Bound by Decency

by Claire Ashgrove

  If for no other reason than to relieve himself of Alex’s keen perceptions, Cain descended the stairs and headed for his room.

  351

  Bound By Decency

  33

  India woke to the soprano trill of an albatross. She opened her eyes to the soft lavender light of dawn.

  A familiar weight compressed the mattress behind her. At first confused, given the solitary way she’d fallen asleep, she rolled over. On seeing Cain, her heart swelled. Fully dressed in shirt and trousers, he lay atop the quilts, his distance evident despite his close proximity. Still, the fact he had returned at some point during the night encouraged her. Perhaps the storm between them wasn’t such a disaster after all.

  She reached for his shoulder, wanting to wake him and finish the business of explaining. But the last thought she’d had before sleep claimed her rose as her fingers grazed the light cloth of his shirt. Words will not suffice.

  She stuffed her hand beneath her pillow. Indeed, words would not suffice. To restore Cain’s faith in her, she must prove herself through actions. An overture toward Alex would go far. She likened their friendship to something close to siblings—ties India couldn’t intimately understand but as a child had imagined the deep bond she might share with a sister or brother. Never divided. An eternal ally no matter the cause.

  Yes, an overture of friendship toward Alex would be the first step in regaining Cain’s trust. And when she really considered the matter, in truth she no longer found the woman intolerable. Funny how jealousy could reverse itself so immediately. But then, last night, there had been no mistaking Cain’s sincerity, or where exactly she stood in regard to his heart. He’d shown that precious heart to her. Bared it open with his confessions of his dreams.

  Careful not to disturb his slumber, she crawled over him. The wooden planks were cool beneath her bare feet. A chill clung to the room, another sign the sun had yet to grace the sky with its warmth. She rubbed her arms against the cold and hurriedly donned her trousers. Dressed, she crossed to the door to try the lock.

  The knob turned freely beneath her palm.

  Huddling into her arms, she entered the hall where the thick aroma of frying pork blanketed the air. Her stomach growled, reminding her she’d only picked at her dinner. Perhaps after she found Alex, she’d ask Cleaver, who seemed like a likeable enough fellow, if she could have a tray to bring back to the cabin.

  The decks moved in slow motion, but despite the quiet nature of the crew, which she’d come to realize was nothing more than a product of respect for those who slept, an underlying energy hummed about the men. India recognized it instantly. The same buzz filled the mess the previous night. Anticipation of the pending fight.

  Only this morning, it took on more life. Ran a bit deeper. Instinctively she scanned the waters for some sign of the source of the rise of energy.

  Off the starboard side, they approached a cove. Tall trees hid the inlet in a canopy of green, but the mouth yawned out before The Kraken’s bow. Jagged rocks rose from the calm turquoise waters, three giant boulders amidst a row of jutting peaks that marked a treacherous reef. Overhead, a flock of gulls—undoubtedly the same birds that woke her—swept toward the hidden beach in a mad flurry. She followed their flight, watching as they dove behind the treetops, then rose again to circle and soar on the breeze. The same way they swarmed the fishing boats at the wharf. As if the birds had happened on a feast, or a pod of fish within the shallow waters.

  And then she spied what drew them. The same source of the crew’s underlying urgency. India’s pulse quickened.

  Rising through a dip in the tall palm branches, a wooden spindle grazed the sky. Dangling off it, a streak of crimson undulated in the breeze. A flag. She looked to the very top of The Kraken’s main mast where Cain arrogantly displayed his Roger, confirming the same narrow length of wood rose there.

  She rushed to the rail and rose to her toes to get a better look. Though she could see little more, the swag of crimson was unmistakable. Long tails danced against a field of ebony, marking the flag as something other than the brand of the Royal Navy. Of course, the Navy had no cause to harbor in such a remote hideaway. Never mind that few warships would come within these pirate-infested waters. Too great was the risk they’d be overrun by brigands more than happy to scuttle a vessel and claim her many cannons.

  Could it be possible they’d found Triton’s Jewel? She should wake Cain.

