Both women looked up. "Finish the kill?"
"Means the Cap'n ain't in a gen'rous mood," he cackled, screwing up his nose as he removed the twisted remnants of an iron bolt that had been blasted into his patient's thigh. "Ee ain't of a mind ter claim the hulk as prize, an' ee ain't of a mind ter give it er the Frenchies. Ee'll drill 'er till she sinks—'and me them swabs, girl. What yer starin' at?"
Gabrielle quickly handed Thorny a wad of linen, but her gaze immediately flicked back to the entrance of the storeroom. Mr. Phillips was standing there, his handsome young face hidden beneath layers of grime and sweat and spatters of blood.
"W-a-all now," Thorny said. "If'n it ain't one o' the first die'ards. Didn't I tell ye, lassies? Where'r ye 'urt, lad?"
"No, no...I'm not hurt, Thorny." Mr. Phillips returned Gabrielle's smile shyly. "Nothing aside from a few bumps and bruises. Oh! This blood? No, it's not mine. I was standing too close, I guess. Uh...no, Captain Wade sent me down to see how we stand with the wounded."
"The wounded, eh?" Thorny chuckled and looked from Phillips to Gabrielle, then down to the panting, sweating man on the table. "Ripe lot o' checkin' we've been havin' on the wounded all the blessed day long, don't ye t'ink?"
The injured man shuddered through clenched teeth, unable to answer.
"Bah. 'Ang on, lad, still fishin' out the shrapnel."
"How is Mr. Roarke?" Phillips asked.
"'Angin' on. Ow's the Kameery? She took some hard shots by the sound o' it."
"That she did, but she shook them off." Phillips grinned. "I still can't believe we did it, Thorny. We took the bloody Northgate! Twice our size, twice the armaments...they never expected us to sail in full on, but we did and we got under her guns; there was nothing they could do but put holes in our sails."
"I'll remind ye ye said that later when ye're sittin' there wi' needle an' thread helpin' ter patch all them 'oles. Is the Cap'n fixin' ter scuttle 'er?"
"He hardly needs to. The hull has been breached in so many places the water is pouring in faster than the pumps can keep apace. De Ville has sent boats out to pick up the wounded, and we have started salvaging powder and shot from the holds."
"Ahhh...got the barstard," Thorny crowed, holding up a dripping red chunk of metal. "Ye can leave go o' yer wind now, lad. All done but fer the needle 'n thread."
The patient groaned and passed out.
"Hmphf." Thorny dropped the metal on the floor and looked at Phillips. "Sum'mit else ye wanted, Jamie lad?"
"The captain would like you come topside when you're finished here. He...ah, has one other man who needs tending."
"Tendin'? What kind o' tendin'? Bring 'im down 'ere."
"Well, ah, I believe the captain prefers you to bring a dose of turpentine and treat the man on deck."
"Turps?" Thorny's brow furrowed. "Someone took the lash? One o' our lads?"
He looked stricken at the mere thought, but Mr. Phillips shook his head. "No, not one of ours."
"Ah, that yellow-bellied Beavis?"
"No. Unfortunately we have not yet located Beavis, either among the dead or the living. And if we did, he would not require your skills; the sharks would take care of him."
"Farley Glasse," Summer guessed quietly.
Mr. Phillips hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Yes, ma'am. The captain ordered Mr. Monday to give him one hundred and sixty of his finest, not enough by half if you ask me."
Summer wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing and started toward the door. Mr. Phillips moved quickly to block her.
"It isn't a very pretty sight, ma'am."
"Neither was anything I saw this afternoon."
"No, ma'am, I don't expect it was. But the captain won't like you going up on deck yet, all the same."
Summer held his gaze unwaveringly. "Please stand aside. I have no intention of wasting any sympathy on Mr. Glasse, I merely want to go up on deck for a few minutes. For the past several hours I have been hearing more than I care to hear about what the captain said or what the captain did. I have yet to actually see the captain myself."
"Ma'am, I swear he is—" Phillips stopped and flushed, seeing the adamant look in her eyes. He nodded, reluctantly, and stepped aside.
