Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

The squall came upon on them quickly and the ship began to pitch-and-toss in an alarming manner to Connor’s way of thinking. The sailing conditions since he joined the vessel had been relatively calm and peaceful, he had forgotten or never really knew in any real sense, what the sea could do. He had spent all his life on the banks of the Thames and in the squalid backstreets of London. Nothing in his history had prepared him for the terrifying feeling of being tossed about in a wooden conveyance by the wind and waves during a torrential downpour.

He clung to the rail staring at the cresting waves in the gathering gloom, the sea spray and rain drenching him in moments, while those around him moved with swift but practised ease to furl the sails and give the wind less of a target.

Someone grabbed his shoulder and shouted in his ear over the roar of the wind and waves “Man the halyard!” A nod from Chen towards the team forming to bring the mainsail down, jerked him out of his frozen terror, and he nodded, moving on legs gone stiff, towards the group of men tugging on the halyard.

The wind, the blinding rain in his face, and the pitch-and-toss of the deck made walking a challenge, but he made it the short distance to the group gathered below the main mast and grasped the thick rope of the halyard to lend his strength to the process of bringing the sail down.

Working with the rest of the men, settled his momentary panic, and he derived a certain peculiar pleasure in pitting his strength against the elements as part of a team. They got the sail down and were about to turn their attention to the next one, when the wind and rain suddenly eased, and they found themselves once more in calmer elements. The sea still tossed a bit, but the driving wind and rain had dropped, leaving everything wet and dripping but eerily calm after the sudden tempest.

The sun had gone but was replaced by a rising moon almost at the full, in a sky suddenly three quarters clear as the squall hove off to their rear.

They worked to unfurl the mainsail again under directions from Njinga who climbed the rigging swiftly to unjam a rope that had got tangled in the wind. Hanging off the ratlines with one arm slung through the ropes she observed their progress shouting instructions as needed.

“Quick I need one of you up here!” she said, pointing to another rope caught round the starboard yardarm. Connor, determined to beat his terror of the rigging, let go of the halyard and leaped up the ratlines to the yardarm to release the jammed rope.

Njinga grinned across at him and gave him a thumbs up as the rope came free and the team below was able to unfurl the sail. She then showed him how to help her tie off the sail properly when it was fully extended.

With the mainsail restored to its full glory, he descended to the deck with a feeling of satisfaction. He’d faced down his fear and accomplished something. Maybe they’d make a sailor of this land lubber yet.

The crew were all soaked to the skin. With the wind still plenty breezy it wasn’t long before they were all feeling the cold and descended below decks to change out of their wet garments. Since none of the new crew had come on board with more than the clothes they were wearing, they were forced to put on an assortment of loose-fitting calico pants and tunics in various sizes offered to them by the women.

The girls seemed to find this hilarious as the men sorted through the pile looking for something to fit. There was nothing that would fit McTavish, so he was forced to wear a sarong strung round his hips, which caused much amusement among the crew.

“What’s under yer kilt Scotsman?” Jibed one of the boys.

McTavish took the ribbing in good part; he was used to being the butt of jokes because of his size. Connor found a tunic and pants that kind of fitted him. Too tight across the shoulders and too short in the arms and legs, but it was better than parading around in the nude or getting a chill from wet clothes. Leaving his boots off to dry, he padded back up to the deck and joined a group playing cards on the poop deck and drinking the extra ration of grog the captain had awarded them for their efforts during the squall.

He was getting used to shipboard life and beginning, he thought, to enjoy it. He certainly liked the freedom from smog and the ever-present danger of being robbed or knifed in the ribs. Admittedly there were new dangers out here on the sea, but he wasn’t alone in fighting them, the sense of camaraderie and companionship was new, and he liked it.

He had surprisingly enjoyed the exhilaration of pitting himself against the elements earlier. It was a revelation, and he was still feeling the effects of it now, a warm kind of buzz in his veins and a sense of self-satisfaction, he’d never felt before.

His life in London had mostly been lonely, even working for Garmon, he’d not felt part of team. Whereas here...the crew all relied on each other for survival. It was a new for him, comradeship, something he’d never experienced before. He was surprised by how much he enjoyed it. Am I getting soft?

Someone dealt him a hand, and he sorted the cards absently his thoughts roaming pleasantly.

Once he secured his post as quartermaster and his own cabin, he would be quite content. Well, no, there was still the matter of Callista Montmayne. The woman is in yer blood, man! His ache for her hadn’t abated one whit and wouldn’t until he’d scratched the itch. How much longer must I wait? The voice in his head demanded.

