On a Lee Shore (35 page)

As he had spoken Griffin had put his glass aside, the line of his lips tightening as he listened. Once Kit had finished he jerked his head aft.

“A word in private, if you please, Mr. Penrose,” Griffin said, each word clipped with anger.

“With pleasure, Captain Griffin,” Kit said and stood.

Africa offered little enough privacy at the best of times. Tonight, anchored in a dead calm with the whole company mere paces away, the deck offered no possibility of a frank exchange of views. Therefore Kit was not surprised when Griffin stepped past him to take the stairs down to the cabin.

No sooner was the door closed behind them than Griffin’s hands gripped Kit’s shoulders and drove him back against the panels with enough force to make him grunt.

“I told you,” Griffin snarled, “that I did not want you with me. This is between Jago and me. You are…irrelevant. You are not coming.”

That hurt. Kit had suspected that Griffin had only been amusing himself, but to hear it said so baldly still shocked him. He clenched his teeth on the pain, placed a hand against Griffin’s chest, and pushed him off.

“I am,” Kit said. “Someone needs to be sober.”

It was dark in the cabin, but there was enough light from the window to glimmer on Griffin’s white shirtsleeve as his fist swung toward Kit’s face. Kit dived aside, catching his breath at the crack of knuckles against wood and Griffin’s gasp.

“God’s teeth,” Griffin shouted. He rubbed his knuckles and turned, seeking for Kit in the darkness.

“Don’t try that again or I will hit you back,” Kit warned as he retreated to the other side of the table. “As God is my witness, Griffin, if you lay a hand on me, I’ll break your arm. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” Griffin growled.

As Kit’s eyes adjusted to the dimness, he made out more of Griffin. His shoulders were drawn up, tense, and he was still rubbing his knuckles. His eyes, fixed on Kit, were narrowed with anger.

“This is, in part, a problem of my making,” Kit said. “Jago and his crew cannot be allowed to cruise the Leeward Isles killing and pillaging indiscriminately. I think Lewis had the right of it, but I understand that you need to say farewell to your—your old lover in your own way.”

“My…what?” Griffin paused in his cautious advance.

“Jago,” Kit said. “I understand now. You were close until he marooned you. I suspect that that was my fault too. That he should find my…my regard for you upsetting was to be expected. I should have been less compliant.”

“You, compliant!” Griffin let out a sharp crack of laughter. “Christ, Kit, I have no idea why I should be concerned for you, but I am.” He raised his bruised hand to rub his brow as though it pained him. “If anything happens to me, I need someone to sail the Africa to safety. I cannot allow her to fall into Jago’s hands. Nor what remains of my crew.”

“Valliere,” Kit said. “He’s a better navigator than I am, and the men pay heed to him.”

“Then you will stay because those are my orders,” Griffin snapped.

“And I will follow you because it is my duty.”

“You won’t go anywhere if I strap you over that gun barrel.”

“Hah, and how do you think you might achieve that?” Kit snorted. “You’re almost dead on your feet. You talk up a storm, Griffin, but I have the measure of you. If it came to a fight, I think I could beat you.”

As he had been speaking Griffin had been edging around the table, but Kit stood his ground. He was braced to meet force with force, determined not to give way. He wasn’t expecting Griffin to drop his hands and lean on the table with a sigh.

“I don’t want to fight you, Kit,” Griffin said. “Not over this. Doesn’t it occur to you that I may want you away, safe, for my own reasons?”

Kit stared at him and felt his color rise. “No,” he admitted. “Or…or not for any good reason. You know Valliere can handle the sloop better than I can and Saunders can handle Detorres. If…” He paused to gather his scattered thoughts—what did he truly feel about this? Other than a huge panicky unease at the thought of Griffin going into danger without Kit at his shoulder to guard him. But maybe Griffin felt him inadequate to the task? “With the ship in safe hands, my place is at your side,” he said, trying to keep his voice even. “You need another gun—another man to fight for you.”

