Dreaming (18 page)

Muttering, Richard swung his foot away.

“Woof!” Gus leapt up and chased the boot—and Richard’s foot—as if it were a stick being dangled around for his amusement.

“Gus! Stop that! Richard’s trying to be heroic!”

The look she got from Richard was enough to make her clamp her mouth shut. He jerked his boot from Gus’s mouth and crossed the cabin.

She scampered back quickly and tried to be brave by not covering her eyes. She knew he wouldn’t strike her no matter how angry he looked.

He strode right past her, threw the tick off the bunk, and tore out a wide bed slat. He crossed the cabin and raised the wood high over his head.

She screamed.

He froze.

“Don’t hit Gus!”

Richard stared at her for a stunned moment. “Tempting though it might be in this case, I do not beat animals senseless.” He turned back and stared down at Gus. “Anyway, this one’s already senseless, else the beast would have the bloody sense to move out of my way!”

“Woof!”

“Here Gus! Here boy!” She patted her skirt and Gus happily trotted over to her, lips and ears flopping.

Richard slammed the slat down on the door latch. The wood splintered in half and the door popped open, the latch hanging at a bent angle.

“Come. Quickly!” He grabbed her hand and all but jerked her out of the room and up a short flight of steps.

Smoke hovered gray and
shroudlike
above the deck now slick with sea wash. She waved the smoke away and made a face. The air was heavy, damp, and it stank with the sharp taste of burning sulfur and sea brine.

“Can you see the other ship?”

“Barely.”

“Won’t they help us?”

“I can’t make out if it’s an excise ship.”

“Oh.” She peered through the smoke and caught glimpses of the rival ship. Another cannon sent gray smoke billowing over before she could see anything familiar.

Richard groaned. “It’s a Yank ship.”

“A what?”

He turned and looked down at her. “An American privateer. And what in the hell it’s doing here I don’t know.”

“Oh. Wouldn’t they help us if we told them who we are?”

“‘Privateer’ is a drawing-room term for ‘pirate.’”

“Oh.” She winced as one of their cannons blasted, then waved away the fresh smoke. “Pirates? No wonder we were at war with Americans so frequently.”

“The Yanks have a natural inclination to fight.” He scanned the deck, looking for something, and muttered, “What they really need is a bloody king.”

“We could give them ours.”

He turned back.

She smiled. “I doubt if he’d be missed.”

Richard barked out a laugh, but it was short. A cannon blasted and water splashed hard from the port side, rocking the whole ship. The crew scurried over the deck, shouting to be heard above the cannons’ roar.

Phelim
stood behind the closest cannon. She felt sure it was
Phelim
, because he was wearing the cocked hat of a naval officer and a Nelson
eyepatch
, which he had turned up so he could better angle the cannon.
Philbert
stood nearby, his arms crossed while he watched a crew member light one of the cannons, and
Phineas
hid behind a mast with his hands covering his ears and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

“Keep your head down!” Richard shouted and pulled her along with him, Gus lagging close behind.

Richard stopped in front of one of the masts and wrapped her arms around it. “I have to untie that skiff and lower it over the side. Hang on to this and do
not
let go. Do you understand? Do
not
let go for any reason!”

She nodded, not daring to defy him when he had that look on his wonderful, heroic face.

“Keep your head down and clear of the boom!”

“What’s a boom?” she shouted back.

He pointed at a wooden crossbeam above her head. “That’s a boom! It shifts with the sail! Understand?”

She nodded, and Richard moved toward the skiff. She stared up at the beam, her hands linked tightly to the fattest part of the mast. “What an odd name. I wonder why they call it a boom?” she thought.

Another cannonball splashed nearby, sending a shower of sea water over them. She turned and looked for Gus, worried.

She shouldn’t have been. He had a new toy. He was lumbering after Richard, nipping playfully at his boots.

All around her was smoke and stench and spraying water. The ship rocked unsteadily, leaning more toward the side of the ship she’d damaged. The masts creaked and she looked up, just as the boom swung in a wide arc.

Breath held, she ducked, feeling the brisk wind of the beam as it passed over her head. Eyes looking upward, she watched the heavy boom swing, dragging a long rough hank of rope over her shoulder.

She grasped the rope, holding it tightly while she tried to find somewhere to secure it. There was no pin, no hook, nothing but a splintered set of holes where the securing device must have been.

There was a shout, a familiar gravelly voice.
Letty
turned.

Two sailors, their arms filled with cannonballs, were running toward her. One of them was Harry. His gaze met hers. His ruddy cheeks drained of color. He cursed.

She remembered his curses. She remembered Richard’s orders.

