“It appears we are chaperoned after all,” Christopher said lightly, gesturing toward Henry.
Merial chuckled. “That might be proper were he a she.”
“Is it not ironic,” Christopher went on, “that many a ship’s cat were females, and some even gave birth on board, yet no sailor said having her was unlucky?”
“Perhaps much of the superstition stems from what you said to me.”
Puzzled, he eyed her. “I believe I have said many things to you.”
“You asked me to dress in trousers, as then the crew might be less likely to stare and make a mistake in their work. Perhaps if a woman is on board, bad things happened because the men spent time gaping, and that led to a disaster. Hence, the superstition.”
Christopher rubbed his chin. “You may have the right of it, Merial. I believe all superstitions have a source in history somewhere.”
“A pity the crew cannot look at it that way.” Merial gazed down at her cup.
“The crew are simple men,” Christopher reminded her gently. “Uneducated for the most part, and the life of a seafarer is exceedingly dangerous. I have heard that even common soldiers are superstitious, as they look for portents that may mean life or death.”
She glanced up at him with a smile. “You have such a way of putting things into perspective for me.”
“I believe that is all we need—perspective,” he replied. “I, for one, am grateful for the crew regarding you with superstition, as it keeps them at bay.”
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
“Let us just say that as long as they are afraid of you, they will not attempt to harm you.”
“I see.”
He watched her glance away to stare into space, and knew he had just added to her worries. Yet, he could not make himself regret it. Now that she knew of the possibilities of danger, she would remain wary. “You are safe,” he assured her. “Just stay with Gauthier and myself.”
“Perhaps I should be armed, Christopher.”
“No. If the crew’s attitude changes, we will go from there. Be at ease, Merial. You are safe.”
* * *
The sharks returned the following day, swimming lazily around the ship as she continued to sail eastward. As Merial had spent breakfast with Gauthier in the galley, Christopher had not seen her yet that morning. He made his rounds of the ship, inspecting the work and studying the men’s expressions, and felt disconcerted by what he saw.
He came upon Mayhew, Pierce, and another sailor amidships and talking in low tones. Without making it obvious he was eavesdropping, he ambled closer, then stood gazing out to sea with his hands behind his back. As the trio had their heads turned away from him, they did not see him within hearing range.
“I say she be a bad omen,” the sailor whispered. “She done call them sharks.”
“Nay,” Pierce muttered. “We hae fine sailing. Remember the fish and the dolphins? The sharks be drawn tae the fish, that be all.”
“Pierce be right,” Mayhew ventured. “If all we have to worry about this voyage is a few sharks trailing behind, we be fortunate indeed.”
“The Cap’n be taken with her,” the sailor hissed. “He not see the danger.”
“Ye shut yer mouth, Johns,” Mayhew ordered. “The lady not at fault.”
Johns lowered his voice until Christopher could barely hear him. “Maybe her ship threw her off,” he whispered, “got rid o’ her as she brought that one bad luck.”
“Ssst,” Mayhew snapped. “Get that rope tied off properly, Johns. Neglect yer work and ye be flogged.”
“Aye, sir.”
Christopher shot a glance over his shoulder as the sailor sullenly returned to his duties, then continued to make his rounds. None of them had observed him, yet what he had heard both encouraged and disheartened him. The views of the crew were mixed. Some thought of her as a portent of a terrible and dangerous voyage while others like Mayhew and Pierce did not.
Yet, while many considered her a boon to them, he suspected she was in no danger from the others. He gazed out over the vast ocean toward the horizon, his attention suddenly caught by a tiny dot to their west. He yanked his spyglass from his belt, and peered through it. It appeared to be another sailing vessel.
“Crow’s nest,” he shouted. “To the west. What do you see?”
High above him, the sailor spun around and gazed through his own glass. “Sails, Cap’n,” he called down. “I cannot identify the ship.”
“Can you see a flag?”
Christopher continued to peer through his spyglass, trying to discern what sort of ship it was and what its origins might be. The sailor had a better angle than he did, and stood a better chance of identifying the vessel. He held his breath, his gut clenched as a wave of alarm swept over him. He had a bad feeling about that ship.
“I cannot say, Cap’n,” the sailor yelled down. “But I think she be flying a black flag.”
Chapter 8
Pirates.
“Helmsman,” Christopher roared. “Come about, hard to starboard, forty degrees to the south.”
The sailor at the wheel obeyed him instantly, spinning the ship around. The crew responded to his barked orders to trim the sails in answer to the new direction the ship was now headed in. Mayhew ran to his side, staring out at the distant ship.
