The Sea Sprite

by Ruth Langan

  “Thank you, Whit. That’s most thoughtful.” She watched as he set the tub down.

  She turned toward the door as a man entered with a bucket of steaming water in each hand.

  Gray! For the space of a heartbeat she couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Though she couldn’t see his face, for it was hidden beneath the brim of a shabby hat, she knew that hard, muscled body. The long legs. The lean hips.

  “This is the ship’s captain I was telling you about, Gryf.”

  He turned and nodded, while Darcy stared at him in stunned silence. What little she could see of his face seemed strangely distorted. His eyelids were drooped and puffy, giving him a sleep-drenched, sensual appearance. It was impossible to tell the color of his eyes. But the shape of them seemed all wrong.

  “Captain.” His voice was a strange rasp, as though the single word had caused him great effort.

  When he turned away, Darcy’s heart was drumming painfully inside her chest. Her breathing was none too steady. But as she watched this stranger, she realized he couldn’t be Gray. That hadn’t been his voice. And the face had been all wrong, the lower half covered by a rough, scraggly beard. Furthermore, he’d looked right at her. And there had not been the slightest hint of recognition.

  While she watched, he went about his work in a slow, methodical manner, pouring first one bucket, then the other. Like Whit he wore cast-off clothes that were ill-fitting. The breeches, several sizes too big, were tied at his waist with a strand of rope. His tattered shirt strained across the muscles of his back and shoulders.

  When the buckets were empty he trudged down the stairs, only to return minutes later with two more buckets.

  “Thank—thank you.” Now that she’d found her voice, Darcy tried a tentative smile.

  He didn’t return it. He merely nodded and took his leave.

  “Why does your friend speak in that strange whisper?”

  “It hurts too much.” Whit handed her a blob of yellow soap before walking to the door. “I’ll just wait outside. When you’re ready, hand out your clothes. I’ll see that they’re returned to you before morning.”

  She paused in the doorway. “All right. But I’m warning you, Whit, if this is a scheme, I’ll find you and your friend, Gryf, and cut out both your thieving little hearts.”

  The boy shivered at her tone. At this moment he had no doubt that all the tales he’d heard about this female were true. There was a look of a brawler about her. She looked as though she’d enjoy a good fight.

  Minutes later the door opened a crack and a hand slipped through, holding out a pair of faded breeches and a colorful shirt, as well as a delicate chemise.

  “I’ll expect these outside my door by dawn, Whit.”

  “Aye, Captain. They’ll be here. Looking like new.”

  Darcy closed the door and listened as his footsteps descended the stairs. Then she eased herself into the tub and closed her eyes. Newt was right, she thought with a smile. It was the little things in life that made the big things easier to endure. She’d endure whatever hell came her way later. Right now, she’d just found heaven.

  Draped in the linen square, her hair fragrant after a thorough scrubbing, Darcy crossed to the window to stare out at the darkened sea.

  Somewhere there in the distance Gray’s ship had gone down. The Undaunted may have actually passed over the spot this day.

  Why hadn’t she felt something special? Why hadn’t his soul touched hers? She felt tears sting her eyes and turned away, annoyed at this fresh wave of grief, brought about, no doubt, by the encounter with the stranger, Gryf. For a moment she’d been certain her beloved had returned to her.

  It was that hard, muscled body. Those long legs. The big, work-worn hands. But where Gray had always been a bundle of energy, cutting a swift, sure path through life, this man moved like a child who was just learning to walk. And his face, what little she’d seen of it, wasn’t Gray’s face. Where Gray had been strikingly handsome and smooth-shaven, Gryf’s chin was covered with a dark stubble. And the eyes. Those red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes. They were so sad and haunting. Not at all the lively, dancing eyes of her beloved.

  She put a hand to her heart. How long would this continue? Was she doomed to feel this terrible sadness for a lifetime?

  What she wouldn’t give for one full day without a thought to the man she’d loved and lost.

