The Sea Sprite

by Ruth Langan

  Before she could toss her knife she saw the man’s eyes widen moments before he slumped to the deck. Gryf stood over him, removing his sword from the dead man’s back.

  “I’m grateful.”

  “As am I.” He gave her a heart-stopping smile as he turned away.

  Just then, out of the corner of her eye, Darcy spotted a blur of movement and turned to see young Whit ducking and dodging a pirate’s sword.

  “Go back at once, Whit,” she shouted.

  “Nay, Captain.”

  Just then a voice from the pirate ship called, “See the lad, mates? I want him dead. A gold sovereign to the one who does the deed.”

  At that, Whit was momentarily distracted. That was all the pirate needed. As he moved in for the kill, Gryf closed the distance between them and shouted for Whit to take cover. Instead, the boy picked up a sword from a fallen pirate and swung it like a club, catching the pirate on the side of the head. Enraged, the man turned on him. But Whit managed to evade the blade that sliced cleanly through the air. As the man lunged toward him, Whit ducked again, and the man, screaming obscenities, went sprawling over the ship’s rail and tumbled into the foaming waters below.

  “Are you hurt, lad?” Gryf lowered his sword and touched a hand to the boy’s arm.

  “He never touched me, Gryf.” The boy’s smile froze as he caught sight of a pirate, sword lifted, suddenly looming behind his friend.

  “Nay!” The word was torn from Whit’s lips as the pirate brought the sword down with all his might.

  But before it could strike Gryf’s head, the pirate suddenly stiffened, then dropped to the deck. The sword fell harmlessly at his side. As he fell, face-down, the hilt of Darcy’s knife was clearly visible in his back.

  The man and boy watched in stunned silence as she turned away and leapt into yet another battle with two pirates who were bearing down on Newton. There were a series of cries as the two men joined the others in the swirling waters beyond the ship’s railing.

  “Retreat, mates,” came a cry from the captain of the pirate ship. “They’ve beaten us this time.”

  Those still able to walk stumbled toward the rail, reaching out for the ropes that would haul them back to their own ship. Mates helped mates until all those still alive had taken their leave. The ropes holding the two ships together were chopped in two, and the pirate ship began drifting away.

  As it did, the captain of the pirate ship shouted, “You haven’t seen the last of us. We’ll meet again. And when we do, we’ll not stop until every last one of you lies in a watery grave.”

  On the Undaunted, there was an eerie silence as the survivors stared around at the carnage. The bodies of several pirates littered the deck. A deck that ran red with blood.

  “Did any among our crew die at the hands of those cutthroats?” Darcy demanded in a loud voice.

  Newton looked around, mentally tallying the crew. Satisfied that all were standing, he shook his head. “I see a few wounds, but no fallen mates, lass.”

  “Good.” She idly wiped the bloody blade of her knife on her breeches, then tucked it at her waist.

  When she turned, she fixed Whit with a look of fury. “You disobeyed my order, boy.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  “I’ll set your punishment later. And be warned, it will be severe, so that you’ll understand just how important it is that every man aboard this ship follows my command.” She saw the boy cringe, and knew she’d just struck fear into his heart. “Now, Whit, tell me why you defied me.”

  The lad hung his head.

  She walked closer, her eyes as cold as her voice. “You could have lost your life, and caused the death of your friend, as well. Is that what you wanted, boy?”

  “Nay, Captain.”

  “And still you chose to disobey me and come above deck. What have you to say for yourself, Whit?”

  “I…know I shouldn’t have disobeyed your order, captain. But I…thought I recognized a voice. I needed to see for myself.”

  She flicked a glance at Gryf, who was standing beside the lad. She could see that he was as puzzled as she. “And whose voice did you hear?”

  The boy refused to speak.

  “You’ll tell me, Whit. As captain I demand to know.”

  The boy’s lips trembled, but to his credit he held back the tears that threatened. “It was the captain of the pirate ship.”

  “Aye. The one who ordered you killed. You recognized him? Who is he? And why was he offering a reward to his men to kill you?”

