Chapter Six Before #4
“Lady Rose,” he replied, one foot still planted against the rowboat. She half expected him to push the boat off the dock and leave her stranded, rowing the rest of them out to sea.
Instead, Fell bent at the waist and offered a waiting arm. “If you would make haste, Captain Quine is eager to make use of this wind.”
Cat pursed her lips together, holding back a sharp retort.
She was well on time, earlier than instructed, and did not care for the implication that she was holding up an entire warship.
Instead, she ignored Fell’s hand and stepped into the rowboat herself, a bit clumsily.
The vessel rocked beneath her, and she sat heavily at Ryman’s side, feeling like a sack of potatoes.
Still on the dock, Fell gave a shake of his head. A lock of hair came free from his tail, black strands slanting across his lupine face. They did not hide his flashing grin.
Once Sara and the rest of their effects were safely aboard, a sailor untied the boat. Fell was the last to embark, one foot safely in the vessel, the other pushing them off the dock and into the waves. His men pulled their oars, carrying the little boat into the shadow of the Venerable.
Cat expected to feel some weight lift from her shoulders.
They were only crossing the shallows, but Rosby Island was firmly behind her, the house a fading white smudge.
She glanced back, hoping to spot Moseley on the veranda.
But nothing moved, not even Sparrow tucked away in her stall.
It was as if the island was frozen in time.
Perhaps it is, she thought. The days blurred together so easily, as if they never existed at all.
The deck of the Venerable gleamed, every surface swabbed and polished, even as sailors crawled over seemingly every inch of the warship.
They were in the rigging, on the masts, hastening above and below, into the forecastle at the bow and onto the quarterdeck at the stern.
A cartographer squinted at the horizon, his charts across his knees, his fingers ink stained as he jotted notes on the distant islands.
Another checked their position with the helmsman, referring to maps set with the Meridian seal and a compass.
The officers looked like insects, blue beetles in their cobalt coats.
The sailors of lower rank were less severe, in cream-colored shirts and breeches, donning hats or bandanas.
All shouted orders back and forth, their voices a tangle, accents clipped by noble station or rough with humble beginnings.
Ryman delighted in the bustle, beaming and nodding at the passing sailors as if he were the King himself.
Cat desired nothing more than to shut herself away in a cabin and burrow like a rabbit in her hole.
As much as she wanted to watch Rosby shrink in the distance, after six months on a quiet island, the Meridian warship was an assault on the senses.
“If you would be so kind as to direct Sara and I to our cabin, Lieutenant?” she said, forcing herself to be heard over the din.
Cat was not a short woman, and Fell only a few inches taller than she. He bent slightly, standing eye to eye.
“I’m sure Captain Quine will oblige when he has a moment. Not to worry, you aren’t in the way on deck,” he said, though it was far from Cat’s concern. “More than a hundred men serve on this ship. You three will hardly be noticed.”
“Captain Quine is occupied with bringing the ship out of the cove,” she replied. “I would like to go to my cabin, sir.”
Fell did not move. Sails unfurled overhead and oars splashed into the water below. The ship rolled and Cat fought to keep her balance, lest she tumble forwards into Fell’s chest. He held his ground easily.
“Lieutenant,” she prodded through gritted teeth.
“Lady Rose, I apologize, I did not wish you a happy birthday.”
Something cold hooked in Cat’s belly, and she faltered, lost for words. Fell only stared, his scrutiny sharp and keen.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Yesterday.” Fell gestured with his hat, back to shore. Rosby was already distant, soon to be swallowed by the sea. “It was your birthday, was it not?”
Cat blanched. She’d shared a long dinner with Captain Quine and his officers, longer than she’d cared to suffer, without a word from her husband. How Fell knew it was her birthday was beside the point. Ryman knew and cared not.
“I—yes,” she heard herself stammer. “Yes, it was.”
Fell gave a shallow nod, a knowing look in his eye. Cat did not need to puzzle after his thoughts now. She saw the pity in him plain as day.
She thought of another man, standing on the deck of a different ship, eyes flashing, gold in his mouth as he hissed down on her. I don’t pity the likes of you.
Somehow, she wished Fell shared the pirate’s sentiment.
“Well, I suppose I should give you a gift.” He sighed, donning his hat again.
Whatever shame Cat felt for her lot and her marriage gave way to annoyance.
“You can give me the gift of my cabin, sir,” she spat.
“I can give you the gift of advice, ma’am,” he answered with equal fire.
Cat could not help but reel back a step, almost colliding with her maid. To her shock, Fell matched her movements, closing the distance between them as if they were partners in a dance, and not near-strangers.
Despite the motion of the deck, the waves growing stronger as the Venerable raced out to sea, Cat set her feet. As Fell bore down on her, she clenched a fist and thought of her prayer beads, smashed against a pirate’s face. Or in another pirate’s pocket, stolen with swift hands and a smirk.
But there was no time to dwell on such things.
Lieutenant Fell stopped short, leaving a foot between them. He was careful, Cat noted, and deliberate.
His voice dropped, low enough to be lost in the bustle of the deck. For anyone but her.
“A sullen, sad, shadow of a woman will win no allies on this ship, or in Archenport,” he breathed, one eyebrow raised.
Cat’s face went hot. “Excuse me?”
“Governor Baltross’s wife is near your age, I think. She is in need of friends,” he pressed on, eyes flashing. “Or am I mistaken? Are you so eager to return to your—” His gaze flicked past her shoulder to Rosby in the distance. “Rock?”
No, I am not, she thought, wishing she could scream the sentiment aloud.
Suddenly she wanted the Venerable to catch a hurricane wind and sail faster than any ship had sailed before, carrying her away from her cage, perhaps forever.
Life next to a governor’s wife could not be so horrible as this one.
And she would be in a proper city, separated from her loathsome husband by a hundred miles of treacherous sea.
The prison of the last six months seemed breakable, the key to her chains pressed firmly into her hands.
Catrine Rose would not waste it.
She set her jaw and raised her chin. Slowly, gracefully, she dipped into a curtsy, sweeping back her skirts.
“Thank you for the birthday gift, Lieutenant,” she said, her voice soft and demure.
The kind of voice heard in ballrooms and salons, pleasant and engaging.
Certainly not the sad, sullen voice of a shadow.
“I am happy to wait for Captain Quine. Perhaps he can show us the entire ship. I should like to see it and hear more of what awaits us in the city.”
Fell nodded once more, silver eyes catching the sun.
“Very good,” he said, drawing backwards.
But Cat stopped him short, her hand darting out to brush the edge of his sleeve. Fell froze beneath her fleeting touch, and Cat delighted to see two spots of pink appear on his cheeks.
“What of you, Lieutenant?” Her voice changed, sharper than before. “You do not seem the type to give gifts without expecting something in return.”
Jasper Fell did not disappoint.
A corner of his mouth lifted, the rogue smirk returning for an instant.
“No, I am not.”