  Newt was right, of course. Gray was the reason she’d leapt into so many battles. She’d hoped each new plunge into danger would help to ease her burden. But that had given her only momentary relief. What was worse, she hadn’t given a thought to the sailors under her command. She’d selfishly placed them in harm’s way to assuage her own grief. A grief that was still there, sometimes as jagged as a knife blade, at other times just a dark bruise around her heart. A bruise which sometimes faded, but returned even more painfully with the light of each new day.

  Annoyed with her thoughts she placed her boots beside the bed, and slipped her knife under the pillow. Then she crawled naked between the covers.

  She’d feared that sleep would be a long time coming. Instead, it crept up on her quickly, while she was still trying to recall the curve of Gray’s lips whenever he smiled.

  Chapter Three

  Darcy heard the footfall on the stairs and was awake instantly. Not Newton, she knew. His peg leg made a distinctive tap on the steps. And not Whit. His were the hurried, impatient footsteps of a child.

  Gryf. Though she knew not why, her heart missed a beat. That tall, silent man touched something in her. He seemed wounded and…lost. Aye. Lost. A ship cut adrift from its moorings. And that made her think of Gray. What if her beloved wasn’t dead, only lost? What if, even now, he was struggling to make his way back? If so, she would hope that strangers would be kind enough to lend a hand.

  She shook her head, annoyed that once again she’d allowed her thoughts to circle back to Gray, and the hole he’d left in her heart.

  A glance at the window told her it was still dark outside, with soft bands of dawn light just beginning to color the sky.

  The room had grown cold during the night. The fire on the hearth below stairs must have been allowed to burn to embers once the tavern had emptied of patrons.

  She sat up, drawing the blanket around her for warmth. Padding lightly across the floor, she opened the door a crack and peered around. Assured that there was nobody there, she looked down. As promised, her clothes were neatly folded in a pile just outside the door. She snatched them up and stepped back inside, noting that they were still warm from the hot stones that had been carefully moved over them to iron out the wrinkles.

  Working quickly she slipped into her chemise, noting how soft and clean it felt against her skin. She breathed in the fragrance of evergreen, and wondered if Gryf had dried her clothes on the branches of nearby trees. It gave her a strange feeling to know that he’d had his hands on her most intimate garment.

  She drew on her shirt, then shimmied into her breeches and finally her boots. In front of a tall looking glass she twisted her hair into a coil and left it falling over one breast.

  She turned at the sound of a knock on the door.

  “Are ye awake, lass?”

  “Aye, Newt.” With a smile she hurried to the door and threw it open. Seeing the look on his face, her smile faded. “What is it? What’s happened?”

  “Bad news, lass. Several of the crew deserted us.”

  “Deserted…Are you sure?”

  “Aye. Their beds are empty. They fled in the night.”

  “How many?”

  “Six.”

  Six able-bodied seamen. Gone. She straightened her shoulders. “We’ll need to hire on new sailors as soon as possible.”

  “Aye, lass.” He paused a beat before saying, “There’s more.”

  She waited, her heart sinking.

  “They left without paying. The tavern owner says he’ll hold ye responsible for whatever they owe.”

  She gave a deep sigh. Then no
dded. “Aye, I’ll pay, Newt. I’m grateful you talked me into withholding half their wages. Maybe if I’d paid them all I owed them, I’d have lost even more of the men. And I’d have had no way to hire on a new crew, without enough money to entice them.”

  “Aye. There’s that, lass.” He gave her a sharp look. “Ye’re not angry that I persuaded you to drop anchor here in Timmeron?”

  She shook her head. “It wouldn’t matter where we anchored, Newt. They’d have left anyway. And it isn’t your fault. It’s mine. I’m the one who drove them to this.”

  “Don’t be so hard on ye’rself, lass.”

  “Why not? You said yourself that I’d pushed them beyond their limits.”

  “Hush now, lass.” He patted her shoulder. “In all the years I’ve sailed, I’ve never known a ship to return to home port with its original crew intact. There are always those who can’t finish the task they set for themselves.”

