The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance)

by Patricia Haverton

  Scanning the horizon, she saw nothing out of the ordinary. No ships. Only the occasional whale, distant dolphins, and the grey dorsal fins of a few sharks. Absorbed in her examination of the far away sights, she was startled when a sudden spout burst from the sea directly under her.

  She shrieked.

  Chapter 22

  Christopher, calling her name, rushed across the deck to her, as did Mr. Mayhew and no few crewmen. Merial had retreated from the gunwale, shocked and terrified by the creature that had swum up beneath the Valkyrie while she gazed through the glass, before vanishing again. “What was it?” she cried.

  Christopher stared over the gunwale, as did Mr. Mayhew and the others, but saw nothing. “What did it look like?”

  “Black with a white spot over its eye,” Merial answered, gazing down. “It grinned at me.”

  “Most likely an orca,” Christopher told her, taking her by the hand.

  Mr. Mayhew ordered the crew to return to their duties while Christopher pulled her closer to him. Her fears vanishing under his sweet, kind smile, Merial leaned against his broad shoulder. “How can I be afraid of anything with you by my side?” she asked on a sigh.

  “You should not be.” His arms around her gave her such a feeling of warmth and security, she never wanted it to end. “I will always protect you.”

  “Like a knight in armor from the old tales.” Merial closed her eyes and let herself daydream about a future with this man. “My knight.”

  Under her cheek, his chest rumbled as he chuckled. “You have such a romantic turn of mind.”

  Lifting her head, Merial disengaged from his arms. “I suppose I do.” Feeling eyes upon her, Merial glanced over her shoulder. Daunger glared at her from behind the mast, half hidden, most of his body concealed. When her eyes met his, he instantly ducked behind the mast, and vanished.

  Deciding that informing Christopher of Daunger’s obvious hatred of her accomplished nothing, Merial returned to her gazing out over the sea, with Christopher’s hand in hers. “I suppose my romantic tendencies come from my love of reading, the stories of love and honor.”

  Henry bumped against her leg, and upon glancing down, Merial discovered he had brought her a dead rat. It lay on the planks of the deck as he gazed up at her with near worship in his golden eyes. “How lovely,” she said with a grimace. “Thank you, Henry.”

  Chuckling, Christopher bent and picked it up by its tail, and tossed it overboard. “You have got to eat these, Henry—”

  As the rat sailed over the gunwale, Henry leaped up in pursuit. Without thinking, Merial seized him in midair, grabbing a hold of one leg before he plunged over the gunwale and down into the churning sea below. Henry wailed in fear and outrage as she dangled him by his leg until she could seize him fully in her arms.

  “Oh, my heavens,” she whispered, a near moan, her heart racing. “Henry, Henry, do not ever do that again.”

  “That was close.” Christopher, his eyes wide with his own fears, that the cat came within a hair’s breadth of jumping into the sea. “Thank God you caught him.”

  Henry wriggled to be free. Merial set him down on the deck, and watched as he bolted across to climb the mast and perch upon the yardarm. Busy washing himself, he glanced down occasionally as if to say, Do not ever grab me by the leg again.

  “I suppose you should not throw his rats where he can see you do it,” Merial said, her voice shaking slightly.

  “No,” he replied slowly. “I suppose I should not.”

  “We could not have gotten to him if he had gone over, could we?” she asked.

  “I would certainly have tried,” Christopher answered, squinting up at the cat. “He could have stayed afloat long enough, I would hope, if something had not gotten him before we did come about to fish him out.”

  “Like an orca,” Merial added, “or a shark.”

  “Yes.”

  She quelled a shudder. “I could not bear it if something terrible happened to him.”

  “Nor could I. I have gotten rather fond of the little beast.”

  The little beast remained up on the yardarm for the next hour while Merial tried to coax him down. Christopher returned to his rounds of the ship even as the wind increased. Her hair blew into her face, and she turned toward the west where the wind came from, frowning slightly.

  That feels odd.

  The Valkyrie leaped forward, her bow diving toward the sea, and the masts creaked under the onslaught. The waves crested higher under the force of the wind, surging, not yet splashing over the side. Merial suspected that may happen soon.

  “Lower the sails,” Christopher yelled. “Take the pressure off the masts. Storm set.”

  “Storm set, aye, M’lord,” Mr. Mayhew repeated.

  Crewmen ran to obey, the extra sails coming down to be furled while the others were shortened. The vessel slowed her headlong pace, but the wild wind still drove her forward, cutting though the sea like a knife. Merial looked for storm clouds on the horizon, but saw nothing.

  As Henry decided at that moment to climb carefully down from the mast, Merial turned her attention to him. He permitted her to pick him up and hold him, but he continually stared into the west. “What do you see, Henry?” she asked, also peering in that direction.

