Footfalls echoed off the wooden planks of the quay as Joelle’s group raced down the docks, dodging fishermen and crates.
“Where the hell is Willie?” Valeryn spat.
“He’ll be here.” But Joelle was uncertain. Had the helmsman set sail in time to make the rendezvous? Were they able to dislodge from the soft sands at the mouth of the Black Cove River? She couldn’t afford chewing over such questions. They needed in the water. Now! Rissa or no Rissa.
“Here!” Shank waved at them from the end of the pier.
All five of them piled into a dinghy. Shank untied the rope from the cleat then threw it into the boat. Sam and Kipp grabbed the oars, slapping them into the water.
“Merci, my friend.” Sloan nodded.
“Yes. Thank you, Shank,” Joelle added.
“Until we meet again, mes amis.” Shank bowed low. “Good luck.”
Oars smacking into the water, Sam and Kipp rowed them out to the bay. Soldiers barreled down the quay. Shank could be heard hollering “They stole my boat, they did,” gesturing wildly with his long spindly arms. Soldiers fired upon them, bullets plunked into the water all around them.
“Christ! Where’s Willie?” Valeryn repeated.
“There!” Just around the bend of shoreline, Rissa, majestic in all her dark, glorious, menacing beauty, came into view. Joelle felt helpless to get them any faster to the ship.
Grunting, Sam and Kipp scudded the boat alongside Rissa. Joelle swept her hair to her nape and pulled it back with the ribbon she had kept tied on her wrist. She needed to see when she climbed up the ship.
A rope ladder flapped against the hull. Valeryn grabbed it and held on. His muscles bulged and twitched from steadying the little jollyboat whilst being dragged by Rissa.
“Go! Now!” He snapped his chin at Joelle for her to go first.
She stuck the front fold of her dress in her mouth and clamped down with her teeth, so not to get her shoes snagged into the hem. Bloody gown. Hand-over-hand up the scratchy rope she went. Pain seared her arm, the strain on her muscle tearing at her wound.
Kipp, Sloan, Sam, and finally Valeryn joined her on board. The dinghy bobbed, unmanned, in the swirling wake of Rissa.
“Cutting it close, don’t ya think?” Joelle called up to Willie at the helm.
“Keeping you in practice, Capt’n.” He smiled, turning the wheel. The Rissa veered away from land.
Valeryn climbed over the bulwark and without warning, grabbed Sloan by the shoulder, spun him around, and planted his fist into Sloan’s face. The force of the punch knocked Sloan back.
“Val!” Joelle screamed.
Sloan, wild-eyed—was he smiling?—swiped the blood from his lip. He charged Valeryn, grappling him. They slammed against the quarter deck wall with a crack. Steady, rigid swings made their marks time and again. Joelle shouted, demanding they cease immediately.
“’Bout time those boys go at it. Whaddya do ta finally bring this on?”
Joelle glanced down at the cook. Was this really her fault? “Tush, Henri.”
For every blow one made, Joelle was certain the other would be knocked clean out. But they kept pummeling each other. Grunts, whaps, cracks. Crewmen gathered, hooting encouragements, placing bets in favor of both men.
“Belay! Belay, damn it! You’re acting like children!” If her commands could be heard over the cheers, they fell on deaf ears.
She withdrew her pistol and fired it into the sky. The crew instinctively ducked. Sloan and Valeryn—both with fists poised midair—glared at her.
“Someone will reimburse me for the wasted bullet,” she ground out. “I’ll not have fighting on my ship. Down in my cabin. Now!” Oh, she loathed to have the two angry badgers in her chambers. Loathed to face either of them, lovers and foes both.
More for what she must face, and possibly admit, than for the possibility of another brawl.
Valeryn sneered and shoved Sloan away. “Aye, Capt’n.”
Sloan, smirking, nodded and followed Valeryn below deck.
“All right, lads,” Henri said, waving his cane around. “Git yer sorry arses back to work.”
Joelle closed her eyes and squeezed the bridge of her nose to squelch the dull pain in her head overtaking the one in her arm.
“I had my coins on that Ricker fella.” Kipp wore a silly grin. “That is, if I had any.”