He pushed the thought away and played a card randomly. She was right that they should wait until they had the balance of power in the ship. He could see how easily things could turn to shite if she let the politics get away from her. Currently his route to power was through her, and he couldn’t do anything to jeopardise that, as much as his body prompted him to throw caution to the winds.

Someone passed him the grog, and he took a swig. The raw liquor scalded his throat and warmed his belly.

He was playing a long game here and his apprenticeship under Garmon Lovell had taught him the benefits of patience and delayed satisfaction. His ultimate aim was to seize control of the ship himself and get them home, to do it he needed to seduce the ship’s captain and depose her ever so gently from power. He was confident he could do it too. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and he hadn’t met a woman he couldn’t make fall in love with him yet.

Someone nudged him in the ribs, and he played another card.

Except Diana. That blasted voice taunted him. Well yes, except Diana. For quite a while he’d thought Diana was the one for him. Was it just because she didn’t want ye, that perversely ye’d wanted her? He shrugged off the thought.

But it led him to a review of the similarities between Callista and Diana. Both were independent, strong women. Both were beautiful in their own ways. And both were damaged by their upbringing. Made defensive, even aggressive by the hurts of their past. He could sense all that in Callista on the strength of their few encounters. They were of a similar age too, mid-twenties he guessed, not innocent girls but experienced women.

The game ended with Petey declared the winner and the deal passed to the left. Another round of cards was dealt.

But Callista, was a tougher nut to crack than even Diana. She lacked Diana’s innocence too. There was a raw edge to Callista, she had seen more grisly sights and done far more dark things than Diana ever had. She was certainly experienced sexually, that was obvious. Which, he found exciting. The challenge Callista presented was to banish all other lovers from her memory. He would teach her pleasure she had never even dreamed of. He would bet her previous lovers had been rough and selfish. She would learn that a real man could be gentle as well as rough, considerate as well as demanding.

He played a card and lost himself in thinking of what he would do to her when he got the chance. She’d fall for him so hard and so quickly she wouldn’t know it until it was too late. He smiled, and seeing an opportunity to win the trick, played his King.

The card game over,Connor picked up his winnings, a battered tricorn hat and headed below to the crew’s cabin. On the way he diverted to the kitchen to check that the fire was tamped down. He heard soft voices from the cook’s room, off the kitchen. Hardly more than a cupboard, but still better than sharing a cabin with thirty other men.

Njinga’s voice drifted to him. “You were yelling Ayo, are you alright?”

“Aye of course!” came the irritable reply. “Just the dreams.”

“I know,” she said, a note of sympathy in her voice. “Do you want me to stay?”

“Ah woman, you know the captain’s new rules since the men joined the crew!”

“You think she’s not breaking them herself?”

“The Irishman?”

“Her eyes are all over him. If she hasn’t done it already, she wants him.”

A rush of blood stiffened Connor’s cock, and he grinned.

“Let me stay, I miss you,” she murmured.

Ayo muttered something in a language Connor didn’t recognise, and he slipped away leaving them to their privacy.

Callista wokewith the dawn and stretched in her bunk; kicking off the covers, she lay naked staring at the ceiling, watching the reflection of the water on the bulkhead. A happy hum filled her at the thought that today she would put out the request for nominations for the position of quartermaster. The first step towards securing the role for the Irish devil she wanted in her bed.

She rubbed her sticky thighs together. She’d fingered herself repeatedly last night thinking of him. She’d even resorted to using the dildo she kept for moments of extremity. She wanted him so badly she ached with it. And he hadn’t even kissed her yet.

It had been quite a while since she’d dared to take a lover. The last one, Rob Baines had ditched her in the mutiny following her father’s death. That on top of the pain of losing her father had made her swear off men; they were lying cheating bastards on the whole. Baines had been charming enough and handsome enough to tempt her. She should have listened to her gut. He’d wanted to bed her certainly, but he’d wanted the power his relationship with her gave him more. His words from one of their last arguments still stung.

“You know what the men say about you Cal? You’re unnatural! No woman should gad about in breeches pretending to be a man. I’m tired of the sniggers, and suggestions I must be a molly-boy to fuck you! I thought it was worth the risk when I stood to get the Sea Devil through you as the captain’s son-in-law, but now? No way in hell will I stand for you lording it over me and neither will the other men. You’re done and we’re done!”