  Aware that he was trying to calm her fears, she gave him a gentle smile and closed a hand over his. “Thanks for that reassurance, Newt. Now, let’s go below stairs and see if there are any sailors desperate enough to hire on in the dead of winter.”

  Darcy led the way down the stairs, where they were shown to one of the public rooms. As soon as they were seated a wench hurried over and began serving them bowls of gruel and thick slices of bread still warm from the oven, which they washed down with cups of scalding tea.

  The room began filling up with men. Sailors, farmers from the nearby village, and even a few travelers.

  Glancing around, Newton stood and announced in a loud voice, “We need a few good hands aboard our ship, the Undaunted, which sails this day. Ours is a cargo ship, plying the waters between Scotland and Wales. If ye’r of a mind, Cap’n Lambert will be paying a gold coin to every man who signs on.”

  The men mumbled among themselves, but not a single one came forward.

  Darcy glanced at Newton as he took the seat beside her on the wooden bench. “I know it’s winter, Newt. But some of these men look like they need work. Should I offer two coins?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve a feeling ye’r crew had more to say before they left than ye’d have liked. Ale has a way of doing that to men. And once they get started, they tend to add a bit more…fancy frills to the tale, leaving the truth forgotten. Even two coins won’t be enough to overcome whatever fear they’ve planted in the hearts of these men.”

  Darcy could only imagine what had been said. And it wouldn’t take too many…fancy frills. She had, in truth, pushed her crew to their limits before seeing the wisdom of Newton’s advice and permitting them to come ashore.

  She sighed. “Go ahead, Newt. Offer two coins.”

  “Ye’ll not have enough to buy the supplies we need.”

  “We’ll eat more fish and less mutton. Go on, Newt.”

  He got to his feet and cleared his throat before changing the offer to two gold coins. But still the men remained silent.

  Darcy lowered her head and stared at the gruel, congealing in her bowl. She had suddenly lost her appetite. Now she and Newton would have to work around the clock to keep the Undaunted afloat without the proper crew.

  A youthful voice called, “You can count on me, Captain.”

  Darcy turned to see young Whit standing in the doorway. His boots were covered with dung, and his hands and face were filthy.

  “Whit. Do you never sleep?”

  “Not when there’s coin to be earned.”

  As he walked closer she wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a barnyard.”

  “Aye. A nearby farmer pays Gryf and me to muck the stalls each morning and milk the cows. I drew the short straw this morrow and had to do the mucking.”

  Darcy couldn’t help smiling. “Is there anything you and Gryf won’t do for pay?”

  “Nothing that I can think of, Captain. Now, if you’re looking for able-bodied seamen, Gryf and I are willing to sign on.”

  “Just a moment.” Darcy held up her hand. “I don’t think you have the right to speak for your friend in this matter.”

  “And why not?”

  “Because this is something that requires a good deal of thought.”

  He waited for a moment, then said, “There now. I’ve thought it over. And I’m willing to sign aboard, as long as you’ll take Gryf as well. What are our duties?”

  Darcy turned to Newton. “I’ll leave it to you to explain to the lad.”

  The old sailor cleared his throat. “What we do is dangerous, lad. There’s more to signing aboard ship than swabbing a deck.”

  “I’m not afraid of storms. Or of pirates.”

  The old man narrowed his gaze. “If ye’r not afraid, ye should be.”

  “Why?” The lad looked from the old man to Darcy. “Because the captain has a death wish?”

  Darcy blanched.

  So, it was as they’d feared. The crew had grown loose-lipped from ale and had revealed more than they should have about the Undaunted and her captain. And probably had embellished their tales a bit more with every tankard they downed.

  “If I’ve a death wish, it’s the death of pirates, not my crew.”

  The boy merely looked at her and shrugged. “I’m not afraid, Captain.”

  “Listen, lad.” Newton put a hand on the boy’s shoulder and felt him flinch before he brought his fists up as if to defend himself.

  At once the old man took a step back and slanted him a look. There was no hiding the fear he read in the boy’s eyes.

  He deliberately kept his tone easy. “If I were to sign ye aboard the Undaunted, the first thing I’d require of ye would be that ye never speak such things about the captain again.”

