The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (15 page)

His argument hit her afresh.
“The only shrine this ship needs is a good captain to sail her.”

Dover’s intrepid white-chalk cliffs loomed off the larboard. One of Seaton’s carpenters, a tar named Murray, stood by the forecastle near the starboard bow. He looked downward then across the twenty miles separating France and England. Since he was otherwise engaged but not overly so, she decided to inquire if he’d seen
Capitán
Blade.

Not hearing her approach, he fumbled with something in his hand, exposing a glint at various intervals when the object was exposed to the sun. Spying the flash of light, Mercy angled her head toward the direction he aimed and witnessed an answering signal originating from a southeast vantage point… France.

She covered her mouth with her hand. It couldn’t be true. Did Seaton have a traitor on board? She had to be sure. Without thinking, she approached Murray and grabbed the man’s arm. “What are you doing?”

He quickly jerked and spun her around to face him. “Admiral Roche sends his regards,
señorita
.”

Mercy screamed. He covered her mouth as she elbowed the solid barrier at her back and stomped his instep with the heel of her soft-skinned slippers.

Murray grunted but held her tight against him. His putrid breath warmed her cheek. “
Vive l’Republique
.” He grabbed a handful of her hair and wrapped his fingers around her thigh then lifted her off the deck to hoist her over the side of the ship.

~~~~

Garrick paced the
poop deck then stopped and stood with his feet braced apart as voices ebbed and flowed on deck. He raised his gaze to the sheets, studying each sail, his mind clustered with anxiety. Though they’d had little opposition for nigh onto five days and he had a good weathering breeze, something wasn’t right. An odd prickling niggled deep in his bones. Whenever that feeling cut through him trouble wasn’t far behind.

He flexed his jaw, limbered his spyglass and aimed it out to sea.

Moore came to stand beside him. “What is it, Cap’n?”

“Where is the
señorita
?” The sea glistened like diamonds.

“She’s made a turnabout deck, sir. Dressed like one of Godoy’s officers, she is.”

“Devil you say.” Garrick lowered the monocle in disbelief. “She’s wearing her brother’s uniform?”

“Aye, sir.”

Devil damn me for not kidnapping her maid!
If he lived another day, he would not allow a Spanish officer to walk the
Priory’s
deck ever again. He’d been so preoccupied conferring with Moore about navigating the Downs that he’d forgotten Mercy couldn’t dress herself.

He searched the deck for her brother’s tell-tale blue coat. “Where away?”

“I believe she’s gone forward, sir.”

He paced to the poop’s rail, catching sight of her shapely figure only briefly. “Keep a sharp eye, will you?” he asked, passing Moore the spyglass.

“Aye, sir.”

Garrick descended the ladder and pushed his way across the quarterdeck.

“Cap’n.”

He tipped his head at the men who hailed him amidships. “Matthews. Turner.”

“Sail ho!”

He was half-way to the bow when the cry made him stop in his tracks.

He shouted to the topman in the maintop. “Where away?”

“Two points abaft off the starboard beam!”

Garrick was about to turn and make his way back to his post when he heard a woman scream.
Mercy’s scream!

Every muscle in his body coiled into action. He whipped around to locate where he’d seen her last.

Where was she? There. Just past the forecastle he spied her clawing the air for a halyard pin.

“
Traidor!
” She missed the pin, flailing like a drunken sailor.

What the devil? God forgive him, he wasn’t going to be quick enough. She’d been lifted her by the hair and thigh then turned toward the rail.

“No puedo nadar!”

Hounds’ blood, she can’t swim?

As his lightning reflexes took hold, Esmeralda’s face flashed before him.
Shock. Panic. Agony. Sweet surrender then silent accusation as her life’s blood spilled out and her vacant eyes fixed on him.

Devil damn me, not again!

Furious, Garrick retrieved the knife he kept behind his waist and threw the blade at the target coming into his sights. The crewman arched, grunted, fell to his knees, and then landed face first on the deck.

Garrick’s pulse raced as he searched for Mercy. But the deck was empty where she’d been. His heartbeat pounded in his ears and he took off at a run.

“Man overboard!” The topman’s alert plunged him into hell.

Garrick ran, hurdling ropes, equipment, a grief-stricken lump lodged in his throat. Had Mercy fallen to her death? Was she even now struggling to stay afloat in the Channel?

He threw off his bicorn and tore off his coat then glanced over the side of the hull, prepared to dive in after her. What he found couldn’t have pleased him more. Mercy dangled from a rope against the
Priory
’s side, valiantly trying to get a foothold on the rope ladder there.

She looked up and saw him. “Help me!”

His heart seized violently as he climbed over the rail. “Don’t struggle. You’ll expend all of your energy.”

Moore grabbed his sleeve. “Cap’n, it’s too dangerous. Let me do it.”

“No.” He grabbed hold of the rope his men quickly gave him and tied the hemp about his waist. He moved over the side and began to descend the boarding ropes. “Hang on. I’m coming for you.”

“I-I’m slipping.” She shrieked. One of her hands dropped but she managed to grab hold of the rope again.

“Don’t struggle. You’ll only weaken your grip.”

“I c-can’t h-hang on.” Her other hand slipped. His heart stopped as she dangled precariously by one arm.

“Hold on!”

“
Capitán!
”

He swung toward her and grabbed her waist at the same time her fingers broke free. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung wildly to him with a strength he didn’t know she possessed. Greatly relieved that he’d reached her in time, he buried his face in her hair and inhaled a stabilizing breath, not realizing until this moment that he’d been holding it. “Keep your arms around me.”

“
Tengo miedo.
” She clung to him as if her life depended on it. Which it did.

“You’ve never been afraid of anything in your life,
señorita