“Who may they be, M’lord?”
“I am not taking the chance, Mr. Mayhew,” Christopher replied. “We are not a warship, and have insufficient arms should they prove hostile.”
Gazing through the spyglass, he watched as the other vessel appeared to continue on its course, perhaps not having noticed the Valkyrie. “Crow’s nest,” he called up. “Anything to report?”
“Nay, Cap’n,” came the reply. “Vessel continuing on a north-bound heading.”
No doubt alerted by the sudden change in direction, Merial ran up the steps from below where she worked with Gauthier, her expression tight, anxious. Spotting him, she rushed toward him, the crew moving either respectfully or fearfully out of her path. “Christopher?”
“It is nothing to worry about,” he told her.
Peering through the glass again, he watched for any sign the distant ship was changing course. Studying it closely, he could not see any indication that it had come about. As the vessel was too far away to discern much details about it, he thought he would be able to observe it turn toward them if it was going to do so.
Lowering the glass, he glanced aside to see Merial gazing at the distant ship with Mayhew’s spyglass to her eye. “Merial?”
“Who are they?” she asked.
Not wanting to cause her fear, yet feeling as though she ought to know the danger as well as anyone, he hesitated. She handed the glass back to Mayhew, and met his gaze levelly. “Christopher?”
“I fear they may be pirates,” he said slowly.
At the word, something fleeting crossed her face, a lightning fast expression he could not read, then her face cleared as she frowned slightly. “Pirates?”
“We changed course to get out of their sight,” he went on. “We will continue on as before.”
Mayhew inhaled deeply, lowering his glass. “They did not see us, Cap’n.”
Staring through his own again, Christopher watched as the ship crossed the horizon and dropped from sight. Thinking to perhaps put more distance between them by continuing south for another hour, he decided against it.
“Reset the sails to continue our eastern course, Mr. Mayhew.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
With a gesture, Christopher invited Merial to walk with him while the first mate barked orders to the crew. “Pirates have plagued seafarers for time out of mind,” he said lightly. “When mankind first created the first ship, the second was a pirate vessel.”
“Yes,” she replied, pacing beside him while occasionally glancing to the north. “I have heard tales of pirates attacking merchant ships.”
“I have had the good fortune to not be attacked by t
hem,” he went on. “I would like that luck to continue. If they do not know we are there, they cannot attack us.”
“Are you certain that was a pirate ship?” she asked.
Immediately, Christopher suspected she hoped that might be the ship her father had put her onto. “No,” he answered slowly. “I cannot be certain. The crow’s nest thought he saw a black flag on her mast, but at that distance it is too difficult to tell. I merely took precautions.”
Her hazel eyes, with the sun dancing on them making them sparkle, turned up to his. Recognizing the worry in them, the fear that he had just put more leagues between herself and the answers she needed, Christopher shook his head.
“Merial,” he said, his tone gentle, “it is highly unlikely that is the ship you came from. We are hundreds of leagues from where we found you. Your ship is very far from here.”
Where he suspected it was he kept to himself.
“But that ship was going in the same direction as we,” she protested. “Toward England.”
“No, it was on a northeasterly heading. I would guess, that if it were headed toward land, it was going to Greenland.”
“Oh.” Disappointment filled her countenance, making Christopher want to take her in his arms as he had the night before.
“Your answers are in England, Merial,” he continued. “Not on the high seas.”
She tried to smile. “Of course, you are right.”
“I do believe it is almost time for lunch. Will you join me?”
“Certainly.”
Though he tried not to, as it might worry Merial, Christopher kept a watch the rest of that day. He constantly scanned the horizon in all directions with his spyglass, and ordered Mayhew to do the same. No signs of any ships at all were seen by either of them, or the sailor in the crow’s nest.
After the evening meal, he and Merial strolled about the decks as he made his rounds. As the night remained calm and the stars overhead bright, most of the crew went below for their meal and rum, laughter and talk, before turning in for the night.
“The sharks disappeared,” Merial commented as they stood in the bow, Henry balanced precariously on the rail in front of them as he begged for an ear scratch.
“Yes, I noticed that. As I suspected, they were most likely following schools of fish.”
Knowing the helmsman could hear their every word, Christopher could not make more personal talk with her, and considered asking her to walk with him to the stern. There, he might ask her to his cabin for conversation over cups of wine without the crew knowing.
“It is so beautiful out, is it not?” Merial breathed in deeply, and exhaled, gazing up at the stars.
“Indeed, yes,” he replied. “It reminds me of a night in the Caribbean. We were taking on coffee, tea, and tobacco to bring to England. The air was so pure and clean, it was almost mystical.”
