Care and Feeding of Pirates (19 page)

"Christopher!"

He turned. Sun gleamed on his tawny hair and
made his skin still more golden. "What?"

"What if we come to another ship?"

"Don't hit it," Christopher said, then turned
and strode away.

Honoria ground her teeth at his retreating
back, but she soon found herself caught up in the task and, to her
surprise, liking it.

The feel of the entire ship came to her
through the tiller--every twitch of sail, every tightening of line,
every gust of wind. It was exhilarating. The ship became a living,
breathing being, communicating its every move from rudder up
through the decks to the wheel and into her hands.

Honoria moved the wheel the slightest bit,
and the ship responded by swinging its bow to the right. She
quickly straightened it again, before Christopher could notice and
remonstrate with her.

The sun turned hot on this June day. Honoria
would need more than lace shawls and parasols to protect her skin
on board ship. She'd have to confer with Mrs. Colby about shielding
themselves from the weather.

Manda appeared to care nothing about the sun,
much less being a lady. She dressed like a sailor, talked like a
sailor, worked like a sailor. Christopher did not spare her
anything, seeming to take for granted that his sister would climb
to the crow's nest or tie off a line same as any of the others.

Honoria sincerely hoped that Christopher
would not expect
her
to climb yardarms or furl sails. She
looked up at the mainmast spreading its arms far, far above the
deck, and swallowed in trepidation.

But, as on James's ship, everyone on the
Starcross
did everything. The officers were not like
officers on a naval ship, with formal rank, though they had certain
jobs--to navigate, to control the crew, to keep the charts, to
command for the captain when he was asleep, to supervise the
weapons and cannon.

But the officers on the
Starcross
stripped down and bent their backs to the windlass with the other
sailors when necessary or hauled lines or bailed without waiting
for order. Even Mr. Henderson had helped raise sails this morning,
because Christopher did not yet have a full complement of crew. Not
everyone he'd worked with before had survived these four years,
unfortunately, Christopher had said, or they'd retired from the sea
and had no intention of coming back.

Honoria watched Mr. Henderson emerge again
from below decks. He'd at least changed his dandified London
clothes for breeches, boots, and coat more suited to shipboard
labors, but he still managed to look like a gentleman out for
nothing more strenuous than a walk in the country.

Why Mr. Henderson had chosen to join them at
all still puzzled Honoria. He'd turned up that morning asking
Christopher to haul him along and drop him at Tangier, where he'd
meet up with the
Argonaut
.

When Christopher expressed displeasure at
being used as a passenger service, Mr. Henderson snapped that he
could be left anywhere, he didn't care. Christopher obviously
needed more crew, and Henderson was a crack navigator.

It was Manda who'd said, "Oh, let him come,
Chris. He probably got some society daughter into trouble and is
running from her pa."

Mr. Henderson had bristled, but he'd boarded
the ship.

Honoria had first thought that Mr. Henderson
had come to keep an eye on her for James, but she abruptly revised
her opinion as she watched him approach Christopher and Manda.

Mr. Henderson's gaze riveted to the tall
black woman, though Manda did not notice him at first. When Manda
looked up at him, Henderson's body stiffened, and his
expression--no, his entire stance--became guarded.

Honoria narrowed her eyes as she watched
them. She was too far away to hear what Manda said to him, but Mr.
Henderson flushed, and his bearing went stiffer than ever.

Poor Mr. Henderson. Honoria had found him far
too arrogant and English for her taste when he'd tried to court
her, but watching him now, she felt a touch of pity for him. And
curiosity. She would certainly keep an eye on how things
developed.

Christopher relieved Honoria of duty as the
sky purpled in the west, the setting sun burning the undersides of
scattered clouds golden and chartreuse. Honoria's arms ached, her
face was chafed with wind and sun, and her legs were weak from
bracing against the roll of the ship.

Did Christopher compliment her on her deft
handling of the tiller? No, he simply told her, in captain's tones,
that young Carew would be taking over and she should go below for
the evening meal.