  India hurried for the door to his private hall, but the sound of Drake’s angry voice halted her.

  “What the devil is your meanin’, Alex? This is why you’ve barely touched me? Bloody Christ, you believe the wench?”

  Cocking her head, India moved closer to the sound. Eavesdropping had never struck her fancy, but anger was such a foreign thing for Drake, she couldn’t curb her curiosity. She stopped at the base of the ladder that led to the quarterdeck and pressed her back to the wall, listening to argument overhead.

  “Believe? There be nothin’ to doubt when I’ve seen the boy with my own eyes. Ye have a child, Drake! Deny it all ye wish, but if ye do, yer no better than yer father.”

  India’s eyes widened, and she choked down a surprised squeak. Drake? A father? She supposed it shouldn’t surprise her. Even Cain could have sired a bastard at some point. She was evidence to that possibility. But Drake? Good heavens!

  “All the same, why are you punishin’ me for an act that occurred long before I met you? Alex, it drives me mad to part from you.” A touch of anguish crept into his hushed exclamation.

  Alex’s heavy sigh descended on India with so much force it tightened her chest. Resignation. Despair. Sorrow.

  “She doesn’t want him, Drake. If you don’t collect him within the year, she’ll sell the boy. An’ ye can’t be bringin’ a child aboard a ship.” Her voice softened. “I cannot tolerate a life on land. I’m not made to be a mother an’ have no desire to become one.”

  “Alex, I’ve never before begged. Don’t make me do so now.”

  India inched down the wall, closer to the hallway’s door as the conversation took an intensely personal turn and heartbreak poured through Drake’s roughened voice. Only once had she glimpsed this foreign side of him that cared for Alex. Even then he’d hidden that vulnerability as soon as she remarked on it. He wouldn’t want her to witness this conversation, any more than she would want him to overhear her argument with Cain.

  Knowing all that, however, didn’t stop the sympathetic hurt that twisted her heart on Drake’s behalf. He’d become her friend. Quite possibly her only real friend. He shouldn’t suffer so.

  Her spirits heavy, she pushed open the cabin door to find Cain fawning over her pet. He looked up startled. A smile twitched one corner of his mouth, but in a blink it disappeared as quickly as it began. “India.” He acknowledged her with a nod before he presented her with his back and pushed another chunk of fruit at the lizard.

  Her legs itched to run to him, her hands to touch his broad shoulders. She rubbed her palm against her thigh to quell its sudden trembling and swallowed through a drying throat. Still angry with her. Still as cold and distant. God’s teeth, this could not go on between them. But damn it all, they didn’t have the time she desired. Not with a ship on the horizon.

  “There’s a ship—”

  Cain bolted out the door. India tossed her hands in the air, let them slap against her thighs. Good grief. He was as hungry for a fight as the rest of them.

  Grumbling, she pursued, breaking onto the decks seconds after Cain barged through the narrow door. He skidded to a halt as they sailed before the mouth of the cove. His gaze fastened on the three-masted vessel that resembled The Kraken in both monstrosity and flare.

  “Is it her?” India asked as she moved to stand at Cain’s side.

  “Aye,” he murmured. He pointed to the embellished head where King Triton burst from the bow, long hair whipping like snakes around a starfish crown, mighty trident lifted defiantly toward the sky.

  �
��Damnation! Where is Drake? We should be positioned for attack.”

  India glanced over her shoulder to the quarterdeck where she’d last seen Drake and Alex. It stood empty, the helm and poop above, unmanned.

  Cain noticed the absent crewman at the same time “Where the devil is Stormy?” He lunged for the stairs. “Bloody hell, has everyone made a death wish?” Mounting the stairs two at a time, he grabbed the helm and turned it hard to starboard.

  India clambered up after him. “Drake and Alex probably dismissed him. They were arguing up here.”

  With a shake of his head, Cain swore beneath his breath. He pounded his fist on the wheel. “Here, hold her steady. We’ll pass her up if we don’t come about.” Taking a rough hold on India’s elbow, he dragged her in front of the helm. “Steady. Hold her steady.”

