Authors: Melissa McShane
“You have the power of life and death over them, as their captain. That seems fairly frightening to me.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Surely you’re not frightened of me, Miss Pembroke.”
Elinor thought of her father, his cold-iron eyes, his rough grip bruising her knee. “Of course not,” she said, as lightly as she could manage. “I simply understand what it is to be afraid. Though I think those men who fear you must never have served under a real tyrant.”
“What is it you fear?” Ramsay’s expression was curious, as if he’d unearthed an ancient object he could not identify.
“Nothing, now that I have the power to defend myself,” Elinor lied. “And you?”
Ramsay’s eyes went distant. “Things I have no power to prevent,” he said. “Losing this command. Being stuck in England on half-pay waiting for another ship. I dislike being subject to the whim of the Admiralty, so I do whatever I can to prove I’m worth keeping. Much as you said.”
“So your desire for taking prizes, that is not—”
“Not what?”
Elinor blushed. “I was about to say ‘mercenary,’ but I know you are not that.”
“Do you? I admit I am as fond of money as the next man, but no. And I don’t crave fame; it’s only the outward appearance of what I do want, which is security.”
“The First Lord said you held the record for most prizes taken.”
“That was an exaggeration. It’s not as if anyone keeps score.”
“From what little I’ve seen of the Royal Navy, I think that is untrue.”
Ramsay laughed. “Miss Pembroke, you’re positively dogged in your pursuit of truth. Do you have no scruples about leaving a man his privacy?”
“You choose to answer my questions, so I cannot imagine you are terribly worried about your privacy either.”
“Very well, I insist you answer some questions as well. One question.”
“You fill me with dread, Captain.”
“Why did you come to the Admiralty that day?”
It was not a question she was expecting, and a clever rejoinder caught in her throat and choked her. “I—”
“It can’t be that complicated a question.”
She looked down at her hands, then back at Ramsay, whose smile belied the serious look in his eyes. “My—I was faced with the necessity of choosing between two lives, neither of which appealed to me. And I had no outlet for my talent in my own world.”
“They must have been far more than unappealing, for you to take such a desperate step. Didn’t it worry you that you might never be able to go back?”
“What had I to go back to?” She wished she could take the words back even as they escaped her tongue. This was a far, far more intimate conversation than she had ever dreamed of having with anyone. “Forced marriage, or a lifetime of being someone’s poor relation? If that is what my good reputation earns me, I cannot think much of it.”
“You can’t be forced to marry against your will. That’s the law.”
She laughed a short, bitter laugh. “It is remarkable in how many ways one can be forced to a decision without having a knife to one’s throat.”
Ramsay nodded. “And so you chose the Navy.”
“Even so.”
“Well, I’m glad you did.” Surprised, Elinor looked up to see him smiling at her from where he leaned back in his chair. “Quite aside from the thrill of seeing an enemy ship go up in flames, I appreciate your company.”
“Enough that you risk tainting my reputation by being alone with me?”
He laughed. “I wondered if you’d notice that. I realized I missed your conversation, and, as you pointed out, we
are
two honorable people, and I thought—to the devil with Livingston and his low mind. And I
did
leave the door open a bit.”
Elinor laughed with him, feeling an unsuspected weight lift from her heart. “Such power an open door can have. I am humbled before it.”
“If Livingston becomes a problem again,” Ramsay said in a lower voice, “you could always burn most of the way through his hammock ropes and listen for the thump.”
“Oh, Captain, how dare you fill my mind with such a nasty trick! I must try it immediately.” She had smiled at the image of Livingston sprawled awkwardly on the deck, and Ramsay had laughed at her calculating expression.
Now she left the great cabin and came up to the quarterdeck to enjoy the fresh, salty air. Ramsay had been right, all those weeks ago: there was not a single unattractive vista in the Caribbean. Elinor stood at the taffrail, her parasol shielding her face—Ramsay was correct; the bonnet was not enough protection from the tropical rays—and watched another perfectly green coast slip past, the turquoise waters surrounding it turning to robin’s-egg blue where they met the cloudless sky.
They were far enough from the island that its trees and bushes and grasses were a single emerald blur, but they looked so…lush was the best word to describe it, a word that sounded almost vulgar, but there was nothing proper or restrained about the verdant growth. It made her long to kilt up her gown and go wading along the line where the surf struck the golden shore.
