helm.”
A rallying cheer went up. The ship vibrated as the port lids slammed open. Shirts cast off, backs glistening with sweat, the crews manned their guns, ramming home wadding and charges. Bellowing “Heave!” they hauled on the side-tackles, the guns rumbling home into their ports.
The Nightingale was the first to fire: a shot across the Morganse’sforefoot.
“Manners, if you please, Mr. MacQuarrie! Pray send that sodding bastard a reply to his invitation.”
The Master of the Guns glared down the long barrel of the gun nearest the bow, intent on the swell. “Fire!”
The gun barked, MacQuarrie arching his body away from the recoil. A tongue of flame licked out from a cloud of smoke and a ball shot out, hurtling across theNightingale’s bow. The deck was still vibrating under Cate’s feet from it when Nathan pulled her around to him.
“You need to get to the hold,” he said. “They will seek to rake us by the stern, so go as far to the forepeak as you can. And for God’s sake, keep your head down. Mr. Pryce, a pistol, if you please.”
The requested weapon was delivered. Nathan took it and matter-of-factly set to checking the load and priming. When finished, he touched a finger to her chin, his gaze fixing hers.
“Listen to me, luv. Take this. Save it for yourself. If we’re boarded, use it. Even in breeches, with those curves you’d never pass for a man. Do not allow yourself to be taken. Sabe?”
Her gut knotted at what that meant. She looked to the ships looming closer. Was the enemy of the pirates automatically her salvation, or was the Nightingale a menace to all in her path? Where did the Devil lie? Either ship could be her salvation, rescuing her from a fate worse than death—until her identity was discovered. Imprisonment and the executioner’s block waited after that.
There were no answers, only instincts. She looked into Nathan’s steady gaze, solemn and intent. Was he to be her captor or protector? Savior or curse?
“Very well,” she said and took the weapon.
“What?” he mused at her surprise. “Shocked to be armed? ’Tis one against over a hundred. We’d have to be a bunch of cod-handed, Dutch-built dolts if we were to be shot by a lone woman. And to what point or purpose would it serve?”
He paused to regard her anew. “But then, perhaps I presume too much. If you prefer to be with them, then say the word and allow us to save the powder. You’ll be adrift within half a glass and aboard that fair ship before the sun is below the gun’l.”
Her silence was his answer.
“No worries.” Grinning at her dismay, he winked. “’Tis old hat. I’ve suffered far better and survived far worse. Now, do not come out, no matter what you hear.”
He leaned to kiss her lightly on the top of the head. “I swear I’ll fight for you. Now go.”
She was too numb to be startled by his gesture or words. She felt herself being urged toward the steps. By the time the shock had worn off, he was gone, deep among his men. She woodenly made her way to the forward companionway through the throngs of scrambling men. She saw their mouths move, but their voices were muted, as if heard under water. At the top of the steps, she stopped to look back at Nathan, shouting orders from the quarterdeck break.
Damn him! He was enjoying this.
He caught sight of her and smiled.
With a smile like that, how could she not have faith?
Winking, he waved her on.
“Lively, now. Bear a hand, there. Puddening chains, if you please, Mr. Hodder” was the last she heard of him as she went below.
The scene ’tween deck was chaos, but an organized one. Muskets and cutlasses were dispersed, while strips of cloth were secured around heads, arms, or waists, to differentiate themselves from the enemy. Tubs of slow-match and baskets of cartridges were brought up from the hold, while wet sand was spread against slippage in the inevitable blood. Over the din could be heard the rap of the carpenter and his mates’ hammers, for “clear the decks” meant not only stowing every object which might pose a hazard, but knocking down the cabin walls.
She took Nathan’s instructions to mean she was to go to the lowest point possible, and so she continued downward. She hung onto the manrope to keep from being bowled over by the hands racing up and down with laden arms. At the bottom of the