  She wrapped her hands about the spokes. “Where are you going?”

  “Staysail’s come loose.” He pointed at the tall main mast where a man clung to the rigging just beneath the place she’d observed before. One arm wound around the lines that ran behind him, the man grabbed for a loose rope with one hand. Dangling from it, a length of canvas flapped in the wind. On the foremast, two other men held the heavier body of sail. The steady breeze made it impossible for the three to stretch the lines and tie it tight.

  “You have to go up there?” India asked, horrified by the prospect of climbing to such heights.

  “Young Jim was my master with stays. If I intend to turn her about before we reach Florida, aye.”

  Emphasizing his statement, the topmost man, the man reaching for the loose line, slipped. He caught himself on the rigging, having fallen less than a foot. But his lack of experience became obvious.

  “Steady.” Cain reminded her once again before he disappeared down the stairs. At the bottom, he turned back to call, “And tell Reggie to ready the guns.”

  A moment of panic stole over India. Cain on the mast, Drake and Alex nowhere to be found, Stormy missing—the prospect of reclaiming Triton’s Jewel looked dim. They were in no position for a fight. And how in the name of Mary was she supposed to issue an order to Reggie, when she couldn’t leave the helm?

  She drew a deep breath, and the situation took on more clarity. Scanning the shore, she gauged their position. Confidence settled into her hands. She could do this. Only, she didn’t have any intention of following Cain’s directive. If he wanted victory, she’d give it to him. She had one opportunity to prove herself, and she didn’t intend to let it slip through her fingers.

  Relaxing her hold on the wheel, she let the rudder straighten out. Then, she called out to the first man who passed beneath her on the main deck. “You, sir! Aye, you! Send Reggie here without delay. On Cain’s order.”

  With a bob of his head, the man flew down the main hatch.

  ****

  The wind snatched at the loose main topgallant staysail, determined to rip the rope from Cain’s hands. His arm burned with the strain of fighting to drag the scrap of canvas in and secure it to the mast. How he hated stays. The first two years at sea with his father, he’d done nothing but run the lines and string the stays. On a few occasions he’d tumbled down the rigging. One landing resulted in a broken arm. When he’d at last left the duty behind in favor of assuming the role of his father’s first mate, he’d thought he’d never have to wrestle with another impertinent bit of cloth.

  He jerked on the rope, bringing it close enough to wrap the end around the narrow taper of the main topmast, just below the stump. With a pulley fashioned, he took a moment to regain his breath. God’s teeth, he would see to replacing Young Jim with a bosun’s mate of equal capability, immediately.

  A flash of movement at the stern caught his attention. He hooked an arm around the topmast and squinted at the decks below, in time to see Reggie bound from the quarterdeck and duck into the main hatch. Good. India passed the command along. Any moment now they should be in position to open the ports and impress upon Triton’s Jewel the necessity of surrender.

  He looked larboard, expecting to see the sister vessel in the cove. But to his consternation, all that spanned before him was a vast expanse of ocean. What the devil? They should have come about by now. He’d set the rudder. All India needed to do was…

  Damnation!

  The realization of what India was doing crashed on him like a tidal wave. She’d followed her own plan. He glanced aft, confirming Triton’s Jewel now followed.

  That explained the unrelenting pull of the wind on the staysail. He should have made the connection when the force didn’t ease off as it would have, had they come about as planned.

  “Hands, stand by to arms!” Alex’s voice broke above the flapping of the sails.

  Cain looked beneath him, relief flooding through him at the sight of both Alex and Drake on the deck. At least someone could guide the crew while he was aloft with the birds.

  He tightened a leg around the topmast to secure his position and cranked on the rope. It pulled through, inch by inch, stretching out the attached sail. Leaning his shoulder into the effort, Cain wrapped it three times, then wound the end back on itself and tied it off in a secure knot. Testing the line, he jerked on the now-taut rope. To his immense relief, it held.

  Now, to deal with India and correct the course before the mutineers aboard Triton’s Jewel acquired the notion to fire on his cabin.

