Surrender of a Siren (28 page)

“Fall, damn you.” He leaned his shoulder against the mast and pushed, though he knew it a futile effort. Teeth gritted and heels dug into the grooves of the deck, he shoved again. “
Fall
.”

Nothing.

An unfamiliar seaman’s voice rasped through the gale. “Abandon ship! All hands, abandon ship! To the boat!”

A handful of sailors struggled up through the forecastle hatch, lurching their way toward the stern. If the men noticed a bearded madman attempting to topple the mainmast with his bare hands, they did not pause to spare him a second glance.

“Stop that bloody shouting!”

The surly, languid curse drew Gray’s attention toward the stern. He watched as a lanky man in a black, brass-buttoned coat staggered out from the captain’s cabin, rubbing his bleary face. Slack-jawed and blinking, he wore an expression that was one part bewilderment, two parts liquor.

The captain looked up at the encroaching flames and scowled. “What the devil—?”

Gray shook his head. Had the man slept through the whole damned ordeal? He’d lost at least two crewmen and his ship was poised to become an inferno, and this excuse for a commander had the idiocy to curse the alarm that roused him from his stupor?

The deck lurched, and the drunken captain grabbed a pin for support. With the next roll of the ship, he vomited wildly on his own boots.

Gray took two strides toward the helm and cupped his hands around his mouth. “O’Shea!”

The Irishman caught his gaze across the ship’s wheel.

Gray indicated the retching officer. “Get him to the boat. And stay there yourself. Tell Levi to start pulling away. Now.”

“What about you, Gray?”

“I’ll swim out to you. Now go!”

“Aye, aye.” O’Shea yanked on the captain’s coat sleeve, practically carrying him toward the boat. They both disappeared over the ship’s rail, and Gray watched the ropes securing the jolly boat reel out and then go slack.

They were away.

Gray sagged against the mainmast, feeling the flames above him singe his hair. He was going to die here, alone, leaving nothing to mark his time on this earth but a string of dashed expectations and broken promises. His legacy would fade faster than the wake of a porpoise.

Something popped overhead, and sparks showered down around him. Ducking, Gray buried his face against his arm. Perhaps, he thought, he
could
swim for it. There were injured men in the hold—how many? Four? Five? No way to save them now. But he could save himself. He could swim back to her. He’d swim miles to her, if that’s what it took.

But could he live with himself afterward, knowing he’d abandoned five men to an agonizing death while he swam to safety?

An image of her loveliness bloomed behind his eyelids.

Gray decided maybe he could.

Sliding his back down the mast, he sank to the deck and wrestled to remove his boots.

The flames had reached the standing rigging now. Above him, the tar sizzled and popped on the surfaces of the ropes, dripping to the deck like a black, sulfurous rain. His first taste of hell? The heat of the flames washed over him.

And then a familiar voice froze the very blood in his veins.

“What now, Captain?”

It couldn’t be. Gray’s head snapped up, and a curse tainted his rough exhalation. It was.
Davy
. “What the hell are you still doing here? You were supposed to leave with the boat!”

The boy shrugged. “I didn’t. Thought you needed me.”

Gray squeezed his eyes shut and let his booted foot fall to the deck. “Davy, I don’t suppose you can swim?”

“No, Captain.”

Gray swore again. He kicked the mast. Punched it. Stepped back, lowered his shoulder and rammed it with all his strength, all the while releasing a vicious stream of profanity.

Davy tilted his head and scratched his neck. “Don’t think that’s working.”

“You’re bloody right, it’s not working,” Gray shouted at him. “We’re going to die, do you realize that?”

“Is there no other way to take a mast down?”

“I’ve taken dozens of masts down. But from my own damn ship, with the …” As Gray’s voice trailed off, hope sparked in his chest. The idea was pure madness. But better mad than dead. He wheeled to face the bow, a prayer caught in his throat as his eyes swept the deck. Finally, his gaze locked on the object he sought.

A six-pounder cannon, hunched low by the rail.

