The Wayward One (The De Montforte Brothers Book 5) (38 page)

Tigershark
crested another swell and there they were, clearer now that she knew what she was looking at. Ruaidri handed her the glass. “If ye look closely, ye’ll see the schooner is piling on sail. Ah…and there goes the brig, doin’ the same.”

Far off, the shape of the British ship lengthened as she came about. Ruaidri, it seemed, was correct; her captain was no fool. A bright orange flash burst from the distant schooner as she fired a gun demanding the Briton to heave to, and a moment later, the heavy roll of thunder came rolling across the water. The brig, a half mile behind her, was hastily dropping her topsails as she, too, prepared to give chase.

Ruaidri was grinning.

“Mr. Morgan!” he called, and a moment later the lieutenant was at his side. “We’ve got more wind than we know what to do with. Get the t’gallants on her and let her fall off two points. We’ll run down on the enemy and lend our own guns to the chase, should those two out there need them.”

“Aye, sir!’

Moments later, men were swarming aloft to set the topgallants,
Tigershark’s
huge fore-and-aft mainsail swung out over the sea as she was given more rein, and she was eagerly galloping down on the cutter, now fleeing with her tail between her legs.

They were closing the distance fast.

Another flash of orange followed by the roll of thunder came from the schooner, now well off the starboard bows as she bore down on the cutter like a greyhound on a rabbit; behind her, the brig changed tack and began to swoop down on the quarry from the other side, leaving her little place to go.

“That fight’ll be over before we even get to join it,” Ruaidri said with a sigh. But he was smiling, his eyes bright with admiration. “Given who’s in command of that schooner, though, I’m not surprised. He’s a bold lad, that one.”

“You know him?”

Ruaidri’s smile spread. “Oh, aye, I know him well.”

His predictions proved true. The cutter gave a brief but futile account of herself, gunfire was exchanged, and moments later, the British ship was striking her colors.

“Got to love the privateers,” Ruaidri said, watching the distance between
Tigershark
and the three ships speared on her jib-boom diminishing as the brig ate up the distance between them. “Nothing whets the appetite for battle more than prize money.”

By the time they came up on the two American privateers and the British cutter, the brig had sent a boat over to her and was in the business of procuring her surrender. The schooner, though, lay hove to in the pitching seas and waiting for them. Ruaidri was in as high spirits as Nerissa had ever seen him. But then she looked again at the American schooner and the breath caught in her throat.

She was still learning about ships. She knew that a schooner had two masts with sails rigged fore and aft, whereas a brig’s two masts had square sails on the foremast and a fore-and-aft sail on the main. Other than that she might have said that they all looked pretty much the same. But there was nothing “the same” about that schooner that lay there waiting for them. A sleek black hull with a white stripe lined with gun ports bisecting her sides. Sharply angled masts that were raked backwards instead of being affixed upright. A long, jaunty jib-boom, sinful lines, and a low, lean hull that sat so low in the water that it was almost one with it, made this schooner very, very different from anything Nerissa might have ever seen or even imagined.

Breathtakingly beautiful. Almost too pretty to be a fighting ship, though one look at the guns pointing out through her ports told a different story altogether.

And while the ship itself might have been different, the man standing in obvious command and impatiently tapping a speaking trumpet against his thigh had something familiar about him. As they drew closer and she saw his features come more sharply into view, she saw what that familiarity was. He was tall and lanky, but there was a merriment in his eyes and something about his mouth and the way he smiled that were known to her; known to her, because her own husband shared them.

The man raised the speaking trumpet to his lips. “
Dia duit ar maidin, mo col ceathrar!
” “Sorry we didn’t wait for you to join us, but she was about to run.”

“
Tá do long álainn. Tá sí cáiliúil,
Brendan!” Ruaidri called back. “And your arrival was timely.
Go raibh maith agat.
”

“Think nothing of it, Ruaidri. You’d have done the same for me, I’m sure. Permission to come aboard?”

“Quite happily granted.”

