Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) (2 page)

Gus swallowed. “That ain’t no pitter-patter, spring shower.”

“We’ll not have the speed to skirt it,” Landon said. “Shorten the sail. Bring in the top gallants, main and mizzen top sails, and out the small jib to balance it out.”
 

“Aye, sir.” Gus responded, before relaying his captain’s orders.

The sailors scampered up the ratlines to do their captain’s bidding. The runaway slaves were also put to tasks and a few followed the sailors up the ratlines. She caught her breath as the men soon became the size of swallows perched up in the yards.
 

Keelan tried to help the crew prepare for the storm. She grabbed a rope when told, pulled when told, let the rope slack when told. Soon, many of the big sails were reefed and secured snugly to the yard arms.
 

“Yer see, boy, a big blow would catch them big sails and have the stern flying off leeward,” Gus told her. “Good way to capsize yer ship. We’re gonna heave to and wait the storm out.” He raised his grizzled face to the wind. “Good thing, too. Wind’s picking’ up.”
 

As if to prove his point, a portion of the shoulder-length hair she’d pulled back slipped free from beneath her hat. She tucked it behind her ear. How dangerous was it? Dark and foreboding, the clouds crowded the ocean. Thousands of white caps dotted the water as the wind churned the sea. Even now, the
Desire
rolled between the growing swells. She tied the chin strap to keep her hat from flying away. How easy would it be for a huge swell to cap over and fall on the
Desire,
filling her with ocean water?

Landon had once told her that he’d sailed through and around many storms. That should have helped her feel more confident. Still, it was hard to quell the worry.
 

 
Daniel, once the valet to the man who’d raised her, was also on deck lending a hand to the ropes and securing large barrels around the main mast. She ran over to help him. Perhaps staying busy would keep her mind off the approaching gale.

Daniel was more like an uncle to Keelan. He’d taught her not only reading and mathematics, but also to fence and duel with swords. With the commodore out at sea for months at a time, and his wife tending a shop in town, it had been important for her to learn ways to protect herself. Those skills had already come in handy more than once. It was Landon, however, who’d helped her hone her short blade skills.
 

“What can I do?”

“Tie this off,” Daniel grunted between pulls, “while I keep the line tight.”

Keelan had seen the different knots sailors used to secure lines to belaying pins or clews, but wasn’t quite sure which knot was proper in this situation, so she tied it and wrapped the end of the rope around the knot several times and tucked it in, hoping it was good enough.

“Mahdi!”

Mahdi. Her name while in disguise. She really should try harder to remember that. Landon hailed her from the helm.

“Go below!” He raised his voice in the rising wind. “Help Marcel secure the galley and the cargo.”

She nodded and headed toward a small hatch located closest to the kitchen. The clouds were churning and flashing in the distance. A dark feeling of foreboding crept up her spine.
 

A long, lithe, orange cat darted past her as she walked down the narrow passageway to the galley. Keelan poked her head around the corner. Marcel was wrestling a barrel toward a closet along with a young brown-skinned girl. Now that they were safely away from port, the family of runaways came out of hiding to help the crew.

“Mahdi! Where have you been?” Marcel drove his hip in to the barrel, but it only moved an inch. “Come, help us.”

“Hello, Yanda.” She smiled at the little girl clutching her stomach, then answered the cross cook, “Captain Hart had me helping with the ropes on the main deck. What can I do here?”

Marcel harrumphed and grumbled while he rocked the barrel forward in small steps, “Dozens of men to help with ze sails and no one helps old Marcel.” He nodded to his little helper, who appeared to be about eight. “Yanda and her mother, are helping secure ze galley.”

“Where is Elle?” she asked Marcel, wondering where the girl’s mother had gone.

“She iz checking the cabinets in ze next room, making sure they are latched.” He glanced up at Keelan and muttered, “Useless, both of zem.”

What did he mean by that? The slaves were not experienced enough with cooking or working a galley? When Elle stumbled in from the next cabin, arms pressed tightly against her belly, Keelan understood and took pity. The woman glistened with sweat. Her eyes were red and her face ashen.