She chuckled. “If you’ll excuse me, Kipp. I must see to this.” She waved her hand toward the hatch. “Afterwards, please join me and speak of the ill tidings befallen you.”
“Pleasure, Quint. I figure ya to be a while, though. Gives me a chance to catch up with old friends, eh, chaps?” Kipp, not a tall man himself, patted Henri’s shoulder and nodded to Sam and Willie.
“Very well, then.” Joelle turned a stern deadlight on Henri. “No toppling the tipple. There’ll be time for celebrating once we clear French waters.”
Despite the warm, humid breeze flowing through the open window, a chill blanketed Joelle’s cabin. Sloan, leaning back in a chair with his boots propped on the table, and Valeryn, perched on the edge of her desk, welcomed her with cold stares. She half expected to see her breath cloud in the brisk chill.
“Well, now.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Do you boys feel better?”
“I’d feel better if this lecherous bilge-licker kept his hands to himself.”
“What’s wrong, Valeryn?” Sloan goaded. “Afraid I’ll have my way with your woman?”
“I’m not his woman.” Joelle dropped her arms, ready to argue.
“Afraid I might cozy up to her and knock you off as her favored pet?”
Hey! She did not like where this was heading. With the muscles coiling in his neck and arms, neither did Val.
“Maybe I’ll even captain her boat. Maybe I already have.”
Valeryn came off the desk. Sloan quickly rose to meet him.
Joelle couldn’t remember a time she had moved so fast. She wedged herself between the two men.
“No,” she warned.
“Don’t worry yourself none, mate,” Sloan sneered through gritted teeth. “She’s all yours.”
“I belong to no one,” she screeched.
“If you ever lay a hand on her again, I will kill you.”
The curve at Sloan’s smile flickered, his eyes clouded with something sinister.
“No one will kill anyone,” Joelle declared. She must regain control of this battle. Must put her foot down, stamp out the anger, the confusion, the wild, too-feminine emotions that had rooted within her. “When this commission is over, when we’ve captured the mutineers and turned over the intelligence to Commodore Crowe, and you—” she raked an unwavering glare at Sloan, “—earn your freedom, you two can put each other six feet into the ground. Until then, you both will heed my commands. You both will pretend to get along. Or at the very least, keep your distance from one another. Otherwise, you upstarts can spend the rest of the journey locked away in the bilge. We clear?”
“Aye.” Their replies overlapped, neither looking at her but at their rival.
“Ricker, join the others.”
He raked her with a worldly frown from tip to toe and back up again, dipped his chin, and took his leave.
Unconcerned by Valeryn settling on the edge of the table, Joelle unbuttoned her skirt and shimmied out of it, glad to trade it for trousers in the comfort of her cabin.
“You seemed to have enjoyed it.” Acidity dripped from Valeryn’s accusation.
“Enjoyed what?” She played dumb, if only to stall what was to come.
“The kiss, Jo. Don’t feign otherwise.”
“It was just a performance, V,” she said, tucking her shirt into her trousers. “It had to be convincing.”
“It was. Almost as if it wasn’t the first time you two kissed.”
“Sounds as if you are questioning my morals.”
“We both know your morals change when it serves you.”
“As do yours, Valeryn.”
She chortled.
Valeryn shook his head. “You’ll never forgive me for that one night, for losing the commission to Drake, will you?”
“Oh, I forgive you, V. I do. I just won’t forget.”
“Nor will I.” Wounded, he turned in a circle only to whirl back and face her. “I can’t change what happened. I can’t take it back. I don’t want to because you had never fully given yourself to me as you did that night. That part of you is mine and I don’t want to give up. To anyone.”
His confession and her untoward feelings for Ricker would bring her to her knees yet. Emotions spun out of control, leaving her confused, directionless.
What could she do?
A distant boom rolled like thunder. Outside, Rissa rattled and jolted from a swell of water. Everything not bolted down clattered to the floor. Valeryn held tight to Joelle’s desk, keeping them from falling.
“What the devil!” He stomped out a little flame started by a taper that had jerked loose from the candelabra.
Joelle rushed to the windows. The last fringe of orange clung to the edge of the horizon. It was just enough light to see the silhouette of a ship. She cursed. “We’re being attacked.”
