Surrender of a Siren (The Wanton Dairymaid Trilogy #2)(74)

She pushed open the hatch just a crack. Enough that she could distinguish the violent words being slung about like daggers and peer out at deck level. She recognized Gray’s fine boots immediately, sooty as they were from the fire. He stood close to the rail, at the ship’s stern. The sun was bright this morning; the men cast long shadows across the deck. A gravelly, unfamiliar voice assailed her from somewhere near the ship’s wheel. “I’m telling you, you bastard, you’re going to pay for that rum. In gold or goods, I don’t care which.”

“Captain Mallory.” Gray’s baritone was forbidding. “And I apply that title loosely, as you are no manner of captain in my estimation … I have no intention of compensating you for the loss of your cargo. I will, however, accept your thanks.”

“My thanks? For what?”

“For what?” Now O’Shea entered the mix. “For saving that heap of a ship and your worthless, rum-soaked arse, that’s what.”

“I’ll thank you to go to hell,” the gravelly voice answered. Mallory, she presumed. “You can’t just board a man’s craft and pitch a hold full of spirits into the sea. Right knaves, you lot.”

“Oh, now we’re knaves, are we?” Gray asked. “I should have let that ship explode around your ears, you despicable sot. Knaves, indeed.”

“Well, if you’re such virtuous, charitable gents, then how come I’m trussed like a pig?” Sophia craned her neck and pushed the hatch open a bit further. Across the deck, she saw a pair of split-toed boots tied together with rope.

Gray answered, “We had to bind you last night because you were drunk out of your skull. And we’re keeping you bound now because you’re sober and still out of your skull.”

The lashed boots shuffled across the deck, toward Gray. “Let me loose of these ropes, you blackguard, and I’ll pound you straight out of your skull into oblivion.”

O’Shea responded with a stream of colorful profanity, which Captain Grayson cut short.

“Captain Mallory,” he said, his own highly polished boots pacing slowly, deliberately to halt between Mallory’s and Gray’s. “I understand your concern over losing your cargo. But surely you or your investor can recoup the loss with an insurance claim. You could not have sailed without a policy against fire.”

Gray gave an ironic laugh. “Joss, I’ll wager you anything, that rum wasn’t on any bill of lading or insurance policy. Can’t you see the man’s nothing but a smuggler? Probably wasn’t bound for any port at all. What was your destination, Mallory? A hidden cove off the coast of Cornwall, perhaps?”

He clucked his tongue. “That ship was overloaded and undermanned, and it would have been a miracle if you’d made it as far as Portugal. As for the rum, take up your complaint with the Vice Admiralty court after you follow us to Tortola. I’d welcome it.”

“I’m not following you anywhere.” Sophia could hear the scowl in Mallory’s voice.

“Then what do you intend to do?” Captain Grayson asked. “Your ship is barely seaworthy. You have wounded men in dire need of a physician, and Tortola is the closest port. We could sink the Kestrel, if you prefer, and bring everyone aboard the Aphrodite. But that would mean forfeiting what cargo remains.”

Someone spat, loudly and wetly.

“I’m not following you anywhere,” Mallory repeated. “I’m not heading in for port, and I’ll be damned if I let you brigands sink my ship. I’m going to repair my vessel and continue on. After I get my compensation, of course.”

“Are ye mad?” O’Shea’s voice rose a half-octave. “You’d not make the Tropic. You’re one mast and at least four men down. Daft drunkard,” he grumbled.

Gray’s voice again. “I’ll tell you why the daft drunkard doesn’t want to harbor in Tortola. He knows I’d be entitled to salvage for saving his miserable craft. If he dared bring me into court, I’d walk away with everything. His rum would still be gone, and what’s left of the Kestrel would belong to me. Isn’t that right, Mallory?”

No answer. Just the light scuffling of bound boots. Sophia advanced one step up the ladder and pushed open the hatch a few inches more.

“Yes, he knows that ship is as good as mine.” Gray’s heavy footfalls underscored each phrase. Nearing Mallory, he continued, “And I’m of a mind to take her.”

“You wouldn’t dare.” Mallory punctuated his reply with a spit and a curse, both indescribably crude to Sophia’s ears.

“Gray,” Joss began, “I’m not certain you can simply—”

“Oh, I assure you, it would be simple. As simple as the sixty-odd other times I’ve commandeered a vessel. What would you have me do, Joss? I didn’t save that worthless bucket of timber just to watch it sink or sail off to its doom. The wounded need a doctor, the Kestrel needs a proper mast. I’m going to take her in to Tortola.”

He was leaving this ship? Sophia pushed the hatch higher, needing to see more of him. His trousers and shirt hung limp and tattered from his frame. His loose posture was one of exhaustion. But even from her furtive vantage point, she could tell his expression was all seriousness. Her lungs seized. He couldn’t be thinking to leave her again. He hadn’t even dealt with her yet.