The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (14 page)

Aye, the rocks of La Helle and Ushant would be bloody hard to miss. Wise or not, he
was
sailing into that mist because it was the lesser of two evils. The only other way to get the
Armide
off his back was to directly confront her, entirely too risky with so valuable a prize on board.

“I yield to no one,
señorita
.”

“But the risk—”

“Is well worth it.”
I won’t lose another woman under my watch.
“This ship is my responsibility. I lost it once.” And how he’d regretted it. “I will never surrender. Not to France. Not to Spain.”
Not to you.

“No one is asking you to do anything of the kind.”

Wasn’t she? A cold knot grabbed at his stomach and he laughed bitterly. She’d been demanding his surrender since the day he’d met her. “We have something of value. That’s the only reason this ship is intact and we are still alive.”

She harrumphed. “Napoleon’s purge of naval ranks is to blame. We have their inaccuracy to thank for our lives. Surely we can use it to our advantage—”

“Do not crow too long. When we enter that fog bank, the
Armide
will do whatever it can to run us aground or sink us before losing their prize.”

“Prize?” She paled visibly. “Do you think they know what we have on board?”

“We cannot be sure. But aye, I suspect it’s true.” As a matter of fact, none of this felt right. Why would Napoleon’s cohorts bypass Sainto Malo for San Sebastian in the Bay of Biscay, a bay notorious for sinking better ships?

Determination warred with his good sense. “Are you prepared for the worst,
señorita
? Do you know what the French do to prisoners?”

Her body quivered involuntarily. Aye, ’twas a sign she’d been told.

She clasped her hands together.
Señorita
Mercedes Vasquez Claremont was full of surprises. The
don
had trained her well.

“They will give no quarter.” Her deceptive eyes didn’t blink. “Their methods are brutal — hellish.”

He held her gaze, noting the strength of purpose reflected there.
Devil damn me, she is as stubborn as I am.

“They will make us drown in the Loire or save us for the guillotine.” She scrutinized his crew moving about the ship then turned back to him. “We have no choice but to outrun them.”

Mist began to envelope the
Priory’s
bow.

Garrick leaned close and whispered in her ear. “I gave my word to Lord Danbury and to your father that I will not allow you to be taken prisoner. You can thank your brother and whoever else destroyed
my
ship, that the
Priory
has lost its advantage… speed.”

Easily baited, she opened her mouth to argue. “My brother had nothing to do with the modifications of this ship, I assure you.”

Another whistling volley shot into the air.

Pfft. Boom!

The impact narrowly missed the ship’s stern. The
Priory
listed, forcing him to grab Mercy to keep her from falling.

“Steady men!” he shouted. “We’re picking up speed. Steer her deeper into the fog.” He moved swiftly to the ladder and barked more orders. “Mind the log lines. I don’t want to get caught on the rocks. Push her to eleven knots.”

“Aye, sir,” Roddy responded then turned to address the crew at his side. “If’n ye want to stay off the Frenchie’s jibbet, work harder, me lads. Else we won’t have a beggar’s chance of getting rum!”

Garrick grabbed Mercy by the upper arm and guided her to the stern just as another volley whirred into the sky.

Pfft. Boom!

She reacted instantly, barreling into his arms, eyes white, as the
Priory
helmed a’lee and the shot careened fifty yards astern. At first, the impact of what she’d just done shocked Garrick to his core. A cold fist jabbed his stomach. He stood there, arms uplifted. Then ever so slowly, he hugged her to him, absorbing her quivering form, unable to speak the words burning his soul…
I will not allow you to die today
.

“I’m frightened.” She molded her soft body to him as if it had been sculpted for his.

Fog cloaked the ship, veiling everything in a gray haze. “No need to fear now,
señorita
.” He peeled her arms from his torso and stepped away. “We’re finally out of range.”

“How can you tell in this pitch?” Her voice sounded like a shaky whisper.

“Oh ye of little faith. That last shot missed us entirely. Those Frenchies won’t be able to catch us now.”

She grabbed the cross around her neck. “What would you have done, if they had?”

“We’d have used our stern guns, m’lady,” Moore confided, a tad breathless as he joined them.

“Stern guns?” She turned on Garrick then, anger flaring in her eyes. “Do you mean to say that all this time, you never intended…”

“Shh.” He covered her mouth.