  “You mean, about her death wish?”

  Newton’s tone sharpened. “Do I have ye’r word on it, lad?”

  Whit looked over at Darcy before averting his gaze. “Aye, sir.”

  “Good.” Newton nodded toward the door. “Now go and find ye’r friend. If he wants to sign aboard, I’ll need to hear it from his own lips.”

  “Aye, sir.” The boy turned and raced from the room.

  Newton waited until he was gone before turning to Darcy. “I wasn’t going to take him. He’s just a mite of a lad. But it might be best if we take him with us. If he brings along his friend, we’ll be assured of at least two more hands before we leave port.”

  “There is that, of course.” She studied the old man before saying, “But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there, Newt?”

  He stared hard at the tabletop. “There’s usually a good reason why a lad that young doesn’t like being touched. I’d be willing to wager he’s been beaten a time or two.”

  Her hand went to her mouth. “Do you think his friend Gryf…?”

  He shook his head. “The lad seems to have real affection for his friend. But I’m thinking we’ll be doing him a favor if we take him away from the Timmeron. Maybe we’ll be doing both of them a favor.”

  By the time they’d finished their meal, Whit was back, trailed by his friend. Like Whit, Gryf’s boots were covered with dung, his clothes smelling of a barnyard.

  As he approached their table, Darcy felt that peculiar twinge inside and struggled to make out his eyes hidden beneath the brim of a battered old seaman’s cap. In the light of morning they were still bloodshot, but they appeared to be dark. Gray’s eyes had been the color of coffee beans. And always laughing.

  “Here we are, Captain,” Whit called. “Gryf agrees that he’s willing to sign aboard your ship.”

  “I’ll hear it from his lips, if you don’t mind, Whit.” Darcy stared into the face of this man. “What say you, Gryf?”

  He nodded. “Aye. I’m willing to sign aboard.” His voice was like that of a man who’d been choked nearly to death. Every word was an effort.

  “Ye comprehend the risks?” Newton demanded.

  Gryf turned to the boy and gave him a smile. “Whit and I feel we have nothing to lose.”

  “Only ye’r life.”
Newton peered up at the man. “Can ye write ye’r name?”

  “Aye.”

  The old sailor opened a page of the ship’s log, then turned it around and handed the man a quill. “If ye’r certain of ye’r decision, sign here.”

  Gryf scratched a word, then straightened.

  Darcy studied the single name. “What is your family name?”

  He shrugged. “I know not.”

  “What do you mean? Are you a foundling then?”

  “Perhaps. I know not.” He paused, swallowed, then spoke again in that same painful rasp. “This is the name I was given by the family that nursed me back to health after the fire.”

  “Fire?” Darcy’s heart leapt to her throat. Her face lost all its color.

  Seeing her expression, Newt was quick to interrupt. “A ship’s fire, man?”

  Gryf shook his head, but it was the boy who answered for him. “It hurts him to speak too much. His throat is still raw from the smoke and flames. ’Twas not a ship’s fire, but a tavern fire. Gryf was found lying in the ashes, badly burned.”

  Darcy’s hopes plummeted. She had to remind herself to breathe in and out as the boy continued.

  “A kind family took Gryf in until the worst of his burns were healed. But they were unable to find anyone in Timmeron who recognized him. It could be because his face and body were so badly burned. And Gryf himself hasn’t been able to remember anything about his life before the fire.”

  “How did they come by the name Gryf?”

  “It was their grandfather’s name. He’d been much revered in their family. He came originally from Cornwall, and had an accent much like Gryf’s.”

  Darcy’s eyes went wide. “So you may have come from Cornwall?”

  The man shrugged, embarrassed at so much attention. “I may have. I know not.”

  “And your friendship with the lad?” Newt studied the boy who was staring up at this man with such fondness.

  “I knew I was a burden to the family who had nursed me back to health, so I walked to the village to find work. That’s when Whit and I…met. The lad had no place to sleep, so we agreed to share the shed, and we’ve been together since.”