Chapter Nine
Rested, sated, clean, dry, and warm at last, Selina glanced down at the filthy rags discarded on the deck of the cabin, feeling her burdens lift by degrees. Dawn had come, and sunlight cascaded through the stern windowpanes, illuminating the cabin. Wolf had not returned since his kisses had branded her lips, making her feel nonsensical and foolish clinging to the sensations he’d stirred within her. Time apart had allowed her to process all that had occurred between them since they’d boarded the Sea Wolf, and her sanity had returned. In everyone else’s eyes she might be regarded as spoiled goods, but she knew the truth. No one aboard Captain Falchion’s ship, the Constrictor, Le Serpent, or inside the Wasp had raped her, and she didn’t need to add to her woes by voluntarily giving her virginity to Wolf.
What did it matter that Wolf’s nearness aroused sensations inside her that rivaled any indulgence she’d ever known? She was accustomed to living without happiness, especially the kind involving carnal pleasure. When she was in Wolf’s arms, she couldn’t think—she didn’t want to—and that surrender weakened her, made her vulnerable, something she could not allow. She was betrothed.
Wolf had behaved honorably by not taking advantage of her in her fragile state of mind—yet another thing that separated him from the corsairs she’d met. Those men crowed of their prowess with the “tarts.” But not Wolf. He wasn’t the beast he claimed to be.
He’d been right about other things, though. Her ruined wedding day, kidnapping, escape, recapture, and rescue had all happened for a reason. What those reasons were she could not yet ascertain. She strapped on the belt Wolf had provided her with and secured it loosely around her waist. The clothes she now wore fit far better than the items she’d bartered her gown for in Cadiz. And, saints be praised, they were blessedly clean.
One by one, she raised her legs, the muscles providing resistance at first, but nothing a good stretch couldn’t remedy. Her body was bruised after the gauntlet she’d faced, and it was begging for exercise. Casting aside her discomfort, Selina gloried in her newfound freedom, smiling to herself. Papa would not be pleased.
She unsheathed the dagger she’d found hidden in the clothing Wolf had provided from its leather holder and lunged forward and back, practicing the fients and parries Owen had taught her. Determined to regain her strength, she shuffled across the deck in the knee-high leather boots he’d supplied her. Her thigh muscles protested beneath her faded white breeches, but she took pleasure in each movement. She was alive. She had survived the Constrictor, Le Serpent, and the Wasp.
A quick spin on her back leg nearly made her fall. She stumbled, righted herself, and adjusted the long-waisted, belted black shirt she wore under an embroidered crimson brocade vest that had been intricately tailored for a man of means. Where had Wolf gotten the costly threads? Who had worn it? Regardless, she took great comfort in the style. Its length and thickness hid her curves and the fact that she no longer wore her shift and stays. Those garments, now beyond repair, lay discarded on the floor with the remnants of her bartered clothing.
Tying a piece of fabric around her head to keep the wind from blowing her hair into her face, Selina strode to the stern windows. She opened one, leaned forward, and inhaled the crisp sea air, a clatter of activity trickling down from the quarterdeck above. Wisps of clouds crowned the sky. The sea, its blue expanse reaching past the horizon to Cadiz and Owen, hissed and heaved in the Sea Wolf’s wake.
I will not forget you, my sweet brother. I promise to return.
A new day dawned, and with it, leagues charted between Saint-Malo and Portreath brought Selina closer to home.
She suppressed a shiver. Home did not appeal to her any more than the Wasp did. What awaited her at Trethewey House? Would he avoid her as he’d always done, or would this be the one time he welcomed her with open arms? Her heart sank into her belly, filling her with an empty longing. And how would Lord Gariland treat her now that she’d been scandalized before they married? Selina didn’t look forward to a life of isolation, the proper way to handle scandal. She prayed Lord Gariland would cry off, though it was surely an empty hope, given it was so frowned upon by the ton.
Selina inhaled another replenishing breath and tried to push her worries to the back of her mind. What say did she have in the matter anyway? She turned, glanced forlornly about the cabin, and walked to the bulkhead door. She’d vowed long ago not to let Papa’s scorn cause her grief. There wasn’t anything she could do to change the circumstances of her birth or the way her father dealt with her. Her only hope was that Papa would not blame her for leaving Owen.