  His voice was little more than a whisper. “He’s the one who beat me senseless.”

  “Why? How does he know you, lad?”

  “He’s my—” He had to suck in a breath before he could manage to whisper “—he’s my uncle.”

  Chapter Seven

  Darcy couldn’t speak over the pain in her heart. Pain for a lad who had been beaten by his own kin. Pain at the knowledge that the boy had overheard that hideous order to kill him.

  Seeing her dismay, Newton was quick to take charge. With a few staccato commands, he set the crew cleaning the deck and returning the weapons to the hold. Soon enough, order was restored from the chaos.

  While the work went on around them, he suggested that Darcy meet with Whit and Gryf below deck in her cabin. Numbly she nodded, then led the way.

  She took her seat at the desk, leaving the man and boy to stand just inside the door. Then she folded her hands atop the desk and struggled to compose herself.

  Gryf glanced around, noting the tidy bunk, the carefully rolled maps in pigeonholes above the desk and chair, which, like the bunk, were bolted to the floor so they wouldn’t roll in rough seas. He found himself appreciating the simplicity of this seaworthy vessel. It suited the woman who commanded it.

  “Now, Whit.” Darcy leaned back and pinned the boy with a look that could make seasoned sailors shiver in their boots. “You’ll tell me everything.”

  He shook his head. “I…can’t.”

  “Can’t? Or won’t?”

  Gryf started to speak and she shot him a quelling look. Then she turned back to the boy. “You’ll tell me what happened between your uncle and you, lad. And you’ll tell me the truth.”

  The boy stared hard at the toe of his boot, struggling for the courage to speak over his pain. “Aye, Captain.”

  Darcy fixed him with a look. “Is this the uncle who was supposed to have drowned aboard the Mary M?”

  “Nay, Captain.” He took a deep breath. “When my mother died, I was visited by a woman claiming to be my mother’s younger sister. Though I’d never met her, I believed she was speaking the truth, for she looked like my mother. The same hair, the color of flame. The same green eyes. She took me to her home, outside the village of Timmeron, where I was introduced to her husband, who said he was a fisherman. The next morning, without warning, he apprenticed me to a cruel seaman. I didn’t mind the work, though it meant getting up before dawn so that I could get the fishing boat ready for the day’s catch. But I worked all day without food, and every night, when I finished all my chores, the old man would beat me.”

  Darcy bit back her anger, afraid to glance at Gryf. “Did he beat you because he didn’t like the way you worked?”

  “I think not. He seemed to beat me for no reason except that it…pleased him. He used to laugh as he wielded his stick. So one night, after he fell asleep, I ran away and returned to my uncle’s house. He was gone, and I asked my aunt to hide me. But she refused.”

  “She refused?” Darcy could hardly hide her surprise. “What sort of woman refuses to help her own kin?”

  “She said she wasn’t really my mother’s sister. She said that it had been my uncle who had ordered her to say those things, though she knew not why. And so I ran away and hid, seeking shelter in sheds and barns with the animals. But when my uncle returned from the sea he came searching for me. When he found me hiding in the meadow outside the village of Timmeron, he beat me. He—” the lad glanced at Gryf, then away
“—said I’d shamed him by running away, and he beat me until I thought I’d die. I believe he thought I was already dead, or else he’d have never left without finishing what he’d started. When I finally awoke sometime the next morning, I couldn’t stand, and so I began crawling. I must have crawled out into a dirt lane, for that’s when Gryf came upon me.”

  Darcy looked at Gryf now, whose eyes had gone as hard as flint. She knew, from the look of him, that he was suffering for the lad as much as she.

  “I…was afraid of Gryf at first, because of his scars and all, and tried to fight him.” The lad avoided Gryf’s eyes as he spoke. “At first, when I caught sight of his face, I thought he was a monster and I tried to get away from him. If I hadn’t been so weak, I’d have made good my escape. But since I couldn’t run, or even walk, I couldn’t stop Gryf from carrying me to town. Once there he begged a room at the tavern. The tavern owner wouldn’t let either of us inside.” The boy gave a weak laugh. “Not that I blame him. The sight of the two of us would have frightened away all his patrons. Me with my bloody wounds, and Gryf with his scars. But for a fee, the owner gave us the use of the shed. Gryf made a bed of straw and dressed my wounds, then brought me food, and tended me until I was strong enough to leave my pallet. We’ve been together ever since.”