  The Valkyrie steadily plowed through the waves, rising over each crest before nosing into the next one. When she set Henry down, he trotted to the stairs that led to the galley and vanished below. “It is near enough to dinner that perhaps I should help Maurice,” she murmured to herself.

  Before she followed the cat, she went to Christopher in the bow. He gave her a grin.

  “I suppose it may be too rough to eat on the poop deck,” he commented.

  “I am going below to help Maurice,” she told him. “Is this wind normal?”

  “It is common enough,” he replied easily. “We have slowed down a bit even with the faster wind, but we cannot have her nose-diving into the sea, or risk breaking a mast.”

  “No, of course not. I suppose we will dine in your quarters?”

  He grinned at her. “You supposed correctly. The wind is too strong, and I already ordered our table taken below.”

  On impulse, Merial went to him, and hugged him, resting her head against his chest as her arms went around his hard waist. “Be careful, all right?”

  She felt him brush a kiss against the top of her head. “Is something wrong?” he asked in a low voice.

  “I cannot say,” she replied, turning her head to gaze up into his eyes. “I just have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. As though nearly losing Henry overboard was a warning. An omen.”

  His eyes narrowed and his smile faded. “We pay close heed to feelings in the pits of stomachs around here,” he murmured. “I will take care. You will be below?”

  She nodded, and stepped away. “Yes, I should be helping Maurice.”

  “Then I will see you in my quarters at dinner.”

  Merial doubted few missed their embrace, thus she felt certain few missed the loving kiss Christopher pressed to her lips. Though she knew once upon a time, such a public show of affection would have deeply embarrassed her. Now, not only did it feel right to be kissed in public, Merial discovered she cared not one jot for what the crew thought.

  Christopher winked. “See you soon.”

  Merial made her way across the deck to the steps that led to the galley, answering the smiles the crew directed her way.

  Maybe them witnessing their captain’s affection for me might put me back in their good graces.

  Yet, she had no doubt others, who already considered her bad luck, would simply name her a harlot. She discovered she did not care about that, either.

  Maurice welcomed her back with a grin, then handed her the bag of potatoes and a paring knife. “I missed you, cherie.”

  Heaving a sigh, Merial sat down to peel the huge number of potatoes he would need. “I see that.”

  Despite her words, she enjoyed helping him, easing his bu
rden of feeding so many, and liked how they could talk easily with one another. She and Maurice talked of France, of Paris and its beauty, and how he would one day show her the sights.

  “Ah, the Louvre,” he exclaimed, kissing his fingers. “The Palace of Versailles, the glorious residence of our kings.”

  Merial frowned. “But you no longer have a king.”

  “No, we French deposed Louis the Sixteenth. We have had little save war and chaos since.”

  “Yes, and that is a pity.”

  When Merial doled out the food to the hungry crew, she half expected the same snubbing to continue, even with Christopher standing by and watching. None did, or perhaps none dared, and if Daunger kept his eyes lowered and his expression neutral, she felt happy enough to accept that.

  “I do not like the way he looks at you,” Christopher said as they ate the hot and tasty meal in his cabin.

  “Nor do I,” she replied. “But as he has not lifted a hand to me, and has done nothing truly wrong, I believe we should simply let it pass.”

  “I suppose beating him for not liking you is rather excessive,” he admitted with a smile.

  “I have not seen much of the other,” she said. “Benson.”

  “He is on night watches,” Christopher explained. “Thus he takes his meals at different times than the others, and sleeps below during the daylight hours.”

  “Keeping them separated might avoid trouble,” she mused.

  Henry sat quietly nearby, watching them eat, and Merial offered him tidbits from her plate. Christopher frowned. “We should cease that practice and make him eat his kills.”

  Lifting a brow, Merial asked, “Are the rats overtaking the ship? Is he not doing his duty and killing the vermin?”

  He sighed, staring at Henry as the cat munched the treat and licked his whiskers. “In truth, I am told there are hardly any rats to be found.”

  “Considering how little we feed him,” Merial said, her tone lofty, “he is quite plump, thus he must be devouring many rats he does not bring us.”

  “I suppose.” Christopher stroked Henry’s head with his fingers. “If we had two of him, we would not have a single rodent on board.”

  As though in rebellion for Christopher petting him, Henry turned around and smacked his fingers with his paw, then hissed. “Henry,” Christopher admonished, his eyes wide. “What has gotten into you?”

  “That is not like him,” Merial commented confused. She, too, tried to caress the cat’s back, only to have Henry try to bite her. He hissed again. “Henry!”

  The cat jumped down and started to yowl, pacing under the table, meowing, crying, interjecting sharp hisses in his agitation. Merial stared at Christopher, who gazed back at her with a mixture of anger and anguish.

  “We have trouble,” they both said at the same time.

  Chapter 23

  With Henry safely locked in his cabin, Christopher ran up to the deck with Merial at his heels. Knowing it was foolish to even try, he did not bother to ask, or order, her to remain below. On the deck, he found nothing at all amiss. All was quiet, even if the wind continued to blow hard with fierce gusts.

