Page 20

W ith the weather clear and a brisk north-by-northeast wind blowing steady, the Egret made good time through the remainder of the week, skimming over the waves like a frisky foal.

The survivors of the Virago had been understandably withdrawn the first few days and preferred their own company, but as their health returned, so, too, did their spirits.

Most, like their captain, vowed certain death to the master and crew of the Talon if and when they caught them, and when all the treacherous details became known to the crew of the Egret , it stirred equally strong sentiments in every quarter.

To abandon any ship in distress was to do the unthinkable.

To leave so famous a ship as the Virago and her crew as sacrifice to Spanish predators put every man’s blood to the boil and had more pairs of eyes than those belonging to the lookouts scouring the distant horizons for sight of the fleeing vessel.

Dante de Tourville had appeared on deck to the cheers of his own men and those of the Egret Spence was there to greet him and celebrate his recovery with a cask of rumbullion, inviting both crews to toast the brave memory of the Virago and her daring forays against the papist plague.

The pirate wolf had been harassing the Spanish Main for the past decade and there were a good many adventures to recount.

It became a pattern of sorts after that, for the men to set their work aside for a time each day and gather on the main deck to share a tot of brandy or ale and listen to the adventures of the Virago.

Some had the Egret’s crew poised on the edges of their seats, their eyes round as medallions; others had them clutching their sides and rolling with laughter.

“You would think he walked on water,” Beau remarked dryly after a particularly loud outburst of ribald humor.

“Who?” Spit McCutcheon stood beside her on the forecastle deck looking down over the daily gathering.

“The valiant Captain Dante, who else? Is there some other icon on board with a halo and crown of thorns on his head?”

She turned away from the rail and leaned over her charts again.

The sea was relatively smooth and she had been able to take a fair reading of their latitude from the astrolabe.

It was a simple instrument used to measure the altitude of the sun or a particular star.

It consisted of a large graduated ring of brass fitted with a sighting rule that pivoted at the center of the ring.

Suspended vertically by the thumb, the rule turned about on its axis so that the sun could be aligned and the altitude read off the ring.

It was less than accurate in heavy seas off the deck of a rolling ship, but in smooth waters with little heaving, it fixed approximate latitudes and, to an experienced navigator, an estimate of leagues traveled and those yet to come before reaching port.

Beau’s working charts were divided into grids drawn over rough sketches of the oceans and continents; a series of small x’s marked their progress against the readings she took off the astrolabe and the last sightings of known landmarks.

It was with a twinge of satisfaction she studied her figures now and added another small x a good deal north and west of the Canaries.

Five days into the chase, they had covered roughly ten degrees of latitude.

“Almost two hundred leagues,” she said, smiling up at Spit.

He only grunted, distracted for the moment by the sight of a white streak of fur racing down the main deck, followed in hot pursuit by the axe-wielding Cook.

When they disappeared from sight, his attention wandered back to the cask of ale that had just been unbunged, prompting him to hitch up his breeches and run a dry tongue across his lips.

“I’d say that were cause to join the celebrations, then.”

Her smile tightened, then faded on a sigh. “Go ahead, if you like. I can take the helm and finish out your watch.”

“Aye, an’ yer father would tail me out for shirkin’ my duties.”

“Considering he is in the midst of the crowd; I doubt he could justify punishing anyone for laxity.”

"Still an’ all, I were lashed once. It wasn’t a treat I’d like to share again. Five strokes, I had, an’ it left me raw enough to feel I were layin’ on a bed o’ red-hot coals.”

Beau thought of the marks crossing Dante’s back; it must have been like a foretaste of hell.

Spit peered slyly in her direction. “Cap’n Dante, now, he took his shirt off the other day an’ set one o’ the younger lads to pukin’ his biscuits over the side o’ the ship. Aye, it were just lucky for him the wind was blowin’ in his favor.”