She bit him.

Garrick cursed. “Little hellion, you’re going to get us killed.” He grabbed a hand full of her hair and yanked her head back so she could look at his face. “Be quiet.”

“Let me go—”

Before she alerted the enemy to their presence, he drew her to him and kissed her soundly. She struggled, instinctually. He tightened his hold, surrounding her with his body, stroking her back with his fingers to soothe her fears. No one should ever be forced to do something they don’t want to do, but the safety of his ship and the souls on board were a greater concern. If kissing her into silence allowed them safe passage through the fog, he’d gladly bear the brunt of her anger later.

He absorbed her movements, giving as much as he got, feeling empowered by the opaque haze. In the ether, she couldn’t see his face, react to his horrific scars. Here, he was her equal. He could enjoy the taste of her, the feel of her in his arms without being plagued by the reality of what he was… a beast no woman would ever willingly bed. She tasted delectable, sweet and exotic, and he was completely enthralled with the feel of her tongue on his until another explosion forced them apart.

Pfft. Boom!

Ding. Ding.

Mercy stirred to the ringing bell. Beyond the cabin door, a whistle shrieked, and she popped her eyes open, heart racing.

A man’s voice echoed topside. “Six bells!”
The morning watch.
Men would be brandishing holystones, scrubbing the deck and flogging it dry.

Besides the rising and setting of the sun, the sentinel’s half-hour prompts for the morning, afternoon, first, middle, and last watches were her only indicators of the passage of time. Well, other than her growling stomach and Seaton’s unwavering company.

Exasperated, Mercy sank back on the pillow and lamented over the strange turn her life had taken over the past eight days. She’d never been fond of waking up before ten, especially when she didn’t sleep well.

She rubbed her eyes, stretched her arms and legs, and then sat up to search the cabin. Seagulls screeched. The ocean whispered a never-ending pulse from beyond the open stern windows. Fractured rays of sunlight beamed onto the mahogany-paneled bulkhead walls making the room feel larger, grander than it was. Tassels hanging from crimson brocade curtains adorning the windows danced to a silent rhythmic tune between the beveled panes.

Mercy inhaled the salty sea air, suppressing a smile. No wonder men favored a seafaring life to toiling the land. She much preferred the agreeable fresh ocean breezes to the oppressive atmosphere of the city, the clattering of horse carriages, or the dank, dark and airless, oftentimes putrid smells permeating below decks.

How ironic.
If not for Holt’s betrayal, I’d never have known there was a difference.
She owed the captain another debt of gratitude for showing her another facet of the world.

Capitán
Blade. She much preferred the damaged lord to the furious captain.

The
Priory’s
miraculous exodus through the fog had been facilitated by
his
kiss and the silence it won from her mouth. She touched her lips, remembering the feel of him there. And now, after a lengthy voyage through the Channel, past the rocky cliffs of the Cornish coast, the vessel pushed toward the Downs and the pool of London, putting Spain and the turbulent shoals off the Breton Coast far behind.

Safety.
Was it impossible to hope there was such a thing?

Her heart skipped a beat at the mere thought of what she’d been forced to sacrifice to get where she was, her mother and father and their duplicity in the
Priory’s
escape, Eddie’s disappearance, Admiral Roche’s retribution. What were her parents enduring now? Were they even alive?

Dios mio! I cannot bear to think of it.
Mercy grabbed the silver cross hanging around her neck and prayed. She took several shuddering breaths then swung her legs over the side of the bed.

Above her head, black iron-latticed lanterns swung from beams of the upper deck, creaking back and forth in endless motion. Joining the less than harmonious chorus, the hammock Seaton had used ever since he’d kidnapped her swayed before the screen door, thwacking against the bulkhead as the
Priory
listed then righted in the swells.

Empty!

How long had Lord Seaton been gone? For as long as she lived, she would never forget his sorrowful wail in the night. When he’d heard her advance to comfort him, he’d jumped to his feet and declined her help.

Mercy catalogued his odd behavior then sprang from the bed, ignoring the cold seeping into her bare feet. God only knew what he relived when he closed his eye at night.

She shrugged off her melancholy.
Opportunity waits for no one!