  Darcy had to swallow twice to dislodge the lump that was threatening to choke her. Finally she said, “I don’t claim to understand such cruelty, Whit. Nor will I ever, I suppose. But this I know. The desire for vengeance, even though it’s a natural enough feeling, can destroy even the best of men. So, no matter how you feel about your uncle, you need to accept this fact, lad. The crew of the Undaunted is pledged to fight those who would attack helpless vessels. If your uncle’s ship crosses our path again, we’ll have to fight him. And, as before, I’ll expect you to obey my command to take shelter below. Though you feel you have a compelling reason to exact revenge against the man who left you for dead, aboard this ship you will remain in my cabin.”

  “But I—”

  “Not a word, Whit. That’s what being a seaman aboard the Undaunted is all about. When the captain gives an order, it’s given for the good of all. One man’s vengeance can never take precedence over the good of the entire crew. Do you understand?”

  The boy swallowed, then nodded.

  “I want the name of your uncle, and the name of his ship.”

  “His name is York. Wylie York. And his ship is the Sinner.”

  Darcy didn’t have to worry about committing the name to her memory. It was seared into her brain. As was the face of the man who’d ordered a child to be killed. “You may go above deck now, and offer to assist Newt and the others.”

  “Aye, Captain.”

  She waited until the door of the cabin closed behind him. Then she looked up to find Gryf staring at her with a look of fury.

  “You have something to say?”

  He nodded. “Aye. If there’s justice in this world, Whit’s uncle will find his at the end of a sword.”

  She surprised him by slamming a hand against the desktop with such force it sent a curled map flying. “Aye. I agree.”

  “But you just said—”

  “I said Whit must obey orders. I’d rather not have his uncle’s blood on the hands of one so young. But if that cruel pirate is ever in my sights, he’ll surely taste the blade of my knife in his evil black heart.”

  “So.” He felt a wave of relief. “Our heartless captain isn’t so heartless after all. But I’ll give you this, Captain Lambert. You managed to fool the lad. And even fool me until now.”

  For the first time Gryf managed to laugh. It was a rare sound that brought a smile to Darcy’s lips. But her smile suddenly faded when he turned to leave and she caught sight of his bloodstained sleeve.

  “You’re wounded.”

  “It’s just a cut.”

  “Aye. A cut that’s dripping on my floor.” She was on her feet and pointing to the chair she’d just vacated. “Take off your shirt and sit. I’ll fetch some hot water from the galley.”

  “Nay. You don’t want to see—”

  Before he could give voice to his protest she was gone. Minutes later she returned carrying a basin of water and a clean linen towel.

  As she’d ordered, he had removed his shirt. His first inclination had been to simply stalk out of her cabin and head for the deck. He’d be damned if he’d allow her to see his scars. Captain or no, she was a woman first. And no woman would be able to look at what the fire had done to his flesh without being sickened.

  But then he’d had a second thought. One he’d resigned himself to. Let her see and turn away. Then he’d be able to do the same. And that kiss they’d shared would be just a pleasant memory. Both of them would be able to move on with their lives.

  For a moment, as she stood behind him, all Darcy could do was stare helplessly at the puckered scars that crisscrossed Gryf’s back and neck. The thought of how he must have suffered had her closing her eyes against a wave of pain.

  He cast a glance over his shoulder. “You’re awfully quiet. I hope you aren’t one of those timid females who gets sick at the sight of anything unpleasant.”

  “N-nay.” She would have heard the challenge in his tone if she hadn’t been so moved. She set down the basin, wringing out a cloth before touching it to his wound.

  Gryf clenched his teeth. It was going to take all his willpower to get through this without flinching. He’d expected her to simply look at him and run. But now that she was staying, he was forced to do the same.

