Wolf rolled his shoulders and flicked his fingers, wishing he could light up one of his figuerados. Bollocks. He missed the flavor of that tobacco something fierce, but smoking on board the ship wasn’t allowed anyway. Abstaining from his one vice put him in a bad mood. Blowing a cloud calmed his thoughts, and right now, he needed to smother images of a beautiful young woman sitting in a barrel.
“Do ye expect Hartland and Joanna can keep Miss Shipton safe until we arrive?” Cyrus asked.
“I have no doubt of it, but we have no way of knowing what is taking place in London.” Wolf glanced up to check on Selina. He watched as she laughed, and then his heart sank into his belly as she slipped. She shrieked as she began to fall, but her reflexes were quick and she grabbed hold of the ratlines.
Bollocks! He took immediate action, leaving Cyrus staring after him as he ran toward her. “Crowle!” he shouted, pointing at Selina. “Don’t let her fall!”
Selina’s heart thudded hard against her ribs as she slipped. She clawed for purchase, catching the leech line. She wrapped her elbow around the yard and struggled to straighten her legs. The futtock shrouds were near, if she could only summon enough courage to get to them. She twisted, trying to reach out and grab the ropes, but she was too far away.
“Hold on!” Crowle shouted, monkeying his way across the yard.
Hawk shuffled toward her, his fingers outstretched. “Whatever ye do, don’t look down!”
It was too late—she already had. The quick glimpse at the Sea Wolf’s deck, narrowing to a small and distant target below, robbed her of her sanity. She’d been so focused on proving herself to Hawk and Ike, on helping the Sea Wolf sail out of harm’s way, and on glorying in its majesty and the sense of accomplishment that filled her, she’d forgotten that the view came at a great cost. The only thing separating her from a deadly fall was a narrow, tightly wound rope.
“Help!” she cried out. Fear and panic gripped her in turns. After all that she’d endured and survived, was this how she was destined to leave this world? She sucked in gulps of air and counted the petrifying seconds before she met her bloody end. Her body grew heavy, the weight on her hand and the pressure on her shoulder making it nearly impossible to maintain her grasp.
Crowle arrived at the same time Hawk did. “Come. Follow me,” Hawk said as he tried to lead her to the futtock shrouds and the top braced at the crosstrees.
She shook her head. “I c-cannot m-move.”
Large fingers tightly gripped hers until she suddenly felt like she was leaning against a solid wall of muscle. Odd, that, when she’d almost been surrounded by air. “I-I cannot move,” she said to whomever had come to her aid.
Canvas snapped and popped, the sound horrendous in its intensity. The wind clawed at her, encouraging her to let go. Good God, she couldn’t breathe!
Wolf’s calm voice broke through her hysteria. “Never look down.”
She tore her stare away from the mizzenmast and looked in the direction of his voice. He was holding her. His eyes tenderly examined her, assessing her. Compassion and something deeper radiated from him.
“Happens to the best of us.” His bass tone soothed her senses, but the pull of the Sea Wolf’s deck still clamped around her like a vise.
She’d been eager to help the crew. But nothing had prepared her for the dizzying sensations that claimed her. How many men had fallen to their deaths since men had sailed the seas?
The question pulled her gaze downward once more.
“Don’t look down,” he reminded her. “Keep your eyes on me.”
But she couldn’t. The feral gleam in Wolf’s eyes frightened her. Was he angry?
She searched out Crowle. His tattooed arm curled around one of the futtock shrouds, his feet braced against the ratlines. “Do not dismay,” he told her, his words laced with some sort of Dutch accent. “You did excellent for your first time. You looked down and lost your balance, that is all. You have nothin’ to be ashamed of. We’ve all experienced this.” He gave Wolf a nod and then moved effortlessly from one section of the shrouds to another. She marveled at his agility, prowess, and courage.
Another gasp escaped her as Ike, Hawk, and Crowle disappeared in an instant down the stays instead of using the ratlines. “What—”
“Are you all right?” Wolf watched her as if he expected her to free-fall to her death.
She wasn’t sure. Dizziness swept over her again. “Where . . . ? Are they . . . ?”