Honoria opened her hands from around the
wheel. Or tried to. She parted her fingers halfway, and then
agonizing cramps seized her, and she cried out.

Christopher gently pried her fingers open and
kneaded her palms with his thumbs. "Damn it, Honoria."

"You needn't hold th' wheel so tightly,
ma'am," Carew said in a kind voice. "Just rest your hands so." He
demonstrated, laying his fingers on the spokes with a light
touch.

"Yes, thank you," she said. "I'll
remember."

Christopher, still rubbing her hands, led her
away.

The captain and officers dined in the room
reserved for the charts, the charts themselves rolled up and stowed
safely in mahogany cabinets. The room had enough space for a table
and six chairs--when the chairs were filled, they scraped the walls
and cabinets. The cook, a short, spindle-legged black-haired man
from Mexico, stood in the doorway, ready to hand around the
dishes.

Christopher's chair was nearest the door. The
rest of the table had filled by the time he and Honoria arrived,
except for a chair at the far end, which Honoria would never reach
except by climbing over the table.

At least Christopher did not make her do
that. He jerked his thumb at Manda, who, grinning, unfolded herself
and slid into the empty chair. Colby, the huge bear-like man, moved
to
her
chair, vacating one for Honoria.

As soon as Christopher seated himself, the
cook handed in a tureen. Christopher placed it on the table. "Sit
down," he said to Honoria in a tone that did not invite
argument.

Honoria's legs responded to the command and
bent before she could stop them. She turned the movement into a
graceful descent to the chair, which had been warmed by Colby's
large body.

The board was covered with a yellowing cloth,
dampened so that the dishes would not slide about. On Christopher's
other side sat the pale St. Cyr, with Mrs. Colby next to him. Mrs.
Colby's dyed red hair glowed with the same warmth as the
cabinets.

Christopher scooped soup into Honoria's bowl,
then his. Large pools of oil skimmed the soup's surface, and
beneath it swam chunks of carrot, greens, and pieces of meat.
Despite its look, it smelled heavenly. Christopher shoved the
tureen to his left, and the sharp-faced St. Cyr dipped into it.

St. Cyr took some soup, passed on the tureen,
and made a polite bow to Honoria. "
Bon appetit
, Madame."

Honoria's finishing school training took
over. "
Merci beau coup,
" she said, inclining her head as
though they shared canapes at a garden party.

Colby snickered. Christopher raised a brow
and said something rather rude in perfect French.

The phrase was one Honoria was not supposed
to have learned in finishing school but had anyway. Her face
heated, but she pretended to ignore Christopher as she spooned up
the thin soup and brought it to her lips. Peppery, rich broth
poured into her mouth. It was delectable.

"So, what's her share?" Colby asked, as
though continuing a conversation begun before Honoria had
arrived.

Manda slurped from her spoon. "Why do you
care?"

Colby tapped the handle of his spoon to the
table. "We already know how we divided up the shares before. Stands
to reason we all shouldn't take less because the captain got
married. She should get a cut of his."

Manda and Mrs. Colby watched Christopher. Mr.
St. Cyr merely ate his soup in short, polite sips.

"She gets her own share," Christopher
said.

"But that means we each get less," Colby
returned.

"We have fewer crew now, Colby," Manda said.
"That means more all the way around."

"I say we put it to a vote. We voted when
I
got married."

"And Mrs. Colby gets her own share,"
Christopher said, his voice firm. "So will Mrs. Raine. There is no
vote."

Colby opened his mouth to argue some more,
but he caught Christopher's gaze and shut it again with a snap.

The cook handed in a plate of bread.
Christopher tore off a hunk and passed it to Honoria, just as the
ship lurched. Everyone automatically steadied plates and jammed
themselves against the wall.

Other than that, they went on placidly
eating. The ship ran up the swell and dropped into the next one.
Dark wind whipped through the hall as the cook went out again.

Honoria carefully pried a bit of bread from
the loaf and passed the loaf to Colby. He took it in a massive paw,
tore off a large hunk, and shoved the rest at Manda.

