Across a Moonlit Sea (15 page)

The tiger eyes were waiting expectantly, but he only nodded at the astrolabe and added, “You have taken your noon reading? I would be more than pleased to assist.”

“Spit has already done so, but … thank you anyway.”

“He seems like an efficient fellow, despite his rather brusque habit of speaking precisely what is on his mind.”

“You find honesty disconcerting?”

“Not in the least. Just unusual in that there appear to be a large percentage of forthright-speaking members among your crew.”

“My father is rarely so arrogant as to assume he has absolute knowledge of all things,” she said, choosing her words with the same care he had shown. “Most times, he encourages his crew to say what is on their minds, thus avoiding sullenness and dissent.”

“An admirable policy. Does it hold true in battle?”

She looked him straight in the eye. “I said most times, Captain. In battle there is no discussion, no room for arrogance
or dissent. The men follow Spence’s orders without question or hesitation or they know they have earned themselves a dozen or so lashes of the cat.”

The muscles in Dante’s jaw clenched noticeably. He knew the taunt was deliberate and his eyes gleamed at her boldness. “In my case,” he said quietly, “it was not my arrogance that won me my stripes, but my misfortune in serving on a ship whose captain was too cowardly to give any orders at all, and surrendered, without firing a single shot, to a Spanish raider. Those of us who survived the trials of the auto-da-fé—a warm little gathering hosted by members of the Holy Inquisition—were then sentenced to serve out the rest of our lives chained to the oars of a galleass.”

“You were a galley slave?” she asked, startled.

“For nearly seven months. Lashings were part of the daily routine, whether we were sullen or not.”

“I’m … sorry. I did not mean to pry.”

“Yes you did. You just didn’t do it very well. In future, if you want to ask me something, just ask.”

He turned and was about to leave the deck when Beau blurted, “Very well: How did you escape?”

He stopped and took a moment to reset the rigid line of his jaw. When he glanced back, it looked, at first, as if he were going to take off her head instead of answering, but then he saw the cool defiance in her eyes and had cause to remind himself again that she was not a woman easily subjugated by authority. A challenge given was a challenge accepted, however minor.

“As it happened, the captain-general of the galleass was cruel and incompetent and not very well liked by his officers. One of the younger ones, on board for his first voyage, dared to challenge the harshness of some of the
punishments we received and, for his trouble, spent a week chained to the oar beside me.”

“You befriended him?”

“Hell, no. He was weak and foolish; when he wasn’t weeping like a child, he was praying incessantly for our salvation. I hated the bastard as much at the end of the week as I had at the beginning and probably more so because I knew, for all his bawling and keening, he would get to see sunlight again, whereas all I could expect was death and rats—with death being preferable. I must have conveyed my wishes in some way, for they began to use me to demonstrate the proper method of applying the lash to cause the most pain. The same foolish young officer crept below one night, hoping to convert me to the One True Faith while there was still time to save my soul. The man beside me was able to hook an arm around his throat and choke him, and we used his crucifix to break the lock on our chains. A dozen or so of us managed to fight our way up on deck and jump over the side. Luckily we were passing close enough to an island to swim for it, but because I was in pretty bad shape, Lucifer had to haul me on his back most of the way.”

“Lucifer?”

“Aye.” A black eyebrow arched sardonically. “He is really a very likable fellow, once you get to know him.”

“Lucifer? Likable? He spends most of his days terrorizing everyone on board.”

“He is leery of strangers, leery of their motives. He had a family, a wife and three sons, all of whom died beside him, slaving in the mines of Mexico.”

Beau chewed her lip. “And Mister Pitt? He seems another odd sort to be sailing the high seas—especially since he does not appear to enjoy the sea all that much.”

Dante offered a wry grin. “You should see him in heavy weather.”

“I have. You slept like a babe through it; he turned as green as grass and hung over the rail for two days.”

“Ahh, yes, but put a gun in his hands, the bigger the better, and he has no equal on this earth. He designed those demis, cast the bronze himself, and trained my crews to give me three shots per minute, rough seas or smooth.” He grinned suddenly. “But if you think Pitt and Lucifer are odd, it is a pity you never met our helmsman, Ivory Brighton. He lost his eye to a misfired musket and replaced it with a ball carved from an elephant tusk. He also had two thumbs on his left hand and a nose so long and hooked, he could scratch the tip with his bottom teeth.”

Beau almost smiled. “Admirable qualities. I’m sure I will regret not making his acquaintance until the day I die.”

“I know he would regret not making yours, for I’m sure he would have thought it impossible for a woman to hold a ship this size on a steady course, let alone throw her into a heated pursuit.”

“Much like his captain?”

“Much like his captain,” Dante admitted, his silver eyes gleaming.

Beau felt her skin warming again and drew a shallow breath. “My mother used to tell me the only things truly impossible are the things you are too afraid to try.”

“Was she the one who encouraged you to come to sea?”

“She did nothing to discourage me, although she did insist I go to school and learn how to deport myself like a lady.”

While Dante struggled to hold his laughter in check, Beau planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

“You find the notion amusing?”

“Not amusing; perhaps just … difficult to envision at this precise moment.”

“It did not seem to put too much strain on your imagination when you laid me flat on your desk, or when you kissed me the other morning.”

The gray eyes narrowed; then, with a disconcerting abruptness, he threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep, lusty sound and made several of the crew on the deck below turn and stare.