“Can you tell who?” Valeryn held out her piece.
“Nay.” She took her pistol and slipped it into her waistband, ready for the fight ahead. Almost merrily, she said, “But I can hazard a guess.”
Joelle grabbed the doorknob and paused. Stopping short had him so close, she had to look up.” No more fighting.” Joelle was battle-worn, weary of being put to the task. “Give me your word.”
“I cannot. I’m sorry, Jo. If I did, ’twould be a lie.”
“Damn it.” Ugh! Why did he have to be so bloody frustrating? “I don’t want to remove you from my crew, V. I need you.”
“Do what you must, Captain, but I won’t stand by whilst a slave steals you from me.”
Chapter Eight
Excitement skittered down Ricker’s spine. He hadn’t seen this much action since his days with Black Sam. He was a little more than surprised by how much he missed the constant danger.
Joelle burst onto the deck, a sinewy wildcat ready for battle. That woman posed as much a threat as the open gun ports of their enemy. He liked that, too. Nay, he craved it. The dangers she bestowed were absinthe—addictive, arcane and bitterly sweet. Especially when heated. Freedom or not, he would break her, make her his.
Another gun exploded and, again, the cannon ball fell short. Ricker held on to a rat line as the ship rocked. Sprays of water arched up and splattered the deck.
Valeryn slammed through the hatch with several men on his heels. The first mate shouted orders mimicking those Joelle called out, ensuring all understood their tasks. He skewered Ricker with a stony scowl.
“It’s Leviathan,” Joelle called over her shoulder as she climbed down to the quarterdeck. “He’s toying with us.”
Ricker fell in with Kipp, joining Valeryn and Joelle.
“Willie said he came out of nowhere. Just appeared like a phantom.” Joelle rolled her eyes. “More likely, the cur had been lying in wait on the other side of the cape.” She barked an order to the two closest gunners. Leaning against the railing, she scanned the enemy, cast a glance to the sails, down to the water, then back at the black ship on the dark sea. “Steady. Wait for my command.
“He should have already sunk us,” she muttered.
The question was why hadn’t he? Ricker got the notion this Leviathan was skilled and savvy. He wasn’t merely shooting his guns to gauge distance. Joelle was right. He was toying with them.
“If it’s games he wants, it’s games he’ll get. Fire!”
Pungent gunpowder clogged Ricker’s nose, the booms echoed in his ears. Gray smoke faded into the growing shadows. One shot flew over the Mariposa’s bow, the other just in front.
“Splendid.” Joelle smirked. “Bo’sun, aim the next two high into her sheets. Use the chain shot. Make smart with it!”
The gunners set about quickly and efficiently.
“Prepare all others to sweep her decks!” Joelle strode along the row of guns. “Remember, boys, we don’t want to sink her, we want to board her.”
Mariposa returned fire. A shot nicked the aft bulwark. Another whizzed across the middle, narrowly missing Ricker, Kipp, Valeryn and several others, only to plunk harmlessly in the waters beyond Rissa.
Blazes, that was close.
Valeryn turned, shoulder to shoulder with Ricker. Rissa bucked with her second round of fire, but neither flinched.
“You’re good with the sheets, I won’t deny it,” Valeryn said. “Be ready for what the captain commands.”
How about that. The prick paid him a compliment. Never mind he said it as if his toenails were being twisted off.
“Kipp,” Valeryn said. “Grab a musket. Let’s go practice our aim on a few bilge rats.”
Kipp plucked a weapon from the open arms chest. “Grand idea, Valeryn.”
The two men trotted off.
For a brief moment, Ricker locked eyes with Joelle. He wanted to call out to her. Tell her to back away from the railing, to be careful. Instead, he latched on to a rope and pulled to keep the sail taut. She was a big girl. She hadn’t gotten this far by being treated like a fragile flower.
But the fresh blood staining her arm bandage spurred him into unwanted concern.
“Fire!” she ordered. “Willie, portside!”
Ricker pulled his line to the advantage of her command. The other tars working the ropes took his lead.