Her body thrummed with anticipation as she reached for her gown but, just as quickly, her exhilaration sank to the abyss. Her stays were spread out beside it. She looked down at her body and chastised herself for submitting to the habit of removing her corset in order to sleep in the sweltering confines of the cabin. She glanced at the hammock and chewed her bottom lip. She couldn’t possibly dress herself alone.

Curse you once again,
Capitán
Blade for not kidnapping my maid too!

Memories of Seaton’s knuckles grazing her skin as he cinched her corset laces tight on previous mornings swept over her like a flooding tide. She stomped her bare foot and gazed about the room. His absence this morning proved him disagreeable to the fact that she’d discovered him in the darkness at his weakest. Well, if he was so determined to refuse her help, so would she.

She spied Eddie’s trunk stowed in the corner of the cabin. Though she had no idea why Seaton hadn’t hauled it to the hold before now, she silently praised the captain for this oversight. Here was the opportunity she’d been waiting for.

She dashed toward the chest and opened the lid. The hinge protested as she peered inside at the various articles of military clothing orderly folded before her, breeches, stockings, shirts, a whalebone box, sewing kit, razor and strap, and a pipe.

“A woman should not be seen in trousers,”
Abuela
’s lilting voice chastised from the recesses of her memories. Luckily, grandmother wasn’t here.

“I have no other choice.” Delighted by the idea of dressing like a man, she clapped her hands together. Casting aside her threadbare skirts for breeches would enable her to maneuver the deck more easily.
Why didn’t I think of this before?

Determined to remedy her plight, Mercy reached inside the trunk. She raised the pipe and stroked its beautiful engraved lines, recalling the many times she’d seen her father smoke at his leisure. Had Eddie taken up the bothersome habit? She shook her head to clear it. It did not help to worry about Eddie now. Seaton had promised her brother was safe. And if she intended to keep her sanity intact, she
had
to trust the captain was as good as his word. He’d saved her life twice, hadn’t he?

Her mind set, Mercy selected the necessary items for her use, hoping no one would question whether or not she was wearing a corset. With little time to waste, she yanked on the breeches, tucked in her chemise, and pulled the linen shirt over her head. She buttoned the waistcoat and reached for her cloak. As she whipped it around her shoulders, she glanced down at her legs. Though the cloak helped conceal her figure, it would only hamper her movements just as her skirts had done.
I do not want to be the brunt of unbridled laughter by tripping over coiled rope again.
If it hadn’t been for Seaton’s quick reflexes, she’d have fallen down the companionway to her death.

Consequences be damned, it was high time she listened to her instincts. She folded the cloak carefully then stashed it underneath Eddie’s belongings where no one could search for and find the cache she’d hidden inside… Admiral Roche’s dispatch and Lord Fleming’s signet ring. The missive was the only proof she had of Melville’s innocence. She couldn’t risk it getting into enemy hands. Forging the dispatch and stealing the original had sealed her fate. Frowning with decided worry, she lowered the trunk’s lid.

What was done was done. She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t if she had the chance. Lord Melville might be just a man, but Nelson’s Tea and the fate of England weighed heavy in the balance should the House of Lords convict Melville of misappropriating treasury funds. The impeachment and the charge of fraudulent activity would permanently damage the lord’s reputation and cause civil unrest within the Admiralty.

Mercy grabbed the ribbon she’d used for her gown and tied her hair back away from her face. Inhaling a stabilizing breath, she walked to the cabin door, determined to distract herself from the dark days to come.

The minutiae of a frigate helped her forget that she’d been kidnapped
after
being targeted by assassins and without a proper chaperone. April had faded into history and May ushered in an uncertain future for Mercy and her family. Once in London, she’d request sanctuary with Constance and her duke. Would their protection be enough to keep her alive? Would her arrival put them in danger? French spies would do anything to rip England apart from the inside out, to ensure Lord Danbury never got the dispatch she carried, including killing women and children. She’d seen evidence of that already in the tunnels below her home.

Dios mio!
She would never forgive herself if something happened to Constance and Oliver because of Admiral Roche.

Focus, Mercy! Live in the present moment.
She had but one chance to experience firsthand what she’d never been allowed to explore whenever she’d visited her father’s warehouses. What was it really like to sail a three-masted ship?

