Page 48 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

May

I helped étienne strap down a young midshipman as Hardy brought tools to extract the long shard of wood in the boy’s arm. Mrs. Peyton held a lantern above the table to give the surgeon adequate light.

“Will I lose the arm?” the boy asked, chin quivering slightly. Poor lad. I wanted to hug him. He was trying so hard to be brave.

The Frenchman smiled as he plucked up a tool. “Not today, Mr. Greaves. Miss Byam, I think you’ll have to hold his arm for me. These bands won’t hold as efficiently as I’d like.”

I moved around the table to stand beside him and took hold of the young man’s hand and wrist. He gripped my fingers tightly. The enormous splinter was lodged deep, but I hoped for his sake that étienne wouldn’t have to dig too much.

“The Unit é ’s opponent already struck her colors, did you hear?” the midshipman asked. “One broadside.” His voice rose in pitch as étienne grasped the splinter with pincers and pulled.

Unité was Lewis’s new ship. So, his crew hadn’t had to fight long. I sent a prayer of gratitude heavenward. For all the trouble he’d caused, the thought of his safety was a ray of calm breaking through the tension. If only we could have been so lucky with our opponent.

“We clearly chose the wrong ship to engage,” I said, keeping my gaze away from the wound.

It took a moment to get used to the blood, even though I wasn’t usually squeamish.

Marianne had been on Saint-Germain ’s tail for at least thirty minutes, but the French frigate had only just managed a true hit.

“Our foremast took a solid smashing,” Greaves said with a waver.

Attempting to distract himself from the pain.

Clever boy. He’d make a good captain one day.

“They’ve a good crew on their stern chasers.

The guns have been causing trouble to the masts and rigging.

But we’re—” He clenched his eyes shut as étienne pulled the splinter free.

“We’re gaining on them. We should draw alongside shortly. ”

And then the real fight would begin.

“Were there any other wounded?” I asked. And were there any casualties? Elias would have been on the opposite end of the ship, on the quarterdeck, but if it had been a raking blow, the shot could have caused damage down the length of the ship.

“No, miss.” He paused and gritted his teeth as étienne washed out the wound to try to clear any slivers of wood.

I didn’t envy him the sting of the saltwater.

“A few had minor wounds and could keep at their stations. But Lieutenant Roddam insisted I come below.” The jagged scrap of wood now lying on the floor, where étienne had tossed it, seemed like it would inhibit anyone unfortunate enough to get it lodged in his arm.

“How do the officers fare?” He’d said no others wounded, but I had to be sure.

“She means Mr. Doswell, specifically,” étienne muttered as he warmed a plaster by the lantern candle.

I pursed my lips. He needn’t have been so blunt about it. Perhaps it was the French way, but I preferred more privacy than that.

The boy’s brows knit. “Doswell? He seemed well enough, I suppose.”

Praise the heavens for that. Or was he just saying it? Had he even noticed Elias in the chaos? I closed my eyes and offered a silent prayer, more fervent than I’d said in years. Let him be safe and return to me unscathed. I’d give anything to make it so.

Elias

As the Saint-Germain sponged and reloaded her guns, I pulled out my pocket watch.

Forty-five minutes since we’d taken the first shot in our duel.

Haze from the spent gunpowder twisted around the frigates, muting the orange glow already appearing on the horizon, and soon we’d have to light lanterns in order to see to fire.

A large risk with so much powder waiting on the gun decks.

We’d seen how dangerous a night battle could be on this voyage.

“How many have we lost?” Captain Peyton asked.

I held my spectacles on as the deck pitched from a sudden wave and brought my notebook closer to my face. “One forecastle man dead, seven crew and a midshipman wounded. But two have returned to their posts, sir.”

Captain Peyton nodded solemnly. We’d left nearly seventy men, including most of our marines, in port to defend Lissa against a French attack, giving us a hundred and five without the wounded and dead.

Saint-Germain had a smaller crew, but they’d nearly matched us volley for volley.

We couldn’t know whether the dark would help or hinder us.

If they could slip out of our grasp and lose us, they had a chance of making it to Italy.

Perhaps they’d even meet up with the larger frigate we’d seen escaping the battle with HMS Alceste and Active .

If we tracked them alone, we wouldn’t have the firepower to battle both ships at once.

“What will you do, Captain?” I asked.

