by Clare Sager
Shaking her head, Vice snorted softly. Best not to think too hard about the surprising aspects of Captain Knigh Blackwood … of Knighton Villiers. Lords, that was – how was he Knighton Villiers?
“Vice is here,” Saba called over her drumming, smile bright, eyes wide. At her side, Perry grinned, fingers and bow dancing over her fiddle’s strings.
A cry of greeting rose, and half a dozen dancers peeled off from the group by the bonfire, swallowing up Vice and Knigh.
Aedan came close. “Bored of the snobs?” He grabbed her free hand. “I’ll show you some real dancing.”
Laughing, Vice released Knigh and let Aedan pull her into a wild spin, sea breeze tugging at her hair, stars and moon circling above. Her heart woke, throbbing hard, and her breaths came fast from his pace. “I need more drink first.”
“Here.” Wynn thrust a bottle in her path. “Not too much, though – you’re going to tell us a story later.”
Vice pulled out of Aedan’s grasp, stumbling to a halt. “Am I now?” She raised an eyebrow and grabbed the bottle, taking a long swig of sweet, burning rum.
“Go on.” Wynn bumped her hip into Vice’s.
“Don’t give us that” – Effie slung her arm around Wynn’s shoulder – “you always do.”
“Maybe.” Vice shrugged and took another draught.
Just beyond Effie, Knigh watched her, eyes golden in the firelight, a small crease between his eyebrows. There was something to his look that made her pause. Want?
“Hmm?” She held the bottle out.
He shook his head.
“Go on, Captain,” Effie said, cocking her head at him, a flirtatious smile lighting her eyes.
“Leave him alone.” Vice withdrew the bottle, frowning at Effie. “If he doesn’t want to drink, he doesn’t have to. I, however, do.” She took another gulp, and it swirled flame in her belly, making her feet itch to move. Eyes squeezed shut for a second, she held out the bottle for anyone who wanted it. “Phew, that stuff’s strong.”
Knigh pursed his lips before he grabbed the bottle from her, upended it and took three long draughts.
What was he –? She shook her head and shrugged.
He thrust the bottle at Effie, eyes back on Vice now he’d finished drinking. There was still that odd look she couldn’t quite place – something like longing? Or maybe the look of someone staring at a knot they couldn’t untie.
Wynn and Effie stumbled back into the dancers, laughing and singing along, leaving Vice and Knigh a few feet apart, stillness in the middle of the chaotic wheeling.
Vice cocked her head at him. “Are you –”
He lurched closer, now only a few inches away, warmth radiating off him. “How do you do that?”
She frowned and glanced at the bottle of rum being passed around, now in Aedan’s large hands. He couldn’t mean that – she’d barely had more than him, certainly not enough to be impressive. “Do what?”
His hand waved up and down. “Be this.”
She scoffed, eyes narrow as she shook her head. What was he getting at? “I’m just me.”
His brows contracted, the area around his eyes tensing. On anyone else, it would have been an unremarkable twitch, but on him, it felt more like seeing his expression break. “Exactly.” He shook his head, again just a small movement, but something about it felt far truer than his usual studied gestures. “How are you so relaxed about it – about everything?”
Vice’s heart clenched, painful for a second. Bloody hells – he envied her.
The poor man was wound tighter than cable around the capstan. And not just now, always. His shoulders, his arms, his jaw, neck, chest, all so stiff, they’d almost withstand a gale right up until the moment they snapped.
And his eyes, they were full of such intensity that when she looked up from her survey and met his gaze, it was like a physical strike. Every single thing he did was so controlled, calculated, no wonder he looked at her like that. What had the Navy done to make him like this?
She sighed softly. Damn him, but he’d helped her today. Maybe she could help him with this. Then they’d be even.
“Well” – she snatched the rum from Wynn as she scampered past, arm-in-arm with Aedan – “if you’re out of practice, I find a bit more of this helps.” To illustrate, she took a long glug, then offered it to Knigh.
He nodded slowly and took it, drinking long and deep. When he’d finished, he licked his lips and raised his eyebrows as if asking what next.