“So you are volunteering for the symmetry of the thing?” Griffin snorted. “To balance out Protheroe you’ll need to broaden out a bit. Not an acceptable reason. No, Kit. Did your time in the navy teach you nothing? It is not acceptable for both senior officers to absent themselves from the ship at the same time—”

“Unless in exceptional circumstances,” Kit interrupted him. “And how else would you describe—”

Griffin straightened up and lunged. Kit had made a serious misjudgment of the length of Griffin’s reach. The captain’s hands fastened on his shirtfront, fabric ripping. Kit punched Griffin once, hard, in the short ribs then gagged as Griffin’s hand gripped his throat, making his head swim. The chair caught the back of Kit’s thigh, overbalancing him, and they both crashed to the floor. Kit hit him again, and Griffin’s grip tightened. “Listen,” Griffin snarled. He jerked his head aside as Kit’s fist grazed his jaw, grabbed his wrist, and slammed it down beside Kit’s head. “Listen to me, damn you, Kit. Oh, damn your eyes, boy.”

It was the catch in Griffin’s voice that stilled Kit rather than the grinding grip on his wrist and the weight on his chest. “What?” he said. “I’m listening.”

Griffin released Kit’s wrist, and the warm palm stroked over his hair to cup his jaw. “Jago knows that if he kills you it will weaken me.” The murmur was almost inaudible, breathed against Kit’s cheek. “Because he knows that I…care for you. Oh damn it, Kit.”

“And that is why I can’t allow you to go without me,” Kit replied. “Because I…care what happens to you too.”

There was a short silence then Griffin groaned. “Then there’s no more to be said. Come with me tomorrow, but now, Kit, for pity’s sake, come to bed?”

Their mouths met hungrily and, indeed, there was no more to be said.

Chapter Twenty-One

When Kit opened his eyes the cabin was bright with reflected moonlight. The comfortable softness under him was surely the cabin cot, and smooth linen lay lightly over his bare skin. He stretched, smiling as the warm languor of his body reminded him of what had followed his and Griffin’s quarrel. He had been loved, of that he was sure, and had loved Griffin back. And today he would prove his love with fire and steel if necessary, as a man should. He stretched again, opening his eyes. One wrist clanked as he moved it, and he stared in disbelief at the manacle and chain linked to a ringbolt in the wall.

“No,” he said then repeated it in a bellow as anger gave him strength. The chain tautened as he threw his weight against it and pain jabbed his wrist. He grabbed the chain with both hands and lunged against it. There was no give. Chain, bolt, and manacle were solidly made.

“Griffin!” his roar of fury cut through the quiet of the night like a cannon shot, and he heard a shouted response. Too angry to care who saw him in this ridiculous condition, Kit yanked at the chain again. “Damn you, Griffin,” he yelled.

The door opened a crack then Saunders, lantern held high, opened it fully and stared at him. Behind him was Denny.

“What on earth…” Saunders demanded, then his eyes followed the manacle from Kit’s wrist to the bulkhead and he gave a wheezy bleat of laughter. “So he did it!”

“Get a key!” Kit got off the cot, casting around for his clothes and something, anything, with which he could break the lock. “Saunders—Denny. Come on. Let me loose!”

“No,” Saunders shook his head. “If Griffin wants you restrained, by damn you stay restrained. I’ll not go against the will of the captain.”

“Nor me,” Denny said, grinning. “He told me, he said, you leave Mr. Kit be, now Denny, no matter if he do shout. And he did make me promise.” He shook his head. “You bide here till he gets back. Just like I do.”

“But I’m not…” Kit took a deep breath, biting back words that he knew he must not say. “Has Griffin left to meet Jago?” he asked, trying to keep his tone more moderate.

“I suppose he must,” Saunders said, glancing around the room. “We assumed that he was—er—teaching you the error of your ways, or allowing you to apologize. But this,” he nodded toward Kit’s state of undress and the chain, “yes, a very neat way to enforce his will. You stay there, young man, and no harm will come to you.”

“No harm! And what of the harm that may be coming to Griffin?”

Saunders lips thinned at that, and he glanced over his shoulder. “Griffin knows what he is about, I am sure. Now, please Kit, be quiet. The men are trying to sleep.”

But it was too late for that. Kit could already hear murmured questions and the sound of footsteps. Lewis was the first through the door, followed by Detorres.

“What happened to you?” Detorres demanded.

“Where’s Griffin? And where’s Protheroe?” Lewis added, his big face paling under the beard.

“At a guess,” Kit said, clanking the chain again, “they’ve gone to take on Jago and all his men?”

“No,” Lewis muttered. “He wouldn’t do that, not without saying. He’d have told me.” Frozen with shock, the big Welshman lurched as Detorres pushed him aside. Detorres wasn’t shocked—he was furious, and he wasted no time. The wormer for one of the big guns was racked on the wall. He snatched it down. The metal twist threaded neatly into the chain link closest to the bolt and leverage did the rest. Kit staggered as the taut chain parted.