Seasickness. It’s hard to want to do anything but die when hit with that kind of nausea.

Marcel gestured to the other side of the barrel. “It iz heavy, but we must lock it in zere. You push, I pull, eh?”

She nodded and together they managed to wiggle the cask into the narrow pantry closet while Marcel spat a string of french curses at the stubbornness of the barrel, at Elle’s lack of strength and Yanda, pausing to puke on the floor. After it was secured, he pointed to a bucket of sea water and a mop and the girl nodded with a mumbled, “Sorry, suh.”

 
They shuttered and locked the pantry shelves, to prevent items from pitching to the floor in rough seas. Marcel placed a tin of dried meat, biscuits and a couple rounds of cheese handy before he shut the door. He nonchalantly pressed a broken biscuit into Yanda’s palm on his way out and popped the other half into his mouth.

From there, they moved elsewhere on the orlop deck, tying down loose items or stowing them. Port holes were closed and locked, although seawater had already managed to surge in. They trudged through an inch of water on the lower decks. The ship pitched and groaned. Would it stay together through the storm or fall into pieces? Keelan studied the beams holding the ship together like huge fingers. The vessel sounded as if it was in pain, groaning, squealing, moaning.

Marcel, sensing her trepidation, pointed to the water which had seeped in. “Iz from the hause bucklers.”

At her confused expression, he tried again. “Ze pressing of ze ship against the water when swells come, push water through ze house bucklers. The
Desire
, she iz strong and brave. And nimble as a cat. No reason to worry. We sailed through worse.”

As they finished, a large group of crewmen came down below and collapsed wearily at the tables propped between the guns on the gun deck. Marcel jerked his head toward the galley and they went to prepare the meal, which would be nothing more than a piece or two of dried beef, hard biscuits, grog and a chunk of cheese.

The lurch and groan of the ship had Keelan gripping edges of the tables as she staggered past. Aside from rough seas like this, she was getting used to being on the water, and actually enjoyed it. She still moved like a landlubber, however. How long would it take her to develop “sea legs?” Lanterns swung in unison, casting quick shadows followed by fans of light. The
Desire
pitched sharply and Keelan stumbled. A burly arm shot out and grabbed her collar.

“Careful, boy,” Gus said. “Best ye find a spot and stay there.”

“How do you keep you footing when the ship bucks and tilts?” She was breathless from her effort to stay upright.

Gus sat back and scratched his salt and pepper beard. “Seein’ how yer father is a horsemaster, I’ll put it this way…” He finished his grog. “When the horse jumps a hedge, do ye try and keep yer seat straight and still on the saddle?”

At last! Something with which she was familiar, although she hadn’t jumped a horse since she was twelve. She shook her head. “You’d fall off if you tried to keep your seat on the saddle. You have to stand in the stirrups and keep your legs soft to absorb the force of the jump.”

Gus cocked his head. “Ye Persians sure do use peculiar language, but aye. So, ye does the same thing on the water. Mount the
Desire
as ye would a proud filly. Ye’ll never tame her, so don’t try. All ye can do is melt into her rhythm. Keep yer knees soft and let her rise up to ye. When she sighs and falls away, don’t fight her and try to follow. Let her go. She’ll come back to ye in her own time. Keep yer guts even with the world and ye won’t gets seasick, neither.”

Keelan let go of the table and heeded his advice. Sure enough, it was similar to jumping her pony. She’d have to mention this method to poor Elle. She grinned her thanks to Gus, then asked, “Where’s the captain?”

“He has first watch,” Gus replied, dipping his tankard into a bucket hanging from a rope secured to the ceiling. “Best fer ye to stay below, outta the way, though.”

After serving the men their rations for the evening, she helped Marcel secure the galley before she went back to their cabin. The room tilted and shifted causing her feet to slide and her stomach to slam into her ribs.
 

Keep my guts even with the world. Keep my guts even with the world.

Relaxing her legs, she allowed the
Desire
to take the lead in this rolling dance. This was much better. A powerful wave crashed into the side of the ship and she was pleasantly surprised and happy with the way she handled it. Now that Gus had revealed the secret to handling the motion, it was much easier to move about. She slipped a couple biscuits in her pocket for Landon, and left the galley to make her way to the ladder and up to the main deck. Was he alone at the helm? She’d forgotten to ask Gus. If so, he might like some company in addition to the biscuits, until the next watch took over and he had a chance to rest below and eat.

