as a mule.
“Pay them, Newt. Whit’s right. Fair’s fair.”
To their delight the old sailor placed two gold coins in each of their outstretched palms.
“All right. If ye have anything ye wish to bring, get it now, then meet me at the skiff. We’ll be ferrying supplies out to the Undaunted. As soon as I hire the rest of the crew, we’ll haul anchor.”
He watched as the man and boy hurried off to pack their belongings. Then he turned to Darcy, who was staring after them with a strange, haunted look on her face.
“I know what ye’re thinking, lass.”
“Do you, Newt?” She turned. “Do you think he resembles Gray?”
“Not a bit of it.” He paused. “Perhaps at first glance. The same size, I suppose. But the face and voice aren’t his.”
“He was badly burned, Newt.”
“Aye. But it was a tavern fire, lass. Not a ship’s fire.”
“He said he doesn’t remember. Not even his name.”
“Don’t torment ye’rself this way, lass. He’s a poor, unfortunate wretch who was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and now he must pay the price. But don’t make him into something he can never be.”
“But I felt something when I first saw him. Did you feel it, too?”
The old man shook his head firmly, determined to nip this before it became a full-blown obsession. “Get hold of ye’rself, lass. Or ye’ll be seeing Gray in every man ye meet.”
“But he’s tall enough. And his hands…”
“Enough, lass.” He got to his feet. “If ye don’t mind going to the village to buy the supplies we need, I’ll scour the waterfront and see if I can persuade a few sailors to sign aboard.”
For a moment longer she continued to stare at the man and boy as they pushed through the doorway of the tavern and disappeared from view.
Then, with a thoughtful look on her face, she sighed and stood up, mentally scolding herself for the thoughts she was entertaining.
“Aye, Newt. I’ll see to the supplies.”
She strode out of the tavern and made her way to the village, determined to put these fanciful thoughts to rest. It was the knowledge that she was in Wales, where Gray’s ship had gone down, that was causing her such confusion. Once they were out to sea, her mind would be clear.
Of that she had no doubt.
Chapter Four
“Here ye are, lass.” Newt smiled at Darcy as she arrived at the dock.
“How many seamen were you able to hire, Newt?” She climbed down from the wagon loaded with supplies.
He nodded toward the cluster of men. “Only two more. But they seem able enough. We’ll have to make do with a smaller crew until we reach our next port.”
He turned to the men. “Let’s get these supplies loaded into the skiff, mates.”
The men worked quickly, grunting as they hefted sacks of flour to their shoulders and struggled under barrels of fresh water. Darcy noted that, despite Gryf’s injuries, he didn’t evade the hard work required. He handed the smallest parcels to Whit and saved the heaviest items for himself.
After several runs to the ship anchored in the bay, the supplies were finally loaded and the crew went belowdecks to settle their meager belongings into their quarters. Before Whit and Gryf could follow, Darcy handed them some parcels.
“What’s this, Captain?” Whit asked.
“Clothes. Some sturdy breeches and tall boots, as well as warm coats.”
She could feel Gryf studying her as he accepted his parcel, though he said not a word.
As the two walked away she caught sight of Newton’s arched brow. “I want my crew to look like sailors, not a pack of shabby pirates,” she muttered.
“Ah. Is that what ye’re up to?” He gave her a long, steady look. “Ye wouldn’t be hoping proper seaman’s clothing might help Gryff look a bit more like…”
“I wasn’t hoping for anything.” Knowing her cheeks were flushed, she turned away and busied herself on deck.
The old sailor walked away shaking his head.
As they prepared to haul anchor, Darcy took the wheel, maneuvering the big ship through the channel until they were into open sea. Then, turning the wheel over to Newton, she climbed the rigging and began trimming the sails.
On deck Whit watched with a look of amazement. Beside him Gryf lifted a hand to shield the sun from his eyes as he studied the woman high above. With one hand gripping a rope, Darcy reached out and loosened a knot in the rigging, then climbed even higher, until she’d reached the very top of the mast. From there she peered in every direction, studying the steady, rhythmic roll of the waves, searching for any darkened shape that might be a pirate ship on the horizon. Satisfied that their path was clear, she skimmed down the rigging with all the grace of a dancer.
When she landed on deck Whit couldn’t hide the note of admiration in his tone. “How’d you learn to do that, Captain?”
She smiled. “I’ve been doing it all my life.”
“Could you teach me?”
“I can try.” She lowered her voice and glanced at the old sailor who was steering the ship. “It was Newton who taught me everything I know about ships, and life at sea. Listen to all he tells you, Whit. There’s not a better teacher anywhere.”
Just then the old man shouted, “Lad. Quit ye’r gibbering and give Gryf a hand with those ropes. And be quick about it.”
“Aye, sir.” Whit hurried to Gryf’s side and began the tedious task of carefully coiling the ropes that littered the deck and carrying them down to the hold. Under his breath he muttered, “I don’t see how this is going to teach me to climb like the captain.”