“I have seen the marks.” Beau pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I wonder what a man has to do to earn so many lashes with the cat? ”

He snorted. “On some ships? Might as well ask what a whore has to do to get laid.”

Beau glanced sidelong at the gunnery chief. “I’m sure I don’t know the answer to that, either, Spit. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

The crusty old tar looked embarrassed—for all of two seconds. “Warrant it ain’t up to me to be enlightenin’ ye on the whys an’ wherefores o’ somethin’ like that, lass. Warrant ye should be lookin’ for someone with a stouter heart an’ a stiffer pole than mine to be givin’ ye lessons.”

“Too old and withered to instruct me, are you?”

“Too old to handle yer father’s fists, more’s the like. Now, enough o’ yer heathen talk—tease a poor man’s pride, for shame. Why don’t we both slink on down an’ catch a dram or two?”

Beau stared over the rail a moment, then shook her head. “There should be at least one sound and sober head on board.”

Spit scratched at the white bristles on his jaw and crooked a rheumy eye in her direction. “Ye don’t seem to hold an overly high opinion of ’is lordship.”

Beau shrugged. “I hold no opinion of him whatsoever.”

“An’ here I figured ye to be one o’ the first in line to listen to the exploits of the Virago. Ye were always crowdin’ the edge o’ the quay whenever Drake put into port.”

Beau looked at Spit in shock. “Surely you do not compare this—this displaced Frenchman to our own Sir Francis Drake? You, who did not even recognize his ship or his pennon when you first saw it?”

Spit grumbled and scratched harder. “I recognized it well enough afterwards. It were just … in the heat of the moment, it temporarily deserted me.”

“There could be an inferno of flame and smoke surrounding the Golden Hind and no one would fail to recognize her. Neither would they need to gather around a capstan to hear tales of Sir Francis Drake’s adventures.

What schoolboy does not know he was the first Englishman to sail his ship around the world?

The first—and only one—to sack San Domingo and Cartagena— two of Spain’s best defended cities in the Indies—not to mention being the first to cross Panama on foot and stand where he could see both the Atlantic and the Pacifica at the same time!

You dare compare him to an arrogant, ill-mannered French bull rogue who cannot even steer his ship through a gale! ”

Sometime during Beau’s diatribe, Spit’s eyes had widened out of their creases and tried to direct Beau’s to a point over her shoulder.

They flicked again now, with a more meaningful intensity, and Beau whirled around, the question dying on her lips when she saw Simon Dante lounging casually against the rail, his arms crossed over his chest, his mouth curved into a smile.

It was impossible he could have missed a word she’d said, for the argentine eyes were dancing with amusement.

Beau had been adroit in avoiding the company of the pirate wolf over the past few days, managing always to be at one end of the ship if he was at the other.

Mealtimes were a challenge, for Spence insisted his daughter share his table with Dante and Pitt.

But she had been able to rise to the occasion by changing her watches and inventing plausible reasons to be at the helm.

Seeing him from a distance did not prepare her for a face-to-face meeting.

His jaw was clean shaven, revealing a sharp and angular profile that would have put the noblest aristocrat to shame.

His mouth, clear of the concealing black fur, proved to be wide and generous in shape, blatantly sensual, easily provoking memories of their audacity.

His hair gleamed like polished ebony under the sunlight and fell in thick, silky waves to his shoulders.

There were still faint smudges under his lower lashes, but they only emphasized the startling color of his eyes and lent him a more dangerous air, as if he preferred to stay always in the shadows while he observed the rest of the world.

“So. Sir Francis is one of your heroes, is he? Chaste and untainted by his own fame?”

“He does not require a round of free ale for men to appreciate his deeds.”

Spit started to chuckle and covered it with a cough. Dante looked his way and nodded an affable enough greeting, although he kept staring, kept smiling, until McCutcheon cleared his throat with a nervous rattle and excused himself under the guise of checking the set of the topsails.

Beau stood her ground. It was one thing to affect an avoidance of the man; quite another to give the appearance of being frightened off.