  But oh, the touch of her fingers against his flesh as she washed his wound was causing a series of tremors that were threatening to be his undoing. How he’d longed for those hands on him. Moving over him. Arousing him.

  He took several deep, unsteady breaths to pull himself together. She wasn’t a lover, touching him with desire. She was the captain of a ship, seeing to the needs of one of her crew.

  He closed his eyes and tried to think of something, anything, that would keep him from being moved by her touch.

  Darcy could see that the cut wasn’t deep. But it was bleeding profusely, forcing her to stem the flow with a tourniquet, before she could dress it with linen.

  All the while she worked, she couldn’t stop looking at the patchwork of scars that covered Gryf’s back. How he must have suffered. And was suffering still.

  No wonder he’d moved so slowly when she’d first seen him. After such burns, each bend of an arm or leg would have caused excruciating pain. It would be like an infant learning each movement.

  She glanced at his lowered head. No wonder he wore that hat, with the brim pulled down to hide his face. No wonder he grew that dark scraggly beard to hide the scars that must surely mar his face as well.

  Her first thought had been that the sight of those scars would wipe away any romantic feeling she might have for him. Instead, they seemed to have sharpened all her senses. She was achingly aware of the way his muscles bunched and tensed with each touch of her fingers. And though she should have been repulsed by his scars, she was, if anything, even more drawn to this courageous man.

  “This will sting a bit,” she muttered as she smeared ointment from a vial and smoothed it over his wound.

  “A bit?” He sucked in a breath. “It burns like the fire of hell.”

  “You’d know about that, wouldn’t you?”

  The moment the words were out of her mouth she regretted them. But it was too late. They hung between them for the space of several seconds. Finally he stood and caught her hands between his, stilling her movements.

  “I tried to warn you, Captain.”

  “I know you did.”

  “And now you’re sickened by the sight of me.”

  “Is that what you think? That somehow the scars would repulse me? You’re so wrong. I never dreamed…” She closed her eyes and tried again. “Oh, Gryf. I can’t bear to think of how much pain you’ve been made to suffer.”

  “There’s that gentle hear
t again.” He smiled. “Which you try to keep so carefully hidden. Don’t grieve for me, Darcy. I don’t remember much of it. Just bits and pieces of the pain. I was in and out of consciousness for so long, the family who took me in and nursed me back to health were also preparing a shroud, thinking that I wouldn’t survive.”

  “But you did.”

  “Aye. I’ve always thought there must have been a compelling reason why I fought my way back. Perhaps there was someone, somewhere, waiting for me. Someone more important than my own life.” He gave a wry smile. “How the gods must be laughing at the fact that now that I’m here, I can’t remember who or what it was that brought me to this.”

  “Oh, Gryf.”

  “Shhh.” He saw the glitter of a single tear in her eye and wiped it with his thumb. “Don’t weep for me, Darcy. I may be luckier than we know.”

  “How can you say such a thing?”

  He smiled down into her eyes. “Perhaps I’m carrying some terrible secret in my heart, which, if I recall it, will cause me grave pain. Or perhaps send me to prison.”

  “I don’t believe that of you, Gryf. I’ve watched you with young Whit. You’re so gentle with him. So good and kind and noble.”

  “Don’t make me into something I can never be.” He ran a finger over her lower lip, all the while staring into her eyes. “The things I’m thinking right now are neither good nor kind nor noble.”

  At her arched brow his smile faded. “Unless you order otherwise, Captain, I’m going to have to kiss you again this very moment.”

  Taking her silence for acceptance, he lowered his mouth to hers and watched as the shock registered in her eyes.

  As before, there was nothing sweet or gentle about his kiss. And as she gasped, he took it even deeper, sending a shaft of desire straight to her core.

  His mouth moved over hers, taking, demanding. In reply she reached up to encircle his neck with her arms. Her hands encountered the warmth of bare flesh, and she felt a tingling that began in her fingertips and swept through her in waves that threatened to swamp her.

  “I’ve been desperate to taste your lips again.” He spoke the words inside her mouth as he took her fully into the kiss.