“I know how to shoot a pistol, Blake. In fact, I brought my own.”
“Is that so?” he asked. He smiled as he drew on his shirt. “You’ve been armed this whole time?”
“Yes.”
He peered at her from under his brows. “Ever thought about using it?”
“Many times,” she admitted, then laughed when he looked surprised. “But I’m very glad now I didn’t.”
His fingers stopping on the top button, he slowly lowered his hands. She held out her palm. The blanket slipped and nearly exposed her breasts before she caught it in her other fist. Blake’s eyes lingered on her flesh and she heard his breath catch. He raised his gaze after a moment and placed his hand in hers. His heat swept into her.
“I can’t tarry, Alicia. I’m needed on deck.”
“I know. And I’ll give you my promise that I’ll stay here.”
“Thank you. Sometimes taking a ship can be fast and easy and other times they put up a struggle. It can be very dangerous. If you hear the guns, hide under the bed. Stay low. I’ll come down as soon as it’s safe.”
Alicia let the blanket fall. She wrapped her arms around Blake and opened her mouth over his. His hands spread over her naked back, and he sighed into her mouth as his lips mated with hers.
“Be careful,” she whispered when they pulled apart.
“I will,” he said, his eyes as hot as the hands on her back, “as I have a very good reason to come back.”
Keeping his eyes on hers, he pulled the blanket up around her shoulders, brushed her breast with the back of his hand.
“Get dressed.” He kissed her again. “If I know you’re down here naked, I won’t be able to concentrate.”
“Then I hope they surrender immediately.”
He grinned. “Me, too, sunshine.”
The sails snapped and the ship cut through the white-capped waves. Wind whipped Blake’s hair as he stepped onto the quarterdeck. Because he couldn’t afford even the smallest distraction, he tied his hair back.
“Guns loaded?” he asked.
Nate was at the helm, two hands on the wheel and a grin on his face.
“Double round being loaded now as well as some with roundshot. Muskets, blunderbusses, and pistols ready, and I’ve got men fetching every cutlass and axe we have.”
“Swing guns?” Blake had added two when he’d bought the ship, one at the stern on the quarterdeck and one at the bow. Since most merchant ships had his schooner outgunned, the swing guns could fire upon an enemy without exposing the ship to the firepower of a broadside.
“Loaded. Vincent’s down getting the powder flasks, and he’s concocting some stinkpots. If they decide to fight, we can launch a few when we get within distance. The smoke and stench will slow them down.”
“Provided the wind doesn’t turn and push the foul odor onto us. I’ve choked on the stuff Vincent puts in those pots, kept me coughing for days afterward, and I couldn’t rid the taste from my mouth.”
“But we captured the ship.”
They had, but that didn’t mean it was something he wanted to repeat. Blake took out the looking glass and lost his breath when he saw what it was.
“Hell, Nate. Spanish galleon with a flotilla of three, no wait, four ships.”
“Did you think I was amassing all our firepower for show only? We may very well need it all.”
Blake thought of Alicia below, dropped the glass, and ran a hand over his face. His stomach clenched.
“I hope they surrender,” he muttered.
Nate glanced over, eyebrows raised. “You’ve suddenly lost your appetite for this? Was a time you’d practically be dancing when a ship was spotted.”
“That was different. It was only us then. Alicia’s below today; that changes everything.”
Nate’s smile withered. “We haven’t lost a battle yet. Today won’t be any different. She won’t be harmed, Blake.”
Blake slapped Nate on the back. “Not if I can help it.”
The mood was buoyant when Blake stepped below deck. Off-key voices sang the song of a wench and a sailor; some feet stomped to the music while a few men whistled along with the tune. Blake didn’t begrudge the singing as there was time yet. Instead he ignored them, moved along the guns, double-checked to make sure there was extra ammunition at each. The guns gleamed as did the other weaponry that was either tucked into the sashes of his men or lying at their feet.
Blake stepped onto a crate, drew the crew’s attention. The singing stopped and the air became heavy with anticipation.
“Men, I know we’ve been fortunate in the past. We’ve taken a great deal of Spanish treasure without sustaining much loss or damage. We accomplished that by keeping our heads and today is no different. Be prepared for any eventuality, don’t let down your guards. It’s still a battle.”