“My men?” He glanced around them. “Don’t worry. They know their way around the yards.” His cheek warmed hers as he guided her to the safety of the topmast cap. “What happened?”
“I slipped,” she said, thankful her lips finally obeyed and her body did, too.
“Ah.” Safe at last, she gripped the futtock ropes and burrowed her face into Wolf’s chest, taking comfort in his presence. A sudden chill swept over her. “The trick is not to look down, Selina. Once you do, the height distorts your equilibrium.”
She nodded slowly, focusing on the warmth seeping from his body to hers. Having already experienced that phenomenon, a new respect for Wolf’s world washed over her.
Saints alive, she hated feeling vulnerable and inadequate. “Did we lose the French ship?” she asked to distract her mind from what had just occurred.
“Aye,” he said. “Thanks to you and my men, that should be the last we see of them. They’d be fools to sail farther north.”
Selina took a steadying breath, relaxing ever so slightly as she surveyed the panorama widening on the horizon. Wisps of clouds fanned across the sky, and white caps rode the ever-shifting tide. High above the deck, the air was clear, the wind a brisk force on her skin. Sails thwacked into place above and below, their thunderous rumbling heartbeat giving the Sea Wolf life. Its exhilarating pulse was far more addictive than the hammering picks echoing in shafts in the pit mines. Here, the vessel’s surging bowsprit and lumbering keel behaved like a live thing, cresting each swell, running parallel to breakers advancing to shore and unleashing a full assault on rocks breaching the jagged coast.
“We just passed Deadman’s Cove,” Wolf told her. “Straight ahead is Portreath. You are almost home.”
“Portreath,” she repeated. Fear and anxiety wrestled inside her. Would she find Owen there? Saints preserve her, she prayed it would be so and that all her worry had been for naught. But what good would returning home do her if Owen wasn’t there? Would Papa accuse her of killing him, too?
She’d tried everything under the sun to please Papa. She’d visited the mines and treated injured miners as part of a Christian act. But her attachment to those men and her insistence on winning her father’s love hadn’t ended there. She wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, to dig in when times were hard. She’d never been reluctant to make the best of a situation, no matter the amount of time and labor it required. But living without her beloved brother, the one person who encompassed her world and brought her joy, wasn’t a world she wanted to inhabit.
“Oh, Owen.” How would she find him if he’d been transported elsewhere in the time it had taken her to return to Redruth?
“If luck wills it, he might already be there,” Wolf said, balancing on the topmast cap as if he and the timber had been created from the same oak.
His attempt to soothe her worries settled over her raw nerves.
“Look there!” He put his arm around her, and she gloried in his comforting support as he pointed to the unstable shale and sandstone cliffs. The offshore islands clawed their way out from Cornwall’s shoreline in magnificent splendor. She’d never seen this view of them before. “What do you call that heath-covered flat there?” he asked.
“Carvannel Downs. The sandy shore is inaccessible, but beyond the bleak cliffs,” she added, “a lush greenland of picturesque flowers trails to Tehidy Woods and Camborne.”
“Another mining parish?” he asked, his heated breath sending tendrils of delight coiling down her spine.
“Aye.” She lo
oked toward him, and the movement brushed her cheek against his chin. “My father has assets in several mines there.”
Wolf quieted for a strained moment, but she wasn’t sure why. “What kind of assets?”
“Mineral lords finance mining productions. ’Tis a profitable business, as large disbursement of funds make men rich.”
He angled his face toward hers. “Is your father one of these lords?”
“He is. Though, money will never be able to buy him what he wants.”
“And what exactly does he want?” Wolf asked.
“My father and the other men who fund the mining operations in the area profit from shipping copper ore from Portreath to South Wales for smelting. When the ships return, they bring back enough coal to operate engines in the mines. Theirs is a prosperous venture, but it cannot buy the respect of the ton.”
His brows furrowed, and his voice deepened as he asked, “Is that all he’s interested in?”
Unable to answer without showing Wolf how bitterly she viewed her father’s desires, Selina turned her attention back to the coast. No matter how much Papa viewed her as chattel to be auctioned off to the highest bidder, she eagerly awaited her first glimpse of Portreath as the Sea Wolf’s bowsprit rounded another headland. The Downs practically behind them now, they sailed past Ralph’s Cupboard where waves had carved the rocky coast, leaving jagged formations that enticed zealous smugglers to hoist contraband up the cliffs.
