Chapter 7

 

“Who is he? What’s wrong with him?” Alexandra stood at Nathaniel’s elbow, watching as Garth and Trenton entered the cabin carrying a wounded young man.

“Lay him on the bed,” Nathaniel instructed, ignoring her. “Get Nanchu.”

Alexandra couldn’t miss the blood that ran from the stranger’s wrist down his flat stomach like sheets of rain against glass. The sight made her own blood curdle in her veins. “He’s bleeding,” she gasped.

Nathaniel stared down at the man, his face a mask. “‘Twould seem that way.”

“But why?”

“I had to convince him to give up the cargo he carried.”

“You did this?” The morning’s battle had frightened Alexandra, but the uneasiness she had felt since the pirate captain and his small party had departed for the conquered Horizon had been worse. The silence had seemed unnatural, as though the ears of the entire crew strained to catch the slightest sound.

“I asked him nicely first.”

The sarcasm in Nathaniel’s voice made Alexandra’s stomach knot with renewed anxiety. How could he injure a man so badly—and that man an innocent, like herself, a mere sailor on one of his father’s ships? She shrank from Rat, but who was to say which man was more dangerous, he or Nathaniel?

She crossed numbly to the bed. The long days at sea had somehow dulled Alexandra’s fear of the pirate captain. He had treated her decently, if not kindly. But now she witnessed, firsthand, the fate of anyone who stood in his way, and it was a rude awakening.

The injured man writhed in pain. He looked young, not much older than her own nineteen years. With blood smeared across one cheek and a small trickle still running from a rather large Roman nose, he shook with reaction. Perspiration rolled off his wide forehead into sandy-colored hair, wetting his temples as he hugged a wounded wrist close to his chest.

A commotion behind Alexandra made her turn. Garth, Trenton, and the small Oriental doctor she had seen once or twice about the ship hurried into the room.

“Nanchu, this is Jake. I’m afraid he needs your expertise,” Nathaniel said as the doctor crossed to the bed. The pirate captain moved back to allow him space, and Alexandra did likewise.

An old but wise-looking man with a flat face and silver hair, Nanchu inspected the pupils of the boy’s eyes while Trenton tied a strip of fabric just below Jake’s elbow to slow the bleeding.

“Is he going to be all right?” Nathaniel asked.

The doctor turned his attention to the wound. “Don’t look good—”

“Get yer filthy hands away. I don’t want no yellow bastard pokin’ at me,” Jake cried, but he was in too much pain to put any fire into his words.

Trenton and Garth moved to restrain him.

“What are the chances of saving his hand?” Nathaniel asked.

“Hard to say,” Nanchu replied. “If rot stay away, there is chance.”

The pirate captain sighed. “Do what you can. You’ve worked miracles before.”

“I need more blankets, must keep him warm. And please, move boy to my quarters,” the doctor suggested. “I stitch hand.”

Nathaniel nodded as Nanchu secured Jake’s arm to his body with some clean linen. Then Garth and Trenton moved the boy out of the cabin, followed closely by the doctor.

An awkward silence ensued as Nathaniel strode to the window and peered out, leaving Alexandra to study his back while she tried to find some sense in what had just happened. Who was Nathaniel? A man sorely wronged, his actions justified, or a vengeful, bloodthirsty pirate?

Trenton returned only minutes later. “So? Are we any wiser about your father than we were before?” he asked, ignoring Alexandra’s presence altogether.

“Indeed.” Nathaniel spoke without turning. “My father is selling guns to the Russians.”

“What?” Trenton was obviously surprised, but not half so much as Alexandra. She almost fell from her perch on the edge of Nathaniel’s trunk. England was at war with Russia, or very nearly.

“You’ve seen the new Minie rifle,” Nathaniel continued. “The Eastern Horizon’s hold was full of them.”

“Bloody hell! That explains everything: why Montague risked his life, his crew, the duke’s ship.” Trenton shook his head in disbelief. Then his long face broke into a smile. “But that’s good. Perhaps now the duke will release Richard. He could hang for what we know. His title and all his lands could be confiscated. We have the proof.”

Nathaniel didn’t return his first mate’s smile. Alexandra could see his somber profile from where she sat.

“Aye. It bodes well for Richard as long as my father didn’t do anything rash when he thought he had us back in Liverpool.”

“He’s going to be awfully sorry if he’s hurt Richard,” Trenton exclaimed. “Except that we wouldn’t want him to force our hand. If the crown takes his title and lands, you’ll be as poor as the rest of us, and rightfully so.”

A look of determination crossed Nathaniel’s features. “He’s already forced our hand by shipping the guns in the first place.”

