Chapter Sixteen #2
They stood in silence, gusts buffeting them as tiny raindrops stung their cheeks.
“We’re closing fast.”
His gaze cut to the dark silhouette ahead, to the gunports yawning through the haze.
“What exactly are your plans once we catch up with them?” He couldn’t help thinking of the odd intersection between the captain and her supposed husband, the same man who had nearly killed him.
Her eyes narrowed as she studied the ship ahead of them.
“The Siren is faster than Thorne’s frigate. I intend to wound her.” Her eyes narrowed at the Vengeance’s stern. “Take out her mizzen and foul her rigging if we can. Make her limp back to shore for repairs.” She hesitated, her jaw tightening.
He studied the confidence on her face. “And if they fire back on us?”
Her gaze darkened. “Then we evade them.”
Unease stirred deep in his gut. Her fight was a personal one. And personal meant mistakes.
“We’ll run up alongside her,” she called, gripping the wheel. “Quick and clean. Fire, then turn before she can swing her guns. We’ll repeat it as many times as it takes.”
Lucien gave a curt nod as she shouted to ready the cannons, though doubt pricked at the edges of his mind. The plan was sound in theory. But storms had no regard for strategy.
He moved to the rail as the crew sprang into motion, hauling the covers off the cannons, shoving powder and shot down the barrels, their movements quick and practiced despite the slick deck pitching beneath them.
He caught the edge of a rope and steadied himself, eyes fixed on the dark mass of the Vengeance rising and falling ahead.
Flashes of light broke through the rain as lanterns swung along her gun deck. They were ready too.
Captain Thompson barked orders, her voice sharp and sure above the storm. “Hold until my mark! We’ll take her to starboard!”
Lucien scanned the distance between them. Nearly within range. He squinted through the rain, studying the Vengeance’s quarterdeck. Two figures stood there, their outlines blurred by spray and wind. Thorne and Mr. Thompson. Even from here, Lucien could see the sharp, angry gestures between them.
A flash of movement caught his eye as the cabin door slammed open below them, breaking his concentration. His pulse stumbled as Miss Ross stepped onto the deck, hair whipping across her face as she made for the mainmast.
Damn it.
He pushed off the rail, boots striking hard against the slick deck. The wind tore at his coat as he started for the ladder, anger and something sharper tangling in his chest. Reckless, stubborn woman—did she have a death wish?
“Rogue wave!” Captain Thompson’s voice cracked through the gale. She pointed ahead, eyes wide.
His head snapped up. To the southeast, the horizon heaved as a wall of water reared toward them, the crest drawing itself higher with each heartbeat.
Son of a bitch.
“Hold fast!” His bellow carried above the howl of the wind, and the crew sprang into motion, gripping lines and rails as he rushed to the break of the quarterdeck. “Miss Ross, get back to the cabin, NOW!”
With wide eyes, she rushed across the deck, stumbling as they hit the base of the wave.
“Abigail!” Captain Thompson fought the wheel behind him. “Hurry!”
Lucien seized the rail, ready to jump down and go after her, but the schooner pitched upward, throwing him back.
A curse tore from his throat as he surged forward again, boots skidding on the slick planks, but he went down hard on his knees as the Siren crested the swell.
Timbers shrieked in protest as the ship plunged into the trough, the impact jolting through his bones.
Miss Ross lost her balance and went down, her palms skidding across the drenched planks. The bow plunged beneath the frothing sea, and water thundered over the forecastle, crashing across the deck with a force that tore loose barrels and rigging alike.
She screamed as the surge hit her and swept her across the deck, trapping her against the rail as the torrent poured over her, dragging at her limbs before spilling back into the sea. She flailed, gripping desperately at the rail as she fought to rise.
“Don’t get up!” Lucien’s shout carried over the roar, raw and desperate. Too late. She turned toward him, eyes wide and blouse plastered to her body as she struggled to keep her footing.
He shoved to his feet as the Siren clawed up the next wave, the deck listing hard beneath him. “Hold on tight!”
He braced as the schooner crested the swell, still off-center. For a moment, his stomach hung in his throat. Then the ship plunged down hard to port, timbers groaning in protest.
Time seemed to stand still as the Siren smashed into the bottom of the trough and Miss Ross lost her footing again. Instead of going down, she tumbled sideways. For a heartbeat, she teetered over the rail, arms reaching, fingers outstretched.
The deck lurched beneath Lucien as the vessel righted itself with a sharp jerk, and with a gut-wrenching cry, she disappeared over the edge. Her scream tore across the deck, slicing through the roar of wind and wave—and then, just like her, it was gone.
Lucien’s feet flew into motion before he could process it. “MAN OVERBOARD!” He leaped from the quarterdeck, hitting the main deck with a heavy thud. Buttons flew as he ripped his jacket and shirt free. He barreled toward the rail and, with a desperate heave, launched himself over the edge.
Water smashed into his face like iron, stinging his eyes, filling his ears. For several heartbeats, he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear. It didn’t matter. He kicked hard and broke the surface as the Siren’s hull sliced past him, threatening to drag him under again.
His mind raced, measuring the distance, calculating the drift from where she’d fallen. He lunged toward that point, arms slicing through the heavy current.
Here.
She should be close.
He spun in the water. “Miss Ross!”
Her words from the night before haunted him.
I can’t swim.
Son of a bitch.
He sucked in a ragged breath and dove back into the roiling water.