The rope slid from her fingers as she hugged the mast a little tighter, waiting for Harry’s face to flush with anger. Then she’d run. Even Richard couldn’t blame her then.

But Harry stood frozen for an extra second.

The mast creaked.

She looked up.

The boom swung back.

She ducked and squeezed her eyes shut.

There was a whacking
thud
. A grunt. The rolling thunder of loose cannonballs.

She cracked open her eyes and winced. Both men were doubled over the swinging boom. Even over the noise of the opposing cannons she could hear Harry calling for his mother. With solid momentum, the boom swept both Harry and the other smuggler over the side, where they dangled for an instant before they slipped off the crossbeam like human raindrops.

A seafarer’s lifetime of hearty curses echoed back to her as the empty boom swung back. She hunched down, still staring at the spot where the men had flown overboard. Their shouts faded into a splash.

Surely sailors could swim. She hesitated, then craned her head around and searched for help. Most of the crew were at the cannons. She called out, but no one paid heed. Everyone was too busy, too hurried. And the cannon noise was increasing.

Back on the other side, Richard was hunkered down behind the small boat, untying it. Gus was with him, his tail wagging and half his body wormed between Richard and the boat.

“Richard!” she called out.

His hand shot out from behind the boat to wave her quiet. He didn’t understand.

“Richard!” she tried again.

He turned, scowling down at Gus’s backside, then he finally looked at her, his face a mask of irritation.

She pointed toward the opposite side of the ship.

He raised a finger to his lips and shook his head, frowning.

“But . . . ”

His narrowed eyes promised dire retribution should she disobey him.

She swallowed the rest of her words as he disappeared behind the skiff. She glanced around, wondering what to do. Then, with a break in the wail of the cannons, she heard Harry’s shouts, seconded by the other man.

She took her first deep breath in minutes. Dead men don’t shout. A deckhand moved from a nearby cannon and leaned over the side. He turned back, called and waved for help, then hurriedly threw a knotted rope over the ship’s side.

With a sigh of relief, she laid her cheek against the damp smooth wood of the creaking mast. She clung tightly and watched the beam swing back around with a powerful
swoosh
. Cannonballs rolled past her, loose and abandoned, rumbling across the wooden deck like thunder. In her mind’s eye she saw the strong arm of the wooden beam sweep through the air, the men flying off the deck. Finally enlightened, she nodded slowly, then muttered, “So
that’s
why they call it a boom.”

Richard gave the hellion a hard look. What he wanted to give her was a hard push. “I said . . .
jump
!”

She stood on tiptoe and peered over the railing. “I don’t think so.”

“We are trapped on this ship, prisoners, in the middle of a sea battle, surrounded by smugglers—inept though they might be—who want to do God only knows what to us; and who just might succeed, although it would surely be by complete accident. This is our only chance. Now jump, or I’ll throw you in!”

She shook her head.

“You were willing to jump for that dog. Now jump!”

Her hands gripped the rail even tighter. “That was spur of the moment. He was already in the water. It was instinct.” She peered doubtfully at the water and muttered, “Besides, I knew you’d do it.”

He paused. Intimidation wasn’t working. He climbed over the railing and hung on the outside. “The boat’s our only means of escape. It’s down there, waiting.”

“I know . . . ”

“Come, hellion.” He slid his hand over hers. “I’ll hold your hand.”

She paused for a second of doubt and stared longingly at their hands, then shook her head again.

He leaned closer to her, speaking soothingly and stroking her hand lightly, the way he would calm a frightened mount. “We’ll jump together. You and I.” He hesitated. “Kindred spirits.”

She sighed. “You are so very brave.”

“Yes, and you’re going to be equally as brave and jump with me.”

“No.”

Jaw tight, he glanced around the deck, searching for her dog. In some desperate part of his mind he thought he might throw the beast in first so she’d go after it. But she would insist he play hero again and jump.

They had little time and almost no chance. Should he just pick her up and throw her in? He looked at the girl who claimed to love him, who swore he was a hero and had saved her life.

A devil of a smile played at his lips. He controlled it and took a step toward her, feigning what he hoped was a pleading look. Then he took another step. “
Letty
,” he said slowly and reached for her.

Then he slipped and fell through the air, the wind whipping past him—a sensation he was beginning to instinctively associate with the hellion. Like pain.

The water hit him with a hard icy sting. Underwater, he heard her call his name, but he let the current slowly carry him to the surface, where he splashed enough to take several deep breaths of air, then grew still and floated facedown like a dead man.

She called his name again. And again.

He wondered how long he could hold his breath.

She sounded as if she were crying. But he justified his conscience by telling himself she sounded that way because he was underwater.