“Ah, mam’selle, you are indeed refreshing.” He shook his head and raked a hand through the glossy black mane of his hair. “Your suspicions are etched on your face as precisely as the currents on your magnificently painted maps. May I set your mind at ease somewhat by saying my interests in any of our conversations, past and yet to come, are completely without any motive other than that of trying to get to know your crew and ship a little better. I have absolutely no interest in prying your legs apart if,
alors
, you were willing or not. While I will confess you inspire a certain amount of curiosity—which I have already admitted— I doubt very much your preference for boots and doublet over silk underpinnings and satin skirts would be enough to drive me to extremes of wild, irrepressible lust. As it happens, I still prefer my women soft, seductive, and eager to do more with their mouths than scowl all the time.”

Beau’s flush grew hot enough to become painful. “I am relieved to hear it, Captain. Does this mean I will not be excessively plagued with your company in the days and weeks to come?”

“It means I will save you the trouble of having to scurry from one end of the ship to the other every time you see me on deck. Moreover, I apologize wholeheartedly now for distracting you from your work.” He offered an exaggerated bow. “I came to ask only if you might be interested in
joining the rest of your crew below. Pitt was about to give them a lesson in firing the thirty pounders and your father suggested it might be of some interest to you as well. But since you are so busy with your paints…” He shrugged and started back toward the ladderway.

Beau clamped her jaw tight against the urge to hurl the vilest epithet she could think of at his broad back. He knew damned well she was as interested as any other crewman on board, just as he knew she would have put aside her paints in a snap. But she did not stop him and he did not look back as he descended to the main deck and strode into the midst of the gathered men. The lure of the demi-cannon was a sore temptation to have to pit against her own pride, but she would stand before a smoking muzzle and let the shot blast straight through her heart before she would give the arrogant Captain Simon Dante, Comte de Tourville, the satisfaction of seeing her run after him like a beggar.

He
was
arrogant. And far too sure of himself for her liking. Just the way he cocked his head and smiled with such self-serving belligerence proved he did not think anyone on board this ship to be his equal, or even worthy of his consideration. Most infuriating of all was the patronizing, amused manner with which he regarded her position on board the
Egret.
It made her fervently wish for a glimpse of sails on the horizon.

And, whether it was because she wished for it so hard, or because the booming thunder of the huge guns had rolled to the edge of the horizon and attracted other searching eyes, it was less than an hour later that the watchman sounded an alert from his perch high in the tops.

“Sails, Captain! Sails off the larboard bow!”

 “W
ell, she’s a Spaniard, no mistake,” Spence pronounced.

“Six hundred tons or more, to judge by the size of her.” Dante stood on the deck beside Jonas Spence, his hand raised to shield his eyes against the glare of the sun. “I make out two tiers of guns, probably perriers and quarter cannon—impressive, but only if they get within decent range.”

The swift excitement that had brought him to the rail had waned somewhat when it became clear the ship they had sighted on the westerly horizon, running parallel to them, was not the Talon. It was therefore with a more critical and practical eye that he continued, pointing disgustedly at the huge silhouette, dominated fore and aft by castellated superstructures. “They pile up six storeys worth of fancy cabins all gilt and mahogany, filled with furniture as fine as any king’s courtesan ever graced, and expect to draw more than eight knots from the wind. Even the balconies on the stern galleries are painted with gold and
carved by the same men who fashion their cathedrals and churches.

“At the same time, they have to keep them as deep and broad as possible in the belly to hold the several tons of cargo as well as the three or four hundred soldiers they ferry around. Another hundred or so sailors are needed to crew her and the same again to man the guns, for God forbid any among them should know how to do two jobs. The soldiers sit with their hands warming their cockles until the sailors bring them into grappling range. By then the gunners are spent and have to take their leisure while their fancy conquistadores wave swords and slash throats in the name of the Catholic Christ. Stupidity, if you ask me. Sheer mindless stupidity.”

“Aye. We could circle her half a dozen times,” Spence snorted derisively, “before she could even line her guns on us.”

“We have a fair wind behind us,” Dante mused, almost to himself. “How much speed do you think we could put into the sheets?”

Spence turned to his left and frowned at Simon Dante. “Fifteen. Eighteen if we mount extra canvas on the tops an’ fores—an’ if the ship’s in the mood.”

The pale blue eyes narrowed. “What would it take to get her in the mood?”

Spence arched his brows. “A bitch the size o’ that one comin’ over the horizon will surely do it. We’ll be able to outrun her without raisin’ a sweat.”

“Assuming you were of a mind to outrun her,” Dante said quietly.

Spence stared at him for a moment, then glanced at the approaching galleon. “Ye’re not suggestin’ we could go up against her alone?”

“The
Virago
went up against six of them alone—not as
large as that bitch, to be sure, but daunting nonetheless. Had she been sound or had we a fellow captain with a spine sturdier than Victor Bloodstone, we would have sunk the lot on the first pass. You can see for yourself, she’s slow and wallowing. Slower than usual and wallowing more because of a full hold than because of a few fancy cabins. You said your bays were unhappily emptier than you like to see them. Would it improve your humor to see them filled with crates of Spanish ducats?”

“Spanish ducats?” Spence’s tone changed instantly. “Ye think she’s carryin’ treasure?”

“I think—calling on some measure of experience in such things—she is not out here for a pleasure cruise. If it is true the King of Spain is building an invasion fleet, he will no longer be able to afford the luxury of having his full flota of treasure ships linger in Panama until all their holds are filled. My guess is, as soon as three or four galleons are loaded, they are sent on their way back to Lisbon, with only a small escort, relying on their size and firepower to frighten off any mad-minded freebooters. This one has obviously become separated from the flock by some means or another.”

“At least ye’ve used the right term to describe yerself,” Spit grumbled, mindful of keeping Spence’s bulk between them as a shield. “Only a madman would take on a ship four times his size.”