Chapter Ten
Wolf braced his feet shoulder width apart at the Sea Wolf’s starboard quarter. “Thank you for coming through for me again, love,” he said, caressing her oaken rail.
Always! the hissing wake rising and falling along the hull whispered back.
He inhaled a lungful of sea air, allowing the spray to rejuvenate him. Wolf drew power from the sea. That had been one advantage to accepting Captain Charve’s generous offer to join his crew twenty years ago in Bristol. Charve had been a brilliant commander. He’d taught Wolf the complexities of battle and given him the means to always think one step ahead of the enemy. Even so, nearer misses than this failed attack had sailed in and out of his path, both at sea and on dry land.
Wolf sighed. King George had given him permission to raid French ships. It didn’t sit well with him—or his crew, he imagined—that they’d been forced to outrun the frogs. They could have easily used the gun chasers in the Sea Wolf’s stern to defeat them or heaved to and faced them head-on, if not for the girl and the need to get to London.
He started as laughter met his ears. He raised his gaze aloft, witnessing Selina scaling the shrouds. She was easy to spot in the embroidered vest he’d given her, and he admired her athletic body as she stepped in and out of the ratlines. She was nimble and quick, not once looking down at the deck, which was the crucial mistake many a topman made before falling to his death. She was a natural. Why, then, did it bother him?
“Let the boy enjoy his newfound freedom,” Cyrus said, having abandoned his post at the helm to stand beside Wolf. “We could use another swab on deck.” Cyrus tilted his head, inhaling deeply as sunlight glinted off the Sea Wolf’s pristine white sails.
Wolf groaned inwardly. Selina’s true identity was on the tip of his tongue. “He’s not accustomed to the heights. It’s dangerous for anyone to be up there.”
He trusted Ike and Hawk, but the only way to ensure Selina’s safety was to climb the rigging himself and bring her down. Doing so, however, would only draw attention to her. And it might possibly devalue her attempts to prove herself to the crew.
“The boy strikes me as capable of far more than ye can imagine, Cap’n,” Cyrus said. “In all my years at sea, I’ve learned to spot these things. Only takes a boy a few goes to believe it.”
Wolf clasped his hands behind his back and squeezed his fingers. A sense of urgency took hold of him, grappling with his innards. He cringed, hoping his decision not to order Selina to come down from the shrouds was the right choice. His instincts told him Selina would be all right, but the beast inside him struggled against a deep-seated fear that harm would come to this woman before he could fulfill his promise to return her safely home.
Yet, a part of him knew what motivated Selina. Like him, she hadn’t grown up with loving parents. Like him, she’d struggled to carve out an identity for herself, suppressing emotions that would undo her. He’d never met anyone else who could possibly understand what he’d been through, someone who’d forged a life for themselves without knowing who they truly were.
Knowing a better future awaited Selina in Redruth, Wolf supposed putting distance between them was the best option. Wellington depended on Wolf’s ability to respond at a moment’s notice, and he’d seen what relationships did to spies. Even now, Joanna, Hartland, and the others fought against a nefarious foe in London, and the Legion could not recruit enough spies to defeat Tyhpon and Napoleon fast enough. Wolf could not let himself get involved with her. Connections trapped a man in a quagmire of choices he wouldn’t have to make if he wasn’t emotionally attached to another, especially to someone who would only complicate his life like Selina.
She was betrothed. She’d been raised and trained for greater things. She’d been kidnapped on her wedding day, which meant that when she returned to Redruth, to her father and her fiancé, a wedding would proceed without delay. Her reputation had suffered, it was true, but in Wolf’s dealings with society, crying off rarely occurred among the upper class, and it was quite scandalous if it did. Though Selina was not part of the ton, she was a merchant’s daughter—albeit a rich one—and therefore, more subject to public scorn.
The marriage would likely still take place. Couples often retreated and reemerged into society after scandals had taken place. It wouldn’t do for Wolf to ruminate over what might or might not occur in Selina’s life. There was no place for him in it, just as there was no place for Selina in his.
He cut his gaze to his helmsman. Cyrus and the other members of his crew had been with him for fifteen years. They’d fought and bled together in countless skirmishes and assignments, traveling to Japan to the Colonies to France, Spain, and Italy. These loyal men had followed him to the ends of the Earth and back. He would do the same for them.
“How long before we make port?” he asked Cyrus.
