Chapter Thirteen

Alice tied off the bandage around Gridge’s stump of a thigh.

‘You’ve a talent for this work,’ Smollet said over her shoulder

Intent on her work, she hadn’t heard the surgeon’s approach. She kept her hands steady and her gaze fixed on her task. Any sudden movement would cause the poor man agonising pain. ‘Thank you.’

‘When you are done there, join me for a cup of tea,’ Smollett said. He squeezed between the row of hammocks, peering at his patients over the top of his glasses.

Alice pulled the blanket up over the laudanum-infused Gridge. ‘He’ll need water when he wakes,’ she said to the man in the opposite hammock, who was lucky enough to have received only a broken collarbone when their gun broke loose. The sailor grinned, exposing a lack of front teeth. ‘Aye, aye, miss.’ He had the accent of a Yorkshireman. ‘Sight for sore eyes, you are.’

She grinned back and made her way to Smollet’s surgery, where she found him behind a china teapot and a set of mismatched cups and saucers laid out on the operating table. Tired from being on her feet since first light, she sank on to a stool.

‘Rare to find a woman with skills such as yours, Miss Fulton,’ the surgeon said, dropping lumps of sugar into the cups.

‘Because we are not given the chance.’

‘Hmmph. Where did you learn?’

‘When I travelled with my father to India as a child the only person doing anything interesting was the surgeon. Much to his annoyance, I followed him around. More recently I’ve helped where permitted at St Thomas’s Hospital.’ She sighed. ‘Bringing soup to patients. Rolling bandages. Raising money.’

He poured the tea and gave her a sharp look. ‘You know, it’s interesting, but the men behave better with a woman around. They rest easier too.’

‘Perhaps on those grounds women should be accepted into medical circles. The Ladies of Charity do wonderful work for the poor in Paris.’

He sucked in his cheeks. ‘Nuns. I don’t doubt they are capable, but the work is too hard for most women. Too bloody. Look at you. Already worn to the bone.’

Lack of sleep worrying about Michael’s rejection of her help, not the work for the doctor, had her exhausted. The cruelty of his words when he’d sent her away made her think he’d lost hope.

She touched the ribbon around her neck. If they weren’t married, why had he given her his ring?

‘I’ve been trying to see the captain since yesterday,’ she said. ‘He didn’t come to dinner with the other officers. Every time I ask, I’m told to wait. You wouldn’t know where I can find him?’

‘Busy man,’ Smollet said. ‘We can’t make sail until the ship they took yesterday is repaired. He’s overseeing the work. Won’t want to lose a valuable prize. Drink your tea. It will put colour in your cheeks.’

She sipped at the steaming brew and found it strong and sweet. ‘The marines won’t let me up on deck.’

‘Well, they won’t be stopping you this morning,’ he said. ‘They’ve other duties on their minds.’

She raised a brow.

He grimaced. ‘Punishment.’ He chuckled grimly. ‘Then it’ll be up to me to repair the damage.’

‘It’s cruel.’

‘It is the law. Take my advice, Miss Fulton, don’t go up there. It’s more than the strongest stomach can stand.’ He took a swig from his flask and began gathering up the tea things. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, duty calls.’ He glanced upwards. ‘I suggest you return to your cabin and rest. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

Dismissed, she could do nothing but leave.

Resting was not an option. She must see the captain. Pausing to get her bearings, she realised she was outside the marines’ wardroom. They would be able to direct her. She peeked inside.

Empty and as neat as a pin.

Three keys hung on the wall beside the door. One of them she recognized. The key to the prison below. Her heart stilled. She shouldn’t.

She glanced up and down the passageway.

A breath caught in her throat. Her stomach flipped. Every muscle in her body tightened. She snatched the key. Tucked it up her sleeve, cold against the inside of her wrist.

Breathing hard, she sauntered out of the door on legs as stiff as boards. Inside, her body shook, her heart pounded with the urge to run.

No challenge rang out, no cry of alarm. She kept walking and her heartbeat slowly subsided, but the key felt as big as a house brick against her skin. A large visible lump.

She glanced down. It was barely noticeable. And she wouldn’t dare use it. Would she?

She headed for the lower deck.

Pain bit into Michael’s ribs and bruised temple as Liversedge’s men slammed him, spread-eagled, against the grating on the Essex’s main deck. He bit back a curse of protest.

They’d come early, the bastards. Brought him up on deck for questioning, wanting him to give up other supposed deserters.

An excuse for the marine officer to lay on the cane.

A drummer gave a few practice riffles on his drum. Sweet saints! Michael had thought he was done with the Navy and its love of the lash.

Liversedge yanked his head back by his hair. Pain seared his chest. His eyes watered. He inhaled sour breath and stale cigar as Liversedge glared into his face.