“Jacket off, too.”
He handed her the bottle and obeyed, folding it carefully in half.
She snorted and shook her head, then grabbed it and threw it on a nearby rock.
Chest rising, he opened his mouth as if to argue, but instead, he just exhaled and nodded. “Anything else?”
Grinning, she thrust the bottle at Aedan as he passed. “And dancing – always dancing.” She offered Knigh her hand, one eyebrow raised.
His lips tightened. Sparks flew off the fire as his gaze lowered to her palm where the silvery scar shaped like a padlock gleamed – the evidence of iron’s cruelty to the fae-blooded.
A long swallow constricted his throat, and finally, he nodded and put his hand into hers. Rough knots of calluses scraped her skin.
“Don’t worry,” she murmured, “I’ll take good care of you.” With that, she winked and pulled him into the fray.
Shell & Shipwreck
Almost a week later, The Morrigan was careened in a quiet cove on a nameless little island. Vice watched her crewmates climbing up scaffolds and ladders, scraping the hull clean. She crossed her arms – no sign of Saba.
Behind, raised voices approached. “… gave you the route of an unguarded Hesperian treasure ship –” That was Knigh.
“Yes,” FitzRoy said, “but do you think we’ll capture her without The Morrigan being in good order?”
Vice turned. Just the person – Fitz would know where Saba was.
“Look at the state of her,” Fitz went on, waving a hand at the ship pitched over to one side. His brows were lowered as usual when he was dealing with Knigh. “Getting rid of the weed and barnacles will speed us by at least three knots.”
She winced. They weren’t still arguing about this were they? The morning after the ball, Knigh had received a tip about the course of a treasure ship. Even better, the officer told him it was posing as a merchant due to a lack of guard and gunship support.
Since Albion and Hesperia weren’t technically at war, the Navy couldn’t attack directly. A privateer sailing under black sails could. Knigh had wasted no time in telling FitzRoy, but instead of being eager, Fitz had insisted they pursue his own lead.
Someone else had tipped him off that Drake had visited a cave on this little island and possibly left clues to his treasure. Fitz had also insisted that The Morrigan needed careening before chasing any treasure ship.
But the cave would still be there in a week, and they’d careened the ship less than two months ago.
Looking at her now, yes, Vice couldn’t deny the green slime and weed clinging to her hull or the barnacles studding the bow. But it was only a light coating of each, not enough to slow the ship significantly. Especially not with her gift helping them speed through the water.
FitzRoy’s jaw clenched, nostrils flaring, and he angled towards Knigh, hands on hips.
That was the problem. Two captains on the ship and Fitz refused to give an inch. And careening gave him an excuse that made it look like he was acting in his crew’s best interests rather than indulging a personal power struggle with Knigh.
She sighed. If anyone else had brought news of the treasure ship to Fitz, they’d be on course towards it right now, full sail.
“Look,” Knigh said, voice curt as he mirrored FitzRoy’s pose, “you’re being –”
Oh, gods, no. Don’t complete that sentence.
“Captain,” Vice blurted. Whatever Knigh had been about to say, it couldn’t end well. She smiled at the pair of them as they t
ore their gazes apart, blinking at her. “When I was walking around the island this morning, I spotted a wreck not far from shore a couple of coves away. Thought I’d investigate. I was looking for Saba but can’t see any sign of her. Do you know where she is?”
Fitz shrugged. “I sent her with one of the foraging parties. You’ll have to find someone else to take with you.”
Vice huffed – foraging? She’d be gone all day. Precious few of the crew could swim. “She’s the only one who’s a strong enough swimmer to dive a wreck. I’ll go on my own, then.” She turned away and started north towards the other cove.
“You’re not going alone,” Fitz said.
In the same moment, Knigh said, “I can swim.”
Vice spun on her heel in time to see them blinking at each other.
Fitz’s mouth lifted in a sharp smile. “Here, you have your help. Blackwood, I’m sure you won’t mind accompanying Vice. I suspect the pair of you will be gone the rest of the day – we’ll manage without you.”
