“I sentence them to twenty lashes each,” he declared. “Each of you witness their punishment, and know this will be your fate should you dare to disobey me as they have. Mayhew, give the cat to the bosun, and start the count.”
Marching behind one, the bosun flicked the whip in preparation to lift, and swing. “One,” called Mayhew.
With every lash he landed on their bare backs, Christopher hated himself more. With their every scream of pain, every crack of the whip, he vowed he would quit sailing the seas. He never wanted be put in this position again. He wished to believe he was a kind man.
Perhaps hanging them is more merciful.
Yet, causing such harm to another, even for the sake of discipline, and to prevent anyone from trying to ever cause hurt to Merial, made him believe he was evil. Though it was not with his own hand that they were whipped, his absolute authority on board must be maintained. The responsibility for their pain was his, and his alone.
By the time it was done, Christopher felt sick, and not from bad shellfish. He watched as the bosun dropped the bloody cat to the deck, and calmly rolled his sleeves down, listening to the silence broken only by the wails and sobs of Daunger and Benson.
“Witness my justice and mercy,” he said, meeting the horrified eyes of his crew. “They could easily have hanged for their crime. Her Ladyship begged for mercy on their behalf, and I gave it. This time. The next time, if there is a next time, they try to harm her, they will hang.”
They may have called for blood, he thought with grim amusement, but witnessing it was quite another matter. “They will remain chained to the mast for two hours, until every crew member has seen with his own eyes what happens when I am disobeyed. After that, they will scrub the decks on their knees.”
As though he had not just seen two men whipped bloody, Christopher stalked to the helm, and stood beside the helmsman. The man knuckled his brow without meeting his eyes, and kept his eyes on his work. Johns also saluted him from his spot on a stool next to the bulwark, then lifted his glass to his eye as though nothing untoward had happened at all.
* * *
Christopher expected Merial to avoid him, but after a while, she stood beside him, gazing out to sea. She said nothing for a time, occasionally pulling out her spyglass to scan the horizon. “Are you hungry?” she asked finally.
“No,” he replied shortly, still feeling his guts churn over what he had ordered done.
“Maurice is busy cooking a beef and pork stew.”
He snorted. “No doubt he will slaughter us all this time.”
Johns peered through his glass as though it were the most important occupation in the world. The helmsman may have been made of stone for all the movement he made.
“I checked the food myself,” Merial replied. “The flour for the biscuits does not even have weevils in it.”
Christopher scowled dangerously as Johns chuckled. The poor man gulped after catching a rapid glimpse of his expression, and stared resolutely through his glass.
“Weevils actually add crunch to the biscuits,” Christopher commented, making certain his tone remained dark. “A pity.”
“A pity is right,” Merial stated firmly. “I care not for weevils in my bread, thank you, crunchy or not. Now you have not eaten since last evening, My Lord, I insist you do so now. I pray you do not force me to call for strong arms to bring you to the table.”
He stared at her. “You would not dare.”
“Oh, please,” she answered sweetly. “Do challenge me, do.”
Gulping as much as Johns had, Christopher had little doubt Mayhew and the men may do as she asked, and drag him to the table.
She commands their loyalty now.
He cleared his throat. “As it happens, I am a wee bit hungry after my illness. However, these men must be relieved of their watches, and there is no one to replace them. I must make certain they do not fall asleep.”
Merial snapped her fingers.
Two sailors stepped up, knuckling their brows, ready to command the wheel and take Johns’ place with the spyglass.
“Really?” Merial asked, her hazel eyes wide, innocent.
Grumbling under his breath, Christopher turned away from the helm as the sailor helped Johns to his crutches.
“After you,” Christopher said with a sardonic bow, his arm extended.
Merial sniffed and strode ahead of him while he followed, trying to swallow the surge of amusement and not bray with laughter.
She is a canny one, smart, and already knows me better than I know myself.
She led him to the poop deck where Gauthier waited to serve them with food and wine, and lowered eyes.
“How are you feeling?” Christopher asked him as he sat down.
“Better, M’lord,” Gauthier murmured.
“Good. I want you healthy when I throttle you.”
Gauthier bowed. “As M’lord commands.”
Henry leaped to the table to sit amongst the crockery and goblets, his tail twitching, his golden eyes gleaming in the light of the setting sun. Christopher lifted his cup of wine in a salute to Merial, smiling at her beauty and sweet simple courage.
“Here is to the lady of the sea.”
Merial touched her goblet to his with a grin. “And here is to the best lord captain to sail under the banner of England.”
They drank, and Christopher thought the wine tasted of the sweetest nectar. “How is it you are in such fine fettle after witnessing me whip two men?” he asked, setting his cup down.
