Chapter 14
Three days later, the crates of tonic were stowed in the hold.
Hawke had been surprised and extremely impressed at the number of little glass bottles Madame Dauphiné had provided.
Two for each crewmember as well as a few extra.
She had charged an exorbitant price, which Lady Annabelle had graciously paid, the tick of her brow the only indication of surprise at the cost.
Inside Madame Dauphiné’s shop, Lady Annabelle had seemed a different person than the woman who cheerfully swabbed the decks and sang bawdy shanties belowdecks.
She’d carried herself with the same grace he’d seen that first day in the prison governor’s office—without the arrogance, of course.
And even though Madame Dauphiné was only an old healer woman in a pirate town, Lady Annabelle had treated her with deference, listening to the woman’s instructions regarding dosage and treatment.
Her ladyship’s mannerisms indicated that she was a highborn woman of quality. Seeing them had only reinforced to Hawke the difference in their statuses and left him with an unexpected melancholy.
Hawke shook off the gloom as he turned the ship’s wheel, watching the sails closely and calling orders for further adjustments.
They’d left the current, taking a northeasterly course, and the wind blew in the wrong direction.
To harness it, the ship sailed at an angle, catching the wind in the sides of the sails.
Since they weren’t sailing in the direction they intended to go, the ship’s heading needed to be constantly adjusted and bearings calculated multiple times a day.
Tacking was a slow process, and if it weren’t for Mr. Stanley’s expertise, Hawke knew it would take even longer to reach their goal.
Shadbolt stepped up to the quarterdeck. The sunlight glinted on his golden earring. He handed Hawke a sword. Lady Annabelle’s rapier.
Hawke thanked him. He unsheathed the blade, testing both edges for sharpness, and nodded, pleased by the first mate’s work. He held the rapier at arm’s length, assessing its balance. The sword was light, the blade slender and straight.
“It is a good weapon,” Shadbolt said. “Strong steel.”
Hawke was glad it wasn’t simply decorative. “Let us pray she never has to use it,” he muttered as he slid it back into the sheath.
Ever since they’d encountered trouble in Tortuga, Hawke had hardly been able to think of anything else. He couldn’t sleep without waking in a panic from dreams where the outcome of the skirmish hadn’t been in his favor, and he’d been unable to save her.
From the restless noises and occasional crying out in her sleep, it seemed Lady Annabelle had nightmares too. Blast those men.
The need to keep Lady Annabelle safe was like an iron band around his chest. The mere thought of her coming to harm made it difficult to breathe.
And he feared the most dangerous portions of their quest lay ahead.
He could not bring Lady Annabelle to Isla de Plata without the ability to defend herself.
“Mr. Shadbolt, would you—” Hawke began.
“I have sent for her already.”
The first mate was as protective as Hawke when it came to the young woman. All the crew were. And when Hawke had declared his intention of developing her fighting skills, both Shadbolt and Grieg had agreed wholeheartedly.
Hawke thought again of how different this crew was than any he’d sailed with before.
The men trusted each other and worked together rather than undermining one another.
They were loyal to their captain, so much so that they were all risking their very lives in search of him.
He did not look forward to leaving Captain Courtney’s crew once their journey ended.
Lady Annabelle came up from the galley, and Hawke stepped down to the main deck to meet her.
“You sent for me?”
There was sawdust on her breeches, and her eyes were bright, a welcome change from the scowls he’d become used to. “Aye, my lady. It is time to begin your lessons.”
“What lessons?”
In answer, Hawke held out her sword.
Lady Annabelle took it in both hands. She looked down at the weapon, then up at him, squinting in confusion.
He shrugged a shoulder, picking an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve. “Unless you’re too busy helping the carpenter with ship repairs.”
Her face broke into a smile. “You are going to teach me to fight?”
Hawke motioned with a tip of his head and led her to the forecastle where they would have sufficient space.
“You are comfortable with the weapon,” he said. “And have obviously had some practice.”
She nodded, buckling the sword belt around her hips. “The crew and I used to spar when I was younger. And Court taught me thrusts, slashes, and parries.”
“That is good.” Hawke clasped his hands behind his back, smiling at the image. “But a fight—a true physical encounter—is different than dancing around the deck clanging swords with an opponent.”
He drew his weapon, and she followed suit.
“Careful,” he said. “It’s sharp.” He held his cutlass loosely at his side as he faced her. “Attack me.”
“Oh. I—” She grimaced, hesitating.