“We’re passin’ St. Ives now, Cap’n.” Cyrus pointed forward off the starboard bow. “Should be nearin’ Deadman’s Cove soon. Do ye remember the time we saw a black figure standin’ on the cliffs there?”
Wolf smirked. “A smuggler or a lookout, no doubt.”
“Aye. But when we visited the Arms in Portreath and questioned the regulars, we discovered the local folk tell grisly tales of ghost sightin’s there.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” Wolf said. “I’ll never put faith in what I can’t see with my own eyes.”
“Saw it, I did, Cap’n. Plain as day.”
“Trick of the light,” he said. “We’re coming round the headland now. Deadman’s Cove is near, which means we’re almost a league from Portreath.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Keep your heading, Cyrus. Soon, we’ll be putting Herding and Cornwall behind us.”
“What of Lord Hartland, sir? Can he wait?”
“Hartland may be in over his head helping a woman in distress,” he said. As was he, for reasons he couldn’t fathom. He’d never had luck with women and feared his relationship with Selina would be no exception. “Nothing he cannot handle.”
“Woman trouble for the earl, then, sir?”
“Aye,” he said, pausing. “Is there any other kind?” He glanced at Cyrus, wondering if the man was alluding to Wolf’s dealings with Selina. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? “Men in our profession seem to be prone.”
“Including you, sir?” Cyrus tilted his head to the side, focusing his attention on Wolf.
Wolf crossed his arms over his chest. “What makes you say that?”
Cyrus shrugged as if it were obvious. “Look what happened to Devlin, Alexander, Lords St. Peter and Bateman, Fortescue, and Hoskins.”
“You’re keeping count, I see.”
“A man has eyes,” Cyrus said. “Speakin’ of which . . . if we intend to keep ye out of Miss Herding’s skirts, Cap’n, we must get rid of her. The duke cannot wait.”
He rocked on his heels slightly as a chill swept over him. “You know?”
“The men would have to blind not to see it, sir.” Cyrus chuckled as they regarded the activity on deck. “Perhaps I’m not the only one who needs spectacles, eh?”
“Stay your course, old friend.” Wolf rubbed his scruffy, bearded chin, thankful his helmsman had kept his findings to himself. “You’re right about one thing—Hartland cannot wait. Lives are at stake.”
And so is Owen Herding’s.
A nagging suspicion bore into him like a brackish thorn. Selina had proven she’d do anything to get her brother back, but how far was she truly willing to go? Would she sail to Cadiz with the wrong kind of men? Men who would take her lust for adventure to mean something more?
Wolf rolled his shoulders and flicked his fingers, wishing he could light up one of his figuerados. Bollocks. He missed the flavor of that tobacco something fierce, but smoking on board the ship wasn’t allowed anyway. Abstaining from his one vice put him in a bad mood. Blowing a cloud calmed his thoughts, and right now, he needed to smother images of a beautiful young woman sitting in a barrel.
“Do ye expect Hartland and Joanna can keep Miss Shipton safe until we arrive?” Cyrus asked.
“I have no doubt of it, but we have no way of knowing what is taking place in London.” Wolf glanced up to check on Selina. He watched as she laughed, and then his heart sank into his belly as she slipped. She shrieked as she began to fall, but her reflexes were quick and she grabbed hold of the ratlines.
Bollocks! He took immediate action, leaving Cyrus staring after him as he ran toward her. “Crowle!” he shouted, pointing at Selina. “Don’t let her fall!”
Selina’s heart thudded hard against her ribs as she slipped. She clawed for purchase, catching the leech line. She wrapped her elbow around the yard and struggled to straighten her legs. The futtock shrouds were near, if she could only summon enough courage to get to them. She twisted, trying to reach out and grab the ropes, but she was too far away.
“Hold on!” Crowle shouted, monkeying his way across the yard.
Hawk shuffled toward her, his fingers outstretched. “Whatever ye do, don’t look down!”
It was too late—she already had. The quick glimpse at the Sea Wolf’s deck, narrowing to a small and distant target below, robbed her of her sanity. She’d been so focused on proving herself to Hawk and Ike, on helping the Sea Wolf sail out of harm’s way, and on glorying in its majesty and the sense of accomplishment that filled her, she’d forgotten that the view came at a great cost. The only thing separating her from a deadly fall was a narrow, tightly wound rope.