Merial folded her hands under her chin to gaze at him. “Had they been in England,” she replied, “and tried to kill me, they would have hung by the neck until they slowly strangled to death. What is worse? That? You killing them swiftly with a shot to their heads? That would indeed have been merciful. But it is not justice. To see them shamed, beaten, in pain, is far worse a punishment than death. Now they must live with what they have done.”
Picking up a morsel of meat, Christopher tasted it, and found it good. His stomach accepted it with gratitude. “Perhaps,” he said at last. “They will think twice before abusing you now, or accusing you of witchcraft.”
“True enough. And now the crew knows the consequences of attacking me, should they start feeling nervous again.”
Christopher snorted lightly. “Do you truly believe they will ever raise their hands against you, Merial? They think you are descended from the angels themselves. You can do no wrong.”
Shaking her head, Merial replied, “That is not true. It would not take much for their superstitious fears to return. Should that happen, they will happily feed me to the sharks.”
“Not my crew,” Christopher declared, eating his meal and actually enjoying it. “I know them. Once their loyalty is given, they never turn. Now they have given you not just their loyalty, but their hearts.”
While she clearly disagreed with him, she did not argue. “By the way you are devouring your meal, I suspect your health is making a return?”
“Indeed it is. I feel much better.”
Merial gestured toward the crew lining up to get their own food. “They are much improved as well. It is a goodly sight to see.”
Christopher gazed around at the decks below, searching for Daunger and Benson, then spotting them on their hands and knees scrubbing the wooden slabs. Blood spotted their shirts, and their oily hair hung in their eyes while a sailor leaned against the gunwale watching them. Deciding not to comment on them, he forked more stew into his mouth while gazing out at the sea.
“We must continue our guard,” he murmured. “Through the night.”
Frowning slightly as she dined on the delicious stew, she watched him closely. “You think we have not yet given the pirates the slip?”
“I dare not. You are right in that they are hunting us. The Valkyrie may be fast, but speed will not save us if we are taken unawares.”
“Perhaps you should order all lights extinguished and no sounds once again.”
Christo
pher eyed Henry, who waited patiently for a treat. “You may be right, Merial.”
Giving Henry a few morsels of beef, Merial said thoughtfully, “Darkness is our enemy while they are around, and is their friend. That is how they can sneak up on us. Even spyglasses cannot find them if they sail cloaked in dark and silence.”
“That would also mean they know exactly where we are.” Christopher leaned back in his chair, and sipped from his goblet. “How can they if they are nowhere visible to us?”
“Would they not simply sail eastward?” she asked. “Would a canny captain not guess that as they saw us sailing east and parallel us?”
“Of course,” he replied, “but we could be leagues to the north or south of them. The sea is so vast, and we are but a speck upon its surface. We are traveling quite fast, Merial, and even if they shifted to the north or south, they can miss us easily.”
Her eyes studied the cat as Henry busily washed his face after dining on the beef. “We have Henry here to warn us.”
“We must not count on him.” Christopher scratched the top of Henry’s head, listening to him purr. “He is not infallible. But there is much to what you say, and I will think on it.”
As darkness descended, Christopher lit the lamps in his cabin and unrolled his charts. Calculating where they last saw the pirates on their easterly course, he then estimated where they would currently be if they had maintained their heading and speed. He then marked where the Valkyrie was on the ocean’s face, and frowned at what he saw.
“Merial is right,” he muttered. “If her instincts are correct, those pirates could easily have us in their sights, even if we cannot see them.”
We must sail under the cover of darkness even as they do.
He had no sooner blown out the first lamp on his desk when he heard the pounding of boots in the companionway. Christopher glanced up to see Mayhew in the doorway, his expression tight.
“Another ship, M’lord,” he grated. “Coming straight for us.”
Chapter 17
“All hands on deck!” she heard Christopher shout.
Peering through the lens of the spyglass, Merial could make out only the faint outline of a vessel to the south. The dim light of the quarter moon and the stars did little to reveal who they were and what their intentions might be. She saw no banner, nor could she expect to at that distance and in the dark.
She lowered the spyglass to glance at Henry, who paced restlessly at her feet, but made no sound. “Who is out there, Henry? Are we in danger?”
At the sound of her voice, the cat gazed up at her, arched his back to bump against her legs, but did not otherwise answer. “Perhaps you learned that silence is necessary at times.”
Lifting the glass to her eye again, she studied the approaching ship, ignoring the commotion around her as the lamps were extinguished, voices now muted. What she thought she could learn from observing it, she did not know. It slowly drew closer, yet identifying it as a possible pirate vessel was still impossible.
Christopher fetched up beside her, and as she lowered her glass, he lifted his. “Pirates?” she asked, amazed at how her voice did not tremble at all.
“I cannot be certain,” he replied, his tone grim. “We must—wait.”
“What?”