There were nods of agreement. Some muttered, “Aye, Captain.” Satisfied there was nothing left for him to do, he made his way to the galley.
The odor brought tears to his eyes.
“Bloody hell, Vincent, those are supposed to make the quarry sick, not us.”
Vincent threw him a grin. “I think they’re the best ones I’ve made yet.”
“How the devil would you know that?”
“I can’t feel my nose.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Blake chuckled. “Are you about finished?”
“This is the last one.” He set the pot in line by the others. There were ten altogether.
“I’ll help carry them up.”
There was no singing on deck. The wind gusted the sails and the lines moaned, but the men themselves were quiet. Some manned the guns; some climbed the rigging. Water splashed high up the hull and splattered the deck.
“Deck’s slippery,” Vincent commented before taking his five pots to the bow.
Not a good thing, Blake thought, taking his share to the stern. Slipping on deck was always dangerous, but in the midst of a battle, it could be disastrous. Not only could it waste precious time, but a pistol could discharge and hit the wrong man.
“We’re within hailing distance, Captain. Sails have been trimmed accordingly.”
Through the glass, Blake could see the galleon clearly. He counted thirty guns on the starboard side, two more mounted aft, and another dozen swing guns along the gunwale. There were men stationed at each and they didn’t look friendly. Blake closed his eyes. If anything happened to Alicia …
“Captain?”
He forced himself to look again, to block Alicia from his mind. It was as he’d told his crew. They’d done this before and had come away victorious because they’d kept their heads. He couldn’t stop himself, however, from glancing at the hatch and offering up a quick prayer that nothing happened to her.
“They’re armed and ready; I don’t think this will be a quick capture,” Blake said.
“Awaiting your orders.”
“Shift the helm, Nate. We need to get a little closer to launch the pots.” Blake went to the edge of the quarterdeck and yelled, “Keep a lookout on the main and foremast, they’ll have archers up there. Vincent?”
“Aye?” he answered midship. He had two pistols tucked into his pants and a musket strapped across his chest.
“Run a shot across her bow.”
“Yes, Captain,” he replied.
Vincent lit the fuse and jumped out of the way. The gun shot back with the explosion, a cloud of smoke blowing from the end of the cannon. The smell of burned gunpowder and expectancy rode on the wind. The men who weren’t manning the guns raised their muskets. Blake was among them.
The flotilla, as Blake expected, altered their direction with the
Blue Rose’s
warning shot. They were sailing out of range.
“Avast!” Blake yelled. “Surrender now and no further shots will be fired.”
With the sails adjusted, the
Blue Rose
—the faster of the two ships—stayed slightly back of the galleon, just out of range of a broadside.
It didn’t stop their enemy, however, from opening fire.
With a shout from the opposing captain, arrows rained down from the platforms that rode the sails of the other ship.
“Archers!” someone yelled before pistols began firing in rapid succession.
Deafening sound carved its way across the deck. Curses and threats came from every direction. Blake’s ears rang from the motley of artillery being fired.
“Fire the swing guns!” he yelled. “But hold the cannons!”
Blake was among those who took aim at the archers, switching pistols with each shot. Enemies fell from their perches on the platforms, twisted, and tumbled their way to the deck. Blake had men designated to reload pistols and they did so now, with a flurry of activity and steady hands. All except for Lewis, who Blake saw was cowering behind the gunwale, the extra ammunition lying useless at his feet.
A thundering boom rent the air, and the
Blue Rose
lurched from impact. The galleon had fired its swing guns. Blake staggered, grabbed the gunwale for balance. Water slewed up the hull with a fierce wave and slapped Blake in the face. He sluiced the water from his face with his hand, turned.
“Reload with roundshot!” Blake called to Nate, who was at the swing gun closest to him. “We need to cripple that ship before she cripples us!”
Blake discharged another shot, then threw his weapon to the deck. He grabbed a stinkpot and almost dropped it when it slid within his hands. Tightening his grip, he pitched it across. It exploded on the quarterdeck of the other ship. Men yelled when the foul smoke blinded them and the mixture of chemicals Vincent had thrown in burned their eyes and throats.
“Vincent!” Blake hollered.
“Already at it,” he answered and Blake saw another two pots launch across. One landed midship, the other behind it.