‘One last chance, Lionhawk. Admit to piracy and spare yourself a flogging. You’ll hang, but it’ll be a quick death.’

For a heartbeat, Michael considered the offer. He stared into Liversedge’s cunning eyes and saw the blood-lust. Liversedge wouldn’t forgo his pleasure, whatever Michael told him. Navy law required seventy-two lashes and Liversedge would see it carried out. Now or later.

‘Go to hell,’ he said.

His cheekbone crashed back against the grating, and along with the dull pain, Michael tasted the copper of blood. Through his blurred vision, he glared at the stiff marine. ‘Die, you bastard.’

The tinny drumbeat beat out the call. All hands on deck.

The Gryphon’s men were slumped against the walls or stretched out on the floor, their faces sullen. Wishart came to the bars, carrying his chains, his fair beard-stubbled face looking grim. He leaned close with one eye on the guard who remained watchful at the door. ‘Michael doesn’t want you here.’

She eased the key from her sleeve and held it through the bars, careful to shield it from the guard’s view. She glanced down. ‘Leave tonight. It’s your only chance. The Gryphon will cast off tomorrow with a prize crew aboard. But tell Michael, whatever he does, he is not to hurt anyone when he leaves.’

The blond giant grabbed the key and shoved it in his pocket. ‘Michael won’t be going anywhere.’

She stared at him. A strange feeling clawed at her chest. ‘Why not?’

He grimaced. ‘They took him up on deck a few minutes ago.’ Wishart struck the bars with the flat of his hand, sending dull reverberations through the hold. ‘Seventy-two lashes for desertion.’

It was as if a rock had dropped from the sky and knocked the bottom out of her stomach. She couldn’t move. Bile rose in her throat. ‘He’s a deserter?’

‘No. But his word counts for naught against Kale’s accusations. The lousy rotten bastards pressed him as a boy and now they’ve got him again. There’ll be no escape.’

She grasped at a sick kind of hope. ‘He’s been through it before and survived.’

‘Aye. But Bones says the skin is too thin. If the pain doesn’t do him in, he’ll bleed to death. I’ve seen it before.’

‘There must be proof.’

Frustration etched lines in his face. His hands balled into fists. ‘At the Admiralty, but they’ll not wait. We should never have taken prisoners. Women on board ship are bad luck.’

The anger in his gaze landed so heavily on her shoulders she wanted to sink to the floor. ‘What can I do?’

‘Hear that?’ Wishart cocked his head. The faint steady beat of drums sounded above them. ‘They’re assembling the crew.’

Clamminess cooled her skin, dampened her palms. She clutched the bars, fearing she would fall if she didn’t hold on to something solid in a world shifting beneath her feet. Why hadn’t she forced her way in to the captain, instead of waiting for permission?

A scalding sensation behind her eyes and in the back of her throat thickened her voice. ‘I’ll speak to the captain.’

The drumming stopped.

‘You’re too late.’ Wishart said. ‘They’ve begun.’

Lifting her skirts, she fled for the deck.

The midday heat beat down on Michael’s shoulders. Sweat trickled down his back, soaking his shirt. Fulton would never know how close he’d come to paying for his crimes.

Michael wanted to hate Alice for diverting him from his purpose, but he only hated his own weakness, his cowardice, because something deep inside him felt glad Alice would never know.

A seaman slopped two buckets of salt water beside Michael’s bare feet—to bring him round when he passed out, so he wouldn’t miss a moment of excruciating agony.

The bo’sun sliced Michael’s shirt through with his knife, exposing his naked back. A mutter ran through the assembled men. Michael could smell their lust for blood on the breeze, and the stink of his own sweat and dirt.

‘You’ve been here before, mate,’ the bo’sun said.

Michael relaxed the muscles across his shoulders to minimise the pain and braced his legs. He forced himself to empty his mind, willing himself not to cry out, determined to deny Liversedge the satisfaction, to defeat the bastard with silence.

Liversedge counted out the drums’ first beat. ‘One.’

The blow stung like raking claws. Michael’s breath hissed between his clenched teeth. The bo’sun clearly knew his business.

‘You’re a pixie,’ Michael gritted out. ‘My old mother could do better.’ The angrier the bo’sun got, the harder his strokes would fall and the sooner Michael wouldn’t feel it at all.

The man grunted and drew his arm back. ‘You’ll be talking out of the other side of your mouth by the time I’ve finished with you, lad.’

‘Two.’

Searing pain. The knotted ends scored the sensitive flesh of his side. ‘A maid could lay it on harder,’ he taunted. ‘You must have lost your strength arse-licking the lieutenant.’

Trickles of warmth ran down his back. Blood. Too much blood for so few blows.