He set his jaw, staring down the enemy across from us. The French ship was banking in our direction for another shot. “Sanchez, one point to port. Don’t let her rake us.”

“Yes, sir,” the helmsman said, adjusting his grip on the wheel.

The captain scanned the Marianne ’s upper deck, then nodded once as though in decision. “Lieutenant, arm the crew.” He nodded to the nearest midshipman. “Mr. McDaniel, tell Mr. Pindall to prepare the grappling hooks.” The young man nodded solemnly and hurried away.

Grappling hooks. Captain Peyton meant to board. I swallowed, a difficult feat with smoke and dust permeating the air.

Lieutenant Roddam leaned toward the captain, head bowed to keep his voice from carrying across the quarterdeck. “We’re boarding? We don’t have our marines.”

“They don’t have any to speak of. She’s a privateer in league with the navy. Our men are more disciplined than a ragtag bunch of corsairs. We will win the day.”

“Of course. You know your men.”

Peyton took him by the shoulder. “We make a stand now, Roddam, or we risk losing them to the night. Whatever their mission, we must foil it. If they make for Lissa with the other frigate that escaped, they could wreak havoc on Vis.”

And endanger, in his mind, the wife he thought he’d left in a house near the harbor. I glanced toward the hatchway. Dared I tell him now?

“And if they aren’t aiming to wreak havoc on our strongholds, they’re meant to strengthen Napoleon’s forces on the Italian coast, which we must prevent at all costs.” Captain Peyton pulled away from the lieutenant with one last clap on his shoulder.

Roddam saluted and strode away to prepare the boarding parties.

“Mr. Hallyburton, Mr. Sanchez, take us in range for the hooks.” The captain motioned to starboard.

“We’ll grab her and reel her in. Then the true test begins.

Collect your cutlass and pistol as soon as you are able.

” He turned to me. “Doswell, mark the time, then take over for Sanchez once he’s brought us in range. ”

Me? I saluted. Playing the part of helmsman in a battle was one thing, but with no one else about, the safety of the Marianne would rest squarely on my shoulders.

Mine. The chaplain’s. The school teacher, makeshift clerk, and sermon giver.

The boy who’d run from the navy after his first experience in combat.

What is the captain thinking, putting a milksop like you at the helm? You’ll lead them to—

But a new voice interrupted the naysayer in my head. You can do this, Elias. It was May’s voice.

Odd. She’d never said that to me before, but I heard her as clearly as if it were a memory. It was with the same fervent tenderness that she’d told me she loved me.

She loved me. I closed my eyes, allowing myself the briefest moment to savor those words. What greater strength did I need than that?

“Keep her running east-northeast,” the captain said. “We’ll need as many men on that Frenchie’s upper deck as we can spare, and Sanchez has more boarding experience than most of the crew.”

“Yes, sir.” I stood taller. I could keep the ship sailing. For England. For Captain Peyton. For May.

I checked my watch, noted that we were preparing to board just before five in the evening, and pocketed my book. Peyton would need these details for his report.

“And, Doswell.”

“Yes?”

He threw me a grin. “I’m glad you’re with us.”

May

Mrs. Hallyburton barged into the cockpit with all the subtlety of a blast from a 32-pounder carronade.

The handle of a pistol stuck out from her apron pocket.

“Well, they’ve boarded that Frenchie. Time to pray and curse Boney.

” She threw étienne a withering glance, as though she expected him to suddenly start singing La Marseillaise in protest, but he continued wiping off his instruments and paid her no mind.

I sat on the deck assisting him, the cloth in my hand already stained.

No doubt, he faced such suspicion regularly, but during a battle with tensions heightened, it must come out more frequently.

The boatswain’s wife then turned her disapproving gaze on me, looking me up and down with a sniff.

She’d discovered us earlier and had already given me a tongue-lashing for the indecency of dressing as a man.

Knowing it displeased her almost dispelled my frustration at the inconvenience of wearing trousers, with their small pockets, chafing, and inhibiting trouble they caused when it came to relieving oneself. I couldn’t wait to return to my gown.

From the corner where she attended to a wounded seaman, Mrs. Peyton lifted her head. “Is there anyone left on deck?”

“Just Mr. Doswell at the helm. The wounded have all been brought below.”

I paused my cleaning. Elias was steering the ship again, this time alone.

And Captain Peyton was leading every man he could muster in a full-blown charge into the enemy’s ranks.

