Page 49 of Across the Star-Kissed Sea (Proper Romance Regency #1)

May

T hough I couldn’t see through the hole’s chaos of splinters near the top of the mess deck, every time the ship rolled, a new gush of ocean raced through it.

We slipped over the deck as we hurried over to the hole.

I kept my grip on Mrs. Peyton’s arm to steady her, though my own instability made it of little use.

“We need a plug,” Mrs. Hallyburton said, clinging to the bulwark. “And no doubt a fothering sail.” She cursed and slammed the side with her fist. “We need Jackson. I’m no carpenter.”

Water had crept up my stockings and seeped into the canvas of my trousers until I was wet well past my knees. I helped Mrs. Peyton toward an iron ring secured to the bulwark that she could hang on to. For the first time since I’d set foot on the ship, Mrs. Hallyburton looked shaken.

“How difficult would it be to locate him?” I asked.

Mrs. Hallyburton smirked. “Smoke. Darkness. Battle.” She ticked them off on her fingers.

“Simple, then,” I said. I pushed on before she could call me stupid. “I’ll go above. See if I can find anyone. The two of you look for a sail.” As the boatswain’s wife, surely Mrs. Hallyburton could find a sail, even if she couldn’t find a proper plug.

I thought Mrs. Peyton would tell me not to go, but she nodded. “Take care, Byam,” she said very seriously. “Don’t take unnecessary risks. We want you back safely.”

I wanted to throw my arms around my employer. My throat tightened. She cared about me, even though I’d hurt her, and she implied that the captain did as well. I was wanted here. Needed here. And I’d do anything to protect this ship.

“You as well,” I choked out. “Take care of her, Hallyburton.”

The boatswain’s wife harrumphed as though insulted that I would feel the need to suggest it. She reached into her pocket and pulled out the pistol. She checked it, then extended it toward me. “Do you know how to use this?”

I stared at the gun, shaking my head sharply.

“Then, for heaven’s sake, don’t. But it might give you a moment extra if they think you do know how.”

“Where do I put it?” I asked. It would fall out of my pocket.

Mrs. Hallyburton huffed and skated over to me on the wetness of the deck. She checked it again, then shoved the barrel into my waistband. The cold steel weighed heavy at my side.

“Good luck, Byam.”

I touched my cap in salute, like I’d seen the men do, not pausing to consider that that was most likely the nicest thing the boatswain’s wife had ever said to me. I made for the hatchway as quickly as the water would allow.

“We’ll need to start the pumps before too long,” Mrs. Hallyburton said behind me.

I flew up the ladder, the whole time praying my waterlogged trousers wouldn’t fall down from the weight of the pistol. I heard Mrs. Hallyburton and Mrs. Peyton make for the hatchway down to the orlop, but then the sound of shouting and clinking metal covered it.

I came up near the galley toward the prow of the ship. The big guns sat silent in their carriages, a few long-handled tools scattered about the deck. The captain wouldn’t be pleased at that disarray, minimal though it was.

My shoes squelched as I crept along the eerily vacant gun deck toward the next ladder.

I shouldn’t find anyone here, yet I couldn’t convince my brain that there wasn’t someone lurking between the hulking cannons.

What if they’d left one of the bodies here?

My step faltered, and I covered my mouth as gooseflesh surged over my skin.

How many had died? One or two? The crew wouldn’t have left them on the gun deck, would they?

Gray twilight filtered through the gun ports.

I scanned this way and that, hoping I wouldn’t stumble across the casualties in the darkness.

I could handle the death, but not right now.

Not here, alone in the middle of war. Elias was above.

I only had to run up this ladder and across the deck and I’d be at his side.

I hurried forward and grabbed the sides of the ladder.

A grunt stopped me in my tracks. It came from near the stern, but I couldn’t see movement. Was someone injured and left behind? My heart thundered in my ears. Dared I see who it was? Perhaps my mind was simply playing tricks.

“ C’est trop étroit. La plupart des marins ne passeront pas .”

My blood ran cold. That was not English.

Elias

I kept my eyes trained straight ahead and my hands firmly on the handles of the helm, but that didn’t prevent my ears from picking up the sound of the battle.

Every scream, every crack of a pistol rattled me.

I wanted to run from it, like I had all those years ago. One person kept me where I was—May.

If the French overpowered us, what would happen to her?

They were the enemy. Many in the French navy acted honorably, but this was a privateer.

Did the same customs apply? Images of an oily-haired, mustache-twirling French captain—the sort you saw in newspaper caricatures—filled my head, his greedy eyes resting on the women we had belowdecks.

Though my role in preventing our being overpowered was very small, I would fulfill it to the best of my abilities if it kept us one more step away from that fate.

Each time I heard Captain Peyton shout orders, I whispered a prayer of gratitude. We could win the day so long as we had him to lead. With night pouring in, the battle had to resolve soon.

Something whistled past my head. A bullet?

I winced but did not move. My eyes stayed on the horizon, where the tiniest sliver of orange sunset still peeked over the black ocean.

In the darkness, I put her face at the forefront of my mind.

With her faith in me, I could do anything. Even brave my greatest fears.

May

I launched myself into the light of the cockpit, heart in my throat. Mrs. Hallyburton and Mrs. Peyton were nowhere to be seen.

“What is it?” étienne lurched to his feet.

“There are Frenchmen,” I cried. “On the gun deck.”