Raising the spyglass again, she stared at the approaching ship, but saw nothing different. “Christopher?”
“What is that behind them?” he asked, “what do you see?”
Peering intently, Merial shifted her glass slightly, and thought she saw a tiny pinprick of light. “I see a light,” she replied slowly. “I think.”
“Exactly.”
At his taut tone, she gazed at his silhouette. “Two ships out there?” she asked. “What does this mean?”
Rather than answer, Christopher took a step away from her, and yelled out, “Mr. Mayhew, ready the cannon. Prepare to bring her about. Forty degrees south.”
“Aye, M’lord, forty degrees south,” came the called reply. “Mr. Barker and Mr. Andrews, ready the cannon.”
Merial gazed through the glass, the two ships closer now. As the Valkyrie swung hard around, she almost lost her footing and skidding across the deck, and she nearly dropped her glass in her effort to maintain her balance. “What is happening?” she demanded, forced now to follow Christopher as he ran to the bow.
“That ship there is being pursued by the pirate vessel,” he told her briskly, gazing again at the ships now coming toward them.
“No,” she gasped, “how can you be sure?”
“The closer ship is a single-masted sloop,” he answered. “Not a ship preferred by pirates as it is not big enough nor fast enough. She wallows heavy in the water, and runs against the wind. And if we do not help, she will become prey within the hour.”
“What do you plan to do?”
He lowered the glass, and even in the darkness she saw his wicked grin. “We are going to give those pirates something else to think about.”
Mr. Mayhew approached. “All lights extinguished and cannons are being readied, M’lord.”
“Excellent. I want absolute silence aboard, Mayhew, I do not want to give them any warning. The wind is now at our backs, and we are under full sail.”
Like Christopher’s, Mayhew’s grin appeared evil in the darkness. “Aye, M’lord.”
He saluted, then hurried away to order the crew to silence as Merial peered through the glass at the rapidly approaching ships. The second become clearer in her sight, and under the faint illumination from the lamps on board, she saw the multiple masts and the large number of sails.
“They will catch up to the sloop quickly,” she murmured.
“Yes, they will.”
Christopher, too, watched for a time, then went to the starboard side and quickly spoke with Mr. Mayhew in quiet tones. Merial followed, not wanting to be alone if fighting were to break out between their ship and the pirate vessel. She did not quite know what Christopher had in mind, and joined him as Mayhew vanished below.
The silence, broken only by the wash of the sea on the Valkyrie’s hull, made Merial even more nervous. She nearly jumped when she felt Henry brush against her, and worried he might start meowing at the wrong moment. But it was too late to grab him and take him below to her cabin, as the sloop lay only a few hundred yards off their starboard bow.
Though she ran dark, voices carried clearly across the water from her. But Merial did not understand what language they spoke. French, she thought, or maybe Portuguese. She needed no spyglass to see the sloop come abreast of them, perhaps a hundred yards off their starboard. Then it was past them, vanishing into the darkness.
Merial felt Christopher take her hand tightly, and she squeezed it in return. The pirate ship bore down on them, clear under their lights, perhaps less than a mile away. She tensed, praying that Henry would not break his silence at the wrong moment, and whatever it was Christopher planned, it would be a success.
She dared not ask him, even in a whisper, for now she heard voices from the pirates, and wondered how they could not see the Valkyrie charging almost into their bow, just off their port side. Listening, she heard no voices raised in alarm as the distance between the two ships closed, then she held her breath.
The pirates came abreast of the Valkyrie.
Voices yelled a warning, but it was too late.
“Fire!” Christopher screamed.
Explosions broke the near silence, flames lit the darkness from the Valkyrie’s starboard side. Stunned, her ears ringing, Merial saw the sea burst up in a shower at the water line of the pirate ship. Splinters of wood scattered in all directions while voices screamed orders, while others yelled in fear and anger, from within the other vessel.
Then cannons barked from her in answer to the Valkyrie. Merial heard the sharp splashes, the explosions that sent the sea fountaining high behind them. Sea water crashed over the decks, but the Valkyrie sped on by, untouched and unharmed.
“They missed!” Merial crowed, staring as
the pirate ship floundered behind them, taking on water, unable to turn and give chase.
Christopher roared with laughter. “Just as I had hoped,” he hollered as cheers from the crew broke out all over the deck.
Picking her up with his hands around her waist, Christopher spun Merial in a tight whirl. “That will keep them too busy to sink anyone else,” he said with glee.
“So that was your plan?” she asked, slightly dizzy as he set her down. “Speed by them and blast them with cannons?”
“Yes.” He trotted to the poop deck with Merial behind him, climbing up to gaze through the spyglass. “Catch them by surprise, and be past them before they had a chance to fire their cannons in return.”
The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance) Page 16