Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(48)

At the frantic tremor in her voice, he snapped into seriousness. She yanked on his arm, but he did not move. “What is it?” he repeated, his eyes searching hers.

“It’s Davy. And Quinn … he’s going to flog them.”

“Who?”

“Mr. Brackett.”

With a muttered curse, he shook off her grip and charged past her, making his way through the ladies’ cabin and taking the ladder three rungs at a time. Sophia hurried behind him.

“What the devil is going on here?” Mr. Grayson demanded. The scene looked much as Sophia had left it. Was it possible only a minute had passed? Brackett still held Quinn under his boot, at the point of the marlinespike. Around him, the crewmen stood in a half-circle, sweat streaming from their brows under the midday sun. At the sight of Mr. Grayson, they visibly relaxed. The only one missing was Davy.

“Ah, Mr. Grayson. Good afternoon.” Mr. Brackett greeted him calmly, his eyes hard as stone.

“Where’s the boy?”

“I’ve sent him to fetch the lash. This one”—he shifted his weight to Quinn’s neck—“needs to learn who his superiors are.”

“There’s no lash on this ship, Brackett. I don’t permit flogging. Never have.”

Brackett smirked. “Small wonder, then, that your crew is so worthless. They’re well overdue for their dose of discipline. And if you’ve no lash …

well, I’m certain something can be improvised.”

“Ahoy!” The call came from the front of the ship. The longboat had returned. A few of the sailors began backing away from the scene, toward the prow. They looked toward Mr. Grayson for permission, and he dismissed them with a nod.

“That’ll be your captain, Brackett. You may stand down.”

Mr. Grayson’s voice remained so calm, so authoritative; his posture was relaxed. His coat and trousers hung haphazardly from his frame, in contrast to Mr. Brackett’s orderly rows of buttons, glaring in the sun. He was unarmed, unkempt, unruffled. Yet there was no doubt in anyone’s mind who had the upper hand. Once again, Mr. Grayson had assumed command of a scene without even breaking a sweat.

Meanwhile, Sophia trembled so violently, her ribs rattled against her stays. She felt an arm take her elbow, steadying it. Swiveling her head, she found Stubb standing beside her.

“The boy’s below,” he whispered. “When he come looking for the lash, I told him to stay out of sight.”

Sophia swallowed and nodded.

Mr. Grayson crossed his arms over his chest. “Stand down, Brackett. If there’s discipline to be meted out, the captain will handle it.”

Brackett removed his boot from Quinn’s neck, only to give him a swift kick in the ribs. The sailor groaned at his feet, and the officer’s mouth twisted in a sick smile. “I’m first mate. I don’t work for the captain. I work for you.”

Mr. Grayson’s eyes hardened. “Not any longer, you don’t.”

The captain strode across the deck, wiping his brow before replacing his hat. Four sailors followed him, still shirtless from their stint in the longboat.

“What’s going on? We heard a commotion.” The captain spied Quinn groaning in pain on the deck and knelt beside him. “Good God. He didn’t fall from the rigging?”

“No.” Mr. Grayson nodded toward Brackett. “Captain Grayson, you should know that Mr. Brackett has been relieved of his duties as first mate of the Aphrodite, effective immediately. How you accommodate his presence on this ship for the remainder of the voyage is yours to decide. I recommend the brig.”

“I see.” Joss looked around at the assembled sailors, his demeanor suddenly grave. He rose to his feet, pulling his cuffs straight. “Stubb, tend to Quinn.” He turned to the shirtless sailors. “Levi, O’Shea. Show Mr. Brackett his new quarters in the brig. Gray—” He tilted his head toward Sophia. “Get her belowdecks. And keep her there.”

Mr. Grayson nodded.

Levi and O’Shea took the snarling Brackett between them, one on either arm, and together they herded him down into the hold. As they passed, Sophia gasped. Levi’s back was a gnarled mass of healed scars, braided one over the other in the middle, branching out toward both shoulders. She wondered, were they the result of his permanent silence, or the cause?

“Come, sweetheart. You need to rest.” Mr. Grayson’s hand pressed against the small of her back.

Sophia shook her head. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the horror that was Levi’s back. Not until he disappeared belowdecks. “I thought you said you don’t permit flogging.”

“I don’t. That’s why.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Miss Turner went limp in his arms. Gray thought for a moment she’d swooned. But when he looked down at her, he found only thick-fringed eyes gazing back up at him, swimming with confusion and unshed tears. She hadn’t fainted at all. She’d simply fallen against him and trusted him to catch her.

Behind him, Joss barked orders to the crew, and to Mr. Wiggins, now first mate. The men scurried back to their stations. Still, the two of them stood there, her back pressing flat and warm against his chest. Gray wrapped his arms about her and steered her toward the companionway. Shoring up her slender frame with an arm about her waist, he guided Miss Turner down the stairs and into the ladies’ cabin.