“Help!” she cried out. Fear and panic gripped her in turns. After all that she’d endured and survived, was this how she was destined to leave this world? She sucked in gulps of air and counted the petrifying seconds before she met her bloody end. Her body grew heavy, the weight on her hand and the pressure on her shoulder making it nearly impossible to maintain her grasp.
Crowle arrived at the same time Hawk did. “Come. Follow me,” Hawk said as he tried to lead her to the futtock shrouds and the top braced at the crosstrees.
She shook her head. “I c-cannot m-move.”
Large fingers tightly gripped hers until she suddenly felt like she was leaning against a solid wall of muscle. Odd, that, when she’d almost been surrounded by air. “I-I cannot move,” she said to whomever had come to her aid.
Canvas snapped and popped, the sound horrendous in its intensity. The wind clawed at her, encouraging her to let go. Good God, she couldn’t breathe!
Wolf’s calm voice broke through her hysteria. “Never look down.”
She tore her stare away from the mizzenmast and looked in the direction of his voice. He was holding her. His eyes tenderly examined her, assessing her. Compassion and something deeper radiated from him.
“Happens to the best of us.” His bass tone soothed her senses, but the pull of the Sea Wolf’s deck still clamped around her like a vise.
She’d been eager to help the crew. But nothing had prepared her for the dizzying sensations that claimed her. How many men had fallen to their deaths since men had sailed the seas?
The question pulled her gaze downward once more.
“Don’t look down,” he reminded her. “Keep your eyes on me.”
But she couldn’t. The feral gleam in Wolf’s eyes frightened her. Was he angry?
She searched out Crowle. His tattooed arm curled around one of the futtock shrouds, his feet braced against the ratlines. “Do not dismay,” he told her, his words laced with some sort of Dutch accent. “You did excellent for your first time. You looked down and lost your balance, that is all. You have nothin’ to be ashamed of. We’ve all experienced this.” He gave Wolf a nod and then moved effortlessly from one section of the shrouds to another. She marveled at his agility, prowess, and courage.
Another gasp escaped her as Ike, Hawk, and Crowle disappeared in an instant down the stays instead of using the ratlines. “What—”
“Are you all right?” Wolf watched her as if he expected her to free-fall to her death.
She wasn’t sure. Dizziness swept over her again. “Where . . . ? Are they . . . ?”
“My men?” He glanced around them. “Don’t worry. They know their way around the yards.” His cheek warmed hers as he guided her to the safety of the topmast cap. “What happened?”
“I slipped,” she said, thankful her lips finally obeyed and her body did, too.
“Ah.” Safe at last, she gripped the futtock ropes and burrowed her face into Wolf’s chest, taking comfort in his presence. A sudden chill swept over her. “The trick is not to look down, Selina. Once you do, the height distorts your equilibrium.”
She nodded slowly, focusing on the warmth seeping from his body to hers. Having already experienced that phenomenon, a new respect for Wolf’s world washed over her.
Saints alive, she hated feeling vulnerable and inadequate. “Did we lose the French ship?” she asked to distract her mind from what had just occurred.
“Aye,” he said. “Thanks to you and my men, that should be the last we see of them. They’d be fools to sail farther north.”
Selina took a steadying breath, relaxing ever so slightly as she surveyed the panorama widening on the horizon. Wisps of clouds fanned across the sky, and white caps rode the ever-shifting tide. High above the deck, the air was clear, the wind a brisk force on her skin. Sails thwacked into place above and below, their thunderous rumbling heartbeat giving the Sea Wolf life. Its exhilarating pulse was far more addictive than the hammering picks echoing in shafts in the pit mines. Here, the vessel’s surging bowsprit and lumbering keel behaved like a live thing, cresting each swell, running parallel to breakers advancing to shore and unleashing a full assault on rocks breaching the jagged coast.
“We just passed Deadman’s Cove,” Wolf told her. “Straight ahead is Portreath. You are almost home.”
“Portreath,” she repeated. Fear and anxiety wrestled inside her. Would she find Owen there? Saints preserve her, she prayed it would be so and that all her worry had been for naught. But what good would returning home do her if Owen wasn’t there? Would Papa accuse her of killing him, too?
She’d tried everything under the sun to please Papa. She’d visited the mines and treated injured miners as part of a Christian act. But her attachment to those men and her insistence on winning her father’s love hadn’t ended there. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, to dig in when times were hard. She’d never been reluctant to make the best of a situation, no matter the amount of time and labor it required. But living without her beloved brother, the one person who encompassed her world and brought her joy, wasn’t a world she wanted to inhabit.
