The Pirate Takes A Bride (9 page)

“Do you think I’m going to allow them to sink us? They’re testing their range right now. We’re not in danger.”

“Yet!” she pointed out.

“And when they hit us, I want you safely below decks.”

“
When
?” She felt dizzy all of a sudden. The entire world spun and roiled up and down. Everything settled when his hand cupped her chin.

“Ashley, you have to trust me. Go below deck and stay there.” He nodded to a man with light brown hair. “Mr. Carey, take her back to the great cabin.”

“Yes, Captain.”

Ashley shook her head. “I can go alone. I don’t want to take your men away from their duties.”

Mr. Carey ignored her and took her arm gently. He was a man of middling years, perhaps forty but perhaps aged by the sun. He had light brown eyes and a ruddy complexion and a trim beard. He wore a blue vest and faded blue trousers, anchored at his waist by a brightly colored scarf. He had an earring in each ear and a sword at his side. “He can spare me for a minute, luv. I’m the carpenter. My real work begins when we sustain the first hit.”

Oh, how she wished they would all stop speaking of being hit by cannon balls. It was making her nauseous. Why didn’t anyone talk about running away? That’s what she would have done.

Except, of course, she’d never run away from a fight yet. The Brittanys did not run. They stood and fought. Of course, the Brittanys were not sailors, not like Josie’s family, the Hales. Perhaps this was one of those times it might be acceptable to run.

“You have nothing to fret about, luv,” Mr. Carey said as he handed her down the ladder and escorted her along the corridor to the great cabin. “The Captain has a plan in mind. It’s genius, if I do say so myself.”

Ashley paused outside the door to the cabin, which she’d forgotten to close in her haste to escape. “What is it?”

The carpenter looked about, as though he didn’t want to be overheard. “When the bastards are right on us, we drop sail, and they fly right past us.”

“Won’t they fire?”

“Oh, some chain and nails. They don’t want to sink us.”

“So there isn’t a chance of a fire.”

Mr. Carey shrugged. “In a battle, anything is possible.”

She was thinking of fire again. She’d seen paintings of Trafalgar. She remembered there being smoke and burning ships engaged in battle.

“But once we hit them, they’ll be hobbled. Then we cut and run. By the time they give chase, we’ll be in the middle of that squall.” He pointed toward the bow of the ship, and Ashley realized she hadn’t thought about the weather. There was a squall out there? And they were heading
into
it?

“They’ll never find us in all wind and rain.”

Ashley blinked. It seemed to her, they might have sailed fast earlier and avoided this entire confrontation. “Will it work?” she asked.

“If we have a bit o’ luck and the wind gage,” Mr. Carey said with a shrug.

Wind gage? That did not sound promising. She wanted to ask what would happen if they lost the wind gage, but she really didn’t want to know. Mr. Carey patted her arm like one of her uncles might have done. “You’ll be safe in here. If something doesn’t go as planned, one of us will come for you.”

He gestured to the cabin, and she stepped inside. When she turned back to him, he’d already closed the door. She was thankful he didn’t lock it. At least she wouldn’t be trapped in the cabin if all hell broke loose.

An hour later, Ashley was relatively certain all hell had broken loose. She was half deaf from the sounds of the guns and choking from the smoke that had seeped into the great cabin. She’d peered into the corridor and hadn’t spotted any fire, and so she closed the door again and went back to cowering beside the berth. She would have preferred to pace, but the seas were so rough she could barely keep her seat. Everything not nailed down in the cabin, which was precious little, had rolled across the floor several times now, including Ashley herself. And at the last shuddering blast, one which she was certain had cleaved the ship in two, she’d closed her eyes and prayed. God was probably surprised to hear from her, his lost hellion, but she had a feeling they might become reacquainted sooner than she would like and she wanted to be on good terms.

She coughed again and looked up to note more smoke in the cabin than before. Do not panic, she counseled herself. She could not panic. Heart racing and the urge to flee barely kept in check, she crawled to the cabin door and reached for the latch. Immediately, she yanked her hand back, wincing at the sting.

The knob was hot. Blisteringly hot.

Now seemed a good time to panic, but she bit the inside of her cheek hard to keep from dissolving into hysterics. Brittanys did not tolerate nor engage in hysterics. The maxim had always seemed reasonable before, but Ashley was not so certain she could live up to her name now. She reached for the hem of her dress, lifted it to the latch, and opened the door.

Fire, hot and deadly, licked at the walls and the ceiling in the corridor outside the great cabin. Despite the heat radiating from the flames, Ashley felt her skin turn cold. For a moment, she was completely paralyzed, and then she felt as though she were falling directly into the flames. The ship must have pitched, and she grabbed the door for support. She’d almost fallen into the flames. Again.

And with that last thought, all of her hard-fought resolve fled. She screamed at the top of her lungs then ran back to the berth, snatched Martingale’s expensive bed clothes from the bed, and turned to attack the flames. She was not going to be a victim again. She would defeat this fire or die trying.

She hit the flames three times then four, eventually dropping all the covers but one heavy blanket. Her arms would not support the weight. But with that blanket she smothered and covered and suffocated as many of the flames as she could. Her breath came in short, choked gasps, and the skin of her face felt raw and chapped from the heat, but she did not falter.

She did not even hear her name being called until Nick’s voice rose with what sounded like alarm.

Finally, she turned to see him rushing toward her. He’d shed his coat and was clad in a white linen shirt, open at the throat, tight black trousers, and black boots. He had a pistol in his belt and a sword in one hand. His dark hair, which gleamed blue-black in the sunlight, was dull with ash and hung about his face. But his bright blue eyes were steady and piercing. She paused just to stare at him. She could not help but do so. He was so beautiful and so dangerous in that moment. She wanted to fall into his arms and allow him to save her, allow him to make all of this go away.