Summer climbed the two flights of stairs to the main deck. Nearly every member of the crew she passed stopped what they were doing to give their forelocks a respectful tug, for just as many stories had come up from the lower deck during the fighting, praising her gentle touch with the wounded, the smile of assurance she gave every man along with the treatment. Thorny's skill was unquestioned, but his manners sent few away from the surgery with a flush in their cheeks and praise for their bravery ringing in their ears.
Summer stepped out of the hatchway and was immediately stunned by the eerie sight that stretched out before her. It was in the latter stages of sunset, the westerly sky was changing rapidly from purplish-gray to darkest blue. A mist was curling out from the island and drifting over the ship, cloaking the torn sails and rigging with cottony wisps of moisture. Wreckage littered the deck, and somewhere up ahead, crewmen were shouting to heave-to as three cannon that had been blown off their carriages were winched back into position.
Sections of damaged rail were swept over the side and the gaps hastily rewoven with lengths of cable. Topmen were busy overhead cutting away torn canvas and replacing it with spare sheets. No one was idle. The younger lads had already been set to work with buckets and mops to clean the blood and ash off the planks.
Summer wiped her hands again, more of a nervous gesture now, and stepped fully out of the shadows onto the deck. Lanterns were strung every few feet, attracting small flying insects and fat moths. The wind had completely fallen off and the Chimera sat motionless on the smooth sea, her decks a hive of activity in contrast with the stillness of the night.
She heard a shout behind her and jumped as a bucket of water was splashed across the deck. As she moved aside, a distant glow of lights caught her attention off the starboard side, and she changed direction to stand at the rail and look out at what remained of the warship Northgate.
It was less than fifty feet away, covered in lanterns which revealed the incredible extent of damage to her yards, masts, and hull. The deck was a much higher elevation and for that Summer was mildly thankful, as she saw where rivulets of blood had run down the outer hull, staining it red. There was not a beam or bulkhead that rose more than six feet above the rails. Her masts lay broken across the deck, the sails and lines drooping into the water. Smoke rose out of countless holes from the lower decks, while on the upper, a fire blazed hot and orange in the stern, going unchecked.
Mr. Phillips had been correct. There was no need to put any more holes into the Northgate. Whatever the fires did not consume would soon sink to the bottom of the ocean.
"Danged shame that is," Thorny grumbled, joining her at the rail. "N'owt a very pretty end fer a ripe fine sailin' ship."
"It could have been us," she reminded him.
"Aye. Could." He went on his way, clambering over heaps of broken spars and salvage to make his way to the bow. Summer stayed to watch the Northgate, trying not to think that it could, indeed, have been the Chimera left to burn and die.
She saw Morgan when she was still partly hidden in the shadows thrown by the huge mainmast. He was standing on the forecastle deck, his hands gripping the rails, and a frown creasing his brow as he stared down into the center of a group of men gathered below. He was dripping wet as if he had just come out of the sea, and Summer could hear the sounds of other men in the water scrubbing the stink and sweat of battle off their skin.
Morgan looked so much like her memory of the very first time she had seen him, that she could not move. His black hair was curled wetly against his neck and cheeks; his chest was bare and shining with the moisture trapped beneath the breastplate of dark hairs. His breeches clung like a second skin, outlining the power and strength in every muscle and sinew.
One of his arms was marked where she ha
d accidentally shot him—had it only been four nights ago she had stormed aboard the ship demanding her daughter back? There were additional cuts and scrapes that she expected to see after such a battle, but no blood-soaked bandages, no missing digits, no gashes.
As if he sensed her watching, the dark blue eyes found her. He pushed away from the rail and swung down onto the lower deck, reaching her side in a few long strides.
"What is it? Is something wrong? Is it Stuart?"
"No. No, nothing is wrong; Stuart and Sarah are both fine. I just—" she heard a bloodcurdling scream from the group up ahead and her limbs buckled a little.
Morgan took her arm and guided her back the way she had come. "This is no time for you to be on deck."
"I know, but I...I just wanted to see you, just for a minute."