‘Well, what do we have here?’ a light female voice said from behind him. His gut tightened, the pain from his back screamed into his conscious mind as he fought the gut-wrenching horror. She’d come to witness his punishment. He tried to see behind him. All he could see were the nearest men, their mouths open in shock, their eyes avid. The thought of her standing there behind him, looking at the ruined flesh and the blood filled him with helpless fury. His fists opened and closed against ropes that bit into his wrists.

‘What the deuce?’ Liversedge muttered.

From the corner of his eye, Michael saw a red flush rising up the lieutentant’s neck.

‘I heard the drums,’ she said.

‘You have no business here, Miss Fulton,’ Liversedge choked out as if his collar was cutting off the air from his windpipe. If things hadn’t been quite so unpleasant, Michael would have laughed at the man’s discomfort.

‘This is a Navy matter,’ the lieutenant said. ‘Please be so good as to go below.’

Alice strolled into Michael’s line of sight. She looked pale and calm. Too calm for the feverish glitter in her eyes. ‘Why?’ Her gaze swept the deck. ‘Isn’t this a public event?’

Michael cursed. ‘Get her out of here, Liversedge. Aren’t you in charge?’

‘Silence!’ Liversedge roared. ‘Sergeant, escort the lady back to her cabin.’

Alice crossed her arms over her chest and tapped a foot. She looked so damned small beside the bulky officer, Michael feared for her safety. The man had no control on his temper, which was the reason why Michael’s cheek was laid open and he could only see out of one eye.

‘I am not under your orders, sir,’ she said. ‘I would like to know why this man is being punished. That is not too much to ask, is it?’

‘He’s a deserter,’ Liversedge said. ‘Articles of War require a minimum seventy-two lashes at the mast.’

‘How do you know?’

He looked blank. ‘It is in the book.’

‘I didn’t mean the rules,’ she said, as if speaking to a rather dull child. ‘I mean, how do you know he is guilty?’

A couple of men snickered. Liversedge glared. He tugged at his collar. Trickles of sweat ran from the hair at his temples down the side of his face. ‘I can assure you the proper inquiries have been made and the verdict rendered. I really must insist you leave.’

The captain’s word was law. There was nothing anyone could do, least of all a civilian and a woman to boot. Worst of all, she was defending a man who’d had every intention of ending her father’s life and ruining hers.

Damn it all. He’d sworn that if by some miracle he got out of this alive he’d pursue his justice to the bitter end. If she knew, she’d cast him into the sea.

‘Get the woman out of here,’ he ground out.

Eyes cold, she stared at him. ‘You, sir, are a thorn in my side.’

Perhaps he had it wrong. Perhaps she’d come to enjoy his punishment. Perhaps she really was her father’s daughter. His gut roiled at the thought.

Liversedge bared his teeth in a triumphant smile. ‘Seems like the lady doesn’t care for you any more than I do. Why don’t I take you below deck, Miss Fulton?’ The man tucked her hand under his arm.

At the sight of the lieutenant’s hand on her, rage consumed Michael, blinded him, shut out reason and logic with an urgent need to take the smirk off the other man’s face. ‘She liked me enough to bed me.’

She stiffened.

Liversedge’s eyes widened.

‘Wishful thinking,’ she scoffed with a brittle laugh. She turned to the lieutenant. ‘He’s nothing but a common sailor.’

The scornful curl to her lip felt like a sabre going right through Michael’s heart. But she was right to deny it. He should have kept silent.

‘I’m glad to see you are not one of those foolish women who fall for a rogue’s silver tongue, Miss Fulton. Now, my dear…’ he patted her hand ‘…we must continue on with this unfortunate business. I really must request that you leave.’

Liversedge preened as she smiled brightly up at him. Michael wanted to punch him in the face. Instead he slumped against the grating and closed his eyes. Go, Alice. And good riddance.

‘But, Lieutenant, I don’t quite understand,’ she was saying as they walked away. ‘Much as I dislike him and his common ways, he isn’t a deserter. I’ve seen his discharge papers. You can’t flog an innocent man, can you? Wouldn’t you get into some sort of trouble?’

Don’t do it, Alice, Michael wanted to shout. You will only regret it. The words burned in his throat, but he held them behind his teeth, clung to them with the same thread of hope he’d felt as a child that whoever had lost him would find him and take him away from the misery of his life. A futile hope.

Thanks to Alex Fulton.

‘What did you say?’ Liversedge’s voice carried across the deck, high-pitched and horrified.

‘You are making a mistake,’ she said. ‘If you wait until we reach port, you will have your proof. If you continue with this—’ her friendly tone hardened ‘—then the consequences might be dire. After all, he is a partner in Fulton’s Shipping.’