“Thank you. Now, clothing—and weapons,” Kit said. Detorres nodded and ran from the room.

Saunders protested as Lewis stepped forward to help. “Griffin knows what he’s doing,” he said. “You’ll just make matters worse. Jago and Griffin have an arrangement.”

“Yes, but Wigram and Muddiford and Probert and the rest don’t,” Kit snapped. He dragged his chest out from its place beneath the muzzle of the starboard gun and threw open the lid. In the absence of anything else he began struggling into his old naval uniform, the clothing feeling tight and constricting after the freedom of his island linens. He didn’t bother with the heavy coat but buttoned the waistcoat snugly over his shirt, wound a sash around his waist, and slung his hanger round his shoulders. His silver-trimmed sword slid into the slings, and he gave it an affectionate pat before picking up his pistols to check the priming.

“You’ll need these.” Detorres reappeared in the doorway, pistols bunched under his arm, his free hand cradling a basket of grenadoes like a clutch of eggs.

“Hah, the biter bit,” Kit said. By then the rest of the crew was milling around the doorway of the cabin and several of them consulted in a whisper, departed, and returned equally heavily armed.

“Griffin’ll be so mad,” Denny said. He had hopped up onto the cot to be out of the way. “He said, he told me, he did, that he didn’t want no one hurt on his account. ’Specially not you, Mr. Kit. And none of you others neither. He’ll be so mad.”

Kit had flushed at being singled out and that increased his determination. “He’s just going to have to put up with it,” he said as he made for the door. “Right. Whoever’s with me, up on deck now. The rest of you—get ready to up anchor and away. If it goes badly, we may be coming back in a hurry. We don’t want to be caught napping, do we?”

Valliere was at his usual position by the tiller and gave Kit an approving nod. “I told Griffin it was the wrong thing to do, but I gave him my word not to rouse you. It was wrong of him to put your safety before your pride and your honor. God speed. Detorres, I would say to you that it is sometimes worth putting honor to one side if it will serve little purpose. Be guided by Kit and by Griffin.”

Detorres scowled, but both Kit and Lewis stared at him until he nodded. “I agree,” he said. “If…if…it seems I would waste lives needlessly, I will hold my hand.”

“Fair enough,” Kit said. “Did Griffin leave any other instructions?”

Valliere gave him a thoughtful look, and Kit groaned. “I see he did. Did he leave any instructions that you can, without going against your conscience, tell me about?”

Valliere laughed. “Well phrased. I am to save as many lives as possible and the ship at all costs. There is a paper in the cabin making the Africa over to me and Saunders and to all who wish to join us in legitimate enterprise. Failing that, all who wish to depart may do so with Griffin’s blessing and a fair portion of the silver from the Santiago.”

“I see. Paid off and set ashore when no longer required.” Kit raised his voice to carry to the men amidships. “Gentlemen, the boat, if you please. All firearms to be carried unprimed. Pray God we won’t need them.”

Several men had elected to accompany Kit, Lewis, and Detorres. To Kit’s surprise Davy Forrest was one of them and Runyon was another.

“Captain Griffin has been good to me,” Davy said when asked. He looked worried and uncomfortable with a heavy pistol shoved through his belt and a cutlass at his side. “If I can help him I want to.”

“And me,” Runyon grunted. His cutlass, Kit noted, had been honed to a fine edge. “And if I get a chance of a swipe at that bastard Stockley’s other hand, I don’t intend to miss.”

There was a grunt from Jonas, who had been one of Stockley’s top hands, but it was a sound of agreement. “Fire aboard ship,” he said. “That’s not honest robbing.”

Lopez, one of the two Spaniards who had come, scowled and said nothing, but Kit noticed him testing the edge of the boarding axe he carried.

“Then the sooner we go,” Kit suggested, “the sooner we will be able to come back.”

In the boat, Kit hissed quick and quiet instructions as they rowed the short distance to the shore. “I need two volunteers to stay near the boat,” he finished. “Anyone—Davy? You will be helping. And Maxwell. Grand. If you see us coming at a run, get the boat into the water and be ready to help any wounded aboard.” He spread his arms, grinning at them with as much confidence as he could muster. “There won’t be any, but it’s just as well to be prepared. Damn this bright moon.”

Lewis, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, grunted and nodded to the south. “Clouds forming. We might have some cover. Can we get along, Kit? I’m not going to be happy till I see my Protheroe, damn his eyes.”