The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  The crew swarmed to obey him, scrambling up the rat lines to unfurl the additional sails the ship did not ordinarily need to travel. The sails came down, and immediately filled with the brisk wind even as Mayhew ran to stare up at him.

  “M’lord?”

  “We have company, Mr. Mayhew, and I dislike their intentions. After full dark, no lights will be lit, and we will change course and heading.”

  “Aye, M’lord.”

  As the Valkyrie plunged through the waves at a greater speed, he inspected their set, making sure the additions would not tear the masts down. Turning back to Merial, who gazed at him with questions clear in her eyes, he said, “Henry knows things no cat should. I would be a fool to not heed his advice.”

  “Who is back there? I saw a ship.”

  Christopher hesitated, then said, “Pirates.”

  Merial’s face blanched. “No. It cannot be.”

  “God has favored us with a cat who can foretell danger,” Christopher went on crisply. “There is a ship of unknown quality behind us. I am putting the two together, and will believe that Henry is telling us that ship is dangerous.”

  She glanced at Henry, who still stared into the setting sun, then back at him. “How can we escape?”

  “Under the cover of darkness,” he replied, peering once again through the spyglass at the distant ship. “With greater speed, a change of direction, and if we show no lights and make no noise, she may pass us by in the dark of night.”

  Merial nodded. “Then Maurice and I must feed the crew immediately. After which, if we show no lights, we should be safe enough.”

  Christopher made no argument as she went below. The meal they served just as the night fell was hastily prepared, yet filling, and all the crew ate their fill until they could eat no more. He himself ate while standing on the rear deck, staring into the darkness and seeing nothing.

  “Mr. Mayhew.”

  “Aye, M’lord?”

  “Assemble the crew.”

  “Aye, M’lord.”

  Under the lights of a few lamps, the crew stood on the deck gazing up at him. “I believe we have a pirate ship seeking our lives,” he began. “But by God’s divine grace, we will thwart them. I want watches posted at every point of the ship, in shifts, all through the night. All lights will be distinguished, and that means no smoking. Absolute silence, gentlemen. No coughing, no sneezing, no laughter. If you snore, you do not sleep this night. In a few minutes, we will change our heading, and turn roughly north by northeast. If we are lucky, and I believe we are, the bastards will pass us by and never know we are there.”

  “But come dawn, Cap’n?” asked a sailor. “What then?”

  “By dawn we will have placed leagues of open water between us and them,” he replied. “The Valkyrie is one of the fastest ships ever built. With our current speed, if the wind holds, they can never catch us.”

  Murmurs of approval and triumph met his words, but Christopher raised his hand for silence. He received it. “I say again—absolute darkness and silence. No lights, no sound, not for any reason. There will be no moon this night, which will aid us in our escape. You have your orders. Those not on watch, go below and get what rest you can. Douse the lanterns.”

  At his order, all the lanterns were blown out. He made his way down to the main deck as Mayhew organized the watches, and sent the rest of the men below. At the bow, he told the helmsman, “Thirty degrees north by northwest.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  He spun the wheel, and Christopher’s night vision enabled him to see the heading on the big compass shift and point in the new direction. “Good man,” he whispered. “Now no noise.”

  “Those pirates will hear nothing from me, Cap’n.”

  “We sail on this heading for two hours, then back onto our easterly heading.”

  Rather than speak, the crewman knuckled his brow as he nodded.

  Leaving the sailor, Christopher paused amidships to listen, and heard only the creak of wood, the hiss of the wind through the lines. As he had said, the Valkyrie was built for speed, and the extra sails put little pressure on the huge masts. The vessel sped through the seas like a hound after a rabbit, the wash of water against her hull indistinguishable from the sound of the waves.

  He encountered Merial as she walked the ship, peering into the dark. “You should get your rest in your cabin,” he murmured in her ear.

  “I cannot find Henry,” she whispered back. “I fear he may set up a squalling at the wrong time.”

  Christopher wanted to curse. Merial was right—the cat could not be ordered to silence, and if he killed a rat that set up a harsh squealing at the wrong moment…. “I will help you look.”

  They split apart, calling Henry’s name in low voices, Christopher hoping they could find and secure him quickly. He feared that the ship behind them may have closed the distance in the dark, and even a cat’s loud meows might be heard. Sound carried easily across water.

  “Let us check the poop deck,” he hissed in her ear.

  Sure enough, Henry sat staring into the darkness, his tail twitching in odd spasms. Before Merial picked him up, Christopher took her arm to stop her. She froze, her eyes wide, watching as he turned his head to stare in the direction the cat gazed.

  Faint lights gleamed in the utter darkness to their west and south, and he fancied he heard rough singing, voices lifted in either orders or jests. By their course, if they remained on it, they would continue straight east while the Valkyrie headed far from them. Before Henry could move, Christopher scooped him up and clamped the cat’s mouth shut.

