Page 26

W ithin fifteen minutes the San Pedro de Marcos brought down her flags.

To the last there were sporadic shots fired in anger and frustration at the Egret , but with masts and sails in ruin and gundecks in chaos, it was only a matter of time before the captain-general signaled an end to the fighting.

Almost immediately, the Egret’s jolly boat was lowered and filled with armed crewmen who, under the bristling command of Spit McCutcheon, crossed to the Spaniard and issued the terms for surrender.

During the interim the carpenter on board the Egret jury-rigged a temporary new arm for the tiller.

Dante ordered the mainsails reefed and kept aloft just enough canvas for steerage as he maneuvered the ship around the galleon, waiting for the Spaniards to douse their fires and make preparations to be boarded.

He kept the gun crews and arquebusiers at their posts but otherwise ordered the decks to be cleared of debris, damaged sails to be cut away, and critical repairs made.

The wounded were helped below, where Cook was already red to the elbows, hard at work with his saws and cauterizing irons.

Amazingly enough, there were only five dead and fewer than a dozen with serious wounds.

Those with blisters, cuts, and scrapes tended each other or themselves, making light of their trifling injuries in lieu of the excitement of winning such a resounding victory.

Jonas Spence had had his scalp stitched closed but was too befuddled to retain a lucid thought for more than a minute or two; he had been moved below to his cabin.

Lucifer had earned a crushed rib through his exertions but refused to be attended by a ship’s cook.

He archly conveyed by hand signals that he could easily cure himself if he had a severed chicken foot, but since there were no fowls on board, he made do with the limb of a gull that had been unlucky enough to be caught in the exchange of fire.

Dante de Tourville similarly disdained any suggestion of having his cuts and scrapes seen to.

There were far more pressing matters to concern him, like breaking out muskets and pikes for the boarding parties, readying the grappling lines, clearing space in the holds for whatever plunder might soon be coming onboard.

While he was undeniably pleased at the Egret’s performance, he was also markedly disappointed at the amount of damage the San Pedro had sustained.

Although it was indeed a lumbering sow, it was one of Spain’s finest and could have presented quite a sight being sailed into an English port as prize.

As it stood now, the hulk would be lucky to stay afloat as far as the Spanish coast—providing it could even raise enough canvas to catch the wind.

Billy Cuthbert brought him a bucket of seawater and a scrap of lye soap to make himself presentable before going on board the Spaniard.

The bulk of the fighting over, it would now become a battle of wits, with the Spanish captain-general expressing indignation and outrage over an open act of piracy, issuing dire warnings of reprisals, revenge, and outright war should any of his cargo be appropriated.

Dante had heard it all before, too many times for it to have much effect on anything but his temper.

The bastard had surrendered. His ship and all its contents were forfeit.

It was as simple as that. If he wanted to debate the issue, Dante would gladly reload his guns.

In the calm that followed the battle, Dante had to admit, if only to himself, just how remarkable a feat they had accomplished.

Had it not been for the Egret’s spirit and her captain’s slight madness, a victory over such a Goliath should not have been so swift or easy.

Not just the Egret , but her entire crew had spirit and guts, and Dante found himself staring back at the afterdeck, his soul aching over the loss of the Virago , once again envying Jonas Spence his fine ship and crew.

One crew member in particular, he conceded with a wry smile.

Dante ran his hands through the blue-black waves of his hair, shaking a spray of water droplets free.

He took his shirt from Billy and shrugged it over his big shoulders, then stood easy while the shorter man climbed atop a capstan and helped him into his doublet and sword belt.

There was still a thin pall of smoke drifting over the decks of the Egret , cloaking the sun, making it appear small and pale in a colorless sky.

Dante had to narrow his eyes to identify the figure he saw standing by the afterdeck rail, and, confirming it was Beau Spence, he thanked Cuthbert and made his way along the deck toward the stern, weaving a path through and around the men who were recovered enough to speculate excitedly among themselves over what plunder might be waiting for them on board the Spaniard.

