Chapter 16
One more night. Percy’s hands balled into fists at his side as he surveyed the crew through the growing darkness.
On the morrow, they would reach the Golfo Mexicano and their port at San Luis.
While he and Heather would still share each other’s company on the journey home, they would by no means have the privacy of the captain’s quarters.
They were not even guaranteed a sodding officer’s cabin.
And that meant one more night alone with Heather, ensconced in their cabin.
There was no way to know how they would travel on the journey back to England, but one thing was certain: he couldn’t lose what he’d developed with Heather. With every storm, discussion, meal, sparring session, and certainly every fuck, a part of him grew more attached to her presence.
It would be sodding difficult to let her go once they reached England. But the devil knew he must.
As though manifesting from his thoughts, Heather appeared at the quarterdeck’s companionway and sauntered toward him.
“Good evening,” he said as she neared.
“Good evening to you.” She grinned at him, her gaze dipping to the opened neck of his greying shirt, then down to his tight black breeches, and back up.
Hell, but it put fire in his blood when she looked at him like that. And he’d had her only hours before.
To his relief, she turned to stand at his side and observed the crew with him. She cast a wary glance at the lanterns swaying with the ship’s movements and shifted closer.
“I haven’t been on the quarterdeck on a clear night,” she noted. “How do you see?”
He followed her gaze into the obscurity beyond the bulwark. It was black as pitch, the lights from the lanterns doing nothing to minimize the darkness past the quarterdeck.
“It’s like we’re stationary,” Heather whispered. “Floating in nothingness.”
Percy nodded. “It is. It can be disorienting.”
They stood thusly for countless moments while the pirates continued with their duties around them.
The sea was calm, the air warm and filled with the salty scent of the sea.
And flowers and earth. Christ, but the woman beside him always managed to fill his senses with her intoxicating love for plants. It was…disarming.
She gasped, and he blinked, returning to the moment.
The light dusting of clouds above them parted to reveal a sky swathed in condensed waves of tiny stars.
He’d seen the sight countless times in his life, but this view wasn’t available in London, where the air was thick with coal smoke.
When was the last time Heather had been to the English countryside and had seen the sky beyond London’s chimneys?
He watched a faint flush of pleasure creep up her neck as she stared in awe. It must have been some time, indeed.
Heather’s eyes glittered as she stared, as though trying to take it all in. Percy wished that the moment could stretch on indefinitely.
His gut abruptly twisted at the notion of pirate life grabbing hold.
And, once again, concern for their future stole into his thoughts.
His chest tightened. Why did their return to England—and he would return, damn it—mean the end for them?
He couldn’t marry her—that much was certain—but was it possible for them to continue their affaire until she found a man with whom she could have children and live out her best life?
That thought sent another pang through him, and he ground his teeth.
After all he’d done in his life, he didn’t deserve even the quiet years he’d intended for himself.
While he could not change what he’d been born into, there were moments, during his years of piracy, in which he’d truly enjoyed himself.
Which was precisely why he was unfit to be a husband.
He was damaged. It was not about only his name, birth, or experience.
His very heart was…soiled. Regardless of what he wanted out of life—his peaceful apartments, his comfortable routine of a job, and time with friends—he was unworthy. And he’d best remember that.
He swallowed against the thickness that had settled in his throat.
A yawn escaped her, and he took her hand.
“Come,” he urged, noting Donovan’s arrival on the quarterdeck. “Let us go below. Tomorrow is no doubt to be an eventful day.”
“And how does a salve differ from a poultice, liniment, or herbal oil?” Percy asked, his gaze interested.
Heather swallowed her mouthful of chicken. The cook had certainly outdone himself with this meal, though the thought was decidedly morbid when coupled with the distinct lack of cluck-clucking from beyond their door.
“It’s not terribly different from an herbal oil,” she replied, feeling her passion for the topic flood her. “In fact, herbal oil must be used in the recipe.”
Percy’s dark brows lifted. “Indeed?”
“Yes. It is simply a combination of herbal oil, olive oil, and beeswax. One can rub it into the skin and receive all the benefits of the herbal oil without so much mess. It merely depends on what method of application you desire.”
His lips pulled sideways in a half grin, his gaze intent on hers. “Fascinating.”