With a dogged will, Mercy unhooked Seaton’s hammock and secured the loose end to an iron hook extending down from a wooden beam on the opposite side of the door. She turned the handle on the latch, opened the door, and gazed about the passageway before making a quick-footed exodus, passing several able-bodied crewmen.

Tars touched their foreheads with their fists in salute appearing to ignore her otherwise. But Mercy knew the truth. Seaton had ordered everyone aboard to keep a close eye on her.

She nodded a greeting. “Good day, gentlemen.”

The friendly tars bowed their heads and extended their arms as she descended the ladder. Once her feet hit the lower deck, she wove her way past columns, fixed iron cannon stationed at intervals near gun ports, hammocks hanging between each gun, the capstan, shot garlands, the mainmast beam, and coiled and meandering rope on her way to the galley.

“Good morning, Giddy,” she declared, grabbing a biscuit leftover from the night before. She scrunched her nose at something that
looked
like oatmeal in a large vat. “Have you seen
him
?”

“Aye, m’lady.” Giddy stirred the concoction in his kettle before glancing up. He dusted off his hands then scratched his head. “Or should I say,
El Capitán
?”

Mercy glanced down at her clothes. “I…”

“No need to ’splain.” Giddy raised his hand in a peaceful gesture. “Tryin’ out your latest disguise, I ’spect?”

She grinned, liking Giddy more with each passing second.

“Well then. Cap’n broke ’is fast ’afore dawn.” He stepped away from the oven, wiping sweat from his forehead with a rag. “You’ll find ’im topside.”

“Off I go then.” She nibbled her biscuit, savoring what little sustenance she could get.

“What are you set to learn today,
señorita
?”

His question stopped her dead in her tracks. She swallowed then wiped her mouth with a napkin. “I’ve been promised… a detailed lesson on the rudder.”

Giddy’s laughter confused her.

“Without it, you cannot steer—”

“Valuable to every man, that one is. Without it, we’d be dead in the water.” He added more coal to the stove, giving her time to digest his words. Somehow, she didn’t think he was talking about the ship. “Best not dally,” he added. “Cap’n doesn’t like to be kept waitin’.”

Don’t I know it?
Mercy decided against reminding cook that she’d been in the process of going to the captain before he stopped her. Instead, she thanked Giddy and left the overbearing smells in the sweltering galley for the gangway leading to the quarterdeck.

Life aboard ship hadn’t been easy, though it helped tremendously she hadn’t experienced seasickness for the past week. Simmons had been kind enough to explain during one of her spells that seasoned tars and sea captains suffered from the illness. He’d even added that Admiral Nelson’s frequent bouts of seasickness and malaria were legendary. To that end, she felt less defeated. Her respect for the
Priory’s
crew, an eclectic mix of English and Scottish, Irish and Moroccan men grew. A more diverse lot she’d never seen.

Through Simmons, she’d developed the motto,
“If Nelson could do it, so can I!”

An eerie whistle shrilled through the air as Mercy made her way up the companionway to the quarterdeck. Methodic chaos greeted her as mariners exercised sheer force of will as they engaged in their daily duties. Resourceful living clarified the way Seaton and his crew had been able to safely navigate the dangerous shoals of Ushant and the Breton Coast.

“Preparation,”
he’d told her,
“is key.”

“Have you seen the captain?” she asked the helmsman.

The man nodded. “’E’s inspectin’ the carronades, m’lady.”

She gave the man a broad smile. “Thank you.”

Mercy walked along the quarterdeck. Sand had long been washed away from the deck but the beams were wet again as pirates watered them down with mops and scrubbed the surface with holystones on their hands and knees. Men sat on barrels and crates coiling rope or weaving frayed ends into longer sections. Carpenters shaved and repaired wood previously exposed during the melee by their own axes and marlinspikes. Painters, with buckets in hand, varnished newly-planed surfaces. Sails were clewed and flying. Men climbed and descended the shrouds with ease.

Carronades and ammunition were lined up as if Seaton expected more action. Were they in jeopardy of experiencing another attack? The very idea frightened Mercy to her bones. What were the odds that they’d escape another such event without bloodshed? Mercy fingered the cross around her neck and again voiced a silent prayer of protection over the ship. Why had Seaton removed Eddie’s
shrine of the Virgin Mary?