Booms, echoes, screams and gunfire crowded the noise. Blasts came faster, causing more damage. Leviathan must have anticipated the move. Cannon balls tore through the sails. Ricker yanked and maneuvered his lines the best he could. Large rips in the canvas, ripping further with each tug, made it impossible to control the sheets.
Another volley from Mariposa sliced through the sails. A yardarm cracked and split. The ropes snapped taut leaving the pole to dangle at a crooked angle.
Shit! Their position turned vulnerable in the space of a heartbeat. They were losing sails fast. Without her sails, Rissa would be damn near impossible to maneuver. She’d be defenseless. The captain had better make a decision and soon.
With her eyes upon the ship’s masts she called out her directives. “Two points forward on the larboard beam!”
Was she insane? That would put them headlong with the enemy.
Willie’s brow pulled tight. He opened his mouth to speak.
“Now, Willie!”
Willie clamped his mouth shut and spun the wheel. Ricker hollered directions at the other riggers. His muscles burned, his back crimped, his grunts filled his chest as he cinched the lines and worked what little of the canvas he could.
Rissa leaned into the turn. Oddly, the Mariposa mimicked the move.
What madness! They sailed right for each other. Would Leviathan steer away first, or would Joelle?
’Twas clear whoever held out the longest would have the advantage, either by destroying or boarding.
Shit! This was not going to end well. Ricker braced himself, boots planted apart, rope wrapped around his wrist, and leaned back into the straining line. Closer, closer, they sailed. Impact, inevitable. Just a few more yards.
Ricker glanced up to Joelle, her grip tight to the quarterdeck railing, her jaw tighter. Eyes dead ahead.
“Captain!” No sooner had Valeryn shouted than a resonating explosion boomed. Shards and shivers of the Mariposa sprayed through the air.
Ricker blinked. “Holy—”
In the umbra of open water, a ship surfaced from the darkness. A naval ship.
Must be the Captain Watson he kept hearing about.
“Starboard! Starboard!” Joelle flew into peremptory commanding.
Willie cranked the wheel, Ricker adjusted his lines. The rope dug into his flesh, seared as it slipped through his palms. Rissa rolled to the right. A box of eig
ht pounders flipped, cannon balls rolled across the deck. One struck his ankle. He hissed at the pain radiating from his ankle bone.
The Expedition fired relentlessly, but only at the Mariposa.
Booms and pops rumbled continuously. Flashes of yellow and orange gunfire lit up the distance and water between the dueling vessels. Rissa slipped from the line of fire.
“Give us your orders, Captain,” Valeryn called to Joelle.
She tore her eyes away from the ensuing battle and looked down to her crew. ’twas an odd situation, to be sure. The captain needed to board the Mariposa in order to retrieve the missive, complete the mission and collect their handsome reward. She couldn’t let the Royal Navy capture or sink the rogue ship. Fighting two enemies without the benefit of Rissa’s sails wasn’t a favorable option either. Ricker wasn’t sure what he’d do if he were in her boots.
Wild trepidation flitted through her eyes. She’d made her decision, suicidal as it was.
“Bring her back, Willie,” she commanded. “We’re to circle them. Once we get level behind them, we aim at both ships and fire at will. We clear, gunners?”
Bold, brash and highly precarious. Ricker liked it. Joelle would keep her ship in the fight.
As Rissa leveled behind the ships, she sent two sets of volleys upon the enemies. Watson was slow to respond. Within minutes, the navy ship pulled away from the double assault before she became incapacitated. Mariposa had filled her sails, too.
“Pull her around, Willie,” Joelle screeched. “Leviathan is getting away!”
Indeed, with Mariposa facing the other direction and the winds in her favor, the rogue had a smashing lead.
Ricker struggled with the flaccid sails, but they slapped without filling. Sweat streamed down his face, his arms were on fire. Yet his efforts, the efforts of the crew were in vain. Rissa was alone in the sea, a bobbing toy boat in a wash basin.
Joelle stood at the rail, peering into the black nothingness. Though he could not see her face, by her rigid back, Ricker knew she was angry.
Valeryn fell in to stand beside her. Ricker couldn’t hear their exchange, but as she bowed her head, ’twas apparent her first mate convinced her this round was over. She’d lost.
Mutiny of the Heart Page 11