  “M’lord?”

  He found Mayhew pacing toward him, as though sensing something wrong. “Is everything quiet, Mayhew?” he demanded, taking the first mate’s spyglass and peering through it and into the darkness. He cursed the fact that there was little moon to reveal anything out on the sea.

  “Aye, M’lord. May I ask what seems to be the trouble?”

  “The cat is upset.”

  While that incongruous statement may have meant little to anyone not acquainted with Henry’s odd ability to sense danger to the ship, Mayhew had seen the cat’s prophecies come true many times. The first mate frowned. “This wind may be bringing in a storm, M’lord.”

  “It is possible,” Christopher admitted, still peering through the glass. “Yet, I have not scented it, nor do I see any sort of storm activity out there.”

  He knew Merial stood at his side, also peering through her glass. “Christopher,” she said slowly. “I think I see something.”

  “What?”

  “I am not sure. It almost appears as though the starlight is gleaming off of waves going the wrong way.”

  A cold sensation settled into Christopher’s chest. “All hands on deck,” he ordered. “Quietly, Mayhew. Douse all lights, I want as little noise as possible.”

  “Aye, M’lord.”

  As he peered where Merial had pointed, he could not see what she had. “I know I saw something,” she told him, looking again. “Like wave crests that washed against other waves.”

  “That sounds to me like the prow of a ship cutting through the water,” he said grimly.

  The crew streamed up onto the deck, and all over the Valkyrie, the lamps were extinguished. A quick glance showed him the men ready at their stations, awaiting his command. He stared through the glass again, and this time, without the light interfering with his vision, he saw what Merial saw.

  “Mayhew,” he said, keeping his voice low, “hard to port, come about twenty degrees.”

  “Twenty degrees, hard to port, aye.”

  The crew reset the sails accordingly, and, like a dancer, the Valkyrie spun to her left. An instant later, flames roared out of the darkness. A distant boom heralded the cannon shot, and the explosion struck the water where the ship had been an instant before. The sea and fire climbed high, and all ducked as a wash of spray cascaded across the decks.

  Not bothering to keep his voice down, Christopher yelled, “Cram on all sail! Everything she has. Now!”

  The pirates fired their cannon again, the fire spurting from the ship illuminated it briefly, enough to mark their position to Christopher. “Ready the cannons, Mayhew.”

  “Cannons to the ready, aye.”

  He instinctively ducked as the cannon shot exploded not far behind them, Merial covering her head with her arms. Yet, as before, only seawater crashed over the ship, not debris or shrapnel. “Mayhew,” he said, grasping the other’s sleeve. “I am going below to aim the cannons. You do whatever it takes to get us out of here.”

  “Aye, M’lord.”

  Feeling oddly grateful that Merial followed him down below, Christopher raced to the cannons. The bosun organized the loading of the cannons, and opening of the turrets. Behind a ready and waiting cannon, Christopher peered into the darkness and saw the outline of the pirate vessel.

  He cranked the cannon up a few degrees ordering the sailor on the other cannon to do the same. Holding the flaming lighter above the fuse, he held his breath, willing the pirate ship to come closer. It bore down on the Valkyrie faster than a hound could run, and would be well within range in seconds.

  “Fire!” he roared.

  He set the flame to the wick, then crouched down, covering his ears. He had not thought to warn Merial to do the same, and cursed as his cannons barked, leaping backward as they blasted his message to the pirates. His shots had the ship dead to rights, and exploded upon impact with the vessel.

  In the instant before his cannon balls struck the enemy, the pirates fired again. At the same time his missiles struck them broadside, their shot blasted into the Valkyrie just above their heads. Christopher heard Merial cry out as flames and splinters of wood exploded in all directions. He heard the bosun curse as the other crewman screamed, his clothes ignited by the fires.

  Up and running, panicked, the sailor, still screaming, tripped over broken boards from the punctured hull. Stumbling, he kept on running, shrieking, up the steps and gone. Unable to help him, Christopher seized burning planks and threw them through the broken hull and into the sea.

  The bosun and Merial helped, stamping out the fires before they could spread, throwing anything that could not be put out through the hole. Above, he heard shouts and the dying screams of the sailor, then a sudden splash. Silence fell from the upper decks, and Christopher spared a moment’s prayer for the dead man. Taking a moment to glance through the shattere
d hull, he found the pirates also battling their own fires across the water.

  “Are we going to sink?” Merial asked, gazing at the sea that splashed into the hold from the hole. Christopher observed her calm demeanor, and felt his heart surge with pride.

  “No,” he said, taking her by the hand. “Not unless we go broadside to the waves and right now they are at our backs.”

  “Can it be fixed?”

  “Yes. We always carry materials to make repairs. Bosun, collect as many men as you need and start fixing that.”