“There it is! Gull Rock,” she exclaimed, unable to hide her elation.
The familiar landmark signaled she’d made it home, that the horrors of captivity truly were behind her. Locked in the dank hulls of corsair ships, she’d dreamed of this moment every time she closed her eyes. And now Gull Rock rose out of the depths before them, a magnificent sentry guarding the entrance to Portreath’s harbor.
Her heartbeat quickened. She tightened her fingers around the shrouds as the Sea Wolf circumnavigated the monolithic boulder. Every inch of her gloried in this moment.
“The long harbor wall works as a navigational guide to ships sailing farther north, doesn’t it?” Wolf asked.
“Aye,” she said, contemplating the rightness of his observation. “It takes a skilled captain to maneuver the harbor in Basset’s Cove.”
She felt him stiffen. “The Sea Wolf has sailed into hazardous ports before.” Wolf’s boast wasn’t an exaggeration but a statement of fact. He touched Selina’s arm, drawing her attention away from the seaside wall that grew larger with every surge of the tide and wind.
“Hard astarboard!” Mr. Savage shouted.
“The order has been given to go into port,” Wolf said. “You’ll see. Cyrus can navigate any inlet.”
But had he maneuvered Portreath’s harbor before? “Many a ship have wrecked here . . .”
“Not the Sea Wolf.” Terror cut through her as Wolf stepped away.
“Where are you going?” she snapped. As she looked frantically about, she noticed that Crowle, Ike, Hawk, and other men had returned to shorten sail.
“We’ll be docking soon,” Wolf explained. “I’d better get you below.” He moved with lithe grace to the ratlines, guiding her along. The wind snatched at their garments as yards of canvas beat out a jarring rhythm.
Selina stopped him. “No.”
“No?” He looked back up at her, his gaze filled with concern. Her fears melted away.
“Now that I am here,” she said with a resigned sigh, “I might as well enjoy the view.” The shock of her near-death experience wearing off, she felt like a liberated seabird. No demands on her life. The only danger to her body and soul, a mistake of her own making. She was in control here. Not Papa or Lord Gariland. And the glory of her newfound courage grew more potent by the minute. “Stay with me?”
Chapter Eleven
Hours after the Sea Wolf navigated the narrow harbor inlet past the one-hundred-fifty-foot jetty and moored at the quay—sails reefed and sheeted home—Selina and Wolf ventured into town to acquire a pair of horses at the Waterfront Inn. The innkeeper, Sam Bolten, made no effort to hide his delight at Selina’s sudden reappearance.
“Mr. Herding will be pleased ye’re alive,” Sam said, his stare settling on the pistols shoved into Wolf’s trousers before escorting them to the stables. “Folks say they’ve never seen him more distraught. Beside himself, he’s been.”
They waited for Sam’s steward to saddle their horses as he continued to fill her in on the details of what had happened in her absence. “News spread as far north as Newquay and south to St. Ives. Ye and yer brother have been in the weeklies, Miss. The Royal Navy has been alerted, as well.” Sam massaged his neck in a circular motion, looking past her. “Is he with ye?”
Selina paled as Sam’s question stabbed the air. “Who?”
Sam’s face went grim. “Yer brother, Miss,” he said. A tremor coursed through her as the steward led a nice-sized mare out of the building. Selina grabbed the bridle and rubbed the animal’s nose, burrowing her face in the horse’s nuzzling head. “I had hoped—”
“I’m sorry, Miss. I didn’t mean to pry. It isn’t every day a woman is kidnapped before her weddin’. Can ye blame folk for bein’ interested?”
“No.” She glanced at Wolf. “Of course not.”
Wolf stoked a cigar with his mouth, puffing at his leisure. Smoke swirled about his head as he removed the end from his lips. “People should mind their own business.”
She glanced his way, catching the slight downward turn of his mouth as he plugged the figuerado between his lips again. The fact that he was needed in London while he played chaperone to her was never far from her thoughts.