  Henry squirmed in his grip, struggling and scratching as Christopher strode quickly down to the lower decks, and Johns. He nudged the door open with his foot, the cat growing more and more angry. “Keep him quiet, Johns,” he ordered, putting Henry in his arms. “Make no noise.”

  Johns nodded without speaking, and Christopher closed the door silently behind him. Returning to Merial, who still stood with her huge eyes on the not so distant ship. He, too, watched as the pirates drew away from them, growing further and further away. Taking her by the arm, he bent and murmured in her ear.

  “They believe us ignorant of their presence. Thus, they will continue on what they think is our course.”

  “Until they do not.” Her face so close to his, he clearly saw her worried eyes. “Once they realize they have been duped, they will begin the hunt.”

  “And where will they hunt, cherie?” he asked, his whisper light and humorous. “The sea is vast. And we will be far from where they expect us.”

  “My bones say they will not give up.”

  “They may not,” he agreed, his eyes on the lights before they vanished over the horizon. “But we are lightly loaded and quick. If I know anything about ships, they appeared laden with cargo and low in the water. We can outrun them.”

  Her teeth gleamed in a grin. “We also have the advantage. We have Henry.”

  * * *

  Henry sulked at his maltreatment the evening before, and refused to join Christopher and Merial in his cabin for a breakfast of bacon, bread, and salted herring. “He will get over it,” Christopher assured Merial as she relentlessly called for him.

  “I hope so,” she said on a sigh, hardly touching her food. “Where is he?”

  Henry had climbed the main mast, it turned out, and perched on a spar, gazing down as Christopher and Merial tried to coax him down. His golden eyes stared at them, his tail lashing, before gazing out at the open sea. Merial insisted upon setting pieces bacon and pieces of sailfish below the mast in an effort to tempt him down.

  “He will come down when he gets bored,” Christopher assured her.

  “Has he done this before?”

  Christopher shaded his eyes as he gazed up. “Once or twice.”

  “I do not like this.”

  He glanced at her. “Nor do I.”

  As Merial refused to leave the vicinity, Christopher made his usual rounds, and fetched up beh
ind Benson and Daunger, the newcomers, as they coiled rope. He paused when they spoke her name.

  “Females on ships be cursed,” Daunger remarked, spitting onto the deck. “The pirates last night be proof o’ that.”

  Fury roared through Christopher, but he forced himself to listen, and bide his time.

  “Aye,” agreed Benson. “I were on a vessel wi’ a woman years back. The ship sank wi’ all hands. I be the only survivor. I swore to ne’er sail wi’ a female again.”

  “These blokes be taken wi’ her.” Daunger glanced around at the crew working. “They say she be good luck. But the pirates be a sure sign that she ain’t.”

  “They say the captain be in love wi’ her,” whispered Benson. “She be a witch for sure. We should toss her o’erboard, no one be the wiser.”

  Christopher pounced with a savage snarl. Seizing each man in his fist, he slammed them against the bulwark, his rage granting him more strength than was his norm. “I should throw each of you to the sharks,” he grated, his eyes mere slits as he stared at their panicked faces, their hands trying to pry his fingers from their throats. “How dare you malign the lady. And you spat on my ship.”

  The commotion brought Mayhew and others on the run, and Christopher half-heard their running feet, their rising questions. Letting the weight of Benson and Daunger come forward, he slammed them against the stout wood again.

  “We brought you on board,” he snapped. “And this is how you repay us?”

  “M’lord!” Mayhew tried to pull him away from the two as they hung from his fists, pinned hard against the bulwark. “M’lord, stop, you will kill them.”

  “I should hope to kill them, by God.”

  Christopher let them go, watching, breathing hard, as they slid down to the deck and held their arms over their heads. They frantically apologized, all but crawling at his feet, begging for mercy. Glancing around, Christopher saw the horrified eyes on him, the signs of the cross, the panic. “They thought to throw Her Ladyship overboard,” he roared. “Are we going to ignore that insult to our beloved good omen? Daunger spit on our vessel.” He pointed to the small spot of spittle on the deck.

  The fear around him turned to hot rage, the mutters and growls rising with threats of dire punishment. Mayhew, his expression grim, reached down and lifted each one before throwing them to the deck several feet away.

  “Should we feed them to the sharks, M’lord?” he asked, and Christopher knew in that moment all he had to do was say yes, and the pair would be thrown immediately overboard. He stared down as they groveled, pleading for mercy, and shook his head.

  “Not yet,” he replied, his tone grim. “But I want them watched, every moment of every day. Should they say one word against Her Ladyship, then I will have them flogged. And no one spits on my vessel.”

  Mayhew stepped forward and viciously kicked each of them. “Get back to work, you scabrous hounds,” he bellowed.