But before that meeting took place, she’d have to deal with the pirates on board the Sea Wolf. How would they interpret her presence? She’d heard women were thought to be bad luck aboard ships, just as they were inside the mines. No matter. She’d never allowed that to stop her from climbing down into Wheals Creiddylad and Glory. And superstition would not keep her from roaming about the Sea Wolf, either. What they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them.
Holding on to the bulkhead door handle, Selina breathed deeply and opened the door. Brilliant light and the scent of salt, wood, and sea invaded her senses. Men scurried across the deck, shouting orders. Cannons stationed to the left and right of the bulwarks were perched at the ready, breached on lines behind closed gunports. Footfalls padded on the quarterdeck above her head, the sounds ominous to her ears.
Selina raised her hand to shield her face from the sun and get her bearings. All around the ship the sea heaved, its glassy surface glittering like stars in a dark night sky. White caps cobwebbed down into troughs and over the tops of cresting swells, waves pitching in haphazard patterns. She widened her stance and searched the deck, acclimating herself to the strange new world unfolding before her eyes.
Men rose from the companionway ladder, padding off to their duty stations like miners emerging from belowground. She’d been welcome at Wheal Creiddylad. The miners there had set aside their superstitions, if only for the pasties she delivered at lunchtime. Her generosity had been rewarded by being given permission to explore the tunnels rather than work as a bal maiden who broke and sorted rocks for ore outside the entrance.
She’d always been different from the women who focused on nonsensical diversions and marital prospects, which made being on board the Sea Wolf as a passenger, rather than as a captive, an extraordinary thrill—not to mention a risky adventure.
She’d been bred into mining, and it was a ritualistic process. Miners toiled on the hour, picking at rock. Bal maidens sorted it. The tin and copper ore were then delivered to South Wales for smelting. Selina had rarely dealt with the loading process at Portreath’s harbor and, therefore, had little knowledge about sailing a ship. She’d been taught to hunt, fight, and defend herself, thanks to Owen, but her life consisted mainly of what hired governesses deemed to teach her.
Now, standing on the precipice of a new life that balanced precariously on the old, the threshold Selina crossed filled her with exhilaration and a chance to suppress the loneliness and doubt she’d lived with all her life. She didn’t intend to let her inexperience at sea prevent her from challenging herself to acquire a new set of skills. She could use her time on the vessel to her advantage, learn everything she could, and then lead a rescue voyage to Cadiz.
Resolved to make good use of her time on board the Sea Wolf, Selina surveyed the activity around her with wide-eyed enthusiasm. Barefooted men scurried from one task to the next. Others scrambled up ratlines, their bodies arrowing up to mast tops while thick-armed men below tugged a rigging line into place.
“Heave ho!” someone on the quarterdeck shouted.
Men with brawny arms and strong backs responded, singing and tugging in masterful cadence, pulling on a long, thick, braided rope to raise a sheet of canvas into place. Loud flapping whacked and thumped about them as the sail fought its handlers, protesting and luffing as it struggled to catch the wind.
Selina’s gaze scaled the ratlines where more barefooted men were perched on the yardarms. Her breath caught in fright as she glanced back at the deck. What must it feel like to scale to such heights? Were the men not afraid of falling? Brave and nimble, the crew appeared not to care. They positioned themselves hazardously above the deck, clinging to the yards, and unfurled canvas with a timely, commendable skill while battling the unpredictable wind.
“Steady,” a man bellowed.
Another order met her ears. “Hoist that line!”
She marveled at the sights and sounds of shipboard life. The crew worked as one cohesive unit, breaking a sweat beneath the blinding, beating sun. Their rhythmic actions exhilarated Selina, stirring her blood in ways she didn’t understand.
A scraping sound drew her attention, and without acknowledging the men, she moved toward it. She climbed the companionway ladder to the forecastle where she discovered four men on their hands and knees, pushing and pulling large stones on the deck before them. An opaque substance lathered forth, and she pondered what it was and what purpose the entire process served.
“Scourin’ the deck, they are,” a voice said from her left as a member of the crew came to stand beside her.
She glanced at the man. He returned her stare with emotionless blue eyes. He was dressed in a faded-blue jacket and white trousers, and his blond hair was bound by a green handkerchief tied round his forehead.
“For what purpose?” she asked.
“Does a man good to spend time on his hands and knees with the Bible.” His bluntness took her by surprise.
“The holy book? A stone block cannot be read, and what I see these men using certainly does not appear to have biblical connections.”
