by C. K. Brooke
“Commander.”
They glanced up. Captain Crawley gave Redding an intent look and a single nod of his bearded chin before stalking off.
Em wore a questioning frown. But Commander Redding seemed to prefer pretending that the captain’s signal, whatever it meant, hadn’t happened. “My mother, God rest her, was a loyal Quaker,” he informed her, resuming the conversation. “Thus is why she stuck me with a name like Miers, I suppose.”
Em had forgotten his given name. She’d barely been paying attention when they were first acquainted. While she recognized the attempt at self-deprecating humor—another quality she found she admired about him—she couldn’t quite indulge the joke. The name was too sweet on her tongue. “Miers?” she repeated, so quietly, he might not have heard. “It’s…”
Perfect didn’t make its way out of her lips, however, for the ship gave a fierce jolt. Em gripped the rail for support. “What was that?”
The man appeared nervous, although somehow more for her sake. “We’re changing courses. Sorry. A bit abrupt…” His words faded as they discerned the shadow of another vessel riding the high waves.
Em did not remove her eyes from the ominous black shape. “Mr. Redding?” she asked uncertainly.
His broad hand came to rest gingerly across her shoulder, both warming her and chilling her at once. “All right, I won’t lie to you.” He sounded grim. “We are fixing to raid another ship.”
“Raid?” demanded Em.
“La Belladonna,” growled one of the pirates with relish, coming up behind them. “Ar, and she’s just as poisonous as her name. Indeed, she looks the same as the last time we crossed paths. Only, this time, our guns be ready.”
Em’s pulse had begun to gallop like Liberty, her father’s mare. “Who are they?”
“Italians,” sneered Ginty. “Brood of vipers, if there ever was one.”
So long as the crew was watching, Em comforted herself by wrapping her arms around her alleged husband. In spite of the looming danger, she felt smitten by the leafy, salty scent of the commander, and the starchy stiffness of his jacket against her cheek. “I’m frightened,” she breathed.
He held onto her for the briefest of moments—and in that moment, she discovered heaven on earth—before steadying her by the shoulders. “I need you to stay below decks,” he urged her.
Something exploded out of La Belladonna, tossing up the sea in a tremendous splash. Water splayed over The Black Rose’s deck.
“At the gunnels,” roared Captain Crawley, as all hands manned the ship’s guns. “Ready…aim…”
Em covered her ears as they shot at the enemy ship at the captain’s command of, “Fire!”
“They deserve everything we’re about to give ’em,” she heard the gunner bellow over the blasts.
“And we deserve everything we’re about to take,” replied Commander Redding with conviction, in the firmest, most carrying voice Em had ever heard him use.
When his focus returned to her, his eyes were solid as ice. “Emeline, now,” he commanded her.
At the sound of her given name, she had no choice but to hurry down the companionway.
The stairs were slick from the sailors’ boots, and she almost slipped and fell in her haste to descend. The deck below was dark as her blinking eyes tried to adjust to the sun’s absence. Em could sense her pupils enlarging as she felt her way down the cramped hall to the commander’s cabin.
She thrust open the door just as the ship rocked with another blast. But whether it was The Black Rose firing its guns, or La Belladonna barreling them with cannon fire, she couldn’t tell. She slammed the door shut, latched it, and prayed it wasn’t the latter.
Em sat on the edge of the cot, trembling. Everything had happened so quickly. One moment, she’d been enjoying a quiet meal in Commander Redding’s company, and the next, the whole ship was in peril. How could she stay down there, not knowing what was happening above?
But the men were skilled fighters, weren’t they? It appeared this wasn’t their first battle against La Belladonna.
Over her head, she heard shouting and stomping so hard it rattled the ceiling. Her gaze roved the cabin in a panic, looking for something with which she might defend herself, should the Italians invade below decks, when it rested upon Commander Redding’s sword leaning against the wall.
She could have swallowed her heart. His sword. Why, the man was up there during a raid, about to battle an enemy crew, unarmed?