She raised the hatch, a lash of stinging, sea spray hit her full in the face. The main deck forward sloshed with water, and the entire ship rose and fell in a furious coupling with the sea. The waves crashed against the ship’s sides and exploded into the air, bringing the ocean to the ship.
 

For a second, she hesitated. Keelan Grey Hart might want to retreat below to stay dry, but the boy, Mahdi, would be more courageous, wouldn’t he? She looked toward the helm, her husbands form was barely visible through the torrent. If Landon could brave the gale, so could she. Had she not once raced a horse through similar weather, trying to beat a terrible storm? This couldn’t be any worse than that, could it?

Keelan climbed out and took a step. The deck jolted, as if trying to fling her away from the safety of the hold. Everything was shiny with seawater and slick. Her feet flew away from her and the tilt of the ship sent her crashing to the boards. Wet and bruised, she pulled herself to her feet by grasping the lines attached to the belaying pins.

 
Terror pulsed through her limbs. This was a mistake. She shouldn’t have come up on deck. She’d underestimated the power of the ship and the winds and the storm. Landon was only a hundred yards away, but he might as well have been in China. Through sheer will and self-preservation, she managed to gain her footing in time for the
Desire
to send her tumbling toward midships.
 

Unless she found some sort of purchase, she’d fly by and continue on until she was flung like a piece of cloth into the furious ocean. She was at the mercy of the glistening boards that locked together to form the bones, the sinew, and the skin of the
Desire,
which heaved against the rage of the ocean.

Before she reached the rail, another wave hit the ship. Her feet flew away from her again and she hit the deck hard. Before she had time to suck in a breath, the
Desire
saw fit to pour her into a space between two of the petite guns on the deck, instead of tossing her into the sea. Keelan’s cold, wet fingers curled around the thick ropes securing the gun.
 

If she’d had the time, she might have screamed or sobbed in fear, but the tempest didn’t
 
permit a pause for such frivolous things. It only continued to pound the ocean like a giant child throwing a tantrum, left fist plunged into the water, right fist plunged into the water…

She peered through the rain to the hatch leading into the hold, then the distance to the helm, and then to Landon. Retracing her steps back below was more treacherous than continuing her fight to the helm at this point. It took every ounce of strength and courage to release her grip from the ropes and drive forward to the helm, where two other sailors were clinging on to the wheel with Landon, straining to keep the ship from broaching into the sea.

The thrumming, creaking and whistling of the ropes, lines and spars cracked and sang in her ears. The wind and rain pelted her skin. She’d no idea the storm had become so viscous while she’d been below. In her defense, she’d no idea what to expect of it, but then again, she’d never been one to take heed of a storm warning, had she?

To say that the journey toward the helm was arduous would have been grossly understating the event. If she’d been any less stubborn she’d never have made it. The bowsprit reared up skyward as if to impale the turbulent clouds, making Keelan’s legs as heavy as stone. Then it swooped down to crash into the waves in a violent explosion of white, which had her teetering on her toes, light as a mouse. She finally made it past the main mast encircled with the barrels she and Daniel had secured earlier. Only a few paces to go, thank God.

Several smaller sails were still in service, their sheets flat and rigid in the wind. Shielding her eyes against the salt spray, she sought Landon at the helm. His feet were braced wide, and he was heaving his broad chest into the wheel. His dark wet curls whipped around his face, his jaw set. She pulled herself toward the companion ladder that led up to where he stood. Almost there.

“Mahdi!”

His shout stopped her. There was a note of panic in his voice that made her pause. He waved his arm. “Move leeward! Starboard!”

Confused, she froze.

“To your right, dammit!”

A loud crack followed by a low rumble sounded behind her and she turned as the barrels around the main mast came loose. They began to roll toward the front of the ship. One had hit the foremast and split open spilling sand across the deck. The bowsprit once again crashed down into the waves.