It wasn’t an uncommon tactic to leave a ship unprotected in an attempt to overwhelm the enemy, but it was a bold one.

We shouldn’t expect any less from Captain Peyton.

His wife went back to her task, but she moved rigidly. I resumed mine as well. Knowing they were in danger made simple work more difficult.

“You won’t be getting any more wounded for a time, Mr. étienne,” the boatswain’s wife said, resting her hand on her pistol. She said his name “ay-ten” without any attempt at correct pronunciation. “But you’ll have plenty when the lads return.”

“You told us you thought they were boarding, Doctor,” I said, handing him a scalpel. “You were correct.” The ship had rocked as though bumping into something not long ago, and he’d predicted one of the frigates had had enough of broadsides.

“I’ve participated in my share of boarding action,” he said quietly as he put his tools in their places.

“Against good British tars.” Mrs. Hallyburton sniffed.

I closed my eyes, clamping my teeth together. étienne was as trustworthy as he was French, but engaging the boatswain’s wife would come to nothing. Sometimes, it was better to bite my tongue and let the argument die. She hadn’t outright insulted him yet.

The boatswain’s wife kept an eye on the entrance, as if ready for Frenchmen to spring through it. “ Saint-Germain is in for a shock.”

Saint-Germain ? étienne and Mrs. Peyton glanced at each other, then at me. Wasn’t that the name of the privateer HMS Deborah had fought when Uncle Byam was killed?

“Our old friend,” étienne muttered.

A chill ran down my spine. It didn’t change anything about Elias standing at the helm, but somehow, the thought of this ship being to blame for my kinsman’s death made my insides seize. I’d always imagined them as ruthless and greedy pirates, but never had I imagined actually facing them.

“If she couldn’t handle our broadside, that bunch of yellow-bellied frogs won’t do well face-to-face with true Englishmen,” Mrs. Hallyburton said.

Was she trying to convince herself that there was nothing to fear?

Never mind that half our crew wasn’t actually English.

“We’ll strike her colors for her in no time.

Send the filthy matelots into the deep.”

“Mrs. Hallyburton, might you accompany me to the stores?” Mrs. Peyton asked, rising. “I’m feeling a little faint, and I think I need something to restore my strength.”

The boatswain’s wife reached an arm toward her. “Of course, ma’am. You shouldn’t be here in your condition as it is.” She glared at me as though it were my fault the captain’s wife was here instead of the other way around.

“Take a lantern,” étienne said, handing one to me. “You’ve had hardly anything all day. You must be famished as well.”

My stomach rumbled at the thought of food. étienne had brought us a few things throughout the day but not nearly enough for two grown women. And chasing enemies for hours left little time for finding nourishment without detection.

I took the tin handle of the lantern, a horrid thought popping into my head. With us gone and little Harvey the only seaman not wounded, étienne could sneak away and do something terrible to help his countrymen.

He must have sensed my hesitation. “I will not sabotage the ship,” he said with a wink. “You can trust in me.”

Trust. That had been so hard for me to give anyone for years.

But as I took in this wild-haired Frenchman with his impish grin, I couldn’t help but believe him.

Trust left one vulnerable. Elias had shown me that.

But without it, what did one have? Everything good and beautiful in this world stemmed from trust—trust in deity, trust in others, and trust in yourself.

“We’ll be back as quickly as we can,” I said, then slipped out into the passageway after Mrs. Peyton and Mrs. Hallyburton.

The boatswain’s wife led us through the maze of spars, cables, and crates until we reached the storerooms. She produced a key and opened the narrow door.

I stepped in first to light the room. Water poured over my half boots, drenching the hems of my trousers.

A cold, salty spray rained down on me from the deck above.

I cried out and stumbled back, sputtering and nearly dropping the lantern. I wiped at my face with my sleeve, but my soaked hair and cap kept dripping the seawater into my stinging eyes. Mrs. Peyton grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the storeroom.

“What is happening?” she asked.

Mrs. Hallyburton snatched the lantern from me and held it up. “We might have bigger problems than empty bellies on our hands,” she said gravely, then swore. “Come, ladies. The frogs must have blown a hole in our hull. And Mr. Jackson went across with the crew.”

Water quickly pooled in the storeroom. I raised an eyebrow at Mrs. Peyton. “I thought you said the French aimed for the masts.”

It would appear this French ship was aiming to win as much as we were.