She was on her feet, her hands around the hilt before she could think twice. Returning above decks might be suicide, but she wouldn’t leave the commander without a weapon.
Summoning all her might, Em lifted the sword and gave it a practice swing. She gasped, fearing she might dislocate her shoulder. Blimey, it was heavy. How did men walk around with those things sheathed at their belts all day long?
She didn’t have time to guess at whether she’d be capable of wielding it. Sword over her shoulder, the young woman fled the cabin and pounded up the companionway to return it to its owner.
Chapter 10
Swordplay clanged. Blood streamed through the cracks in the planks beneath their feet as the masts rippled solemnly over their heads. They were supposed to be raiding the enemy ship—indeed, some of the Rose’s crew had made it aboard La Belladonna—but a number of Italians had stormed their deck in return. The rival crew fought them, slashing furiously with their rapiers and babbling nonstop obscenities in their native tongue.
Miers withdrew the pistol from his belt, aiming it at the olive-skinned fellow who’d launched at him with a saber. The fellow backed away, darting between masts to take on an easier opponent.
“Come on,” Miers laughed, waving the pistol in his wake. “Is that the best you can do?”
A sharp pain met his ankle. In the moment it took him to glance down and see what he’d walked into, a leather-gloved hand strangled his wrist, attempting to wrest the pistol from his fingers.
Miers fought. His ankles met another blow. With one hand, his opponent was whacking him with his only weapon, a plank of wood, while he wrestled for Miers’s pistol with the other hand.
The final blow came down over Miers’s head. With an oath, he dropped the pistol, clinging to his scalp. All went dark as he stumbled back, seeing only white splotches over the blackness in his eyes.
When he regained his vision, his stomach churned to meet the triumphant leer of his opponent aiming the pistol at Miers’s heart. The Italian’s golden teeth glinted beneath his moustache as he inched in. Miers took a step back, but would not raise his hands in surrender. Not yet.
As it turned out, he would not have to.
***
Em reached the top deck to find chaos. The pirates of The Black Rose battled a band of foreigners who resembled thieves in black leather. Shouting filled her ears, and another blow of a cannon into the water nearly deafened her. Captain Crawley’s crew were no longer manning the guns, some having crossed over and aboard La Belladonna, and the rest staving off the crew that had invaded in retaliation.
Em gasped, leaping out of the way as someone tumbled to the floor. She didn’t have time to see who it was, friend or foe. The ocean’s rocking waves were not helping as she hauled the weighty sword over her shoulder, searching madly between the dueling crews for its owner.
At last, she spotted a jacket of blue, and a face she recognized beneath the flailing masts. She darted starboard. Her gut dropped to her heels to see his pallid face as the figure in front of him, whose back was to Em, had him cornered. Only when she came up behind them did she see the barrel of a pistol against Commander Redding’s breast.
Em gripped the sword by the hilt and raised it as high as she could. With all her might, she brought the flat of the blade down over his opponent’s head. With a cry, the Italian crumpled to the deck and did not move again. Whether he was dead or unconscious, she feared to find out.
Her chest heaving, she met the bewildered face of Miers Redding.
/> “Miss Winthrop,” he rasped incredulously. “How on earth did you—?”
“Your sword,” she panted, offering it to him. “You left it behind.”
Speechless, he took it from her. They stared at each other, even as shouting fogged the air and mayhem rattled the ship behind them.
He seemed to remember himself, and shook his head. “You ought to get back below,” he said. He quickly knelt and pried the pistol from between the fallen man’s fingers. Em held her breath, hoping their enemy wouldn’t jump upright and surprise-attack them. But the Italian pirate remained limp on the floor.
“Here.” Commander Redding gave her the gun. “Take this, in case you should need it.”
Em turned it over. It was heavier than it looked, but not as heavy as the sword. She met his eyes again, relieved to see him out of danger—for now. She wanted to embrace him, squeeze his hand, tell him to be careful…but words evaded her.
The pistol was weighty in her hands. It didn’t feel right, taking it while he was in the midst of battle.