“Whereas, as you know, liniments are strained liquids made from herbs and vinegar, and a poultice is simply crushed herbs and hot water, applied with strips of muslin.” She sighed. “It is all so engrossing.”
Percy nodded, cutting his chicken. “And have you decided to convert one of your new herbal oils into a salve?”
“I have. Duncan aided me in converting the catnip-and-fennel oil this afternoon. It is meant to settle one’s stomach.”
He blinked. “Do you eat it?”
Heather snorted. “I’m told one ought to rub the salve on their stomach, though they might wish to add some on their upper lip if they find the aroma pleasing.”
“Mmm.” He winked playfully. “It should prove useful if you experience seasickness again.”
She laughed. “Indeed, it should.”
“I saw yesterday that you’d done some research with the maps on the table. Were you able to discover any genus of plant that you wish to seek once we drop anchor in San Luis?”
Her eyes widened as another jolt of anticipation raced through her. “Yes, as it happens, I was.”
They continued talking as they concluded their meal. Heather wasn’t entirely certain that Percy was as interested in plants as he seemed, but she very much enjoyed sharing her newfound knowledge with him. In turn, he told her about navigation and what he knew about sailing.
At long last, he stood and held out his hand.
Heather accepted, covering a yawn with her free hand.
As though through silent agreement, they said nothing as they prepared for bed.
And when she slipped between the bedclothes and lay on her side with Percy at her back, she had a sinking feeling of finality.
She didn’t want this to be their last night like this.
The sun rose early the next morning—or at least it felt that way to Heather. She reached a hand out beside her, but the bedclothes were crisp and cool beneath her fingers. Her stomach swooped unpleasantly. Percy had left already.
It was an unrealistic hope to share intimacies one last time before they reached San Luis, but her body didn’t seem to understand that.
The ship was eerily quiet. The creak of the wood, the splash of water, and the faint animal noises coming from beyond the cabin’s door were the only sounds to be heard.
A shiver of unease travelled up her spine, propelling her from the bed and quickly through her ablutions.
Whatever was happening, it didn’t feel good.
She donned her freshly cleaned and dried breeches, shirt, stockings, and stays, then slipped her feet into her boots and fastened her belt and sheath around her hips. Her stomach gave a little wobble, but she stood firm against it. It was time to face whatever the day held.
Without another moment’s hesitation, she quit the cabin and ascended the companionway to the quarterdeck.
She emerged into utter stillness. All the pirates abovedecks stood mute, their gazes locked on their surroundings.
Heather spotted Percy near the bowsprit and strode toward him.
“What is happening?” she whispered as she drew close.
He smiled grimly, but pressed his lips to her ear. “We’ve reached Golfo Mexicano. These waters are full of other pirates—and British warships searching for pirates. We must sail with caution.”
Heather trained her gaze ahead. Caution, indeed.
Minutes seemed to crawl by, the air filled with tension, perspiration, and the odd shuffling of feet on the creaky ship.
The silhouette of a ship appeared in the distance, and Heather held her breath. They moved swiftly on the water’s surface, drawing nearer.
“It’s not making to approach,” Percy murmured in her ear.
Then, land was on the horizon, with other ships dotting the water around it. And suddenly, the tension began to melt away, replaced by a tangible excitement from the crew.
How long had it been since these men had seen land? Longer than Heather, no doubt, and yet she couldn’t deny the buzz of anticipation that hummed just beneath her skin.
They approached quickly, sailing between moored ships before Percy finally began shouting orders.
“Uncat the anchor!” he bellowed. “We’re here, men!”
The rowing boat rocked precariously as Percy helped Heather onto the dock, and his gut dipped with nerves.
The sunlight brightened her hair, lending it hints of copper, and the warmth of the morning brought a rosy hue to her cheeks.
She’d tied her hair in a knot at her crown—as she was wont to do—and some strands had broken free to frame her face.
He wanted to run them through his fingers.
Instead, he winked at her as he tied off the boat. “Best to remain near to my side. Keep your dirk close to hand. Remember your training. And do not make eye contact with anyone unsavoury.”
She glanced beyond the docks toward the pubs, shops, and brothels. “Percy, that is everyone.”