“You will be fine.” Christopher’s soft croon, broken only by coughs, continued to calm her terror.
Cool night air on her skin felt as soft as a feather, and seeped through her tears to quiet her cough, her burning throat. Merial felt Christopher sit down, still holding her in his arms, coughing occasionally, as his free hand stroked down her hair.
Hearing the shocked voices of the crew, Merial suddenly realized she lay in Christopher’s arms wearing only her shift. “Oh, God,” she whispered, a new horror filling her. “A blanket, something, please. Cover me.”
His voice sounded terribly loud in her ear. “A blanket, now. Mayhew, what happened to Daunger and Benson? I want them found this instant.”
“You heard him,” Mr. Mayhew barked. “Find those two and bring them here.”
Feet thudded on the decks as the crew ran to obey the orders.
Her face hidden in Christopher’s throat, Merial shivered as she thought of how close she had come to being murdered.
If I had not had the knife Christopher had given me….
A blanket arrived, and Christopher helped tuck it around her. Her trembling eased a fraction, and she started to relax, feeling truly safe for the first time since waking.
His hand under her chin turned her face toward him. In the light of a lamp nearby, she saw his worry, his love, his rage. “Merial?”
Trying to smile, she whispered, “I am all right.”
“No, you are not. I saw blood. What happened?”
Merial had forgotten about the cut she inflicted upon herself when she stabbed Daunger. Wriggling out of his arms, Merial sat beside him, clutching the blanket around her. She brandished the still bleeding cut on her inner arm, found the blanket and her shift soaked in it.
Mr. Mayhew and Maurice, who she did not know was there as he had not spoken, stood beside them, their expressions murderous. Christopher kept his arm around her shoulders and she snugged closely to him. “It is not deep,” she murmured.
“Frenchie, will you find cloths to bind her wound?” Christopher asked, his voice oddly mellow.
“Oui, M’lord.”
With the tenderness she had no idea his big hands were capable of, Maurice cleaned and cared for the slash on her inner arm. After her wound had been bound firmly with bandages, the dull ache thudding with every beat of her heart, Merial leaned against Christopher again with a sigh.
“Can you tell us what happened?” he asked, his tone gentle despite the fury that had yet to abate.
“I woke from a nightmare,” she answered, her throat dry, raspy, “Henry must have seen them in my cabin, as he hissed. I did not see them, but Daunger jumped on me.”
Merial shivered again, her tears falling, as she recalled the helplessness, the terror, of him carrying her toward her death. “I got my knife free, and stabbed him. He dropped me—”
Maurice whooped. “That be M’lady. Fierce wench with a bite, no?”
Merial thought Christopher would harangue him for his outburst, but Merial felt his arm tighten around her instead.
“Yes, My Lady is a fierce and deadly adversary,” he said softly. “I expect that in the struggle, the lamp was knocked over.”
“Yes.” Merial let her mind shy away from the sight of the fire advancing on her with a burning hunger. “I panicked.”
“Understandably so.”
Mayhew and Maurice half turned, and both Merial and Christopher looked up as several of the crew strode toward them, and ringed them in a half circle. Andrews, the bosun, and Barker stepped closer, knuckling their brows. “Cap’n,” Andrews said, “we cannot find Daunger and Benson anywhere.”
Merial caught Christopher’s deep scowl. “They have to be here somewhere.”
“Ah, Cap’n,” Barker went on after a quick glance with Andrews. “We, I, think they threw themselves overboard. I were in the crow’s nest on watch, Cap’n. At the commotion, I looked and saw something go over the side, heard the splashes. I did not believe it were them until we found no trace of them on board.”
“With Daunger bleeding,” Christopher murmured softly, “the sharks would be on them long before they drowned.”
“May God have mercy on their souls,” Mr. Mayhew added, crossing himself.
Oddly, Merial felt nothing at the thought of the two torn apart and eaten by sharks.
They had done to them what they would have done to me.
She met Christopher’s eyes with a bland expression, then turned away from the light to stare into the darkness.
God may have mercy on their souls, but I will not pray for such. No doubt, they are far beyond His mercy now.
“In case they are more clever than we think,” Christopher said, “we should keep an eye out for them. They may have tossed something else over the side to make us think they are dead, and meanwhile they are alive and well, hiding somewhere.”
“May I, M’lord?”
Merial turned her head to see Mr. Mayhew gesture toward the lamp.
“Yes, of course.”
Mr. Mayhew took the lantern by its handle, then walked slowly along the bulwark, inspecting the gunwales. He stopped not far from the steps the led to the captain’s quarters as well as her own, and stopped. Lifting the light high, he turned back.
“Much blood here, M’lord,” he said. “On the deck, the gunwale. Daunger at least went over the side right here.”
“He would rather die at the teeth of the sharks,” Christopher said, his tone grim, “than by hanging at my hand.”
“They trouble you no more, cherie,” Maurice said, his tone fierce. “I be glad they be dead, so I am.”