She had finally decided not to care what people thought and donned a short-sleeved morning gown that seemed to draw the breezes even as it allowed her arms to be warmed by the sun. Bolton had warned her to keep to the shade as much as possible, that the sun’s rays were powerful in these latitudes and sunburn was painful, but so far Elinor’s arms remained pale and unmarked.
“Don’t it make you wish someone would write about it so everyone back home could know what it’s like?” Hervey said, coming to stand beside her. “Makes all those Gothic horrors seem like a dream.”
“Or possibly a nightmare. Besides, I believe the point of reading something like
The Castle of Otranto
is to make one grateful one’s own life is not nearly so dramatic. A novel set in the Bahamas would necessarily have the opposite effect, and I wonder at how popular it might be.”
“
I’d
read it. O’ course, we’re living it now.”
“True. I wish we could walk along that shore. The sand looks so fine and white.”
“It’d only get in your shoes and your hair.”
“Mr. Hervey, I thought you were a romantic.”
“Not about sand.”
“Mr. Hervey, if it’s not too much trouble, would you mind returning to your duties?” Livingston drawled. Hervey touched his hat to the lieutenant and then walked away without another word. “I think you should not distract the men, Miss Pembroke, if indeed you can help yourself.”
“You mean, as you are distracted right now, Mr. Livingston? Unless your duties include rebuking me for innocently standing here and observing the beauties of nature.” She wasn’t certain what insult his remark had been meant to convey, but it nettled her, and she remembered Ramsay’s comment about hammocks and fire and began to think seriously about it.
“You ought not to be on the quarterdeck when we are not in combat, Miss Pembroke.”
“I believe that’s the captain’s decision, not yours.”
“Yes, and the captain’s judgment couldn’t possibly be compromised where you are concerned.”
Elinor snapped her parasol shut and rounded on him. “Mr. Livingston, are you perhaps under the impression that I am a defenseless target of your spite? We both serve the Royal Navy in our separate ways, though I begin to wonder exactly what your purpose on this ship is, when you do not have me to vent your impatience on. I can hardly help having a talent, and I do not understand your jealousy of it.”
Livingston drew in an outraged breath. “I, jealous? You mistake me.”
“Then I apologize for my mistake. But I am not mistaken that you and I cannot have anything more to say to one another. Good day, Mr. Livingston.”
Livingston stepped closer and snarled, in a low breath, “Say what you like, I know what you truly are,
bitch
.”
Elinor brought her hand up and around and slapped him so hard it made her palm burn. Livingston screamed. She was about to shout something awful at him when she looked at her hand and joined her scream to his, because her hand was on fire, burning white-gold across the lines of her palm and over the backs of her fingers like a flickering glove. A faint charred handprint marked Livingston’s left cheek, and his hands groped at it as he wept.
Elinor felt no pain, nothing except the surge of pleasure she always felt when wielding fire, a pleasure mixed with terror that she could not turn the fire off. She shook her hand as if trying to rid herself of something unpleasantly sticky, threw her parasol away and slapped at the fire with her free hand, but the fire only transferred itself so that both her hands were burning. Another scream formed in the back of her throat.
“Relax,” Ramsay said from behind her, “and do whatever it is you do when you extinguish fire.” He had his hands on her shoulders, steadying her, and she closed her eyes and tried to stop shaking.
It’s like any other fire, you just tell it to go out
, she told herself, and when she opened her eyes the fire was gone, and Livingston was kneeling on the deck clutching his face.
“Forgive me,” she began.
Livingston looked up at her and shouted, “You dare—”
“Be silent, Mr. Livingston,” Ramsay said, stepping away from Elinor and cutting across Livingston’s words with that voice that could carry from one end of
Athena
to the other. “I’ve no doubt whatever Miss Pembroke did to you, however unexpected, was thoroughly deserved. Mr. Hays can Heal that mark. See him immediately.”
Livingston leaped to his feet and took two steps toward the captain, who stood his ground in the face of Livingston’s rage. “You and—”
“Mr. Livingston, I make allowances for how overwhelmed you must be right now,” Ramsay said, more quietly but with no less force. “Say nothing I will be forced to take notice of. Now, get below.”