He was offloading Knigh on to her again. Well, if it meant the two of them didn’t tear chunks out of each other in this stupid power struggle, then fine. “Come on, Knigh.”
Jaw tense, he watched Fitz a few seconds longer. “Very well.” Moving stiffly, he tore himself away from Fitz and followed her.
They fetched a couple of net bags that they slung across their bodies together with a canteen of water and headed north.
“That story you’ve been telling the crew,” he said as they skirted the border between rainforest and beach, careful to avoid manchineel trees. “It sounds a lot like The Baron of Monté Alba.”
“You recognised that then?” Scoffing, she stepped over a trailing root. “I never claimed the stories were original. Many of the crew can’t read – would you deny them a ripping yarn simply because of that?” She gave him a sardonic smile. “Not everyone grows up with the privilege of a gentleman’s education, Lord Villiers.”
His gaze snapped to her, and his lips tightened for a second. “And what about a lady’s education?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
Touché. She snorted and pushed on until her breaths were too heavy for talk.
By the time they reached the cove, she was bathed in sweat. She stopped at a fallen log at the edge of the beach and took a long draught of water before offering Knigh the canteen.
“I’d normally do this with no clothes,” she said, dumping her belt and weapons by the log, “but I don’t want you keeling over, so I’ll keep my shirt on, even if it drags in the water.” She flashed him a grin, then kicked off her boots, unbuttoned her breeches and slipped them off. The hem of her shirt reached mid-thigh, so he couldn’t complain that she looked too indecent.
He scoffed as he placed the canteen with her belongings. “Your concern for my wellbeing is noted.”
“Knighton, was that a joke?”
He shrugged. “Almost.” Looking out to sea, he tugged his shirt off.
Muscle corded his shoulders and arms, rippled across his stomach, and curved over his chest, taut and –
Well, that wasn’t fair. Her mouth went dry, and her heart beat hard.
“It’s rude to stare, you know.” He raised his eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth twitched.
Blinking, she rubbed her nose and turned away. Well, it was rude to be quite that … She swallowed. Delicious-looking? Tempting? Off-limits? Yes, all of those.
She cleared her throat, grabbed a net bag, and started towards the surf lapping on the shore.
Her hands clenched at her sides. She couldn’t think about how he’d feel under her touch. That wouldn’t help anything because he was forbidden.
Or was he? Technically, they were on the same side now … And if he were willing, would a little tumble really be so bad? It was just bodies meeting and enjoying each other.
With Knigh being Navy, FitzRoy would leave him alone – he couldn’t risk his pardon by killing an officer of the Queen’s Navy. Knigh would be safe, unlike poor Aedan.
It was the willing bit that was the problem. She’d managed to get a physical reaction from him, yes, but getting his stiff mind to relax – that was never going to happen. Staid, straight-laced Knighton Blackwood wouldn’t succumb, however tempted.
So, no, she shouldn’t think about how firm that chest had been through his clothes when she’d searched him or in Waters’ book shop. Nor how it would feel without the barrier of shirt and waistcoat, with the friction of flesh on flesh. She definitely wasn’t going to think about sliding her hands up the perfect angle slanting from his waist to his powerful shoulders. Or those bulging arms wrapping around her, lifting her –
Wild bloody Hunt, she needed to get into that water.
She glanced over her shoulder, just enough to check he followed. He was a couple of feet away, within arm’s length. She adjusted the bag crossing her body to keep her hands from any temptation to reach across that small distance.
“So” – she cleared her throat – “we’re going to swim out over the reef. It’s a couple of hundred feet, I think. The wreck is out there – you can just about see one of the masts at low tide.” Squinting into the sun, she pointed. “Have you ever dived a coral reef before?”
“Not a reef, no, but I’ve helped recover wrecks.”
“You’re in for a treat, then – keep your eyes out for …” If he hadn’t seen a reef, it would spoil the surprise to tell him about all the colour, the fish, the sponges, and shells, and her description wouldn’t do it justice. “For everything. Come on.” She waded into the sea, breathing a sigh as it washed away the heat and sweat and tugged on her gift, wanting her attention.