“Oh, Owen.” How would she find him if he’d been transported elsewhere in the time it had taken her to return to Redruth?
“If luck wills it, he might already be there,” Wolf said, balancing on the topmast cap as if he and the timber had been created from the same oak.
His attempt to soothe her worries settled over her raw nerves.
“Look there!” He put his arm around her, and she gloried in his comforting support as he pointed to the unstable shale and sandstone cliffs. The offshore islands clawed their way out from Cornwall’s shoreline in magnificent splendor. She’d never seen this view of them before. “What do you call that heath-covered flat there?” he asked.
“Carvannel Downs. The sandy shore is inaccessible, but beyond the bleak cliffs,” she added, “a lush greenland of picturesque flowers trails to Tehidy Woods and Camborne.”
“Another mining parish?” he asked, his heated breath sending tendrils of delight coiling down her spine.
“Aye.” She looked toward him, and the movement brushed her cheek against his chin. “My father has assets in several mines there.”
Wolf quieted for a strained moment, but she wasn’t sure why. “What kind of assets?”
“Mineral lords finance mining productions. ’Tis a profitable business, as large disbursement of funds make men rich.”
He angled his face toward hers. “Is your father one of these lords?”
“He is. Though, money will never be able to buy him what he wants.”
“And what exactly does he want?” Wolf asked.
“My father and the other men who fund the mining operations in the area profit from shipping copper ore from Portreath to South Wales for smelting. When the ships return, they bring back enough coal to operate engines in the mines. Theirs is a prosperous venture, but it cannot buy the respect of the ton.”
His brows furrowed, and his voice deepened as he asked, “Is that all he’s interested in?”
Unable to answer without showing Wolf how bitterly she viewed her father’s desires, Selina turned her attention back to the coast. No matter how much Papa viewed her as chattel to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, she eagerly awaited her first glimpse of Portreath as the Sea Wolf’s bowsprit rounded another headland. The Downs practically behind them now, they sailed past Ralph’s Cupboard where waves had carved the rocky coast, leaving jagged formations that enticed zealous smugglers to hoist contraband up the cliffs.
“There it is! Gull Rock,” she exclaimed, unable to hide her elation.
The familiar landmark signaled she’d made it home, that the horrors of captivity truly were behind her. Locked in the dank hulls of corsair ships, she’d dreamed of this moment every time she closed her eyes. And now Gull Rock rose out of the depths before them, a magnificent sentry guarding the entrance to Portreath’s harbor.
Her heartbeat quickened. She tightened her fingers around the shrouds as the Sea Wolf circumnavigated the monolithic boulder. Every inch of her gloried in this moment.
“The long harbor wall works as a navigational guide to ships sailing farther north, doesn’t it?” Wolf asked.
“Aye,” she said, contemplating the rightness of his observation. “It takes a skilled captain to maneuver the harbor in Basset’s Cove.”
She felt him stiffen. “The Sea Wolf has sailed into hazardous ports before.” Wolf’s boast wasn’t an exaggeration but a statement of fact. He touched Selina’s arm, drawing her attention away from the seaside wall that grew larger with every surge of the tide and wind.
“Hard astarboard!” Mr. Savage shouted.
“The order has been given to go into port,” Wolf said. “You’ll see. Cyrus can navigate any inlet.”
But had he maneuvered Portreath’s harbor before? “Many a ship have wrecked here . . .”
“Not the Sea Wolf.” Terror cut through her as Wolf stepped away.
“Where are you going?” she snapped. As she looked frantically about, she noticed that Crowle, Ike, Hawk, and other men had returned to shorten sail.
“We’ll be docking soon,” Wolf explained. “I’d better get you below.” He moved with lithe grace to the ratlines, guiding her along. The wind snatched at their garments as yards of canvas beat out a jarring rhythm.
Selina stopped him. “No.”
“No?” He looked back up at her, his gaze filled with concern. Her fears melted away.
“Now that I am here,” she said with a resigned sigh, “I might as well enjoy the view.” The shock of her near-death experience wearing off, she felt like a liberated seabird. No demands on her life. The only danger to her body and soul, a mistake of her own making. She was in control here. Not Papa or Lord Gariland. And the glory of her newfound courage grew more potent by the minute. “Stay with me?”