Trenton’s brows rose. “But even if you manage to establish your identity, there’ll be nothing left to inherit.”

Nathaniel leveled his gaze at Trenton, and Alexandra felt the full weight of his commitment. “That doesn’t matter. I’ll not let him get away with treason.”

Trenton didn’t speak for several minutes. “Your father must be mad to risk so much,” he said at last. “But what could you possibly be thinking, taking that boy from the Horizon?”

Before Nathaniel could answer, quick footfalls thudded down the hall outside and a frantic voice called through the door.

“Captain, come quick. There’s someone chasing us.”

“What?” Nathaniel darted across the room as Trenton opened the door.

Garth’s alarmed face appeared in the dim rectangle of light that spilled through the portal. “It came out of nowhere, sir, at a full press sail. Looks like a schooner of some sort, but we can’t make out the flag.”

Nathaniel’s gaze locked with Trenton’s. “Bloody hell,” he swore. Then they dashed topside, leaving Alexandra alone in the cabin with the door swinging ajar.

The ship that pursued them was indeed a schooner. Nathaniel could tell from his perch in the rigging as soon as he lifted the glass to his eye. With only two masts instead of three, it was smaller than a brig, more maneuverable—and faster. It cut the water cleanly as it swooped toward them, closing the distance at an alarming rate.

Who was it? Nathaniel’s heart hammered as he tried to see the colors of the flag that rippled from its stern. But it was; almost dusk. Wisps of fog rose from the sea to meet low-lying clouds, shrouding the schooner as if in smoke and making the details of the ship too difficult to discern. As much as Nathaniel wanted to know his pursuer, he was grateful that he had some time, however little, to try to effect an escape. He had no friends at sea, of that he was certain. And with a cargo hold full of stolen merchandise, he had no desire to meet anyone who might be set on capturing him.

Shimmying down to the deck, he crossed to Trenton, who had taken the wheel. “She’s about five miles off our weather quarter, standing on the wind on the same tack as we are,” he told his first mate.

“Could you make her out?” Trenton squinted in the direction Nathaniel indicated, though with so much ocean curving between them, Nathaniel knew he wouldn’t see anything but water.

“No. I can’t even guess who she might be. But the timing of her visit is highly suspect. She likely came upon the Horizon and has taken it upon herself to pursue us.”

“If that’s the case, we’re in trouble. With so much in our hold, we’re too heavy to outrun her.”

“Our only hope is to lose her in this fog. All sail,” Nathaniel shouted, watching one of his men loose the main-royal and sit on the yard while the others hoisted him up so he could get a better look.

“She’s gaining,” the man called down. “I think she has a drag out.”

“Hell.” Nathaniel ordered the Vengeance to tack to the west, keeping a little off from the wind to make good way through the water. Somehow he had to get clear of her.

The schooner seemed to skim over the waves as it devoured the distance between them. Though Nathaniel tried every trick he knew to escape, she gained steadily until she was less than half a mile to the windward.

Nathaniel could see her clearly despite the sinking sun. She was a long, low, straight topsail schooner, a Baltimore clipper painted black with a narrow white streak, and looked to be about one hundred and fifty tons burthen. Her masts were raked aft with a large main topsail, and she carried a long thirty-two-pound swivel cannon amidships as well as smaller guns on each side.

She raised British colors as Nathaniel did the same, then fired a shot for the Vengeance to heave to.

“The guns are ready,” Trenton told Nathaniel. “Looks like we’re going to have to use them.”

“If it comes to that,” Nathaniel replied as a hail came in English from the schooner.

“Where are ye from an’ where ye bound?”

Nathaniel peered across the water, trying to make out the man whose voice he heard. What motivated him? Outrage? Honor? Was he experienced? Wise? Overzealous? He could only hope his opponent was not so smart as his dogged pursuit had been determined.

“My arm marks me,” he whispered to Trenton. “If they came upon the Eastern Horizon, they’re probably looking for the one-armed pirate. Chances are, they haven’t been able to see us with any more clarity than we’ve seen them, so if we can convince this Captain Do-good that he’s got the wrong ship, perhaps we’ve got a chance to avoid a broadside from his cannons.”

Trenton nodded. “Shall I act as captain then?”

“Aye.” Nathaniel moved subtly back among his men as the question came again.

“I’m Captain Errington of the Voyager. Who are ye an’ where do ye hail from?”

“I’m Captain Taylor,” Trenton yelled. A few snickers resounded from the crew at his creative title, but Trenton ignored them. “What purpose do you have in chasing us? There are pirates in the area, and as the captain of this vessel, I’ll not be catering to the whims of such as those.”