Merial leaned against the rail, Henry rubbing his head against her chin. “Have you been to the far north where the ice is?”
“Yes, I have,” he answered. “The icebergs there can kill a ship more quickly than a giant squid. We were constantly on the lookout so we did not hit one. I tell you, my nerves were quite raw on that adventure.”
Merial laughed. “Was it beautiful, though?”
“Oh, yes, incredibly so,” he answered, recalling the stunning lights that lit up the night sky. “The further north you go, you can see the dancing lights. It is like God himself were putting on the spectacle for us sailors.”
“Dancing lights?” she asked, her face upturned to his.
“Lights of blues, greens, purples,” he went on. “Constantly moving, often growing larger, then smaller, never ceasing their movement. It was an incredible sight to see and one I shall never forget.”
“I should like to see these dancing lights,” Merial commented on a wistful sigh. “So many experiences one misses while in England. What makes these lights, do you know?”
“I do not,” he replied, with a covert glance toward the sailor at the wheel, “but some superstitions believe they are otherworldly spirits that dance in the night sky.”
“But are they only in the north?”
“As far as I know, yes,” he replied, gesturing for her to accompany him as he continued on his rounds. “I have heard of them only in the north, and seafaring men do not speak of them in the southern skies.”
They ambled on as Christopher made his inspections of the rigging and the sails, the sailor in the crow’s nest fulfilling his duties, nodding acknowledgment to the night watch.
“A pity women are so feared,” Merial went on. “If it were not for that, perhaps I might become a sailor. Travel the world, experience new things. See the dancing lights. The icebergs. The Caribbean.”
“Sailing the high seas is so very dangerous,” he said slowly. “Not for the faint of heart, men or women. The ocean can be as kind as it is now, then turn on you in a moment. She keeps her secrets, she does.”
“But if I, a woman, were willing to risk such perils,” Merial continued, strolling to the bulwark to gaze out over the black water, “should I not be permitted to?”
“I suppose that would depend upon the captain of the ship.” Christopher paced to lean beside her. “Granted you have permission from your father or your husband.”
“A feeling tells me that my father is most likely dead, I regret to say, as well you know.”
He noticed that she did not turn her head to look at him.
“I do not know if he made any provisions for my marriage,” she said, her voice low. “Perhaps I have a fiancé back in England, waiting for me.”
While that was an idea that certainly had merit, for Merial was of marriageable age, the words struck Christopher like a sharp blow. He realized he had not let himself consider that she may be betrothed, or, heaven forfend—already married.
With no memory of her family or origins, she may very well have also forgotten about a husband in England.
His mouth dry, Christopher knew he had to ask, though he hated himself for it. “Do you think, well, that you may be married?”
Merial finally gazed up at him, her eyes in shadow. “My heart tells me I am not,” she replied. “In addition, I believe my nightmares would include fears regarding a husband, as well as my father. Do you not agree?”
Relief at her words filled him, though he was unwilling to speak of his growing attachment to her. “Perhaps,” was all he said. “The hour grows late. Would you care for a cup of wine with me?”
Though he could not see her eyes, her teeth gleamed in the light of the moon as she smiled. “We must have Henry along as a chaperone.”
“But of course. Come, Henry.”
The cat followed at their heels as Christopher and Merial ambled toward the stairs that led below decks. Inside his cabin, as he poured wine, he noticed Henry did not come with them. Merial sat in one of the comfortable chairs, and accepted the cup he handed her with thanks.
“Where did that rascal go?” Christopher asked, taking another chair.
“I will wager he is on the trail of a rat,” Merial replied with a grin. “Did you not say he was the best?”
“Indeed,” Christopher replied. “Unfortunately, the rats breed faster than he can kill them.”
“Maurice has told me the beasts have not gotten into the grains,” Merial remarked lightly. “That is a good sign.”
“Very true.”
Steering the conversation from rats and onto what Merial might remember about her family and origins, Christopher asked, “Can you recall anything about your childhood?”
Taking a sip from her cup, Merial frowned. “I have brief flashes of things, as though seen in the brightness of lightning. I have seen faces briefly. A woman, with scent around her, an odor of flowers, roses, perhaps. I can feel her arms around me.”
“Your mother?”
“I believe so. She had light green eyes.”
“Like your own.”
Merial nodded. “At times, I can a
lmost hear her voice. Then it fades, and is gone.”
“And you can remember no other members of your family?”
“None. Nothing of brothers or sisters, servants, or friends.”
The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance) Page 8