Once Upon a Midnight Sea (15 page)

"In fact, I do not recall ever having seen them discharged," she finished.

"They had better work," he said, grasping the next sack. "Hurry–help me clear these away."

She took the corner of the next sac and together they pulled off the remaining bags. The boom of cannon fire exploded a second, then a third time. The last one landed close, he heard the splash dangerously near Lady Luck.

"I do not even know how to load them!"

"I do. Get that shutter open," he instructed as he flipped up the bin's lid. Eight twelve-pound iron shot sat in their cups amidst a disgusting mess of spider webs and rat droppings. There were six kegs of gunpowder inside. Christian's heart sank as he found one after another caked solid, ruined by moisture and time.

No, no, no
! he chanted silently.
This couldn't be
!

He pried open the last keg to find the powder crystallized and shiny, its odor still powerfully sharp. His heart surged with joy. It was a miracle, or perhaps a smidgeon of the Montague luck had rubbed off on him. Or had it? He looked around, but there was no burlap or flannel to make a powder packet.

On the other side of the hold, Adriana rapped a block of wood on the lock pin fastening the shutter. Sunlight flooded the compartment as she wrenched it open.

Christian pulled his shirt off and tossed it at her. Adriana gaped at him as if he'd just suggested they forget the pirates and get intimate instead. Her eyes flicked over his bare chest.

"Tear the sleeves off. Tie a knot in one end and fill each with half the gunpowder. Leave a large handful for the flintlock."

She nodded and did as she was told.

Christian went to the gun at the open port and lifted the breech lines from their ringbolts, then kicked the wooden stoppers clear.

The gun must weigh a ton. He couldn't get it to move. "Help me," he shouted to Adriana. She dropped her makeshift powder packet and ran to help him. With both leaning their weight into it, the gun slowly rolled back.

Adriana picked up the sleeve and held it up. "What do I do now?"

"Tie a knot in the other end. Make sure the powder is packed tightly." He looked around. "Where is the rammer?"

"The what?"

"It's a long pole with a woolen pad on the end."

She pointed to the corner of the hold and he saw it, an old wooden rammer on a hook behind a stack of burlap sacks piled atop a wooden crate. He vaulted over and yanked it off its hook.

"Tie the other sleeve into tight knots. Hurry, we haven't much time."

Christian took the powder packet and slotted it into the barrel, then rammed it to the end. He went to the crate and hefted a ball from its cup. He rolled it into the barrel and looked up to find Adriana at his side.

"Like this?" She handed him the knotted sleeve.

"Perfect," he said, though truly he wasn't quite sure. Would any of this work–his improvised powder packet, her quickly fashioned wad? It had to. If it didn't, they were done for.

"Bring the can." Christian pushed the knotted sleeve into the barrel and rammed it down against the ball. He met Adriana's horrified gaze. The beam of sunlight straying through illuminated the gleam of fear in her eyes. He struggled for something reassuring to say.

"Help me push it back."

Christian suddenly realized how truly dire the situation was. If this didn't work, not only would his journey be in vain, Adriana's fate would surely be sealed. He'd spent his life in the company of vile criminals like the ones surely driving that steamer their way; those types were rarely kind to the women they captured.

Cannon fire erupted again. A hissing sound split the air. Christian tensed, waiting for splintering wood to explode around him. Fate was merciful as a tremendous splash sounded, and water rained over the hull. Above deck, Mrs. Bailey screamed. Adriana's eyes grew wide, their black centers bottomless in the dim light. Christian glanced through the shutter in time to see the approaching steamer pass out of view.

"Tell Henri to bring us back around portside. We're turning the wrong way!"

She was stunned, frozen in place. Christian grabbed her arms and gave her a gentle shake. "Adriana!"

She blinked twice and scurried up the ladder. "Henri, bring us back hard to port!"

Christian carefully poured gunpowder into the breech. Adriana appeared beside him again as he twisted on the fuse cap.

"Is this going to work?"

He met her eyes. It had better work, or they were all doomed. He wouldn't let that happen, not to innocent Adriana. "Bring the lantern."

He removed the glass funnel and carefully lit the fuse. He hadn't prayed since he was a small child, but he was praying now that they were aimed correctly. The gunpowder was still stable. That the fuse was still dry. That this rusted relic of a war gun wouldn't explode into a million pieces, tearing them to bits with razor-sharp shrapnel.

An eternity of sea and sky passed across the tiny opening as Lady Luck slowly came about. The steamer was so close he could hear its chugging engines. The fuse crackled and smoked as it slowly burned down. Through the shutter, the far off cay slowly came back into view.

Adriana leaned over and peered through. At the instant the fuse burnt into the reservoir, Christian realized the danger. He grabbed her around the waist and yanked her backwards.

A stunning clap shook the hull and his eardrums shuddered as the gun went off. The crowded hold was instantly choked with smoke. His breath was kicked from his lungs and they both flew off their feet.

They landed on top of the discarded sacks, Adriana on top of him, one sharp little elbow jabbing him in the shoulder.

Deafening silence followed as smoke curled around them. Adriana twisted until she faced him, bracing herself on either side of his bared shoulders. Her expression was of pure shock as she stared down. Her lips moved, but he couldn't hear her through the ringing in his ears.

My goodness. It worked
.

His ears thrummed with a dull twill and he could hardly draw a breath through all the smoke. Christian became acutely aware of their contact at every minute spot they touched. Adriana moved, sliding her body across his bare skin.

Every place she touched him buzzed with new life. He caught his breath and she froze.

Slowly she drew nearer. Was he pulling her? His muscles felt like limp noodles. He wasn't pulling her, but he wasn't pushing her away, either. Nor was she pushing herself away.