A pause followed as Trenton’s words seemed to hover over the sea.

“Aye. I’ll not be blamin’ ye, that I’ll not,” Captain Errington called back. “We came upon the Eastern Horizon some three ‘ours ago, an’ she a victim of the pirate bastards who beset ‘er. We thought ye might be the very scoundrels.”

Trenton squinted across the distance. “On that you’re mistaken, sir. Another vessel, the Westwind Riser, was likewise attacked not more than two days ago. Her captain decried a cunning, bloodthirsty group of cutthroats.”

“Indeed.” Another interminable pause. “Just the same, I’ll ask ye to lower a boat an’ come alongside. An’ bring yer papers.”

Trenton cursed under his breath. “What now?” he whispered, glancing back at Nathaniel.

“Tell him no. You don’t know who he is any more than he does you.”

“I’m sorry, friend,” Trenton called back. “I’ll go to my guns before I’ll leave my crew or my ship vulnerable to a hostile boarding. I’ve nothing but your word that you’re not the very ones you claim to be looking for. We’re not pirates, but we stand ready to fight, if need be.”

Nathaniel’s muscles began to ache with the prolonged anxiety. Would Captain Errington resort to his guns? And if he did, could the Royal Vengeance best him?

“I’ll see yer papers,” Captain Errington yelled, “or ‘ear a satisfactory explanation for the strange signal comin’ from yer ship. If a message it be, it makes no sense whatever.”

Signal? Nathaniel blinked in surprise. What signal? He glanced around at his men. All were accounted for, even Rat, who still languished in a small cubical below.

Then his blood ran cold. Alexandra! It could only be her. Jake was with Tiny and Nanchu, and in his condition, he could scarce overpower the both of them.

“What do I say?” Trenton asked.

“Tell him we’ve a man sick with yellow fever who’s not in his right mind—that it must be him. The possibility of disease should make them less motivated to try and board us. I’ll go throttle the culprit now.”

Nathaniel heard Trenton repeat his words as he disappeared down the hatch. But he knew if Captain Errington didn’t believe them, Alexandra might prove their undoing at last.

* * *

Alexandra heard footsteps pounding down the hall and nearly dropped the mirror she was using to signal the other ship. Only rigid self-control enabled her to keep her tenuous grasp on its hard, slippery surface. This could be her only opportunity to escape Nathaniel and the others, adrift as she was and completely at their mercy.

Gritting her teeth, she continued to reflect what little sunlight remained, watching the flashes streak across the water. But they were random and probably meaningless. She had no knowledge of any official system of signals and could only hope that her cry for help would be interpreted as such—or cause enough of a stir to make the other ship take a closer look.

Alexandra heard the door to Nathaniel’s cabin bang open at the other end of the corridor, and repressed a shiver. She had taken Nathaniel’s diamond-shaped mirror to the purser’s small quarters, just in case. Now she thanked whatever providence had guided her to do so. Whoever searched for her would have no trouble finding her eventually, but her new location would buy her a few more seconds at least. And that might be all she needed.

“Please respond, please respond,” she whispered without really knowing what she expected the schooner to do. Would they signal back? Try to board? At that particular moment, Alexandra didn’t care, just so long as they helped her.

“Where are you, dammit?”

Alexandra heard Nathaniel’s voice as he moved closer, doors crashing open as he made his way forward. So it was the pirate captain himself who came after her, she realized with mild surprise, wondering what was happening on deck without him. She wished the voices that called above were more than a low rumble, but they were barely audible above the creaking of the berths and the slapping of the waves against the ship.

She stared across the water. Do they see me? Will they help?

The door to the purser’s quarters banged against the inside wall, and Alexandra screamed and dropped the mirror.

Nathaniel filled the portal, his face thunderous. “There you are,” he growled. “What are you trying to do, kill the entire lot of us, yourself included? Or would you have us kill them?”

Alexandra threw a glance toward the schooner she had been trying to signal. There was no visible evidence that they had seen her. They kept the same position they had from the beginning, though the voices from above continued.

“I’m not trying to kill anybody.” She pressed her back against the wall as two long strides brought Nathaniel so close she could reach out and touch him. “I’m trying to save myself, and possibly that boy you injured, before anyone else gets hurt.”

“The best chance that boy’s got at saving his hand is with Nanchu. The Horizon’s own surgeon would have hacked it off directly. And that’s what will happen to him still, if he returns now. Why do you think I brought him here in the first place?”

Alexandra shook her head. “I have no idea, but perhaps you’ll forgive me if I didn’t see it as an act of charity.” She let sarcasm enter her own voice, using it to conceal her fear as Nathaniel’s face twisted into an angry grimace.