“Firing roundshot,” Nate called, but he never had the chance.
A cannonball screamed over them and they hit the deck. It shattered the main mast of the
Blue Rose
with a piercing scream, sent shards of wood spearing every which way before crashing to the quarterdeck. The impact shook the wood beneath their feet violently. It was a sound Blake had only ever heard once before. For a brief moment, the memory of seeing Eric beneath the mast blasted over him and sent a sharp stab of pain straight through his heart. He shook it off, opened his eyes, and grabbed his musket. That was when he saw Nate on the deck. And he wasn’t moving.
“Nate?” Scrambling toward him on his hands and knees, Blake slipped on the slick surface. His hands spread wide and his cheek slammed into the deck. Pain rippled across his face even as he lunged to his feet.
Jagged slices of wood were everywhere. With the mast broken in half, the boom swayed dangerously. Blake had to stay low to keep it from slamming into his back and knocking him flat.
He dropped to his knees when he reached Nate. The big man was on his stomach; his eyes were closed. Blake blinked as sweat poured into his eyes, stinging them. His hands shook when he reached for a heartbeat.
“Nate? Nate, are you all right?”
“Quit bloody yelling, would you, and see why my leg’s burning to beat Hell.”
Blake’s breath came out in a long whoosh when he heard his friend’s voice, then he turned to see what Nate was talking about. There was a piece of wood, about the length of Blake’s foot and the width of two fingers, sticking out of the back of Nate’s thigh. Blood pooled on the deck beneath it.
Another shot shook the
Blue Rose.
Blake set his jaw. He hated to do this, knew Nate was in pain by the paleness of his skin, but they didn’t have a choice.
“Hell, Nate, can you manage the way it is? They’re killing the ship and we need all the hands we can get.”
“Bloody sure I can, just help me, will you?”
Blake ripped off his shirt, tore it into strips, and wrapped it around Nate’s leg to slow the bleeding. Then he grabbed him underneath the arms and pulled. Nate groaned, leaned on his good leg. Blake helped him hop back to the gun.
“I’ve got it. Go!”
Nodding, Blake turned and yelled. His crew was fighting hard but there were a few unmoving on the deck. He put that aside for now. There’d be more lost if they didn’t turn the tide soon.
“Fire the guns!”
Blake took a loaded pistol that was passed to him and fired it at a man who was lighting the swing gun on the galleon. Beside him Nate fired. The roundshot exploded out of Nate’s gun and destroyed the mizzenmast of the other ship. Men threw up their arms to protect themselves as the mast collapsed to the deck with a roar.
Beneath Blake’s feet, his ship trembled as the guns below deck opened fire. The galleon screamed as the shots blew holes into her sides. Blake threw down his spent pistol, wiped at the sweat on his brow, and grabbed two stinkpots. Cringing at the smell, he tossed them over.
The taste of gunpowder burned in Blake’s mouth as he reached for another stinkpot.
“Blake?” Nate hollered.
“What?”
“They’re surrendering. They’ve hoisted the flag.”
Relief poured over Blake as surely as the sweat that ran down his back.
“About goddamn time,” he muttered and set the pot down. He grabbed a musket for good measure, then moved to the gunwale.
The galleon looked ravaged. Long tears and larger holes had the canvas limping amid the rigging. With one mast down, the ship looked like a drunk with a missing front tooth. There were holes in the hull from the
Blue Rose’s
guns. Though the bilge pumps would be busy, the holes weren’t severe enough to sink it. She’d make it to port.
Along its gunwale its crew lined up, hands up as they yielded, their captain among them. Blake kept his musket pointed nonetheless.
“Vincent?”
“Here, Captain.”
Blake shifted his attention long enough to ensure that Vincent was all right. He had a scrape on his forehead that left a thin trail of blood running down his cheek. His shirt was torn but otherwise he appeared fine. A knot of tension eased in Blake’s shoulders. His friends were all right.
“Nate’s hurt. Take the helm and get us in closer.”
“Aye, Captain.”
The wind hadn’t eased—it continued to swirl around the deck—but after the roar of battle, Blake couldn’t even hear it. He did, however, retie his hair as it slapped at his sore cheek. Looking over his shoulder, Blake called to the men nearby.
“Prepare to board.”