He strode toward it, the boy hurrying to follow. “Davy, do you know how to fire a cannon?”

“No, Captain.”

After cutting the ropes with his knife, Gray swung the cannon one hundred and eighty degrees and shoved it to the center of the quarterdeck. “You’re going to learn. Put your thumb here”—he indicated the vent hole at the top, and waited until Davy complied—“and don’t remove it until I tell you to.”

Gray retrieved the keg Davy had dropped earlier and broke it open with his knife, pouring a good third of its contents into the cannon. No time to measure out the charge. Better to err on the side of excess.

Now for the cannonballs. “We’ll use a double shot,” he explained to Davy. “We’ll only get one try at this.” Gray reached for the row of shot stored in the bulwark, only to snatch his hand back. The bloody things were still scorching to the touch. And worse. His heart sank as he gave the row an experimental kick.

The damned things were fused together. A caterpillar of iron.

Every profane word Gray had ever heard, read, uttered, or invented spewed forth from his mouth.
Don’t panic
, he told himself, when Davy blanched.
Anything can go in a cannon. Anything metal, and preferably round
.

The gale howled through the sails, now lacy with flame. The ship gave a sudden lurch; the deck tipped. And the smoking remnants of the ship’s bell rolled to rest at Gray’s feet, like the answer to a prayer.

Using the cuffs of his shirt to buffer the heat, he threw the lump of metal into the cannon’s mouth.

Gray gestured for Davy to remove his thumb. “Now, we need a fuse … and a spark.”

“No shortage of those.” Davy’s straight-faced quip gave Gray a sudden surge of determination. He was not going to let this boy die. Crewmen with his good humor and courage were beastly hard to find. Crouching behind the cannon, he aligned the sights with the base of the mainmast, just below the spreading flames.

If he missed—or even if he hit his mark—this single shot could have the entire ship exploding into flame and ash. It was a desperate risk, for a desperate situation.

“Stand clear, to the side,” he ordered Davy. “And cover your ears.” Gray scrambled to pluck a glowing sliver of wood from the deck. He touched it to the fuse, clapped his hands over his ears, and ducked.

Boom
.

The shot ripped from the cannon’s barrel. A cloud of smoke and powder instantly engulfed them. Splinters of wood showered them, some piercing straight through Gray’s shirt and lodging in his flesh. Blinded, deafened, choked, and gagged—Gray simply waited for one of his senses to return and let him know whether or not he’d survived.

The powder slowly cleared, and through the dissipating cloud, Gray saw the mainmast. Blasted on one side, but still standing. Still afire. Burning brighter still.

Gray jumped to his feet. “Fall, damn you.”

The wind accelerated, and an eerie creaking sound pierced the air. Slowly, drunkenly, the mainmast splintered at its base and made an ungainly dive into the sea, severed rigging slithering behind it like eels.

“Jesus Christ.” Gray slumped back to his knees.

And then—as if God Himself had heard him and decided to drown his blasphemous soul and be done with it—the skies opened up and vomited rain.

Stinging sheets of water scoured the deck, pelting them as they huddled by the cannon. For long moments the two of them crouched there, soaking up water like sponges. Gray’s limbs were heavy with shock.

At last, Davy sputtered and shook himself like a wet dog, adding a horizontal spray of water to the vertical deluge. “Thank God.” His boyish grin broke the ice encasing Gray’s own reaction.

He laughed. What else could he do? He ought to have died. He was going to live. It was either laugh or weep, and he was already soaked with enough water to float a barrel.

“Don’t relax yet. We’re not done.” He put a hand under Davy’s arm and hauled the boy to his feet. “Find any able-bodied men still aboard and form a work chain. The ship’s not out of danger yet. A slow fire might have sparked anywhere in her frame. We have to bring up that rum from the hold and dump it overboard. Then we’ll see to the injured.”

Davy paused as they moved toward the hatch. “If we’re throwing the rum overboard … Can we at least drink some first? I could do with a swallow.”

Gray laughed. “So could I.”