“Don’t make judgments on matters you know nothing about,” he snapped. “That boy asked for everything he got. And as for you and your safety, I’m taking you home directly.”

“You’re what?” Alexandra dropped her shield of outrage as surprise took its place.

“You heard me.”

“So what now?” She stared at the shards of glass at her feet. They reflected Nathaniel’s dark image, contorting his handsome face into something more akin to a monster.

“That depends on what the Voyager makes of your little mirror trick.” He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her from the room. “If they open fire, there’s no telling.”

Alexandra shivered, remembering the morning’s battle against the Eastern Horizon. The Vengeance had rocked violently, making her stomach churn with seasickness. Smoke had burned her throat and brought tears to her eyes, and her ears still rang with the blast of cannon. The worst of it was the fear: not knowing whether they’d take a ball and sink into a watery grave, or be captured, or come off victorious, which, for Alexandra, might prove just as bad.

If they open fire... she heard Nathaniel’s words again in her mind. The schooner had seemed like a lifeline. She was desperate to get away from Nathaniel before... before what? Before he refused to shield her from Rat? Before she witnessed any more proof that he was the blackguard she had originally thought he was?

She remembered the powerful response his touch evoked in her, and felt a deep-seated panic nearly overwhelm her. She craved the kiss of a criminal, a thief, a pirate. Somehow she had to protect herself from that alone.

But the Vengeance couldn’t surrender. Nathaniel and his crew had to fight, or they would probably hang. And how many might be killed in the process?

Nathaniel retrieved a bit of rope when they reached his cabin, but Alexandra raised a hand to forestall him.

“That won’t be necessary,” she said in resignation. “I’ll stay put.”

The pirate captain quirked an eyebrow at her, obviously skeptical, but shrugged. “It’s probably too late anyway,” he said, throwing the rope back into the corner. “The damage has already been done. Besides, if something should happen to me, I wouldn’t want you trapped below.”

He moved to go, but Alexandra reached out, catching him by the arm. “I’m sorry,” she said when he turned back. “I—I suppose I panicked.”

Cupping her chin in his hand, Nathaniel tilted her face up. He studied her for a moment as she gazed into his eyes, blue eyes of almost unfathomable depth. Then he dropped his hand and disappeared down the corridor without another word.

* * *

Alexandra almost screamed when the sound of cannon fire shattered the still night air. Peering through the porthole, she saw a series of small orange flashes in the vicinity of the other ship, and nearly swooned. It was happening. The schooner was attacking.

The Royal Vengeance shuddered as Nathaniel and his crew returned fire, causing Alexandra’s stomach to turn queasy again. The ship already swayed drunkenly against a strong breeze, rising and falling on great troughs of water like a horse jumping hedges, and the weather promised only to make matters worse. Dark clouds obscured the stars, revealing only a faint slice of moon, and the wind whistled through the rigging above. Its keening wail, though barely audible in the cabin, sent a chill of foreboding down Alexandra’s spine all the same.

A second round of shot barked from the big guns, and Alexandra threw herself on the bed. What fate would befall her? What fate would befall them all? How could she have been so thoughtless? She had wanted only to escape and to save the injured Jake before matters grew even worse, but she had probably signed the boy’s death warrant along with her own.

Somehow, the thought of Nathaniel floating in the briny water gave her little solace. She might have practiced a thousand forms of revenge upon the pirate captain in her dreams, but his slow, sardonic smile always taunted her in the end.

She groaned aloud and covered her ears, attempting to block out the din of battle. Grabbing one of the pillows, she buried her head beneath it until the sound of feet running down the companionway made her sit up and take notice. What was happening?

Crossing to the portal, Alexandra poked her head out just as a thin young man she didn’t know came charging down the hallway.

“What is it?” she asked in alarm.

“Just goin’ for more powder, miss. Can’t store powder near the big guns, ye know. Might explode the whole ship. With the storm it’d only get wet anyway.”

He hurried on as Alexandra closed the door. So they were preparing for a serious fight. Returning to the window, she clung to the bedpost for support, straining her eyes to see beyond the darkness.

Lanterns dimly lit the opponent’s ship between the brief, fiery flashes of cannon fire. The schooner wasn’t more than a quarter of a mile away.

Vaguely Alexandra wondered about the Vengeance’s chance of survival. How many men vied for their destruction? What kind of firepower did the schooner have? She knew next to nothing about cannons or gunfire or sailing, but the danger of battle after nightfall and in the middle of a storm seemed obvious enough.