Gryf couldn’t help laughing. In that strained voice he said, “I doubt such a thing can be taught, Whit.”
“Then how did the captain learn?”
“By doing. From the looks of her, it comes as natural to her as breathing.”
“Do you think I’ll ever be that good, Gryf?”
“I don’t see why not.” He deposited the last of the rope coils in a darkened corner of the hold and headed for the ladder, with the boy trailing behind. As he started up he said gently, “As long as you want it badly enough to keep trying.”
“I do want it. I’ve always wanted to be a ship’s captain like my uncle. And now that I’m aboard ship again, I want it even more.” He paused for breath, before continuing up the ladder. “What do you want, Gryf?”
Gryf stepped up onto the deck and offered his hand to the boy. Together they secured the heavy door that covered the ship’s hold. “I’m sure there was a time when, like you, I wanted all sorts of things, Whit. Now I’d settle for just knowing who I am and where I belong.”
“That’s easy.” The boy gave his biggest, brightest smile. “You’re my best friend. And no matter what your real name is, you belong right here aboard
the Undaunted. We both do.”
As Whit walked away Gryf couldn’t help laughing at the lad’s youthful innocence. What he wouldn’t give for such complacency. But the worry was constantly there, nagging at the edges of his mind. Someone, somewhere knew him. Someone was bound to recognize him. That was why he’d accepted this chance to leave Timmeron. It was a small, poor fishing village. Everyone knew everyone. Yet nobody knew him. That meant that he’d come to Timmeron from somewhere else. But where? And what had he been doing in that tavern the night it caught fire?
“Ahoy, Gryf.” Newton’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Find the lad and send him belowdecks to lend a hand to Fielding in the galley.”
“Aye, sir.” Gryf went in search of Whit and found him following Darcy up the ropes of the rigging.
“Look, Gryf. The captain said I could climb with her, as long as I was careful.”
“I see. And that’s fine. But now’s not the time, Whit. Newton has ordered you below to help in the galley.”
“The galley?” The boy’s voice took on a note of alarm. “How am I supposed to learn to be a sailor helping the cook?”
Darcy paused and stared down at him. “Remember what I told you, Whit. Do everything Newt tells you.”
“But I—”
“Without question.”
He caught the sharp edge of her tone and nodded. “Aye, Captain.”
Reluctantly he descended to the deck and hurried away.
Darcy looked down at Gryf, and felt her heart lurch at the way he was watching her. Whenever she caught him looking at her like that, she felt that strange curling sensation deep inside. It was simply pity, she reminded herself. The man was wounded, and struggling to recover. She would feel the same for anyone in his situation.
Before she could stop herself she called, “Care to join me?”
He shook his head. “I’ve a job to do, as well. Newt wanted someone to work belowdecks, hanging the hammocks in the crew’s quarters.”
That would suit him, she thought. He much preferred the darkness below to the sunshine above. All day he’d made himself invisible while the rest of the crew fought to be in the fresh air.
She nodded. “Then you’d best see to it.”
“Aye, Captain.”
As he walked slowly away, Darcy remained where she was, staring after him. There it was again. That uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach at the sight of those wide shoulders and narrow hips. Now that he was dressed in proper seaman’s clothing, his resemblance to Gray was even more pronounced.
When she looked up and caught Newton watching her she flushed and returned her attention to the rigging. But all the while she worked she thought about Gryf. And wondered what he’d look like without that hat hiding his eyes and that beard covering the lower half of his face.
She couldn’t help herself. Though she knew it was absolutely impossible, she wanted him to look like Gray. To be Gray.
As she climbed higher she actually hoped she’d catch sight of a pirate ship. Maybe a good fight would be just the thing to stop this foolishness and bring her crashing back to reality.
Too many days of foul weather had the crew tense and edgy. They’d been buffeted by winds and storm-tossed waves that spilled over the rail, making it impossible to cross from one side of the ship to the other without risking life and limb. Darcy and Newton had taken turns at the wheel, spelling each other for a few hours of needed sleep. Like her crew, Darcy’s temper was on a short tether. For days now she’d barked orders and bitten heads off for the simplest infraction.
Now, finally, the storms had subsided. As day slid into evening, the seas gentled. The crew, grateful for this break in the weather, went off to their quarters to gamble or just to rest.
“You’ve put in too many hours at the wheel. Go to bed, Newt.” Darcy came up behind the old man and touched a hand to his shoulder.
“What about ye, lass? Ye’re just as weary.”
“Nay. I’ve had my sleep. Or as much as I can manage at one time. It’s your turn now. You look like you could use it.”
“Aye. I’ll not argue with ye. It’s been too long a day.” He turned away, and as she held the wheel steady, Darcy heard the steady tap of his peg as he descended the stairs to his quarters.
