Chapter 5 #2
“And what of his boorish friend?” she asked. “Has he arrived? Or shall we have to fetch him from a waterfront public house . . .”
Annabelle froze, her words trailing off as a large man dressed entirely in black stepped in front of them, blocking their path to the ship. His face was shadowed by the sun rising behind him.
Annabelle let out a scream, but she quickly stopped it. She drew out her sword, dropping her bundle. “Halt. Who goes there?” she called in a voice that sounded braver than she felt.
But before she could do more than raise her weapon, it was parried. How had the stranger drawn his own blade so quickly?
“Of course she has a sword.” The stranger’s voice sounded familiar. “Where did she get a sword?”
Grieg picked up her bundle. “There is no danger here, Belle. It is the captain. Hawke.”
Hawke stepped closer, into the light. His appearance shocked her.
He was . . . handsome. And clean. His face was freshly shaven, revealing a square jawline and a small cleft in his chin.
His hair, no longer a matted mess, was tied back neatly beneath his hat.
He stood tall in a long coat and leather boots.
He took another step toward her, sliding his blade along hers, forcing her sword upward until the hilts struck. He studied the scrollwork on the guard. “A fine weapon. Do you know how to use it?” He stood so close that she could feel his breath when he spoke.
Heat filled Annabelle’s cheeks as their eyes met, and her heartbeat quickened.
Hawke’s lips twitched to the side.
The sight of his smirk jarred Annabelle from wherever her mind had wandered. The heat in her cheeks flared even hotter. Why had she stared so openly? She scowled, drawing on anger to hide her humiliation.
“Of course I do.” She stepped back, jerking her arm to pull the sword away, but it wouldn’t move.
Hawke gave his blade a casual flourish that twisted both her sword and Annabelle’s arm and caused her to stumble as she regained her balance.
He returned his weapon to its sheath without sparing her another glance and clamped his hand on Grieg’s shoulder.
“Now that the boatswain is here, we can officially cast off.”
Grieg gave a sharp nod. “Aye, aye, Captain.”
Annabelle took her bundle and stormed up the boarding plank and across the main deck.
With Hawke’s smirk fresh in her mind, she stomped up the few stairs, passing the cabin where Nanny had slept and the chart room until she reached the captain’s quarters.
She entered and slammed the door behind her.
Hearing Grieg call that man captain had been bad enough, but he had seemed pleased to do so.
As if he truly believed Hawke to be the commander of Calypso’s Quest.
She thought of Hawke’s smug smirk, how he’d caught her staring and seen her blush. The heat returned, and she was glad there was no one to witness it. How had she allowed herself to become so addled by a handsome face?
She crossed the captain’s quarters to her own berth on the starboard side, beneath a porthole. She set her bundle down on the familiar quilt and untied the straps. Aside from a few items of clothing, some toiletries, and her sword, the only other item she’d brought was her spyglass.
At the foot of the berth rested a familiar doll made of sticks, straw, and cloth.
On the doll’s head was a tuft of human--looking hair, and she could feel rocks and other objects within the stuffing.
The doll was odd-looking, ugly even, but Annabelle adored it.
A woman in New Orleans had given it to her years earlier, claiming it would attract spirits of protection.
And while Annabelle did not believe in luck or objects that contained magical powers as many sailors did, she appreciated the sentiment behind it.
And seeing it placed so carefully on her berth, as if Court were preparing for her arrival brought a tightness to her chest. She imagined where he might be that very moment and hoped that he was unharmed.
She set the doll carefully back in its place, sighing.
Seeing Court’s tricorn hanging from a peg, she lifted it and returned to sit on her berth. She twisted the hat in her hands. The voyage would be lonely without her dear godfather. She remembered him, larger than life, standing at the helm, wind blowing his hair, a smile on his sun-worn face.
Without her permission, Hawke’s image came into her thoughts, taking Court’s place, his hand on the wheel, as the other sailors hurried to follow his orders.
Annabelle’s anger returned. How could she endure an entire voyage with that horrible man? She leaned back against the bulkhead and extended the spyglass, watching through the porthole as the moorings were pulled free from the quay, and the ship set off down the Thames and toward the open sea.
At least she could avoid Hawke in here.
The door opened, and Hawke stepped inside.
Annabelle jumped to her feet, straightening her skirts. She dropped the spyglass onto the quilt and pressed her fists against her hips. “What are you doing in here?”
“I might ask you the same question.” He folded his arms across his chest and leaned a shoulder against the doorframe.
Annabelle dropped her arms. “These are my quarters. My berth.” She pointed to the door. “I will thank you to get out.”
“These are the captain’s quarters.” He gestured to where his trunk sat at the head of Court’s berth. “And as I am the captain . . .” He shrugged as if it simply couldn’t be helped.
Annabelle was incensed. “You must find another,” she said. She sat on her berth, folded her arms, and glared at him.
“I will not do that.” Hawke sat on the captain’s berth, faced her and folded his arms, mocking her.
“Neither shall I.” Annabelle refused to be intimidated.
She grabbed the feather pillow, hugging it to her chest, her glare daring him to remove her.
If he even tried, she’d scream, and an entire ship full of her mates would— The thought stopped her.
What would they do? Would they take her side against their captain?
Without Court, what was her status on the ship?
She glared at Hawke, not allowing him to see her confidence faltering.
He sighed. “So, we are to be bunkmates, then.” His lips pulled into that detestable smirk, so filled with male arrogance. He was actually enjoying this.
“Hardly,” Annabelle said. “I will not share my quarters, especially not with you.”
Hawke blew out a breath through his nose.
He leaned back against the porthole, fingers clasped behind his head, looking away from her as if he were bored with their impasse.
“We must come to some arrangement before—” His gaze locked onto something on the stern side of the cabin.
“What’s this?” He crossed the cabin and tugged at a length of sailcloth that was tied back against the bulkhead.
Annabelle pursed her lips. She’d hoped he wouldn’t have noticed that.
Hawke untied the cloth and pulled it from the wall. The cloth unfolded as he drew it along a rod attached to the ceiling, creating a curtain that effectively divided the room in half. Court had installed it years earlier to give Annabelle privacy.
Hawke poked his head around the curtain, looking up at the rod. “Very convenient. Our problem is solved.” He tugged on it once more, straightening out the folds. “I hope you don’t snore.” He gave his infuriating smile and returned to his side of the partition.
“I won’t do it,” Annabelle called through the curtain. Even though it was just cloth, she felt as though she had to raise her voice to be heard. “I won’t sleep here with you . . . in there. Not when I can’t trust your intentions to be honorable.”
Hawke sighed loudly from the other side. “Lady Annabelle, don’t flatter yourself. When it comes to you, my intentions could not be more honorable.”
Annabelle glared at the closed curtain. She gave an indignant huff, both glad that she had no need to worry about inappropriate advances from Hawke and a bit offended that he’d dismissed the notion so easily.