She made up her mind. In a rush, she thrust the pistol back at his chest, making him catch it with his free hand before it should drop. “Clearly, one weapon will not suffice for you. I shall feel much better with you doubly armed. Be safe, Commander!”
And before he could argue, Em was off, ducking as she hurried across the desk. She squatted and hid behind a mast pole to watch. Only when she saw a band of the Rose’s crew members climbing the rigging back aboard their ship, sacks of loot tied to their backs, did she slip off and finally descend the companionway.
***
During her long wait below decks, Em did some poking around in the cabin trunk and found an old hourglass. She set it on the bureau, took a seat on the edge of the cot, and watched the sand trickle down. After one turn, she felt quite sure the ship had begun to move again. But it was two turns before boot steps sounded outside her cabin, and the door opened.
Thank God, she thought, rising to her feet. But for a scrape on his neck, Commander Redding appeared unscathed. They watched each other for a charged moment, he in the doorway, she at the foot of the bed.
He cleared his throat, gaze still fastened to her. “You must be famished.”
Em slowly frowned.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, perceptive.
She wanted to shout, but fought to tame her tone. “You think food is my concern at a time like this?”
“Everything is over,” he assured her kindly. “We can sup now.”
Em might have laughed. “Just like that? There’s been a raid, but I am not to worry, because you were finished in time for supper? Was anyone harmed? Did anyone get—?”
“Ginty broke his arm, and the helmsman has a flesh wound. Other than that, the crew will be fine.”
While she was glad to hear it, still, his assurances were unsatisfactory. She—and he—had just been subject to mortal peril, for reasons she had yet to learn. Yet, he didn’t seem to think it worth discussing. Em’s hands found her hips. “Don’t you think you owe me some sort of an explanation?”
“Explanation?” Something subtle crossed his face—she couldn’t tell whether it was carefully-concealed irritation or amusement. Maybe a little of both. “You’re not really my wife, you know.”
Em felt herself blushing. “Of course, I know,” she said hurriedly.
He was smiling now. “Would you like to eat or not?”
“Yes, I…” She glanced at the hourglass on the bureau and sighed. “I suppose,” she relented.
Together, they climbed the companionway. Em was surprised how brightly the sun still shone. It felt like ages had passed since she’d last been above deck, although in truth, it was only a few hours.
The deck was a mess of wreckage and splintered planks, slashes on the walls and a confused jumble of conversation among the crew. A few nursed wounds, though the commander was right, nothing serious. The rest of the men were already at work, mending and waxing and collecting fallen weapons and scraps.
Em’s hair whipped her face in a sudden breeze, and she looked up. The wind was gaining speed, the masts overhead billowing out, sailing them swiftly. She was glad they were putting as much distance as possible between La Belladonna and themselves.
A warmth spread through her as the commander’s hand closed gently over her arm. Em was about to smile at him, but she was startled by a growl in their midst.
A young, long-limbed man with olive skin and oily hair thrashed his shoulders against the pair of crewmen who restrained him. His wrists and ankles were bound in chains, but that didn’t seem to subdue him. “Lasciami andare, bastardi sporchi!” he hissed, and spat at their feet.
Em took an involuntary step backward. It was almost unnecessary, because the commander stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Mr. Clancy?” he inquired of the boatswain, who was handling the captive. “Why isn’t he in the brig?”
“That’s where we’re tryin’ to get ’im, sir,” grunted Clancy, wrangling with the prisoner who continued to buck his head and hurl obscenities in his tongue.
“Well, try harder,” snapped Redding, arms tensing. He glanced back at Em, and that was when she detected the worry on his face. “Come along,” he told her, more softly, and clasped her hand again.
Em couldn’t help but steal one last glimpse of the prisoner over her shoulder as she allowed the commander to guide her off. She immediately wished she hadn’t. The Italian rogue locked gazes with her, eyes flinty. A slow, menacing grin spread across his grimy, unshaven face.
She faced forward again.