Though she could not make herself say it aloud, Merial was also glad their days of watching her, calling her a witch, their hatred, was done and over with.
It is not what I wanted. I just wanted them to leave me alone.
Gazing into the east where the night had started to fade, she thought again of the sharks ripping into their bodies.
“As it’s nearly dawn,” Christopher told the crew, “we should begin the day. I will need the blood scoured from the wood before it stains my ship for all time. I will also need repairs made in Her Ladyship’s cabin.”
Mr. Mayhew bowed. “I will see to it, M’lord. M’lady.”
He strode away, issuing orders as the crew knuckled brows and scattered to obey. Maurice lightly touched Merial’s shoulder and pursed his lips in an air kiss before ambling off to the galley. Merial felt Christopher pull her toward him and plant a kiss to her cheek.
“I applaud your courage, my love,” he whispered against her hair. “I am so very glad you are safe.”
“Did they suffer, Christopher?” she asked, not looking at him. “When the sharks came, would they have suffered?”
“Merial—”
“Would they?”
“Yes,” he answered simply. “Being killed by sharks is a horrible way to die. But they chose that over hanging, for they knew I would show them no mercy.”
“Nor would I have wanted you to.” Merial felt her rage at what they would have done to her rise. “I begged you to spare them, and for that, they tried yet again to kill me. Why? Why could they not have simply left me alone?”
“I cannot answer that,” he replied. “The hearts of men like that make no sense to me, Merial. Nor will I ever understand them.”
Chapter 27
Standing in the bow beside Merial, Christopher watched closely as the helmsman carefully maneuvered the Valkyrie into the wharves. Above them, seagulls circled and called, their raucous voices overshadowing the shouts and yells of the dock workers. The overwhelming stench of fish assaulted his nostrils, the familiar sights, sounds and smells of the London docks overloading his senses after the pure air and the calm of the voyage.
Beside him, Merial wore the gown he had rescued her in, her black hair tidily braided and hanging down over her shoulder. “Home,” she murmured, glancing up at him. “Though I did not recall it being this— horrid.”
Christopher chuckled. “No, I fear London is not a very clean town, I will admit.”
“I am almost ready to stay on board, and go on the next voyage with you.”
Without an answer to that, he returned his attention to the slow crawl of the ship entering the dock, Mayhew ordering members of the crew to leap onto the wharf and receive the huge hawsers they would use to securely tie the Valkyrie to the tremendous posts. The ship came to a halt for the first time since leaving New York.
Leaning over the gunwale, Christopher made sure the crew tied the hawsers properly, then watched as Mayhew lowered the gangplank down to the dock. “Shall we go down?” he asked Merial. “I will send a man to hire a carriage to take us to my family’s home.”
Observing the trepidation, the nervousness in her face and manner, he took her hand. Merial glanced up at him, nibbling her lower lip, her countenance anxious. “What if your family does not like me?” she whispered. “What if they turn me away?”
“They will not, my love.” Christopher caressed her cheek with his free hand. “They will love you on sight.”
“But my hair, it is not properly pinned up, my arm is still wrapped, my gown is so loose on me—”
“That matters nothing,” he assured her. “Once my parents hear what happened to you, your hair being down will matter as much as a flea in a hurricane.”
That made her laugh. “I hope you are right.” She then sobered. “The ton can be so judgmental.”
“My mother is not the ton,” he reminded her. “You have suffered grievously, and no one will judge you. Least of all my mother. Now, come. I must speak with the dock master before the unloading of the cargo can begin. Mayhew will handle most of the work, so once the carriage arrives and the crew loads my things, we can depart.”
She suddenly gripped his hand. “What about Henry? Surely he cannot stay here, for he can easily run away and be lost.”
Christopher laughed, and bent to kiss her cheek. “Never fear, my love. Henry is safely locked away until we are ready to go. He always comes home with me.”
“Oh, good.” She laughed on a gusty sigh. “I could not bear it if he left the ship and was hurt or killed in that mob out there.”
“That is why I make certain he comes home. There is the dock master now.”
With Merial at his side, Christopher walked down the gangplank to meet the familiar figure of Mr. Hughes, the dock master. The man grinned and bowed, then his grin faltered upon seeing Merial. Recovering his composure, he said, “Welcome home, My Lord Buckthorn. I trust you had a profitable and pleasant voyage?”
“I did indeed, Mr. Hughes, thank you.” He half turned to introduce Merial. “We recovered this lady when her own ship was sunk by pirates.”
Mr. Hughes eyes widened. “There was a survivor that came in a week or so ago, My Lord,” he said slowly. “From the Atlantica. He said pirates killed everyone on board, looted the ship, then set it on fire. He claimed no one else survived, and barely made it to a longboat with his life.”
Christopher glanced askance at Merial, and found her face pale, her body trembling. “Does that name of the ship sound familiar?” he asked.
“I, I do not know.” Merial gnawed her lower lip. “It does, yet it also does not.”