Livingston clenched his fist. Ramsay shifted his weight as if preparing to take a blow. They stood like that, eye to eye, for several seconds until Livingston swore and turned away, storming down the ladder in a way that boded ill for anyone coming up it. Ramsay watched him go, not relaxing his stance until Livingston’s head had completely disappeared down the companionway. Then he turned to face Elinor. “Can you explain what just happened?”
To her chagrin, Elinor found she was blinking away tears. She cleared her throat and said, “We were arguing—Mr. Livingston insulted me terribly—I should not have struck him, but then I was…” She held up her hand, which looked like a normal hand that had never considered setting itself on fire.
“You should have—”
“
Ships, Captain!
”
Ramsay’s head whipped around to look up at the boy clinging to the masthead, and then he was in the air, his hand clapped to his hat, hovering next to the lookout. He brought his spyglass to his eye. “Five…six ships!” he shouted down. “South southeast.” He Flew back to alight on the deck. “Raise the Spanish colors. Let’s see if they’re the ones we’ve been looking for,” he shouted. “Topmen aloft, and wait for orders! Mr. Wynn, keep us on a steady course. We have the wind, and if they turn and run we still have the advantage. We’re a lone Spanish ship, unsupported and easy prey. No one out here to see the pirates breaking their agreement.”
“Captain, six is too many. We have to run,” said Beaumont.
“I’m not going to make that decision until we can get a clearer look at them. If four of those ships are Bermuda sloops, we’ve nothing to worry about.
Athena
outguns any sloop they have, and we can outrun any larger ship that might give us problems. Stop worrying, Mr. Beaumont.” Ramsay was smiling, but Elinor could see his eyes, and they did not look so assured as his words suggested.
“Captain,” she said in a low voice only he and Beaumont could hear, “if this is too much for us to handle, surely no one would fault us for refusing to engage with them.”
“Two things I have faith in, Miss Pembroke,” Ramsay said, his eyes still fixed on the horizon. “One is this ship and her crew. The other is you. Don’t give me reason to doubt that.”
Elinor’s cheeks heated up until her head felt as though it might burst into flame, an image that worried her now that it seemed possible it could happen. “Captain, that is a heavy burden to bear. I’m still barely tested—”
“Miss Pembroke, go and stand at the bow and wait for my command,” Ramsay said. “Remember what we discussed. The sloops first. Then come back to the quarterdeck and wait for new orders.”
“I—” Elinor looked at Beaumont, whose face was unreadable, then back at Ramsay. “Yes, sir,” she said, and moved forward across the deck in a daze, forcing sailors to step out of her way until she reached the bow. She stood as close to the bowsprit as she could, looking out at the distant white daubs of sail on the horizon. He had faith in her. She hardly thought she deserved it, but he had made it impossible for her to refuse him.
She gripped the rail hard and watched the sails, unblinking, until her eyes were dry and painful. The usual noises of sails snapping, planks and rope creaking, men calling out to one another all seemed so much louder than usual. She reminded herself the pirates were far too distant to hear any such thing.
She glanced at Ramsay, who once again had his glass raised to his eye, and sniffed. Something was burning nearby. She looked down and shrieked because her hands were once again aflame and were burning black handprints into the rail. Bolton would be annoyed she’d damaged his ship. She snatched her hands away and willed the fire to go out. Why,
why
was this happening, and why now, when she could not afford to explore the mystery?
Minutes passed, half an hour, an hour. The sails had resolved into ships: still tiny, but even Elinor could see them distinctly. She shifted her weight. She desperately needed the head. She fidgeted a moment longer, then dashed for the companionway, hoping to avoid Ramsay’s eye. Relieved, she quickly returned to her post. The ships weren’t any closer. How far could she reach? Not that far, she decided after some inner contemplation. And Ramsay had said to wait for his command.
She turned and leaned against the comforting bulk of the rail and watched the men at the wheel. Beaumont stood with his head thrown back in a stance that indicated he was Speaking with someone. Ramsay paced along the quarterdeck, occasionally consulting with Brown, speaking to the helmsman, or looking through the glass. Waiting was causing her stomach to curdle, though it had nothing to curdle because noon had come and gone with no meal. She was too anxious to eat.