They’d made it up again after that, but it wasn’t the same. Something broke between them and couldn’t be mended. When he left with the other men, she was ready to see the back of him, his final betrayal was the last straw.

And then Connor Morappeared on her horizon, and suddenly she couldn’t think of anything else but having him, Baines betrayal notwithstanding.

The cocksure bastard thought he had her measure, but he didn’t know her. Her heart wasn’t for sale, she’d sworn never to give her heart to another man again. Men only wanted a woman for what they could get from her, and in this instance, she only wanted Mor for one thing. She’d enjoy everything he had to give her, and it would be considerable, the kind of confidence he had, came from plenty of experience, he would know what he was doing.

Having him as her quartermaster, was the perfect solution to so many of her worries. He had the strength and charisma to handle the men and keep them onside for her, prevent another mutiny. He had the skills to manage the accounts and stores, and she thought he was trustworthy enough not to cheat, to try to take more than his share. Coats would have been a safer bet for the role if she was just looking for someone to manage the books, but she wanted far more from Irish than that.

She wanted a partner who would help her bring down Perez, and she hoped he would prove to be the perfect man for the job. His fighting skills certainly suggested he would be an asset in that role. This all aside from her burning ache to take him between her thighs. He was her perfect complement, together they would be formidable. If you’re right about him...

The insidious voice of doubt in her head gave her a shiver of unease. If she was wrong, she’d eviscerate him. He’d wear all the pent-up rage and hurt of every man who’d betrayed her. That bitter core of her almost salivated at the prospect. Do I want to be wrong about him? She asked herself, surprised by the notion that she could anticipate such an eventuality with anything but dread.

Was her heart so broken she wanted a chance to avenge her past hurts? Would she provoke him into betraying her because she expected it, almost wanted it? The notion made her shiver. Perhaps. Perhaps I am that broken.

All the better, he cannot hurt you Cal. You’re bulletproof at last. Let him do his worst, he cannot break you, because you’re already broken.

On that happy thought she pushed herself upright and swung her legs over the side of the bunk. Washing in the small amount of water allocated for her daily ablutions she dressed quickly in her worn breeches and chose a clean shirt. She brushed her long hair and plaited it, tying off the thick rope of blonde hair with a black ribbon. Donning a jacket and her favourite battered tricorn hat, she stuck her head out the door and found Dev curled up on his mat.

Waking him with a nudge, she sent him to fetch Chen, Mick and Coats and to collect her breakfast on the way back.

“Yes Cap’in” said Dev darting off.

He returned shortly juggling a tray with her breakfast and the information that Chen and the others would be with her shortly.

She sat at her desk to eat and go over the books one more time to make sure everything was ship-shape, she wanted to hand them over to Mor in good order.

A knock at the door heralded the arrival of Chen, Mick and Coats, and they filed in to take their places in a ring before her desk.

“Thank you for coming so quickly,” she smiled pushing her plate away. “I wanted to let you know I’m putting the word out today requesting nominations for the post of quartermaster. Keep your ears and eyes peeled for any talk and rumours and let me know what you find. Nominations will close at the end of the day and the vote will be held tomorrow.

“Mr Coats, you’ll count the votes publicly and Mick you’ll scrutinise, I want everything as transparent as possible. Any questions?”

Mick rubbed his chin. “You might want someone who appears more neutral than me to scrutinise, Cal.”

“Very well choose someone suitably neutral to assist you. I still want you to oversee the count.”

He nodded.

“You’re proposing to run a secret ballot?” asked Coats.

“Yes, I don’t want anyone intimidated to change their vote.”

“The disadvantage of that is you won’t know who is supporting who.”

“Ah that’s where the rumours come in. You three will find out the lie of the land today. Use whomever you see fit to get the information.”

“How many nominations do you expect Captain?”

“Two, there may be more, but I doubt it.”

No one asked her who the two were, they already knew.

“I’ll need paper, pen and ink for this Captain,” said Coats.

“You shall have them Mr Coats,” she smiled. “And don’t forget that the three of you get to vote too, as do I. One person one vote, that’s how it works. The children too. It affects them as much as the rest of us. This is a democratic ship. If that’s all...?” she indicated they could go, but as Mick held the door for the others she said, “I’ll see you at ten o’clock for our usual spar, Angel.”

“Certainly,” and he left, closing the door behind him.

She kicked back a moment to reflect on what the day would bring then rose and headed for the door, excited to begin the process.