The lion’s share, they knew, would go to the captain, who had financed the voyage himself and owed nothing to investors. The remainder would be divided among the crewmen, and if it was a very rich prize, they would all be sailing home to England wealthy men.

When Dante mounted the ladder to the afterdeck, he saw Beau’s head turn slightly to acknowledge his arrival.

“I have dispatched a man below to check on your father, but I do not hold much hope of his being able to savor his victory just yet.”

She offered up a weary imitation of a smile and looked out over the rail again. “I am not even sure I have enough energy left to savor it. I think … if I had a bed beneath me right now, I could sleep until we reached Plymouth.”

Dante surprised himself with a thought of what he might want to do if she had a bed beneath her right now.

The sun was behind them, bathing her head and shoulders in a golden light.

Despite the dust coating her hair, it gleamed a rich auburn and the floating wisps betrayed a stubborn tendency to cling in soft, feminine curls against her temples and throat.

Her one bare arm seemed at once too slender and exposed and he wanted to remove his own leather doublet and offer her the protection of its warmth.

“I also came to apologize,” he said after another long moment.

She turned and gave him an odd look. “What could you possibly have done that requires an apology? You saved the day, Captain Dante. You saved the ship, saved the crew, won the battle.”

“I should not have taken command so … arbitrarily.”

She frowned, as if the thought of anyone else taking command had not occurred to her, especially the thought that it might have been her place to do so.

“Perhaps not,” she said consideringly, “but I am thankful you did. This was … not my first fight, you understand, but … it would have been my first command, and … I do not know if I could have handled it. I have always had my father behind me, you see, and … well …” She paused and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

“I just never gave a thought to what we would do or what it would be like without him. Foolish of me … I suppose.”

Her voice trailed away and Dante moved to the rail beside her.

“You have no reason to doubt yourself or your skills. In fact, I would offer a confession freely, mam’selle: Despite your father’s confidence in your abilities, I did not believe a woman’s place was at the helm of a ship going into battle.”

She smiled wryly and averted her eyes. “You made your belief quite obvious, Captain. You looked as though you had a gull’s egg stuck in your throat.”

“Aye, maybe so. But—” he tucked a finger beneath her chin, forcing her to turn and look at him— “I swallowed it quickly enough when I saw the way you handled yourself and this ship, I did not find you lacking in either skill or nerve.”

The praise was as honest and sincere as the smoky light that came into his eyes, and Beau felt an oddly satisfying flush of pride wash through her.

She had done a good job. She had kept a level head even after weathering the shot that had almost blown Jonas Spence into the sea.

She just hadn’t expected to hear it from a man who regularity executed such feats and would likely have kept a helmsman beside him who would act on his orders without hesitation or fault.

“Perhaps I should have been more cautious with an unfamiliar ship,” he admitted, reading the concern in her eyes. “I did not know if the Egret’s beam was sound enough to take the strain and should have heeded your warning.”

“If you had,” she said evenly, “we would likely not be standing here waiting for the signal to board a treasure ship.”

Their eyes remained locked together a moment longer, a moment wherein his touch became almost a caress under her chin, and the urge to take her in his arms and hold her washed through him like a slow fire.

“Mam’selle,” he murmured, “since it appears I cannot win you over with immeasurable amounts of flattery, might I try with my limited knowledge of physicking?”

A small frown knitted her brows together and did not ease until she followed his gaze down to where her hands rested on the deck rail. Both palms were burned from the coarse jute cables; the heel of the left was scraped enough to be leaking blood.

“’Tis nothing,” she said quickly, trying to put them out of sight. He was even quicker, however, in reaching down and capturing her wrists.

“Nothing a simpleton would not have the sense to seek help for,” he quoted wryly, “until they become infected and you find you cannot bend your hands or touch anything through the pain. Can you move them at all? Make a fist?”

“Of course I can,” she said, and showed him. The discomfort was minor, but he insisted on leading her over to a bucket of seawater and plunging her hands in the brine.