Once the water reached their waists, they swam out. Knigh’s stroke was sure and swift – thank the gods for that, he hadn’t lied about being a strong swimmer.
As they swam, she got a good view of his broad back, too. It was not a disappointment. Though she did raise her eyebrows at the black lines etched across his skin. Tattoos on sailors were common, but she hadn’t expected that to stretch to the officers. Across Knigh’s back was a family crest showing a moon and two stars, surrounded by swirling stylised waves. Not the Villiers’ crest – she vaguely remembered that involved shells. Maybe the Blackwoods, then.
Whoever’s crest it was, the tattoo surged with his movements, its expertly wrought lines highlighting those damn muscles of his.
So tempting.
She clenched her jaw. Focus on the swim.
The sea bed dropped away gently. The water stretched on clear and blue in this sheltered cove. Within a few minutes, the sand gave way to rock, and on those rocks, the reef began.
She gestured to him to follow her lead and shifted to a breaststroke that left her face in the water.
Purple, pink, and chartreuse corals and sponges coated the jagged rocks. Crimson, green, and brown weeds wafted like the trees inland in the breeze. And amongst it all, fish darted in more colours than she had names for and a hundred different shapes and sizes.
Saba came from one of Arawaké’s islands and had told her the names of some of the species here. Butterflyfish with large black dots near their tails. Hot orange squirrelfish with spiky dorsal fins. A pair of electric blue chromis darted through the reef, their iridescent bodies outlined with black fins and tails.
Vice opened her awareness. In all directions, movement, shifting light, a complex web of life. The sea sang with it, a symphony that she couldn’t hope to understand with all its intricate, interlocking parts and players, but it filled her, warmed her, held her.
This was rightness.
Pausing to tread water and catch her breath, Vice glanced back at Knigh surfacing beside her. His eyes were wide, and his chest heaved.
“It – did you see?” He glanced down as if he expected it all to disappear. “So many colours – I’ve never …” He shook his head, a soft laugh huffing from his lips.
So it had hit him, too. She grinned. “I told you.” Raising her eyebrows, she sculled away. “This i
s only the start – wait until you see …” Sharks, turtles, rays – there was still so much more they might encounter if they were lucky. “I don’t want to spoil it. Come on, follow me – let’s take a closer look.”
She drew a long breath and dived, long kicks carrying her deep and further from shore. A glance over her shoulder revealed Knigh following, eyes bright.
They passed between two columns of coral, Vice spinning as she’d seen dolphins do and smiling when she saw Knigh follow her lead by not touching anything. Beautiful as the reef was, there were dangers too, including spines, poisons, and sharp teeth.
They took their time working their way towards the wreck, diving, coming up for breath and laughing with wonder at what they’d seen, then diving again. She brought up an abalone shell just over an inch long. Its oval shape was rough and unremarkable on the outside; inside it gleamed in a hundred mother-of-pearl colours.
“Small but perfectly formed,” Knigh said when she showed him.
She laughed and pressed it into his hand. “Perfect, eh? You’d better keep it then.”
After he tucked it away in his pocket, they continued exploring. They swam with a loggerhead turtle almost as long as Vice was tall, its large form made graceful by the weightlessness underwater. Its scaled flippers swept slowly, propelling it above the reef with ease.
Knigh’s eyes widened at the sharks and rays. When they surfaced and caught their breath, Vice reassured him that they were only small blacknose sharks, and although stingrays had a deadly reputation, they were safe. “Don’t bother them, and they won’t bother you.”
They went on that way for almost an hour before she led him to the wreck. She narrowed her eyes at the weed-coated hulk.
The sorry-looking thing sat on a rocky outcrop of the reef as if it had run aground. From the size and remaining sections of two masts, it looked like a brig-sloop, the same as The Morrigan.
With the tide in, the water over the reef was around ten feet deep – enough for the draught of such a ship to pass over if it wasn’t fully laden. Maybe a storm had blown it in, dashed it against these rocks.