The bread was dark with rye meal and
molasses, and Honoria felt definite grit beneath her fingers. She
could put the bit of bread back on her plate, or offer it to Colby,
but Christopher was watching her.

"My own share of what?" she asked.

"Huh," Colby growled. "Probably nothing."

All eyes turned to Christopher. "No," he
said. "I didn't survive what I did for nothing."

"I'll believe it when I see it," Colby
said.

"You'll see it."

Were they being deliberately cryptic to drive
her insane? "See what?" Honoria asked.

"Eat your bread, my wife."

Honoria scowled at him and bit off a hunk of
bread. Tiny pebbles rolled between her teeth.

She stopped chewing. She couldn't exactly
take the bite out of her mouth, but she couldn't swallow it
either.

Next to her, Colby said, "Damn stones," and
spat a pebble across the table. St. Cyr ducked, and the pebble
pinged into the wall behind him.

"Arthur!" his wife cried. "That ain't no way
to behave. 'Specially in front of a lady."

The ship lurched up another wave. Honoria's
stomach lurched with it. She clapped her hand to her mouth.

"Oop," Colby said. "She's going to
heave."

Honoria leapt to her feet. She nearly ran the
cook down as she hurried through the tiny hall, bracing herself on
the walls as the ship rocked. She dragged herself up the stairs and
out onto the deck.

Cold wind hit her, the sun gone, the night
black. Carew still stood at the wheel, a lantern at his feet
throwing light and shadow across his body.

Honoria reached the rail, leaned over, and
spat the bad bread into the sea. The sharp wind blew her hair back
from her face and brought with it the clean scent of brine.

She heard Christopher's step. She did not
want to face her husband at the moment, but he gathered her against
him, his warm body blocking the wind.

He smelled rough and wild like the sea
itself, his scent tangling with the fragrance of whiskey. Honoria
rested her head on the curve of his shoulder. Christopher stroked
her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"Share of what, Christopher?" she asked.

He tilted her face to his and smiled, a
sinful, knowing smile. "Buried treasure, my angel."

*****

Chapter Fifteen

"You made a map to buried treasure on our
marriage license?
"

Honoria clenched her hands, trying to ignore
the pain of her still-cramped fingers as her voice rose and
cracked. She'd returned to the chart room, and Christopher had
closed the door. He'd stationed Colby at the stairs to announce
anyone coming, particularly, Christopher emphasized, Mr.
Henderson.

"Not a map," Christopher said calmly, sharp
shadows giving his features a hard cast. "Coordinates and a
heading."

The marriage license, in two pieces, lay on
the damp table. Christopher's fingers rested on the faint numbers
scribbled beneath his name. Honoria had always wondered what the
numbers signified, had imagined the priest who'd married them had
written them for reasons of his own.

Now, of course, they took on vast
significance. "I see," she said.

"This ship is built for speed," Christopher
said. "If the weather holds fair, we should reach our destination
in about ten days." His gaze rested on Manda, St. Cyr, and Mrs.
Colby in turn. "We tell the crew that we're making for Charleston
until the last possible moment. We have an unwanted guest on board,
so I don't need the crew talking about where we're really going
until they need to know. That means this conversation goes no
farther than this room, on pain of flogging." He looked at Honoria.
"That includes you, my wife."

"I am not in the habit of discussing private
matters with Mr. Henderson," she said stiffly.

"With anyone," he corrected. "Not even one of
us, without my consent. I don't want Henderson sabotaging my ship,
or trying more dramatic means to stop us. He is a pirate hunter
after all."

St. Cyr interrupted. "Why not sail him to
Tangier, as he requested?"

"Not with Ardmore prowling that part of the
world. I tangled with Ardmore once, and I don't wish to do so
again." Christopher moved his gaze around the room again, coming to
rest on Manda. "It was too hard a fight to find the lot of you.
Ardmore might consider I've paid my debts, but he still might
follow us to see what we're getting up to."

"That, and you married his sister," Manda
said with a knowing smile. "You know that Colby suggested we put
both Henderson and Honoria in a longboat and set them adrift? Let
Ardmore have them back."