Laughter erupted behind her.
Selina spun around to find she’d become a subject of interest to many more of the crew.
“It’s another name for the sandstone—we call them holystones.” The man who spoke was taller than the first with a muscular build. He was clothed in blue, and his piercing eyes looked down on her as if she didn’t belong aboard.
“Holystones,” she repeated. “Scrubbing the decks on hands and knees is something I understand. But comparing the process to prayer, using terminology sacrilegious to the Bible doesn’t seem proper.” Was this a test? Were they teasing her? In any case, she took the bait. “Why do you call them holystones?”
The first man tugged on his beard. “No one seems to know for sure.”
“Sailors are a superstitious bunch, I admit,” the second man said. “Patron saints and different ports spark controversy even among us. No need to question the right and wrong of it—it just is. Ye may not know where a ship’s timber has hailed from just by lookin’ at it, but ye can say, without a doubt, that the ship is made of wood.”
“The possibilities are endless,” the first man agreed.
Selina was confused all the more. “That may be true, but that still doesn’t explain what purpose a holystone serves.” She redirected her gaze to the men who labored over the deck. “I’ve read there are many hardships at sea, that men are forced into labor in order to keep them occupied. Perhaps scouring the deck only serves to keep men from loafing about or getting into trouble.”
“Did ye hear that, Hawk?” the second man asked the first.
“Aye.” Hawk nodded. “Thinks we’re loafers, Ike.” His stare was intense as it bore into her. “If we were, ye wouldn’t be here.”
“None of us would,” Ike blurted out, clearly not caring how his disgruntled demeanor affected her. “That’s the reality of it. We got orders to head to London.”
“Shut it, Ike.” Hawk growled. “Don’t let the captain hear ye. Ye’re not the one in charge.”
“Ye wouldn’t be here if I was.” Ike’s glower moved from Hawk to Selina. “And neither would ye.”
“Me?” Selina chewed her bottom lip. Her gaze darted past the two antagonistic men, Ike and Hawk, to the helm where Wolf stood, hands behind his back. His large frame was hard to miss on the quarterdeck. Did he resent her presence, as well? The passionate kisses in his cabin certainly said otherwise.
“The captain has his reasons for bringing me aboard,” she said.
Hawk grinned. “He’s a good man, no matter what anyone says.”
“What do people say?” she asked, feeling slightly protective of the man she barely knew.
Ike motioned Selina closer and lowered his head to shield his face from view. “He can’t remember his origins. Some of the crew say he was raised by wolves.”
What a ridiculous notion. “Because of his name?”
“No. Follows his instincts, he does,” Hawk said, intervening. “He can be bone-headed when he needs to be about urchins like ye, but when it comes to turncoats, bully ruffians, and hellhounds, his daggers are drawn.”
“I’ve never seen a man hack and hue snakes to pieces the way he does,” Ike said, eyeing her critically.
She nodded. “I have.” She refused to add that instead of finding the captain’s methods abhorrent or bestial, she admired his prowess.
She glanced out to sea, cursing her penchant for rushing into one disastrous choice after another without considering the ramifications of her actions. Even so, London, and whoever or whatever awaited these men, could wait. A man’s life was at stake, and not just any man, but Owen. Her brother needed her. He had no one else.
Yet, if Papa had already rescued Owen, and he had already been returned to Trethewey, what then? Would these men resent her even more for the delay she’d cost them?
“Then ye know he be needed elsewhere,” Ike said.
“Leave the poor boy alone,” Hawk said. “Can’t ye see he’s been through it?”
“Haven’t we all?” Ike asked, scratching his blue-checkered shirt. “The boy can wait to get home until after we go to London like the rest of us.”
“But I can’t,” she said before thinking better of it.
Ike’s eyes narrowed. “Why not?”
Oh dear. Her presence aboard the Sea Wolf was upsetting the dynamics of Wolf’s crew and keeping them from doing what they needed to do. Guilt clawed at her throat. She had no idea why the captain and his crew were needed in London, but Owen was her only sibling. He was an excellent laborer, and he was loyal, resourceful, and dedicated. He’d even tried to persuade her not to marry Lord Gariland. He’d only been minutes away from telling her why when they’d been attacked by highwaymen.
How long could Owen last in Cadiz?
“Accordin’ to who?” Hawk brushed her aside, drawing her attention back to the two men. Apparently their banter had become far more heated.