His eyes widened. “How many?”

I put a hand to my chest, trying to breathe.

We had a dozen wounded sailors, a French surgeon, a chaplain, a boy, and three women aboard.

If they were trying to cross over and seize the ship while the crew was battling the rest of their shipmates on the Saint-Germain , how could we stop them?

“At least two. They were struggling to get through the gun port.”

The surgeon considered this. “Harvey, get me the knife. I’ll see what they’re up to.” The loblolly boy retrieved it and presented it to him.

“I have a pistol,” I said, pulling the weapon from my waistband. Something in the back of my mind screamed what a stupid idea it was to hand the Frenchman a gun. But this was étienne. I trusted him.

“That is better than a knife.” He accepted it, checked the mechanism, and pointed it toward the deck. “Bring a lantern, mademoiselle. Let us see what we can discover of their plans. There might be time to warn the captain.”

I followed him back to the ladder. Water had already soaked the deck beneath our feet.

“Do we have a leak?” the surgeon asked.

I held the lantern up so he could see the ladder rungs. “Yes. I went above to try to find Mr. Jackson.”

“There are times when I miss my army days,” étienne said as though talking about a childhood in the country or something equally picturesque. “They were less wet.” We made it to the mess deck, slick with water. “From which direction were they coming?”

I pointed toward the stern. Were those voices? How many had made it through the gun port?

étienne spoke quietly. “You come behind me with the lantern so I have the light, but keep your head below the deck. Do you understand?”

I nodded.

“If things go poorly, run for the orlop. You, Mrs. Peyton, and Mrs. Boatswain hide.”

“Hallyburton?”

He glowered and shook his head. “I do not try to say that name.”

We inched up the ladder, étienne stopping at every rung to listen. He paused at the top, cocking the pistol. He glanced down at me, nodded once, then vaulted onto the deck.

“Stop! Don’t move.” It almost didn’t sound like étienne’s voice. No Englishman would have mistaken him for a compatriot, but he managed a London tone well for someone with usually so stark a French accent.

“ Un anglais. ”

“ Soyez calme. Il n’y en a qu’un. ”

I wished I remembered my childhood French lessons.

étienne stood before the hatchway, gun trained on someone near the stern.

Light from my lantern cast a strange glow upward on the surgeon.

Shadows swung across the empty gun deck.

I held the lantern up as far as I could without going over the edge of the hatchway. Was it enough for him to see his foe?

“Return to your ship. You’ve lost.”

“ Qu’est-ce qu’on fait, Julien? Nous ne devrions pas combattre ici. Ils vont nous remarquer. ” There seemed to be two voices, one stoic and this one more expressive. Had only two of them made it through, or were they simply the leaders?

étienne took a step back, lowering the pistol slightly. “ Que fais-tu ici ? ”

I leaned to one side, trying to see the enemy. What was étienne doing? Had the English accent not fooled them? The surgeon glanced down at me, bewilderment etched into his orange-lit face. My breath faltered. Something had caught him off guard. There must be a host of them.

étienne motioned with his hand, a slight movement, as if shooing me toward the bow. I scowled. What could he mean by that?

“ Qui est-ce ? ” the stoic-voiced intruder said.

“ Personne sauf un mousse .” étienne mouthed, “Go.”

If he thought I would hide while he stood between us and the enemy, he was greatly mistaken. I shook my head, but he motioned again. I couldn’t just leave him. At his final emphatic wave, I lowered myself down the ladder. Very well. I’d leave him, as he insisted, but I wasn’t about to hide.

Water splashed at my feet as I got to the deck. I hung the lantern on a hook coming from one of the beams. At least étienne would still have a little light. Then I ran for the opposite hatchway. I had to get help.

My feet shot out from under me with the slickness of the deck. I landed hard on hands and knees with a grunt but didn’t stop to acknowledge the pain pulsing through my limbs. It was a good thing my trousers were already soaked. I hardly felt the added wetness.

Water still poured through the hole in the hull. Where were Mrs. Peyton and Mrs. Hallyburton? Should I wait for them and warn them of the Frenchies? That would leave the whole ship and crew vulnerable to their plot. I pushed myself up. Sometimes risks had to be made for the good of the company.

I hauled myself up the forward ladder and crouched on the gun deck, letting my eyes adjust to the dimness.

Several yards aft, étienne still stood talking to the Frenchmen.

Only two enemies, unless there were others hidden behind the gun carriages.

One of them, the taller one, held a pistol pointed at étienne’s feet in much the same way our surgeon was pointing his weapon—in their direction but not aimed to kill.

The other French sailor held a cutlass that gleamed dully in the faint light.

“ Que fais-tu? Tu combats tes compatriotes ? ”

Why did they speak with such familiarity?

I crept toward the ladder to the upper deck and grabbed hold of the rungs.

Was étienne in league with them? My stomach lurched.

If he was, I was throwing Mrs. Peyton and Mrs. Hallyburton to the wolves along with little Harvey and all the wounded seamen. They hadn’t a clue of our danger.

I gripped the wood. No, I had to trust étienne.

He hadn’t betrayed us yet. I placed my feet carefully on the ladder and moved as stealthily as I could manage into the smoky evening air.

Then I ran toward the helm, grabbing onto lines to steady myself as I went.

I couldn’t see well, but I didn’t need to.

As long as I kept moving forward, I knew I would find my refuge from the storm—the chaplain who held my heart.