His voice softened and his eyes searched her face. "Haven't you been getting my messages?"
"Yes. And I know how busy you are, and I know you don't have time for anything but your ship right now, but...I just...wanted to see you. I wanted to see for my own eyes that you were alright."
He raised a hand to cradle her chin. "And do you believe it now?"
She sighed and leaned forward, sliding her arms around his waist and burying her face against his neck. "Yes. I'm sorry. I was being foolish."
"But you couldn't help thinking someone was keeping some horrible secret from you?"
"Something like that," she murmured.
"Some pirate's wench you're going to make," he laughed softly and kissed the soft crown of curls on her head. "I suppose I shall have to get used to someone worrying about me now, whether I like it or not. I did bring it on myself, after all."
"You did indeed."
"A lucky thing you waited until now to come up, however. I've been on the Northgate for the past half hour or so, although I doubt anyone could have convinced you of that."
"You left the ship without telling me?"
He kissed her nose as she tilted her face up. "As it happens, Governess, I came down twice to see you, but both times you were busy bandaging the wounded."
"You came to see me twice?"
"Aye." He kissed her again, on the lips. "You don't think I believe everything I am told, do you?"
Summer did not know whether to laugh or cry. An echo of Stuart Roarke's warning came back as if wagging a ghostly finger: if he is thinking about you, he is not thinking about the danger his ship might be in.
"Mr. Phillips said you had Farley Glasse flogged?"
"Aye. A punishment far too light for his crimes, by my way of thinking. But then again, death would have been too swift and too easy. This way he will have cause to think about his erroneous ways for some time to come. As soon as Thorny finishes with him, he'll be loaded onto a boat and taken off my ship. I want to be clear of this island as soon as possible after that. This blasted calm is the only thing keeping us here now, but the Gyrfalcon is signalling a breeze out where she is sitting, so we'll try towing her out past the windbreak."
"The Gyrfalcon is here?"
"Aye. Straight out—" Morgan pointed into the blackness and gave a small chuckle when there was nothing to see— "there, past the fog, that is. She's sending two of her longboats to help with the tow."
Summer was not looking out at the fog. She was trying to account for the sudden tension in Morgan's face.
"It's the Caledonia, isn't it," she said. "It's out there too."
Morgan drew a breath. "About eight hours behind the Gyrfalcon. Bull didn't quite manage to get out of Bridgetown without taking on a little damage himself, so for the time being, it would be best to find a quiet place to lick our wounds."
"What about de Ville? I thought you struck a deal for safe harbor?"
Morgan shook his head. "I'm done trusting others to watch my back. Besides, this is war, my lovely. It is bound to get a lot worse before it gets any better. Had I known—" He caught himself from saying more, but Summer guessed what he was thinking.
"Had you known this would happen you never would have brought me away from Bridgetown?"
"I am putting you and Sarah in the worst possible danger."
"I am not afraid, Morgan. How can I be when I am with you? Please, don't ever regret taking me away from Bridgetown. You have given me more in the time we have been together than I would have had in a thousand years if you had left me behind. Had I truly, at any time, now or before, wanted to leave your ship, nothing on earth would have stopped me from doing so."
He smiled against her lips and murmured, "And had I truly wanted you off my ship earlier today, none of your temper tantrums would have saved you. Selfish of me, wasn't it?"
"It only makes me believe that you meant what you said."
"On which occasion, Governess? You seem to recall an uncanny number of things I may have said in the heat of the moment."
"On the occasion when you promised me we would never be apart again."
"I said that?"
"You did."
"Then I don't imagine I can persuade you to be a guest of General de Ville's for a while?"
"Not one chance in a thousand, sir."
He was debating an appropriate response when a shout from the topmast erased the smile from his lips.
"That will be Treloggan," he said.
She followed him to the gangway, hanging back a little and joining the rest of the crew who gathered to welcome the infamous privateer aboard.
John Bull Treloggan could have earned his name on appearance alone. He stood a full head taller than Morgan, easily commanded a hundredweight more on the scales, and was the proud owner of such a fearsome countenance that Summer almost turned and ran voluntarily below.
