Nick scanned the horizon behind them. No sign of the Polly Ann. “If he hasn’t already put in somewhere. Chang hit at least one below her water line. She was riding low last I got a good look.” So was the Wind Dancer.
Jonesy stayed at the tiller while Nick jumped down to the deck to inspect the damage to his ship. He wanted to check Harriet, see how she fared after her first sea battle. After his first, his hands had been shaking so badly he’d nearly chipped a front tooth bringing a bottle of rum to his mouth for a bracing drink.
There she was, hauling on the line to set the bow sprits’l. Her contralto voice joined with the men’s baritone and tenor in their work song, her face split in a big grin.
Well. Maybe she wouldn’t want a sip of rum to calm her nerves after all.
Jonesy had things under control on deck, so Nick went below. Big Jim and Luigi were working the bilge pump. Dieter and Bos’n had hammered boards into place over the hole and were stuffing rags around the cracks to further slow the leak. Nick gave them a curt nod, then continued to Norton’s cabin. Winston lay stretched out on the table, his long, beaded braids dangling over the edge, a swath of bandages wrapped around his head completely obscuring the upper left third of his face.
“He’ll live,” Norton said, tossing a handful of bloody cloths into a basin. “Too soon to know about his eye, though.”
Nick walked around the table to Winston’s right side, not surprised to see the crewman was still conscious. “You’re a good man, Winston. Strong.” He rested his hand on the sailor’s shoulder. “And you’ve got the best surgeon in the Navy tending to you.”
Norton sputtered in protest—his distaste for the Navy was as strong as Nick’s—and Nick winked at him. Norton harrumphed and resumed cleaning up the surgery.
Winston lifted a hand, and Nick grabbed it. “Da miss, Cap’n.” He swallowed hard, pushing down the pain. “Da Maiden o’ Sea.”
Nick squeezed Winston’s hand. “She’s fine. Miss Chase is helping with the sails and learning Tucker’s least bawdy chants.”
“Helped me. She’s a good one, mon.”
“Yes, she is,” Nick replied, surprised by the sudden welling of an unfamiliar emotion in his chest. He didn’t want to examine it. He rested Winston’s hand on his belly and tugged the blanket higher on him. “Rest now. We’re putting in for repairs and we’ll need all hands tomorrow.”
Winston nodded once, and his eye slid closed.
Norton looked at him closely, saw Winston’s chest rising and falling steadily. “I’ll be up top soon, see if anyone else needs tending.”
Nick grunted in reply and went to tend his injured ship.
A couple of hours later they were tacking into the little bay Nick had picked out, one they’d used as a respite at least once before. There were fish in the bay, wild boar up the hill in the forest, fresh clean water from a waterfall, and timber aplenty. The sandy beach was ideal for carrying out repair work.
At nearly low tide when they arrived, Nick beached the Wind Dancer. High tide would float her out, and beaching her made it easier to work on patching the hole in her hull.
Luigi and Big Jim started hauling cookware and other galley items to the beach and building a fire, while Chang went up the hillside, hunting. Bos’n and Dieter were already sorting through the lumber in the hold for new yardarms and patch material for the hull, while Smitty and Jack took a turn working the pumps. Jonesy had the lads bringing down the splintered yards and the rest of the torn canvas. Tucker was inspecting and clucking over the damaged fabric. So many holes, Nick doubted any of it was salvageable.
Miss Chase was in the thick of it, hauling on a line beside Flynn. Her arms trembled as she reached up again. Nick drew her aside. It was the first chance he’d had to speak with her since they’d left the harbor at Corunna, and he couldn’t wait a moment longer.
She was a mess. Frizzy hair had escaped her braid and clouded around her face, soot marred one cheek and the tip of her nose, sweat dripped down her temples, and … and was that blood?
“Yes, Captain?” She looked at him expectantly.
“You’re hurt,” was all he could manage, his heart lodged in his throat. He fished a kerchief from his coat pocket and swiped at the drops of blood on her temple. He showed her the stained cloth.
“Oh.” She took a few breaths. “I’m not even sure that’s mine. I was near Winston when he, uh, was injured.” She pointed at the bloody smears on her sleeve, vaguely finger-shaped, and gulped. “This is his blood. I haven’t been below deck. Is he, uh, did he…?”
“He’s asleep in Norton’s surgery.” Miss Chase had been shaking when Nick first took her arm, and somehow it must be contagious because now he detected a tremble in his own hand as he plucked a toothpick-sized splinter from just below her ear. A drop of blood welled at the spot. Nick pressed his kerchief to it with one hand and showed her the bloody splinter with his other. “You are hurt.”
She reached her hand to touch her neck in surprise, connecting with his hand instead. She didn’t immediately drop it. Nick dropped the kerchief and turned his hand so he could clasp her fingers, and drew her hand to his mouth for a courtly kiss to her knuckles. She smelled of gunpowder and hemp.
Her lips formed a silent “Oh.”
Nick was trembling, and the only cure was to touch his mouth to hers in a kiss. Gentle, soft, barely more than a brush of lips and sharing breath. Still holding her left hand with his right, he reached with his left to caress her cheek, slide down to her neck, swipe his thumb over her pulse point. He returned to that spot over and over to feel the reassuring beat of her heart. Her fingers, so small and delicate, curled tight around his.
Dimly he registered that she flattened her free hand against his chest.
He’d overstepped the bounds. He was about to move back, relinquish her lips, when she fisted his shirt and tugged him closer.
What could a man do, but comply?