  He jimmied down the rigging, grabbed the mainsail yard, and dropped to the deck, opposite Alex. “It’s about time you made an appearance for the rescue of your ship.”

  “Leave off, Cain,” she mumbled, her usual snappy response lost to the furrowing of her brow. “What is the plan? Or have ye fashioned one?”

  Before he could answer, the planks beneath his feet vibrated as gun ports opened and the massive culverins rolled out. He glanced up to see the bow slowly shift to starboard. Cringing inwardly, he frowned at Alex. “How much damage can she take?”

  Alex blinked, his meaning lost on her.

  Cain stabbed a finger at her ship and asked again, “How much damage can she take? Because she’s about to be fired upon!”

  “What do ye mean?” Alex cried. “Ye can’t fire on my ship! I want her back intact, not blown to bits!”

  “Better have a talk with Reggie then.” As he would have a chat with India. Right now. Damn it all.

  He shouldered past Alex, jogged across the deck, and bounded up the stairs to the quarterdeck and poop. “I would swear I told you to hold her steady.”

  “Relax, Cain, I have the situation under control.” India gave him a confident smile.

  Fury mounted. He clenched his hands into fists and ground his teeth together so hard his jaw pained him. Silently counting to ten, he willed his temper into line. When that failed, he counted to twenty and finally felt like if he opened his mouth he wouldn’t explode. “If you’ve brought out the culverins, you most assuredly don’t have this under control.”

  Standing atop her crate, India leaned around him and inspected the position of the bowsprit. Absently she answered, “I have no idea what Reggie is doing down there. I asked for the biggest load of whatever you possessed that would shred sails.”

  Shred sails. He paused. Shred sails with culverins not sakers. Slowly, he asked, “And Reggie said?”

  India shrugged. “Something about langrage. I don’t know what that means, but evidently you have several pails of it.”

  “Scraps of metal,” Cain murmured. By God, the pair of them were brilliant! He’d shot langrage before, even grape, but never out of culverins which were made to fire the heavier eighteen-pound balls that bore holes in hulls. The damage to sail and crew would be immense. Demoralized, the mutineers would cave in seconds.

  He tapped the thick post that held the great wheel and raced down to the deck to intercept Alex’s stormy charge to the main hatch. “Langrage. Reggie’s firing langrage. How much spare canvas do you have? And where the bloody hell has Drake run off to now?”

  “There.” She answered his
inquiry about Drake by pointing to the forecastle, where he stood with a handful of other sailors, pistols at the ready, cutlass secured around his waist. A smile crossed her face, bright, beautiful, and full of all the fire that lived in her soul. She palmed her pistol and pulled a small powder horn suspended on a string from beneath the nape of her shirt. “By Jove, Reggie is brilliant!”

  It wasn’t Reggie. She knew the solution, the technical means of execution, but the plan alone had been India’s. Cain’s gaze strayed to where India stood, proud and confident behind the helm. She flashed her angelic smile at a man on the deck beneath her, issuing an order Cain couldn’t hear. “It was India’s idea,” he murmured.

  “Perhaps there be hope for her yet.” Alex grinned before she ducked under the bowline and assumed position at Drake’s side.

  Thunder erupted beneath Cain’s feet. Earsplitting and ominous. He braced against the thick mizzenmast and readied for the certain second round. When it came, India met his admiring gaze. She didn’t smile. She didn’t look away either. And in that moment, that passing time of silence between the firing of the guns, he understood the meaning behind her unblinking stare. This was for him. She’d led them into battle, something she very much opposed, to prove her loyalty. To illustrate she was worthy of keeping aboard his ship.

  God save her, didn’t she realize he loved her as she was?

  He breathed deep, accepting the realization. He loved her. They were not two different coins after all, but two sides of the same one. She good and pure. He everything that wasn’t. What bound them together was decency, his lost, hers intact.

  Sorrow stabbed into him. With it came the immense weight of guilt. He had tarnished her in so many ways. He was the reason she steered them into battle. She was no longer innocent and pure, no longer ignorant to the cruel realities of life. He had stolen her reputation and her virtue for his own selfish means.