  Daunger and Benson scrambled to their feet, the faces pasty white as they offered frantic salutes before seizing buckets and brushes, and began to scrub the deck. Christopher turned his back on them with a snort of disgust, and found Merial watching from behind the group of outraged crew.

  “To work,” Mayhew ordered. “Nothing to see here.”

  The crew scattered and went muttering back to their duties, knuckling brows to Merial as they passed her. Christopher observed her tense, tight expression before she, too, turned away. He swore under his breath, considering the merits of going after her. He caught Mayhew’s grim eyes.

  “She will win them over, M’lord,” he said, his voice low. “Her Ladyship can charm a sparrow off the branch.”

  Christopher shook his head. “I am not so certain about that. That pair is of a different breed, Mayhew, without loyalty to either me or the Valkyrie. I fear they may try to harm her.”

  Mayhew gazed at the two scrubbing the wood planks. “I will throw them overboard myself should they dare look at her crosswise.”

  “Keep a watchful eye on them for now,” Christopher instructed him. “As well as our own. Benson and Daunger have made them angry, and I need no bloodshed. We have troubles enough.”

  “Right you are, M’lord.”

  Mayhew knuckled his brow as Christopher followed Merial. He found her near the bow on the port side, a spyglass to her eye as she scanned the horizon. He knew she knew he had arrived beside her, but she did not turn, or lower the glass.

  “They will come to appreciate you as the crew have,” he said, his voice low.

  “Does it matter?” she asked, still searching for any glimpse of the pirate ship.

  “Perhaps not,” he admitted. “I do not want you upset by them.”

  “Why should I be upset?” Merial finally lowered the spyglass, but did not look at him.

  “Because those two went beyond the bounds and threatened your life,” he said. “I want you to be on your guard, Merial, at all times. But also know that they will be watched, and you are protected.”

  She finally glanced up. “It would appear this threat is real, Christopher. Now should I be armed?”

  He bit his lip as he gazed out over the calm sea, the sunlight glimmering off the waves. “Come with me.”

  Striding across the deck, he led her down the companionway to his quarters. While she stood near the door, Christopher hunted through drawers, trying to remember where he had put it, muttering under his breath. Aha. He seized the knife, still in its sheath, by the hilt, and went back to her.

  “This has straps so you can buckle it either to your arm under your shirt, or your leg under your trousers.” Christopher pulled the double-edged dagger from its sheath to show her. “It is razor sharp, and with two edges you can slash and cut easily.”

  Merial gazed at it in awe. “I find it difficult to believe that I may be forced to defend myself.”

  “I will pray this never comes to pass,” he told her, returning the blade to its sheath. “I do not know Daunger and Benson the way I know my crew, and they are unpredictable. While they will be watched, there may also be times when they are not.”

  Merial rolled up the sleeve of her shirt, baring her left arm. “Will you strap it on for me?”

  Christopher buckled the sheath to her inner forearm, approving of how she would be able to swiftly yank it free if necessary. “Please stay among those who will protect you,” he pleaded, as she rolled the sleeve down. “Do not be alone save when you are in your cabin.”

  “And do not linger near those men,” Merial added with a small smile. “I will watch, and be on my guard.”

  “Good. I hope I frightened them enough this day that they will think twice before letting their superstitions override their better sense.”

  “But fear makes men dangerous,” she replied, heading toward the door. “They may be more afraid of me than of you.”

  “You are wise, Merial,” he told her as they climbed the steps. “That may make them keep their distance.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Or they may seek to throw me into the sea, and rid me of the threat of the bad luck I may cause.”

  “Thus you have something to defend yourself with.”

  Amidships, Merial stopped to shade her eyes from the sun as she gazed up at Henry. “I do wish he would come down.”

  “He will. That cat has more sense than many people I know.”

  After several more hours of sulking and worrying Merial, Henry did. He clawed his way slowly down the mast, and dropped lightly to the deck, then inspected the food left there for him by Merial. Christopher watched his descent, as Merial had gone below to the galley to assist Gauthier with the evening meal.

  Bending, Christopher stroked the cat’s arched back as he ate. “Sorry about last night, old lad,” he murmured. “But it was necessary.”

  The chastened pair from the White Gull worked diligently and well, their eyes lowered. Christopher observed from a distance that Mayhew kept himself visible to them even as he performed his own duties
. And if he could not, another crewman whose loyalties to Merial remained unquestioned watched them.

  Satisfied that they could do nothing against Merial without it being observed, or say inflammatory words against her, Christopher strode about the decks on his rounds. The wind continued brisk, and he considered ordering the additional sails lowered until such time as they were needed again.

  “We need to make up the time we lost by changing directions,” he murmured to himself.

  Four crewmen in addition to the crow’s nest constantly watched the horizon at all four directions on the compass. Under normal circumstances, the outlook above was sufficient to warn of danger, but these circumstances were far from normal. Christopher did not doubt that Merial’s instincts were correct and that the pirates still hunted them.