. Don’t let go.” It was an order he knew she’d obey. He turned his attention to the expectant faces glaring down from above. “Pull!”

He climbed the side of the hull, bearing Mercy’s weight. As they cleared the rail, Simmons and Randall outstretched their arms. He maneuvered Mercy closer and Simmons hoisted her to the deck. Randall turned back and offered Garrick a hand. He accepted it gladly.

Once he landed on deck, Mercy rushed to him and latched her arms about his torso. “
Muchas gracias
.
Yo pensaba que se iba a morir
.”

Her behavior mirrored that of a frightened child’s but she wasn’t ready to die. None of them were. No one ever was. Garrick understood. He hugged her close, ignoring the fact that she’d spoken Spanish.

Hounds’ blood, I’ve been ordered to bring Mercy back to England alive and I almost failed. I will never leave her side again!

“Cap’n.” Randall’s voice interrupted his self-condemnation like a bucket of cold rainwater doused over his face.

His concern for Mercy’s welfare blinded him to everything else, including his crew. He backed away, finally understanding how dangerous she truly was to him.

Randall placed Garrick’s discarded coat around Mercy’s shivering form. “What about the ship, sir?”

“Ship?”

“Aye. Her sails were spotted just before the young miss was tossed over.” Simmons patted Mercy on the shoulder and eased her to the deck. “She’s headed straight for us and gaining, sir.”

Garrick looked past the starboard beam where a ship at full sail headed their way. “She appears to be alone. The French wouldn’t dare chase us into the Thames. Continue to weather the Downs.”

Simmons nodded and stood. “Aye, sir. I’ll pass along your orders.” He turned to the crew who stared down at Murray’s dead body. “Don’t just stand there gawking. Get to work.”

“This would be a good time to return with a prize to appease the king.” Randall’s advice didn’t set well with him.

They might have done things a certain way before they had Mercy on board, but she was here now. “We’ve already got the king’s prize. And if we expect to keep her alive, we’d be wise not to dally. I’m not in the mood to risk another attempt on her life.”

His men glanced at each other in confusion then scurried away, returning to their individual posts.

Randall knelt by Mercy. “
Señorita
Vasquez, why would Murray try to kill you? Did you know him? Had he tried to harm you in any way during our voyage?”

“She’s bad luck.” A lone straggling tar complained. “She’s the reason we can’t lose the frogs.”

“Frogs?” The fact that Mercy spoke ensured Garrick that she hadn’t reached the point of being struck dumb.

“I-I caught
this
man.” She pointed to Murray. “Signaling a ship…
th-that
ship.” She arrowed her finger southwest of the stern then lifted her chin defiantly. “When I questioned him, he assaulted me. He said, ‘Admiral Roche sends his regards.’ He said, ‘
Vive l’Republique
,’ before attempting to throw me into the sea.”

He looked at Moore. “Why would Murray do something like this?”

Garrick bent down and turned Murray over, filled with incredulity as he began to search the Irishman’s pockets. Murray had been a loyal member of his crew for years. What could have made the man attack Mercy?

His mouth went dry as his fingers clasped a slick object tucked inside a pocket sewn secretly into Murray’s pants. He swallowed thickly then raised the object into the sun. The mirror reflected the brilliant rays, immediately filling him with a fury no one could breech.

“Murray.” He growled out the name of his betrayer.

Randall knelt beside him. “Remarkable shot, cap’n. You severed his spine instantly.”

“Aye.”
Devil damn me, I was almost too late.
“I was aiming for his head.”

“A pity he isn’t alive.” Mercy’s voice sounded somewhat distant.

Pity? A man who tried to kill a woman — kill them — deserved no pity. Garrick’s blood boiled.

“Any information he might have divulged…” She hesitated slightly. “Would have shed light on who had ordered the attacks against us.”

Us? He was quite sure she had been the target. On board his ship, surrounded by men he trusted, she should have been safe. Murray’s death was an infuriating dilemma. If he couldn’t trust her with his crew — men he’d known for years, how was he going to handle protecting her in London — the most dangerous place for a spy with her knowledge and talents to be caught?

He wanted to relive the past few moments so he could beat Murray senseless and get the answers to questions that continued to pile up in his mind.

How long had Murray been working against him? Who was he working for?
Was he responsible for my capture in San Sebastian?
Did he have a contact supplying information in Talland Bay? That would put his family at risk.

“Murray.” He growled out the name again.

Questions dissipated as Moore sauntered forward. “What the devil has happened?”

“The filthy swine gave me no choice. It was him or the girl.” Garrick glanced up at his navigator.

“Cap’n, this grieves my heart, full sore.”

“This isn’t your fault, Moore.”

Garrick turned Murray over onto his stomach and pulled his blade out of the man’s back. The sickening sound of steel disengaging from flesh permeated the air. Worried how this gruesome scene affected Mercy, Garrick glanced up at her face. She showed no emotion. Had she gone into shock? No. Her stare blazed to life instead of being devoid of expression. What had she experienced to give her such a stalwart stomach?

Moore wouldn’t let Murray’s death go. “Why would Murray do something like this?”

“Excellent question.” Garrick wiped the bloody blade on Moore’s trousers. “Everything I believe grows more ill-figured by the moment.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Randall asked.

He regarded Moore closely. “How long has Murray been a member of the
Priory’s
crew?”

“From the day she was christened. I grew up with him, sir. He’s never once given me reason to question his loyalties.”

“Nor I.” Garrick sheathed his blade behind his waist. “As I never questioned Holt’s.” He looked at Mercy, wondering for the hundredth time whether or not she understood the danger she was in. If Holt and Murray could be bought, anyone could.