Ike spit over the gunwale. “Me.”
“Are ye challengin’ the captain’s authority?” Hawk positioned himself between Selina and Ike, braced for a fight.
Ike’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “I’d rather take an earth bath or drown in me own blood.”
“It’ll be a sea burial for me, Ike,” Hawk said.
“Enough talk of death,” she cut in. The last thing she wanted was to create unrest among Wolf’s crew. “I’ve seen too much of it.” These men had put their lives on the line for her outside the Wasp. And though they argued against it, they were continuing that valiant effort by taking her home. She could not bear anyone else suffering on her account. “There’s no reason to fight,” she went on, moving Hawk out of her way. “I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t want to be any trouble.”
“No trouble?” Ike sneered. “We wouldn’t be fightin’ if ye weren’t aboard this ship, lad.”
“Are ye daft?” Hawk countered. “Don’t confuse the boy. We’re always at each other’s throats.”
“Sail dead astern!” a topman shouted, filling Selina with alarm.
Ike and Hawk glanced skyward. Selina raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the sun so she could do the same. She searched the shrouds until she found a man pointing south in the crosstrees.
“Can you make her out, Crowle?” Wolf’s voice called above the thunderous sails.
Crowle’s words carried down again. “She’s French, sir!”
French? Oh God. Was it possible Robillard had sent a ship after them? Fear surged through her, rooting her feet to the deck. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—be captured again.
“Position?” Wolf asked.
“Three leagues, sir! She’s fully rigged!”
Wolf moved to the rail, and Selina followed him with her eyes. He looked through a spyglass, angling the spectacle astern. Her heart thudded, and her mouth went dry. She licked her lips, trying to hide her nervousness as she followed the direction he aimed the lens and inspected the horizon, hoping the topman had made a mistake. But he hadn’t. There, just briefly, she caught sight of a ship running with the wind. Surely it wasn’t . . . It couldn’t be . . .
Le Serpent!
Frantically trying to calm her beating heart, Selina glanced at Wolf. This was her fault. She’d known Robillard would never let them go without a chase. She’d seen the way he’d dealt with his loyal men.
Wolf popped the spyglass into a six-inch cylinder, its brass trim glinting in the sunlight. He turned to shout at Cyrus, who was dressed in muted black and manning the helm. “Steer west-north-west!”
“Aye, sir!”
“Let go tacks and sheets!” he commanded. He turned toward her, his gaze meeting hers across the deck. His scowl told her all she needed to know: the ship bearing down on them was out for blood.
“Loose the topgallants!” Mr. Savage shouted, seemingly at the top of his lungs.
“Time to earn yer keep, Herding,” Ike said. He and Hawk turned and climbed the ropes attached to the halyard pins, then stopped and stood at the base of the ratlines. “Come along.”
If she didn’t follow their orders, she’d garner more scorn. “You know my name?” she asked, wondering what else had the captain had told them.
Hawk leaned out, dangling by one arm, his feet braced on the ropes. “Cap’n doesn’t keep anythin’ from us. We’re family. That’s why we succeed when others don’t.”
The way they addressed her, she doubted that was true. Else they’d know she was a woman. Or were they pretending not to notice? “Is that why you are squabbling?”
“Squabblin’ . . .” Ike glanced down at her, snarling. “Ye’ve been on board the Sea Wolf for a little over a day, but ye still know nothin’ about us. Aye, we’ve been together many years, since were young enough to sail. And proud of it, too. I wouldn’t serve under anyone else.” His eyes gleamed. “Cyrus, there—” he pointed to the helmsman “—is Hawk’s brother. No question he’s the better man.”
“Eyes like an eagle,” Hawk said, his words heavily laced with sarcasm.
“Won’t find better,” Ike agreed. “Can sail us anywhere, shallow or no.”
“In a gale durin’ a pitch-black night,” Hawk added. Cyrus and Hawk had the same build, square jaw, and long, narrow nose, but the resemblance ended there because Hawk didn’t wear glasses, which made her doubt the truthfulness of his comments. “I’ve heard it all before. Ye make a habit out of comparing the two of us.”
Selina’s gaze focused on Cyrus as he managed the steering mechanism. The wind blew his shoulder-length hair away from his face as he spoke to several men who were assisting him. The sails flickered and whipped into place above her head, the sound ominous as the other ship approached. Men scampered up the ratlines toward the yards.