He watched her lashes fan over those deep blue orbs as her gaze fell to his lips. Adriana turned her head slightly. Her mouth met his gently and softly. Her touch was more delightfully innocent than he would have ever expected. Suddenly the wily vixen was gone and in his arms was the docile young debutante he'd expected to find when he hid in her wardrobe. But neither was she the silly feline he'd expected, instead the young girl kissing him was as sensual and passionate as a siren.

He tempted her, parting his lips. She followed hesitantly, but eagerly, sending his blood racing. The acrid smell of gunpowder disappeared as her sweet tongue slipped against his, making his world spin.

Suddenly that world shattered. The image of oily Preston Weiss invaded his mind, destroying the beautiful sensation created by soft Adriana in his arms.

He stopped abruptly. She drew away, a world of hurt in her eyes. He dimly realized he couldn't hear the steamer. Had he been deafened? No, snippets of shouting voices above deck found their way into the hold.

She pushed away and stood, a mixture of shock and confusion filling her wide eyes.

He smiled. "You kissed me." His own voice sounded a thousand miles away.

She gaped and drew back a step. "I did not! You kissed me! And what did you mean grabbing me like that?"

"You nearly got yourself killed," he said a bit too roughly. "Do you not know the power of a cannon blast?"

He pointed and Adriana looked to the cannon. One of its mooring chains had snapped. It sat crookedly, having jumped one of the wooden stoppers on the floor.

She looked back at him. Humiliation now filled those pretty eyes. She pursed her lips and then licked them, as if exploring the part of herself he had just invaded.

"Adriana, I–"

Shouts from above reached into the hold. Adriana turned to look through the shutter, but not fast enough to hide the upset crinkling her brow.

He leaned over her and peered through. The steamer sat crookedly on the water, pluming with black smoke where before had been white. Nearly half the paddle wheel had been destroyed. Figures scurried about her deck, more concerned with rescuing themselves than raiding Lady Luck.

"Mr. De la Croix, you are an excellent shot."

He glanced down at Adriana and mapped the edge of her cheek. Her pulse thrummed at her throat. He watched her lashes fan down as her gaze fell away from the disabled ship. Instead, she now watched him from the corner of her eye–he could feel her awareness.

He reached over her shoulder and dragged a loose lock of hair away from the edge of her jaw with a fingertip. He watched her lips part as she caught her breath.

"By gum you got them!" Henri's voice drifted from above. It sounded uneven, surging and fading as Christian's hearing returned. "Right in the heart of that newfangled beast! Let's see that steam engine help you now!"

Adriana stood upright and turned around. Christian grasped her upper arms. She froze, her entire body as rigid as glass.

"You were right," he whispered.

She pursed her lips together, watching him with those fathomless eyes.

"I did kiss you."

Chapter Twelve

Edmund couldn't stand another whipped egg.

To think, I used to love Mrs. Ling's fresh omelets cooked fluffy and light
.

He pushed the plate to the edge of the table on his wheeled chair. How he longed to bite into a pleasingly chewy substance with texture and flavor, like rabbit in Worcestershire sauce. Mrs. Ling's honey and curry glazed chicken. Roasted lamb with a dab of mint jelly. Freshly baked bread slathered with butter. Raspberry tart in flaky, light pastry.

He turned his chair toward the window and stared at the path leading to the sanitarium's entrance. Adriana still hadn't come. He had to face the truth. She wouldn't. He would have heard from her by now, if she weren't still aboard Lady Luck.

He turned his gaze into the deepening sky. In a way, he was almost envious of her the way he had been envious of Henri all these years. He'd spent the last decade and a half wishing he could meet Gilbert's son, wondering what the boy was like. What kind of man he'd grown into. What kind of heart he possessed.

If only Adriana knew how fortunate she was.

Surely she resisted associations with Christian, he knew his own daughter well enough to wager a tidy sum on it. Her blistering outspokenness had earned her many an ill relation. But even so, if she were indeed upon the Lady Luck, she was surely interacting with the young man in a way Edmund never would. Henri had made no secret of Christian's hatred for him. Edmund only hoped Adriana wasn't being cruel, fostering more rage from the young man.

Please Lord, don't let her prevent their success. Let Henri finally bring Gilbert home
.

"I'm sorry sir," Edmund heard Miss Reynolds say. "Visiting hours have ended."

"I'm not a visitor, I'm his employee," John Locke insisted in his brusque English lilt. "We've got business." The man pushed in without knocking. A familiar surge of fear rose in Edmund's throat.

"'allo. I'm here to collect ye. Vincent Weiss wishes a word."

"At n-near-ee six o'c-ock?"

John Locke took a hold of the handles at the back of his chair and shoved it around. "I don't know. Just following me orders."

You work for me
, Edmund thought to himself. His unease quickened. John Locke had never taken such liberty before.

A hired coach waited at the back gate of the sanitarium. No wonder he hadn't seen John approach through the window. The first pains of true fear came to life. Neither had anyone else.

Miss Reynolds had seen him, Edmund remembered. But how would that help? Surely it wouldn't save him, if the burly man decided to finish the job an assassin had started that cold September night last year.

"The wharf," he told the driver. He glanced away, deep lines of guilt creasing his thick brow. "Mr. Weiss is waiting at the Windfall."

What was Vincent Weiss doing aboard his ship? By the time they arrived at the water's edge the sun had set, bathing the docks in a murky red twilight. John Locke instructed the driver to stop near the bow of the ship. Far at the end of the pier, Preston's younger brother, Charles, was speaking to Oxford, the dock's foreman.

Oxford must be questioning Charles about his business on my ship. Thank merciful God
.

Charles pointed and Oxford saw them. Edmund raised his hand.
Come down here, Oxford. Help me
!