The lower half of his face was covered by a black beard that hung to mid-chest, plaited in a score of braids and crusted in gold and silver beading. His eyes were coal black and sunk into deep hollows, overshadowed by a bushy eyebrow that stretched from one side of his face, unbroken, to the other. What little skin that showed between the beard and the red bandana tied around his head was so badly scarred and pockmarked it could have been hewn from lava rock. His shoulders were as wide as a door, his legs and arms like tree trunks.
Stuart Roarke, already settled firmly in Summer's mind as being a brave but cautious man, lost considerable ground in her estimation as she wondered at the sheer lunacy of any man who would steal away in the middle of the night with this man's only daughter. Even more difficult to imagine was the possibility of Bull Treloggan siring anything that could have begun life as soft and pink as Sarah.
Bull was not the only cause of Summer's frozen stance. Climbing through the gangway right behind Treloggan, dwarfed to comic proportions and trying valiantly not to look as frightened as he must be feeling, was a scruffed and grimy figure who heard Summer's shocked cry and answered with a shriek of his own.
"Michael!"
"Summer!"
"Michael, what on earth—!"
He flew across the deck and hurled himself into her arms. When she had finished hugging him half to death, she held him at arm's length and asked again, "What are you doing here, Michael?"
"He tried to stow away on my ship, by God," Bull Treloggan grunted in a voice that sounded like two slabs of granite grinding together. "Would've thrown him overboard but he claimed to be kin to you, Wade. Thought I'd best bring him along in case you wanted the pleasure of seeing him dance from a yardarm yourself."
"I'll give it serious thought," Morgan said angrily. "What the hell were you thinking, boy? Why did you stow away on board the Gyrfalcon?"
"I th-thought it was the Chimera, sir," Michael said, swallowing hard. "I...I wanted to be with S-Summer. I wanted to w-warn her."
"Warn her about what?"
"About Commodore Winfield, s-sir." Michael's face was pale as he turned it up to Summer. "He was dreadfully angry when he found out you were gone. He thought you had taken Sarah and run away. I tried to t-tell him what happened, but h-he wouldn't listen. And w-when he did, it only
made him angrier. Th-then he said that I must have helped you."
"Take a look at his backside," Bull muttered.
Michael's arms tightened around Summer's waist and his whole body flinched as he buried his face against her.
"Michael?" She tried to pull him back again but he held fast. "What is it? What did he do to you?"
Morgan did not wait for explanations. He lifted the boy's short pea coat and shirt and angled the waist of his canvas trousers down. Welts the width of two fingers criss- crossed his back and buttocks in ugly red stripes. Summer saw them and her eyes flooded as she looked at Morgan.
"I never thought he would hurt Michael," she whispered, shocked.
"That were the other reason I fetched him along," Bull muttered.
"Can I stay with you?" Michael sobbed. "Oh p-please Summer, I won't get in anyone's way. I'll work h-hard and I w-won't eat much and...and—"
"Hush," she said. "Of course you can stay. But where was Father through all of this? Why didn't he stop Bennett? How could he just stand there and let Bennett hurt you?"
Michael's narrow shoulders quaked, his eyes and nose streamed wetly. "He didn't even try to stop him. Bennett said it was all Father's fault. He said it all happened because Father let you do as you pleased. He...he t-told Father that Sarah was Captain Wade's baby and...and th-that you were a...a whore. He said if anyone found out it would ruin everything. Father got all red and sweaty and started shouting back, and then—" Michael's mouth worked, but the words failed to come out.
"And then what, Michael?"
"Then he just...fell over. He f-fell over and he was dead. Then Admiral Reg burst into the study and told everyone that we were at w-war with the Americans. There were crowds out in the street and...and everyone was shouting and Father was just lying there. Bennett didn't care, though. His face was all red and twisted and his eyes were big and black. He pushed me up against a wall and said that both you and I were traitors now, and he would be justified in having me shot if I tried to warn you. He still thought the Chimera was in the harbor, you see. Only it wasn't the Chimera at all."
Bound By The Heart Page 35