“You won’t hurt me,” he said, smirking. “But you should try to.”
Some of the crew gathered at the rail, watching.
She still looked uncertain.
“You disappoint me.” Hawke knew he needed to goad her. “The goddaughter of the famous Reid Courtney sails for all these years upon the high seas and cannot even poke a man with a metal stick? Perhaps you don’t belong in the captain’s cabin after all.” He raised a brow in challenge.
Lady Annabelle’s eyes squinted into a furious glare that he recognized far too well. Her nostrils flared, and she attacked, slashing in great sweeps.
Hawke took a step backward, avoiding her barrage.
“That’s all?” he asked.
She glared at him, pulling back her arm, then lunged, thrusting the sword forward.
It didn’t even come close. Hawke flicked his blade, hitting her sword aside.
She stumbled.
He was going to enjoy this. “Let’s begin with the fundamentals.” He sheathed his sword, then stepped around her in a quick motion, in case some of her fury remained, and she slashed again.
He lifted her sword arm. “First, we must adjust your grip. Do not hold the sword as you would a hammer.” He loosened her fingers, moving them into place.
Her hands were so small. He felt a pang of panic.
How could she defend herself against a man?
“Keep your elbow soft.” He tamped down his worry, even more determined to prepare her.
“It feels strange, holding it like this,” she said, frowning.
“It will give you more control over the movement of the blade.” He drew out her sword arm, holding it horizontal and straightening her wrist. He turned her shoulders.
“Do not face your enemy straight on. A side stance will present them with a smaller target and protect the vital parts of your body.” Hawke moved around her, studying her bearing.
“Keep your feet wide apart and distribute your weight evenly to balance.”
She shifted, and then looked at him, as if awaiting his approval.
Hawke nodded.
Lady Annabelle dropped her arm, giving it a shake. “But none of this teaches me how to fight.” She thrust the sword forward on the last word, emphasizing her point.
Hawke put a finger on the flat of her blade, moving it so the sharp point was no longer aimed at him.
A few chuckles came from the gathered crew.
“First of all, never stab,” he said.
She frowned. “But why?”
“I’ll show you.” Hawke turned her to the side again. He stood behind her, tapping her hind ankle with his toe. “Keep this foot stationary and stab forward, reaching as far as you can,” he said.
She obeyed, lunging and thrusting her sword toward an imaginary opponent.
Hawke drew his cutlass. He touched his toe to her heel and lunged as well. The tip of his sword extended past hers by at least a meter.
She looked over her shoulder at him, and then back to the extended swords, frowning. “I do not have the reach,” she said.
He stood, pleased that she’d understood so quickly. “Stabbing will only leave you vulnerable, your body unprotected.”
“Very well.” Lady Annabelle rose out of her lunge. “No stabbing.” She furrowed her brow. “Then how am I to win a fight?”
“By exploiting your enemy’s weakness and using your own advantages.”
She looked down at her sword, her shoulders slumping. “I’m afraid I have no advantages.”
Hawke could not allow her to become discouraged.
A lack of confidence would lead to hesitation.
And she couldn’t afford that. “You have at least two,” he said.
“The first advantage is that your opponent will underestimate you. You are small, and you are a woman. He will be entirely convinced that he has the upper hand. You can take advantage of his overconfidence.”
Shadbolt stood beneath the mainmast, watching closely and listening to every word. He met Hawke’s gaze and nodded.
“Your opponent will believe he has no need for defense, and he will attack.” He slashed his sword slowly forward to demonstrate, stopping in front of her.
Lady Annabelle’s forehead wrinkled, but she did not flinch.
“And you will block.”
He motioned for Shadbolt. Hawke sheathed his sword and moved around behind Lady Annabelle. One hand rested on her waist, and the other covered hers on the hilt. She was warm against him, a fact he tried to ignore.
“Your weight is on your left foot.” He nudged her leg with his knee, shifting her.
She glanced back at him, and he winked, squeezing her hand. “You can do this.”
He gave a nod, and Shadbolt struck, his sword coming down in an arc.
Hawke lifted Lady Annabelle’s arm, and her sword stopped the blow. “Block low,” he said. “Hilt to hilt. And don’t be afraid to use the guard. That’s what it’s for.”
They practiced the defensive block together a few more times, and once he was sure she had a grasp on the basic idea, Hawke stepped away to watch as she and Shadbolt drilled, occasionally stopping to adjust her wrist or remind her of her balance.