She sighed as the darkness closed in around her. She’d been desperate for some quiet time to restore her soul. She’d been driving the crew to distraction with her own anger and frustration. And now, as the silence settled around her, she had time to reflect and regret her impulsiveness. She had to stop pushing so hard. Hadn’t Newt urged her to relax and savor the moment? She was having a difficult time remembering his advice. But for now, she intended to enjoy these few moments of privacy.
It took her a while to realize she wasn’t alone. She caught a whiff of smoke on the air. The sweet scent of pipe tobacco.
Annoyed, she turned her head and saw a figure standing at the rail.
Gryf. Her heart gave a sudden lurch before settling back to its natural rhythm.
Gray had smoked a pipe. He’d returned home from months at sea and said he’d learned to enjoy the comfort of a pipe and tobacco, especially late at night when he’d stood alone at the rail and thought about home. About her.
The pain came, so swiftly, so unexpectedly, she nearly doubled over from it. Then she drew in a deep breath to steady herself and slanted a look toward the man at the rail. He seemed so alone. So lost.
As if sensing that she was watching him, Gryf turned, then started toward her.
“I thought I was alone on deck.” She wondered if her voice sounded as breathy to him as it did in her own ears.
“Sorry. I came up to smoke. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Nay. I’m…fond of the smell of tobacco. Do you come up here often late at night to smoke?”
“Aye. And to see the stars. They’ve been missing for a few nights.”
“I noticed.”
He pointed with the stem of his pipe. “There’s Pegasus.”
She looked at him with surprise. “So it is. The winged horse.” She took a hand from the wheel to point over his shoulder. “Do you recognize that one?”
He turned, stared. “Aye. Orion, the hunter. And chasing him is Scorpius, the giant scorpion.”
“How do you know these things?”
He shrugged. “I know not how. I just do. Why do you ask?”
She tried to swallow, but her throat felt too tight. “A…friend returned from sea with tales of the Greek myths. About Pegasus, and Orion and Scorpius. And about the other stars and constellations.”
“Perhaps I heard them from a sailor, as well.”
“Or perhaps you were a sailor.”
“Perhaps. I know not.”
He was standing a little too close. She could feel the heat of his body. Could breathe in the sweet smell of tobacco. The scent of it stirred so many memories.
“My grandfather loved the stars. He knew them all. Their names. Their myths.”
“Is he a sailor?”
“Aye. As was my father and brother.”
“Was.” He heard the pain in her voice. “They’re dead?”
She nodded. “My father and my brother, James, died at sea. When we learned of it, my sisters and I agreed to carry on our family business.”
“That’s quite an undertaking. Did you find much resistance with the crew?”
“Perhaps at first they resisted. But they soon came around when they realized that we were all seasoned sailors. Now we’re accepted for what we can do.”
“If you’re any indication of the skill your sisters possess, I can see why you’re accepted without question.”
She felt herself blushing, and was grateful for the darkness.
For long minutes they fell silent, while he smoked and she steadied the wheel.
Darcy took a deep breath. “This is my favorite time of day.”
“Why?”
“I suppose because the chores are done. The crew is resting. And
I feel…close to those I loved and lost. I can indulge myself with all sorts of memories. Memories of happier times.”
As soon as the words were spoken, she realized how cruel they must be to someone who had no such memories.
“Forgive me, Gryf. I’d forgotten…”
“It’s all right.” He tamped out the tobacco on the rail. When the pipe was cool he set it in his pocket. “Most people have their memories. I just have great empty holes where my memories should be.”
Moonglow shimmered across the darkened water, turning it into a sea of gold.
He leaned on the rail to study the beauty of the scene before him. “This is my favorite time, as well. Though not for the same reasons as you, Captain. Without memories, I often feel alone in the company of others. But when the darkness closes in, it gives me comfort.”
“I’ve noticed that you often keep to yourself.”
He chuckled. “Not for long, if Whit has anything to say about it.”
“The lad seems to have genuine affection for you.”
“I return the feeling. He’s good for me. He’s constantly dragging me out of myself, forcing me to forget about my problems.”
“You’re good for him, as well. He trusts you. I’m not certain he trusts others yet, though he seems to be willing to accept Newton as a teacher, and to accept the fact that I’m captain of this ship.”
He turned to face her. “You’re an…interesting captain.”
A breeze ruffled her hair and he idly reached up to smooth it. A simple gesture, but far too intimate between a captain and a member of the crew. Yet even while he was cursing himself for acting in haste, he couldn’t seem to pull away. Instead, he allowed his fingers to play with the silken strands. And then, to make matters worse, he trailed an index finger from her cheek to her jaw, and found himself wondering what it would feel like to press his lips just there.
At his boldness, both of them stiffened.
Darcy couldn’t swallow. Her throat was dry as dust. And though she longed to break the silence, she couldn’t think of a thing to say. She knew her reaction was far too strong for a simple touch, but there was no denying the way her heart was pounding.