At Mr. Hughes evident confusion, Christopher explained, “During the attack, My Lady was struck on the head, and now cannot remember details about her adventure, or how she came to be on board a ship at all.”
“Oh, I am so sorry,” Mr. Hughes said, his eyes still wide. “The survivor was the bosun’s mate, but I do not recall his name. I do not believe, My Lord, that he has taken ship yet. If I remember his name, do you wish to speak to him? I can send word to you at your family townhouse.”
“Yes, Mr. Hughes, please do that. I may indeed want to ask him a few questions. Or My Lady might. Thank you.”
Mr. Hughes bowed. “I will assist in any way I can. Now, tell me about your cargo.”
Once the details of how his cargo was to be handled, and the monies paid to his father’s shipping company, Christopher whistled for one of the crew. They would remain on board until they completed all their work under Mayhew’s supervision, then he would pay them their wages. “Run and fetch a carriage,” he told the sailor.
The man saluted and ran off across the docks to vanish. As he and Merial waited, making small talk, the crew brought down to the dock Christopher’s possessions and the mysterious coffer. Setting them in a ready pile to be loaded onto the carriage, the crew hurried back on board to finished their work and collect their wages.
As they waited, Mayhew himself brought Henry to Merial, and gave the cat over to her with a bow and a warm smile. “Keep him safe for us, M’lady,” he said. “We needs our lucky cat.”
Merial held Henry in her arms and grinned. “I just may steal him from you gentlemen. He saved my life, after all.”
Mayhew saluted them both, and with a chuckle returned to the Valkyrie. “You know,” Christopher said thoughtfully, watching him trot up the gangplank. “I think he is over his fear of women.”
Hugging the cat tightly to her, Merial replied, “I think he lost his fear of them a long time ago.”
The carriage arrived, and the sailor saluted Christopher with a grin before returning to the ship. The driver loaded Christopher’s possessions into it, then Christopher picked Merial up by her waist, her arms full with the cat, and put her inside the coach. Henry seemed calm enough to be in her arms, and gazed out over the city’s sights as the driver took them to Mayfair.
“As we are two days ahead of schedule,” he told Merial, “my parents will not be expecting us. But Mother will order the cook to prepare a feast in your honor.”
“I made my goodbyes to Maurice,” she said. “But I did not inquire as to where he goes while on leave.”
“I believe he has a lady friend who makes him very welcome when he is in London.”
Laughing at the pink blush that climbed her cheeks, Christopher bent and kissed one. “Never fear,” he assured her. “They have plans to marry.”
“Good,” she replied, her voice slightly hoarse. “I want to hire him as our household cook after we are wed.”
Christopher groaned. “I can see the quarrels I will be having with the man if I am forced to see him every day.”
“Oh, stop,” Merial told him with a short laugh. “I know you are almost as fond of him as I am.”
The carriage pulled up on front of the huge London residence that belonged to the Duke of Heyerdahl, with its long flight of steps up to the front doors and the pair of stone lions that guarded them. Christopher eyed Merial sidelong, who gazed at it with frank fascination.
“Home.”
He leaped out of the carriage, then assisted Merial down. By now, Henry had grown tired of being held, and squirmed for release. Merial held onto him firmly, however, and walked slowly up the steps at his side. Using one of the great knockers, he banged heavily on the door.
After a few moments, they creaked open, and the familiar face of his father’s butler, Owen, peered out. He smiled, opening the door wider and bowed. “My Lord, welcome home. Your father and your mother will be pleased you are safe.”
“Thank you, Owen,” he said. “This is a guest, Lady Merial Hanrahan. She will be staying with us for a while.”
“Very good, My Lord.”
Christopher had no need to seek out his mother, the Duchess of Heyerdahl, as she stood in the foyer, evidently curious about their visitor. He watched her dignified countenance turn into an expression of love and welcome. “Christopher,” she exclaimed, striding toward him. “You have returned early. And safely.”
Christopher bowed. “Mother, we have a guest. This is Lady Merial Hanrahan, the daughter of the Earl of Dorsten.”
As the Duchess gazed at Merial in amazement and no little shock, Christopher had an uneasy feeling she knew exactly what had happened to her family. For her part, Merial curtsied while still holding Henry. “Your Grace.”
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br /> To his relief, the Duchess made no mention of her family, or what had happened to them. “Please, put that little beast down, Lady Merial. Christopher, must you bring him with you every time you come home? He drives the servants mad, you know.”
“As Henry saved our lives,” Christopher replied with a grin, and kissed his mother’s cheek, “he has every right to be here. Merial, you can put him down. He knows where he is.”
Merial bent and put Henry on the floor. He immediately trotted to the Duchess and rubbed against her gown as she gazed at him with a mixture of affection and exasperation. Then he left her to rub against Owen’s legs, his purr loud in the echoing foyer. Owen sighed deeply at the cat hairs on his pristine trousers.
The Lost Countess That Counted Stars (Historical Regency Romance) Page 25