The ship lurched to one side, and Alexandra yelped as she landed hard on her backside. She could scarcely rise for the ship’s movements, but when water began to creep beneath the door, covering the floor like a thin layer of ice, she sprang to her feet.

They were sinking! Why else would water be rising so quickly?

Alexandra’s fear of closed places once again reared its head, and she sloshed toward the door. The water reached her ankles now, making the polished wood slick. But she wasn’t about to be caught in the cabin, buried by water, pressed somewhere to the ceiling.

The door opened easily against the pressure of the water coming down the corridor, but Alexandra had to fight that same current as she made her way forward. Were they taking on water from above because of the storm, or below due to a ball, or both?

A man came up from behind, startling Alexandra as she waded through the icy coldness. He shoved her aside in his haste, carrying more powder, no doubt. The sound of cannon still reverberated above all else, despite the water, despite the storm, despite everything.

This time Nathaniel was not at the wheel when Alexandra emerged on deck. She was almost completely drenched, doused by the water pouring down upon her head as she climbed up the slippery ladder, but it didn’t matter because the storm finished the job, quickly wetting her to the skin. Rain slanted into her face, stinging droplets that pelted them all, though the men, who yelled and cursed and rushed about cleaning cannon muzzles and trimming sails, seemed oblivious.

Alexandra instinctively searched for Nathaniel. She had to see that he was in control to give herself some small scrap of hope and perhaps relieve her fear. But she couldn’t identify one man from another. A palpable urgency ran like a current through all on board as they ducked against the elements and fought to control the ship while getting off another round of shot.

Alexandra hugged the mast to help keep her balance. Then she saw him. Nathaniel stood near the binnacle, muscles taut as he kept his footing on the rollicking deck. His shirt gaped open to the waist and billowed in the wind as spray from the frothy ocean mingled with rain to course down his bare torso in rivulets. His black hair dripped water onto his chiseled face; his teeth gleamed as he shouted instructions to his crew.

“Nathaniel,” she cried, shoving away from the mast to force her way toward him. Her voice was drowned out by pistols that popped like toy guns as the crews of both ships drew firearms and began to pick men off from the opposing deck.

Alexandra took a deep breath and called Nathaniel again. She didn’t know what she wanted to tell the pirate captain. No doubt he already knew about the water filling the ship; his men slogged through it to retrieve the gunpowder stored below. But Nathaniel was always so self-assured. Surely his confidence would comfort her now.

“There’s water down below. Are we sinking?” she cried above the cacophony of storm and bullets when she reached him.

He turned, apparently noticing her for the first time, and scowled. “What are you doing up here?”

“I can’t stay below.”

Lightning flashed across the sky, momentarily illuminating the entire scene and freezing it in Alexandra’s mind’s eye like the painting of some famous naval battle. The other ship approached just off the bow, so close she could nearly jump from one deck to the other. It looked for all the world as though they would collide.

In the same moment she saw a man high in the schooner’s rigging. He held a pistol trained on Nathaniel. She knew its ball was meant for the captain just as she could feel its owner’s concentration, sense his struggle to keep his aim steady despite the wildly bobbing ship. And she knew the instant he pulled the trigger.

Nathaniel motioned her to go back, distracted by her presence and obviously preoccupied by the menace of collision. He yelled something to Trenton at the wheel that Alexandra neither heard nor understood. Time seemed to stand still as the crack of the pistol resounded, singularly loud in Alexandra’s ears but probably negligible amid the general tumult.

“No.” Alexandra mouthed the word and launched her body toward the pirate captain. She noticed the look of stunned surprise that claimed his features right before something hit her shoulder, knocking her down with such force that she wondered if he had struck her. Certainly a bullet didn’t feel this way. There was no sting.

In the next instant her shoulder was on fire, sending white-hot, searing pain radiating throughout her chest and back.

Her hand rose to examine the wound. Something warm and sticky burned her fingers like hot water tingling frosty toes. She found a hole, how big she had no idea, nor did she trouble herself to feel further as she lay on her back, staring into the black expanse of sky overhead.

“She’s been shot.” Nathaniel’s anxious voice came to her as though from a distance. She understood his words; she knew by then, too, that she had taken the bullet intended for him. But strangely enough, she didn’t regret her actions. His well-sculpted features appeared above her, worry etched into the crease of his brow, just as the Vengeance suddenly keeled and nearly upended in the mountainous waves.

Alexandra felt herself slide across the deck, carried by the icy cold tongue of the ocean, and began to flail in panic, despite the pain in her shoulder. She was being swept overboard. She felt Nathaniel try to grab her, felt her arm tear away from his fingers, then screamed as her body plunged into the freezing water.