“People will talk,” she told him. “That is the way of things.”
Times were hard, and stories like hers were bound to attract unwanted attention.
“If ye don’t mind me sayin’ so, Miss,” Sam said, “the way ye’re dressed doesn’t help.”
“What’s wrong with the way Miss Herding is dressed?” Wolf asked, stepping menacingly forward.
“Nothin’,” Sam said, backing away, “if ye’re a pirate. She isn’t, is all.”
Oh, Sam! Don’t provoke him.
Oblivious, Sam took the reins from his steward and presented Wolf with the horse he’d use for the duration of their journey.
Selina glanced down at herself, inspecting her attire and trying to determine what Sam saw. She preferred trousers and boots to the inconvenience of female fripperies and skirts. She would never have been able to climb the shrouds dressed as she normally did. Even though she had almost fallen, her mind thrilled and her pulse raced at the danger. The breeches she wore were well suited for travel, too. From the Waterfront Inn, she’d traverse five miles to Redruth and then Trethewey House, a journey more pleasurable astride rather than sidesaddle. Though she doubted Sam had a sidesaddle available for her use anyway. He didn’t normally cater to wealthy females.
“I traded my gown for a disguise, Sam.” She offered the information, knowing it would be passed on to eager ears.
“Ye sold yer own clothes?” Sam asked.
“Aye, she did.” Wolf growled and stomped toward Sam, who quickly shied away, eyes wide. “She did what she had to in order to escape slavers in Cadiz. It’s easier for a boy to survive on the streets.”
Fury and something else—heartache?—tainted Wolf’s explanation.
Sam’s mouth formed an o. “And how did ye end up on the Sea Wolf?”
“She met me . . . in a tavern.” The finality in Wolf’s answer signaled an end to the conversation as he deftly mounted the saddle. “I’ll return the horses to you when I come back for my ship.”
“I’ll be waitin’.” Sam nodded as they wheeled their mounts toward the village.
“Goodbye, Sam.” Selina kicked her heels into the mare’s side, putting the hullabaloo of her kidnapping aside for now. But it wouldn’t stay repressed forever. She’d have to acknowledge what she’d done to survive when she faced her father. Until then, she�
�d focus on leading Wolf along the five-mile trek to Trethewey House.
Bays of coal, limestone, and ore, and fish cellar sheds, boat yards, and lime kilns lined the harbor to their left where dockworkers hauled cargo aboard seabound ships. A horse-drawn tramroad was being constructed to deliver copper and tin to the harbor from the mines, its looming carriageway following an incline on the horizon ahead. Around them, villagers roamed the streets, casting curious glances at Wolf. How could she blame them? He was an impressive sight sitting tall in the saddle, his broad shoulders like crosstrees on a mast. He’d be a frightening figure to those who did not know the compassionate man he truly was.
Mothers shielded children as they passed to protect them from horses’ hooves as they clip-clopped on the cobblestone streets between thatched cottages and businesses that sold flax, hemp, iron, timber, salt, faggots, slate, and saddles along the main thoroughfare.
Bristling, Selina gripped the reins, trying to ignore the chafed rings around her wrists. The discolored, raw skin peeked out from beneath her sleeves, forcing her to remember the events that had led to her being freed. Wolf’s salve had helped heal the wounds but not completely. The scars that would be left behind would fade eventually, but the ones inside her would be a constant reminder of what she’d suffered. And for that reason, she was loath to re-experience those hardships when she relayed them to Papa.
Sunshine beat down on Selina and Wolf, perspiration beading on her forehead. The silence became almost tangible as the trail led inland. Their ambling horses blew air out their nostrils, nickering as a donkey cart passed them on the narrow lane with a tiny ocher-colored stream running beside it.
Wolf glanced at the water and grumbled something under his breath.
“The mine shafts stain the water,” Selina explained. “Just above the wood, there is an ancient fort,” she added, attempting idle conversation. “We should be able to see the spire of Illogan Church soon. It’s a whitewashed landmark for seafarers, but keep an eye out, mud can be a problem here, as well.”
The Mercenary Pirate (The Heart of a Hero Book 10) Page 13