“Don’t look back,” Commander Redding advised her, apparently not having seen the transaction. Em felt uneasy. “Don’t make eye contact. Just keep walking.”
“Mr. Redding, why are we keeping him aboard?” she asked in a low voice.
“For information. He speaks some English. That’s why Captain kept him alive.”
“Information about what?”
He lifted a shoulder. “The sorts of things thieves want to learn from other thieves, I suppose. About La Belladonna’s route, where else his crew keep anything of value.”
Shouting erupted behind them, and more of the crew came to help escort the unruly prisoner down to the brig. Em shuddered. She didn’t care how useful he might be to Captain Crawley. It was dangerous to keep an enemy like that aboard the ship. He looked feral, like he was ready to tear something apart in his teeth, if not for the weak-looking chains that bound him.
As they dined that evening on hard rolls and filets of the previous day’s catch, the sky grew cloudy and dark with the onset of evening. Much to Em’s surprise, the conversation turned to her.
“Brave thing ye did back there, Mrs. Redding,” said Mr. Ginty seriously, his right arm in a sling across his chest. “I saw’r it with me own eyes, I did, the way you took down that Italian with yer ’usband’s sword.”
The cabin boy, Alexander, regarded Em with eyes aglow.
Someone else exclaimed, “Surely not her? I didn’t see ’er.”
“I did,” said another with his mouth full. “Spritely little chit runnin’ across’t deck starboard to Commander’s rescue.”
The subject carried on, those who’d witnessed Em’s actions describing to those who hadn’t, with Commander Redding occasionally contributing, until Em’s ears were positively ringing. “Really, I…it was foolish of me,” she mumbled, but no one seemed to hear.
“Mrs. Redding,” Ginty asked her, “what must’ve been goin’ through yer head when you knocked that sailor cold? Did you not fear for yer life?”
All eyes were upon her.
“In honesty,” Em said carefully, “my safety did not occur to me. I wouldn’t mind meeting the Lord, being reunited with my brother, no. Yet…” Her gaze found Miers Redding’s. His fathomless blue eyes watched her steadily, like a swelling sea. “The idea of any harm befalling my husband was unthinkable.”
Though the seamen around them crowed and teased, she hardly hea
rd them. They failed to faze the commander too. It was as though the two were alone, and she had spoken only to him.
Old Jim, already drunk on grog, issued a startling sniffle. “My Rebecca used to look at me like that,” he said. The man sitting beside him walloped his arm.
Though it ought to have made her self-conscious, it didn’t. Em couldn’t remove her eyes from the commander’s. And he returned her stare. It was the most intent look he’d ever given her, almost uncharacteristic of the man she was coming to know. And it made her feel strangely at home—understood, even. Like someone was seeing her clearly for the first time in her life.
The crew resumed their meal. Though Em had been gazing at the commander for longer than was proper, even for a spouse, she didn’t look away.
Neither did he.
Chapter 11
Emeline stood by the bureau, running the comb deliberately through her hair. The salt and wind had made it thicker than ever, the strands sticking together. Patiently, she worked through the tangles, watching her reflection in the old looking glass. It was spotty and warped, but sufficed.
Behind her, she saw the reflection of the cabin door budging. She recognized the steady way it bowed open before the glass showed her the head of loose curls that passed inside to join her.
“Good evening, Mr. Redding,” she greeted him.
He stopped, gathering her smile in her reflection, and grinned back. Her expression faltered, however, to see him carrying in what appeared to be a medium-sized, but hefty-looking, burlap sack. “What have you got there?”
He didn’t answer, only shut the door behind him and set the sack down atop the cabin trunk in the corner.
Em dropped the comb onto the bureau and spun around to face him. “You hold an office in the Continental Navy.” She didn’t try to bury the reprimand in her voice. “You are above stealing, Commander.”
“Right, and right,” he noted, unbuttoning his jacket. Heat slipped up her neck at the intimate sight. “But in fairness,” he tugged his arms out, and folded the garment in half, “the Italian pirates stole it first. And I’m not using it for personal gain.”