Good God. Was she actually going to carry this off? The faint hope in his chest grew too wide to contain. He opened his good eye. Liversedge’s complexion had drained of colour. He was staring at Alice with fear on his face. Damnation, the woman had nerves of steel.

A disturbance, feet shuffling, men mumbling sounded at his back. Liversedge heard it too and swung around. He snapped a salute. ‘Captain Halworth.’

Alice smiled at the newcomer whom Michael couldn’t see. ‘Captain. I’ve been trying to see you all morning.’

A white-haired, beetle-browed captain resplendent in gold braid hauled into view. ‘What is going on here, Lieutenant? Explain yourself.’ The captain’s tone was full of distaste. ‘Why is the punishment not proceeding as ordered?’ He frowned. ‘Why is this lady on deck? I ordered them kept to their cabin.’

Rigid with fury, Liversedge stared straight ahead. ‘Miss Fulton has brought new evidence to light, sir.’

Saving his own neck by hiding behind a woman’s skirts, the cur. This was better than a farce at the playhouse.

‘New evidence?’ the captain said. He strode up to Alice, his weather-beaten face full of concern. ‘What sort of evidence?’

‘He is not a deserter. My father would never have taken him on as a partner if he was. He saw proof of his discharge.’

The captain stroked his chin while he gazed at Liversedge. ‘It seems you acted with undue haste, Lieutenant.’

Michael’s breath stopped. His heart no longer seemed capable of beating. His throat closed. The sweat running down his face felt cold on his cheek, fear for Alice knotting his stomach. If Liversedge suspected her of complicity, he’d have her clapped in irons.

Liversedge’s complexion turned purple. ‘But, sir, you heard the evidence. How do we know Miss Fulton is speaking the truth?’

‘A common sailor’s word against this lady’s, sir?’ The captain’s voice had a gloating note. ‘I say the matter warrants further investigation. Cut the man down at once.’

Dear God. Michael went limp against his ropes. She’d actually done it.

‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Rigid, Liversedge gave the necessary orders to his men. Bracing against the pain, Michael straightened his shoulders and looked over at Alice. She met his gaze with a tiny raise of her brows

Brave-hearted woman. His wife. Courageous. God, what he’d give to be someone else. Despair grabbed him by the throat. He owed her his life, but the one thing he knew she’d ask in exchange, he could not give.

The unfairness of it scoured the vast empty place in his chest.

The Portsmouth jetty loomed out of the drizzle. The sailors at the oars of the Essex’s launch pulled hard against the wind-whipped waves.

‘You look as if you didn’t get a wink of sleep last night,’ Selina said from beneath her borrowed oilskin. ‘If I had known those dreadful pirates were loose, I wouldn’t have closed my eyes either.’

‘Privateers,’ Alice muttered. Selina was right. She’d lain awake all night, every nerve of her body alive with fear in case Michael and his crew were caught. Then she’d worried they hadn’t left until news of their daring escape reached the passengers at breakfast.

‘Look at poor old Liversedge,’ Richard said, thrusting his wet face between them from the bench behind and pointing to the quay.

Water dripping from his bare head, the grim-faced lieutenant was being marched off, chin high, in the middle of his marines. A prisoner. He’d been blamed for the midnight escape of the Gryphon and her crew. He’d been arrested first thing this morning and was being hauled off to answer for dereliction of duty. Beside him shambled a disconsolate-looking Kale. ‘It really wasn’t the lieutenant’s fault.’

‘Of course it was,’ Richard said. ‘He was in charge of the prisoners. I’m glad to see they have Kale, too. I heard that if it wasn’t for him, the Gryphon would have shown a clean pair of heels. He cut the mainsail rigging.’

So that was why Michael had been caught. Kale. While Liversedge was an unpleasant bully of a man, he’d been doing his duty. Kale had betrayed his captain. Well, she would use what little influence she had to make sure the lieutenant wasn’t too badly treated.

The sailors tossed their oars and the launch tied up to an iron ring beside the jetty steps. Richard and Anderson helped her and Selina up the steps covered in long strands of dripping brown seaweed and green slime.

Glad to have her feet on dry land, Alice fixed her face towards the shore. England. Home. She ought to feel glad, but her thoughts kept returning to Michael. An escaped prisoner, wanted by the navy, he’d never set foot on these shores. She’d likely never see him again.

Her throat felt tight, her chest felt tight, her stomach felt tight and if she didn’t keep it that way, she would start to cry. And she feared if she did, she might never stop.

Dash it all, she wasn’t even sure they were married. She touched the ring through the fabric of her cloak. She did not want to believe he had played her false.

If she had any sense at all, she’d be content with a safe arrival home. But being sensible and happiness seemed mutually exclusive.