“’Tis the very reason I do it, ye sod,” Ike said. “A good fight gets me blood pumping.”
“I’m up to the task. Are ye?”
“Stations for stays!” Wolf hollered, putting an end to their argument.
Mr. Savage repeated the command aft of the ship.
“Hurry up, lad!” Hawk glanced at Selina. “We won’t outrun that bastard if we don’t work together.”
“Aye,” she said as she looked up and surveyed the shrouds, her hands trembling.
“Ye’ll be fine as long as ye don’t look down,” Hawk assured her. “That’s the worst thing a green tar like ye can do.”
Her knees began to shake. The thick braided rope felt foreign in her palms as she grabbed hold, its abrasive filaments chafing her already-raw wrists. She moaned inwardly against the burning sensation. Up, up, up she climbed to the topmast cap, following wherever Ike and Hawk scampered, her muscles protesting the exertion after being confined to small spaces for weeks.
The wind pressed against her, forcing her to tighten her grip on lifts and clew lines. Her breath caught in gasping waves as the heights grew perilous. And yet Selina pressed on, summoning resources she’d forgotten she had as she followed Ike and Hawk aloft.
Several grueling moments later, they reached the crosstrees of the topsail yards. Together, they scaled the futtock shrouds, Selina hanging on for dear life, then continued the climb until they neared the topgallant yards.
“Mount the horse, boy. Lend a hand,” Hawk said, raising his voice to be heard over the clapping sails. His nod indicated she should walk out on a single rope with nothing but a rope and the yard itself for purchase. “It’s easier for men that are spry. A lad like ye should take to the horse easily enough. Just remember, one hand on the ship, the other for yerself.”
Selina fought the urge to look down, wondering how high up they were. She ground her teeth until she thought they would crack. How was she going to do this? She knew nothing about ships! But she had climbed trees at Trethewey. She’d scaled down ladders in and out of shafts and pit mines since childhood, blinded by the dank dark or driven to fresh air and the sun’s welcoming heat. But the Sea Wolf wasn’t underground. Here, she could see the heights she scaled and the depths she needed to descend clearly, and it was terrifying.
Her muscles ached and her limbs quaked, nerves on edge. These men were depending on her aid. They’d saved her life. Unless she helped them, French cannons would tear the Sea Wolf apart. And all because of her.
Ike was the first one out on the footropes. He began working on the first reef knot, leaving every other one for the men who followed.
“Take care not to swing yer feet under the yard,” Hawk advised over the wind. “Use yer elbows, hands, and shoulders to hang on.”
“Aye,” Selina replied. Determined to do her part, no matter the danger to herself, she did as Hawk said, shuffling along the horse.
Step, slide. Step, slide.
“Let loose!” Wolf commanded from below.
“Loose the t’gallant together now!” Ike shouted amid the deafening snaps of the canvas.
Selina joined Ike, Hawk, and several other men as they worked together to lower the boom and cast off reef tackles and buntlines until the top gallant let out a crisp thwack.
“Haul taut!” a cry sounded from the deck.
The braces groaned as the top gallant was raised into place.
Selina looked at the foremast, where another top gallant broke free along with studding sails. The Sea Wolf, her newly sprouted wings secured, surged over a swell. Sea spray washed over the deck, attesting to her increased speed as she sliced through the troughs like a skipping stone.
Men shouted gleefully as the French ship faded into the distance.
“What cheer ho?” someone shouted.
“Huzzah!” came the rowdy answer.
Amid the growing peels of joy, Selina’s breath hitched. Never in her life had she felt so exhilarated. Well, aside from the bliss she had experienced in Wolf’s arms. Nothing compared to his kiss.
Hawk shuffled toward her. “Turned a fine tar, ye did. Welcome aboard, lad.”
Heart full, Selina smiled. Hawk stared at her oddly, probably unaccustomed to such a show of emotion. She was too euphoric to care, though, as she gazed hopefully at the horizon. She was headed home.
Throughout her odyssey, she’d encountered men who’d wanted to subdue her, though the men in the Wasp hadn’t known she was a woman. The danger of that discovery had been real, the risk to her mind and body great. Along the way, however, she’d finally found her independent nature. As a consequence, she’d accomplished something of merit, something that mattered. She’d survived by her own intuition, no less. And she’d been further altered, maybe even emboldened, by Wolf’s kiss.
She raised her hand to her lips. How could she possibly marry Lord Gariland now?