Some time later, Gray swung his shaky legs over the rail of the
Aphrodite
.

Joss hurried to his side. “Any dead?”

“Two. And three more gravely wounded.” Gray raked his wet hair away from his face. “Best to send the longboat for them. There doesn’t seem to be any fire in the hold, but you know as well as I do it’s too soon to tell. These things are known to flare up hours later. We’ve emptied it of anything incendiary, just to be safe.”

Joss looked up at the sky. “Well, with this downpour, it seems less likely.”

“Aye.” Exhausted, Gray leaned against the rigging and wiped his brow with his forearm. “Everyone all right here?” He tried to keep his voice steady.

Joss nodded. “She’s in my cabin, Gray. I think you’d better go to her.”

“I don’t think she’d want that.” After the way he’d deserted her earlier, he assumed she’d be just as happy never to see him again.

“She’s been sick with worry, Gray. I had to order her to go below. Even then, she’d only heed my cautions long after the rain doused the blaze. She ’ll be relieved to see you’re well.”

“She’s just anxious for young Davy.” Still, he couldn’t douse the spark of hope that kindled in his chest. And he couldn’t stay away. Giving Joss an affectionate punch on the arm, he climbed the stairs to the helm and opened the hatch.

Slowly, he descended into the murky cabin. Although it was still daytime, the storm clouds banked most of the sun’s rays. Gray blinked, scanning the shadows. Then he saw her, silhouetted against the windows at the stern.

“Gray?”

He nodded. Then, realizing she probably couldn’t discern the gesture in the dark, he cleared his throat and forced out, “It’s me.”

“Are you … are you well?”

“Yes.” His eyes began to adjust to the dimness, and he could just make out the soft slope of her shoulder, her arms crossed over her belly. Her hair was loose, falling to her waist in heavy waves.

“Levi and O’Shea?” she asked, her voice tremulous. “Davy?”

“They’re safe, too. The fire’s out. It’s all over.”

She said nothing. Gray stood quietly for a moment, shifting his weight.
Go to her
, a voice inside him urged.
Take her in your arms. Beg her forgiveness. Say something; promise her anything
.

God, what a coward he was. In truth, he’d been only too eager to board a burning ship and risk his life that afternoon. Because it was easier to walk through fire than to face this little governess, and the tempest of emotion she stirred in his heart.

The silence mocked him. He was on the verge of taking his leave when suddenly she ran to him, flinging her arms around his neck.

“Oh, Gray. I was so frightened. But I just knew you’d come back to me. You had to come back to me.”

“Of course I did.” Gray stood shocked and immobile as she clutched his neck, sobbing noisily against his shoulder. His hands dangled uselessly at his sides.

“Gray,” she cried again and again. “Thank God you’re safe.”

Her affection overwhelmed him, as did her softness, her tears. Even after all he’d said to her, after all he’d done—she still gave a damn whether he lived or died. It was humbling. Incomprehensible. Wonderful. If he’d known this would be his reward, he would have fallen overboard weeks ago.

Finally, he drew a deep breath and wrapped his arms about her, clutching her tightly to his chest. “Shhh, sweet.” With a trembling hand, he stroked her hair. The damp locks slid through his fingers like ribbons. “Don’t cry. Everything’s fine. It’s all over now.”

She sniffed and raised her face to his. He was still murmuring assurances and stroking her hair, and the sight of that perfect face tilted inches from his —it caught him completely unprepared. Her beauty hit him like a lightning bolt.

Her hands skimmed up his neck, tugging his face down to hers. Gray closed his eyes as she brushed a warm, feather-light kiss against his jaw. Another landed on his neck. Then the corner of his mouth. She pressed her cheek to his, and he felt her hot tears mingle with the cold rivulets of rain.

His heart squeezed. After the callous way he’d treated her, for her to hold him like this and kiss him so tenderly—it was the truest act of bravery Gray had ever seen. She was offering up her heart, fully expecting him to break it. And selfish bastard that he was, Gray had lost any will to push her away.