A few moments later, the schooner’s captain, accompanied by a slight young figure in coat and breeches whose swelling chest and flare of hips instantly corrected Nerissa’s initial assumption about her gender, was climbing aboard. The man doffed his tricorne to Nerissa, revealing rich, tousled chestnut hair and a face that probably melted hearts from here to Boston and back. The way the young woman was gazing up at him, Nerissa guessed that hers was one of them.

“Welcome aboard, Brendan,” Ruaidri said warmly. “’Tis grateful I am that you two showed up when ye did. Things were about to get hot, and while I’ll never run from a fight, I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Continental Navy now, are you?”

“Aye. On a mission for John Adams.”

The man named Brendan smiled. His voice was rich and melodious, and while its accent wasn’t as pronounced as Ruaidri’s, it was just as Irish. He had an easy charm about him, an engaging kindness in his eyes and manner that immediately put a person at ease. Now, he slid his arm around the slight young lady who’d come aboard with him and pulled her forward. “
Stóirín
, meet
mo col ceathrar
from Connemara—Ruaidri O’ Devir. Ruaidri, this is Mira…my best friend, my best gunner, my beloved—” his laughing, honey-colored eyes warmed as he gazed down at his companion’s grinning, upturned face—“my wife.”

The other woman wiped a palm on her breeches and stuck out her hand in greeting. “Heard much about you, Ruaidri,” she grunted, tipping her head to one side and studying him with bright green eyes. Her accent was American, her thick, dark hair caught in a braid that hung the length of her back. “So ye’re the dreaded Irish Pirate, are ye? Aye, there’s a family resemblance.”

“No longer the Irish Pirate, but a commissioned officer in the Continental Navy.” Ruaidri proudly pulled Nerissa forward. “And while we’re on the subject of introductions, this is my wife Lady Nerissa and her brother, Lord Andrew de Montforte. Nerissa, Andrew? I’m pleased to introduce to you the famed American privateer, Brendan Merrick.”

The schooner’s captain bowed gallantly over Nerissa’s hand. “I would say I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Nerissa, but indeed we have all already met.” He grinned. “So instead, I’ll just say that it’s a pleasure to see you again.”

Andrew stepped forward, frowning. “We’ve met?” he asked, studying the other man’s face. “I’d have remembered.”

“It was back in ’74, at a ball thrown by your brother the duke to send Lord Charles off to Boston. I was in the Royal Navy then, and commanded one of the ships that brought your brother and his regiment over to America. I wouldn’t expect you to remember me. It was a long time ago now, you both were quite young, and there were many people there. Welcome to the family, my lady.”

“The family?”

Ruaidri pulled her close. “Brendan,” he said grinning, “is my cousin.”

“Cousin? Nerissa repeated, wondering if the world, as large as it was, could get any smaller. But a moment later she found out that indeed, it could.

“So
you’re
Lady Nerissa,” said the rather odd young woman whom Ruaidri’s cousin had married. She folded her arms and cocked her head, her pale green eyes sparkling with mischief. “You and I, we ain’t never met, but I know your family well.”

Nerissa was taken aback. “How could you know my family?” she asked, bewildered. This unlikely woman was not the sort of individual likely to be rubbing elbows with the English
ton
.

“I know ’em because yer brother, Lord Charles, stayed in my town after he got hurt at Concord back in ’75. Stuffy and oh-so-proper, your brother, but I forgave him for being a Brit after he fell in love with my best friend, rescued her from a shitty—” Nerissa blanched at the woman’s language—“situation, and took her off to England to marry her. I miss Amy, I do, but she’s better off there than here.”

“
You’re
Mira?
That
Mira?” Nerissa was gaping. “Amy’s best friend from back home?”

“Aye, that Mira, the only Mira, as the world ain’t big enough for two of us.” She laughed at the stunned expression on Nerissa’s face. “Amy and I still write to each other, and she’s told me many a time about how welcome ye made her feel, how ye taught her how to move in your world, how much of a friend to her ye’ve become. Sure does make me breathe a lot easier, knowing the family she married into treats her a hell of a lot better than the one she was born to. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Lady Nerissa.” She stuck out a tiny hand as her husband and Ruaidri moved to the rail and began talking ships. “And you too, Lord Andrew. What the hell are ye doing in America?”