But she was neither so weak nor so trusting. He was the one who had brought her here. She would be the one to extricate herself.

The heat seemed to strike at her again, and she turned her attention back to the flames, hitting at them weakly with the heavy blanket.

“Ashley!” Nick called again.

She hadn’t been certain he was not a mirage, but he gripped her arm now and yanked her to him. She pushed him back and away, satisfaction ripping through her when she saw him stumble back, off balance. “I must…put out…this fire,” she told him. Nothing would stop her from dousing the flames now.

He found his legs again and reached for her. “Ashley, let me help you. Your gown is on fire.”

N
ick watched as she went absolutely rigid, her chin lowering with exaggerated slowness to glimpse her gown. It was indeed smoking—not on fire as he’d said—but it could quickly catch fire. It was undoubtedly muslin and prone to burn easily.

She screamed, and did exactly what he’d hoped she would not do: began to dance about and slap at the smoking clothing. Without speaking another word, he grabbed her by the arms, shoved her against the wall not in flames, and used the blanket she’d dropped to smother the smoldering fabric. Then, just to be certain, he ripped that section of muslin from her ruined gown so her petticoats were showing.

He looked up at her, and she blinked down at him as though completely confused. Her pupils were black and she shook as though cold. Shock, he thought. She was terrified. A panicked woman was the last thing he wanted to deal with at the moment. His plan—genius, if he did say so himself—had worked. He’d actually surprised himself because the less foolhardy part of himself had been reasonably certain he would fail miserably and be responsible for the death or imprisonment of all aboard.

But it appeared he would live to regret another day, and the ship was now being battered about in the squall. The
Robin Hood
hadn’t lost the ship-of-the-line yet. Nick thought The
Formidable
had sustained damage to the rudder, but once McCoun repaired the rudder, the ship would be on him like fleas on a mongrel. Silently, he prayed for another half hour. With Daniels at the helm and the rain and wind limiting visibility, the two ships would soon be all but invisible to each other.

Nick had plenty to concern him, but he’d been passing on his way to the orlop deck and heard what sounded like her scream. It had been impossible for him not to go to her. Before he knew what he was about, he was sweeping her into his arms and cradling her against his chest. “I have you,” he murmured into her wheat-blond hair that smelled much more of smoke now than the ripe fruit he always associated with it.

He kicked his cabin door open and carried her inside, surprised she gave him no resistance. She burrowed her face into his chest, and he could feel the wetness of her tears soaking through the linen. Now he was truly alarmed. In all the time he’d known Ashley Brittany, he had never once seen her lip so much as tremble. She was the strongest woman he knew, perhaps the strongest person he knew. She did not cry, but here she was, weeping silently into his shirt.

He set her on the berth, intending to release her and rise, but his hands caught under her back, and he ended up bent over her. She refused to release his shirt, and he found himself in something of an awkward position. Finally, he regained his balance—no easy feat in the rough seas—and sat. She went with him, refusing to release him. Thankfully, no one was present to point out that he hadn’t yet released her.

He wasn’t sure what he should say or do. He didn’t have younger siblings. He and Jack had always planted a facer if they had a disagreement. Jack had cried once, but it had only been a ploy to make Nick pause long enough for Jack to punch him in the breadbasket. But with Ashley this was no ploy. “Shhh,” Nick said, patting her shoulder gingerly. Was this what he should do? Where the devil was Fellowes?

“I’m mortified,” she said. It took a moment for him to decipher the words, muffled as they were.

“You’re frightened,” Nick said. “It’s understandable.”

She pulled back, her beautiful, exotic eyes red-rimmed and furious. “
You
aren’t crying.”

He wasn’t certain what remark to make in response to that observation. “Ahh…”

“Don’t try and placate me. I should not be crying.”

He raised a brow. “Then why are you?”

She opened her mouth as though to respond and closed it again. “I’m fine now. You can go.”

He didn’t point out that her hands were still clutching his shirt, and he wasn’t about to ask what had scared her so much she’d been reduced to tears. He did value his life. Instead, he said, “The battle is over. If the storm holds and we have a little luck, we’ve lost the
Formidable
. Now we just make it through the rain and wind.”

She blinked at him. “The ship isn’t on fire.” She sounded as though she could not quite believe such a thing.

He shrugged. “Small fires here and there. They are under control.”

She shuddered, and he sought to reassure her. “We’re not going to sink. As soon as the storm passes, we make necessary repairs and then sail hard for Isla de las Riquezas.”

She blinked again, seeming to regain focus. “And we will be safe there?”

Nick didn’t answer. He tried to rise again. He needed to pace, to move and work out what he should say to her, but she was still gripping his shirt. And he did not think it was by accident now.

“Lord Nicholas?” she asked, sounding impatient for his response.

He met her gaze. “Is anywhere safe?”

“Yes!” she answered, finally releasing him and propping herself up. “My bed at home, a country fair, a London ballroom—”

He stood and paced away from her. He could breathe again now that there was some distance between them. He could think about something other than pushing her down on the berth and kissing her until he forgot all about the British navy or Isla de las Riquezas or anything but her soft skin and tempting scent. “Is that where you want to be right now?” he asked in challenge? “A ballroom? If that’s what you want, then I’ve sorely misjudged you.”

She shot to her feet, only to sway and stumble before she caught her balance. “What is that supposed to mean? If anyone misjudged, it was me judging you to be anything other than a rake.”

“I deserved that,” he said, feeling her words like the slap of wet canvas in the wind. “But the Ashley Brittany I knew wanted adventure. She wanted to live
life
, not flutter her lashes in a ballroom and sip orgeat all evening.” He ceased pacing and rounded on her. “Perhaps we had more conversation that I thought.”