Nerissa just stood there blinking. She had heard her sister-in-law speak of her best friend Mira, but never in her wildest dreams had she ever thought to meet her, or pictured her to be quite so…unconventional.

It was Andrew who found his voice. “We are here, Mrs. Merrick, because I am as much a prize of war as that cutter your friend out there has just boarded.”

“Oh, him? He ain’t my friend, he’s my brother, Matt.” She peered closely at him. “What do ye mean, prize of war?”

“Captain O’ Devir is delivering me to your John Adams.”

“Why? What the hell does Adams want with an English nob?”

Andrew sighed helplessly. “I am sure the ‘English nob’ is of less interest to him than that which the English nob has invented. In my case, an explosive.”

“Amy told me about your flying machine.”

“Then she probably also told you that it failed. But the explosive… I fear both Captain O’ Devir and your John Adams are wasting their time with me. I will not, even under pain of torture and death, disclose the formula for how to make it.”

“Aye, well, that’s a problem,” the young woman said. “But who wants to talk about stuff like that when it only puts people’s hackles up? We were just headed back to Newburyport when we saw your sails at first light.” She turned to Nerissa. “I know what it’s like to be a girl, and I know what it’s like to be onboard a ship and wanting nothin’ more than a hot bath, warm, dry clothes and a nice big bed to sleep in. Come stay with us in Newburyport, even for a couple of nights. I’d like to get to know ye both, and hear all about how Amy’s doing.”

Nerissa glanced toward her husband, who was deep in discussion with his cousin over at the rail. “Ruaidri? We have been invited to visit the Merricks in Newburyport.”

Ruaidri glanced uncertainly at Andrew, and Nerissa knew he was weighing whether to take Mira up on the offer or to proceed with all haste on to Boston.

“Yes, come stay with us,” Brendan added, clapping a hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “Faith, it’s been ages since we last saw each other. We’ve lots to catch up on.”

Ruaidri sighed, and capitulated.

An hour later, a prize crew was put aboard the cutter with orders to sail her back to Newburyport. American colors were run up her gaff and shortly afterwards
Tigershark
, accompanied by the beautiful schooner
Kestrel
and the newly-constructed brig
Eveleen
, was heading west.

None of them could know that a mere day’s sail to the east, beyond the tossing waves and the flat horizon, another British ship was rapidly gaining on them.

A frigate, sleek and fast, commanded by one of the Royal Navy’s finest officers.

A frigate carrying the Duke of Blackheath, who was determined to find his siblings—and kill the Irish rogue who had abducted his little sister.

Chapter 28

Newburyport, Nerissa decided immediately, was beautiful. She had heard much about this bustling Massachusetts seaport situated at the mouth of the mighty Merrimack River from both her brother Charles and his wife Amy, whose family here in Newburyport had cared for him after he’d been gravely injured during the battle of Concord. Mira had been Amy’s best friend, and Nerissa felt like she knew her already, having heard many accounts of her actions and exploits from her sister-in-law. Mira’s brash, open manner, though, made it easy for a person to think they’d known her forever. She was shockingly open, coarse, unintentionally funny and warm. Nerissa smiled, thinking of how things had come full circle, and how she had found a connection to her own family back home, and maybe even a friend.

Small world, it was.

The Merricks were most hospitable, and Mira had been right. Nerissa, like the others, had enjoyed a hot bath after arriving at their stately Georgian home, and there had been no greater bliss after a month at sea. Fine milled soap, hot, steaming water and soft, fluffy towels…a proper gown instead of the midshipman’s uniform…floors that weren’t moving, walls that weren’t creaking, and tasteful, genteel furnishings. It wasn’t Blackheath Castle but the Merricks, Nerissa decided, were doing quite well for themselves.

The house itself was spacious, and Brendan and his wife shared it with not only a dozen cats, but Mira’s father Ephraim Ashton, a crusty old sea captain who, Nerissa decided, must have suffered hearing loss from the close report of too many cannon over his lifetime. Any hearing loss he hadn’t suffered was certain to be inflicted on others, as he was loud, cantankerous, argumentative with his daughter and quite happy to let Nerissa and Andrew know just what he thought of the British.