Chapter 2

The Atlantic Ocean, late 1700s

"Eight and twenty eighteen-pounders, perchance a couple of bow chasers too."

The Cornish accent of Thomas Barley, the Ranger's burly first mate and lieutenant, mingled with the billowing sails above and the rush of the ocean against the hull.

Adrian Hainsworth, Captain of the Ranger , squinted toward the north.

"She's riding low on the water," Thomas observed. Adrian's lieutenant stood a couple of inches shorter than his own six-foot-one. The silver streaks running through Thomas's devil-black hair caught in the sunlight as he stared through the brass spyglass, trying to identify the vessel on the horizon. "A sloop, no two ways about it. Spare canvases on the upper yardarms."

She had been in battle.

The choppy draught played with Adrian's hair, and his legs braced against the rolling ship, his body following the elegant sway of the frigate as the Ranger cut through the azure waves.

A moment went by, the air filling with the surging of the waves, the shrill whistling of the wind through the rigging, and the voices and laughter of the bustling crew.

"Sleek curving above the waterline and right-angled stern profile," Thomas mused. "Union Jack in the aft. You ask me, that's My Lady ."

A thrill ran through Adrian, and he relaxed the muscles he had inadvertently flexed.

My Lady.

"That means HMS Essex must be close." Adrian gazed across the heaving blue expanse.

"Given there's anything left of her." Thomas gave the dip of tobacco another round with his tongue and handed Adrian the spyglass. "Lord only knows."

Adrian extended the eyepiece to accommodate his sight. Like Thomas had said, the sloop was deep-laden in the water. With sluggish movements, she broke through the rolling waves like an old whale instead of cruising the swells with the frolicking grace of a dolphin.

"She's tacking." Adrian closed the spyglass and clamped his foot down on the railing, leaning with his elbow on his knee. He ran his fingertips through the coarse stubble on his chin.

"No wonder. Heavy weight combined with a foul blow coming from the west," Thomas grumbled. "Ain't got no time even to take a leak, that helmsman."

Following the Ranger's rhythmic rise and fall, Adrian relished the salty breeze. A strong sense of freedom sizzled through his veins—a privilege he wasn't meant to enjoy and one the British Navy would cut short if he fell into their hands.

His eyes traveled from the Stars and Stripes whipping in the bowsprit of the Ranger to the distant sloop, and the sizzling in his veins took a turn for something ardent, something darker and more consuming.

My Lady.

A Barbados-based privateer sloop under Captain Spence's command, primarily targeting French merchants.

Or so people thought.

Adrian stretched to his full height. "We'll be upon him in three hours, maybe four if he decides to discard some weight and make a run for it."

He met Thomas's glance and read the approval in the older man's dark eyes. Over fifteen years at sea together, through thick and thin, allowed them a tacit understanding that needed no words.

"Very well, Captain."

Adrian crossed the length of the main deck in powerful strides. Twice along the way he stopped to speak with his men, and twice his glance swayed northeast, his thoughts carried back to a dark past. He pushed the memories away and forced himself to concentrate on the matters at hand.

"Kinsley." Adrian took the steps to the quarterdeck two at a time. "Take her up to full speed and keep her north by northwest. We'll intercept My Lady ."

Barely into his twenties, Kinsley's face was yet to be marked from squinting against the unforgiving Caribbean sun.

"Aye, Capt'n." Excitement tinted his voice as he turned to execute his orders.

Kinsley might be young, but Adrian trusted the instinct telling him the young man possessed a natural talent. After a few weeks at sea, even Thomas's fretting in private had turned into a dawning appreciation of the young helmsman.

"Unfurl the topgallants!"

A dozen men crawled up the shrouds, as steady in the treacherous ratlines as monkeys climbing trees. Clinging onto the topgallant yards, they released the massive sails. Thunderous flaps shot across the deck as the wind swelled the extending canvases.

Built for speed and ultimate maneuverability, the forty-four-gun super frigate under Adrian's command responded instantly to the demand from the helm and shot forward with renewed vigor.

Adrian adjusted to the subtle change of motion in the ship, pride filling his chest as she shuddered beneath him, eager and excited by the challenge laid upon her.

A high bow above the water and a knife-edged shape below allowed the narrow hull to sustain up to fourteen knots—fast enough to escape foes in the tumultuous Caribbean waters but still fortified enough to take on a French or British Navy ship should the need arise.

The corner of Adrian's mouth pulled up in an impish grin when he caught a movement from the shadow of the stern railing.

"Come here, boy."

Elias stepped out into the sharp sunlight. "Ye'll let me fight, Capt'n Hainsworth?"

Adrian met a pair of hopeful hazel eyes surrounded by a mop of hair stiff and curly like a sheep's winter coat.

"Nah, can't do that, Elias." Adrian hated how the excitement in the boy's features ebbed, but he didn't need Elias to prove anything. Certainly not against the British.

"Damn! But I want to be like you, Adrian."

Adrian resisted addressing the boy's inclination to swear—an utterly futile task given the harsh circumstances on board a privateer vessel.

"And one day you will." God forbid. Adrian looked at the innocent face. The lad hadn't even started shaving yet. "Today, however, I need you for another important task."

A new gush of hopeful energy filled Elias's eyes, and he squared his narrow shoulders.

"Mr. Nelson can't fulfill his duty with his broken arm. I need you to oversee the supply of gunpowder to the gun decks."

Elias's eyes widened, and his hollow chest expanded as he filled it with air. "The gunpowder, Capt'n?"

Adrian nodded and squeezed Elias's shoulder. "It is a critical and dangerous task. You think you're up for it?"

Elias seemed to grow another inch on the spot, and Adrian was sure the boy would depart from the deck should he have removed his hand from the boy's shoulder.

"Hell, yes!" Elias exclaimed, but when Adrian raised an eyebrow, his cheeks flushed, and he sent his captain a sheepish look. "I mean, of course, I'm up for it, Capt'n."

"Excellent, I trust you on this one, Elias. Now seek Mr. Nelson and have him explain what to do."

Just then, a particularly large wave rocked the Ranger . Elias took a stumbling step but lost his balance and tumbled onto the deck, landing on his backside with a groan.

A few of the sailors nearby laughed at his clumsiness. A hint of red scorched Elias's cheeks as he jumped back on his feet, eyes downcast.

Adrian could almost feel the boy's humiliation crawl across his skin, a visceral reminder of his past when he had found himself in a similar situation, inexperienced and awkward. He yearned to alleviate the boy's feelings, but this was a process he neither wanted to interfere in nor could he, for the boy had to earn his respect among the crew the hard way.

"Off you go, then." Adrian looked after Elias as the kid darted across the main deck toward the hatch leading belowdecks.

Adrian saw no reason not to send Elias to the gunpowder magazine. Seeing as he had placed the gunpowder in the aft and not in the bow as most frigate captains did, the boy would be out of the worst firing range.

And should they be unfortunate enough to take a blow to the aft, the two hundred barrels of black powder stored under his grand cabin would obliterate the Ranger and her entire crew in the blink of an eye.

Better be blown to pieces in the powder magazine than hanged as a pirate at the hands of the British.

The sun grazed the horizon when they were close enough to spot the sailors scurrying across My Lady's deck.

Standing at the quarterdeck, next to the wheel, Adrian didn't share the excitement tingling across the main deck as the Ranger's crew scooted about, preparing to fight.

Instead, his insides were stone cold as his eyes sought across the sea to My Lady and the thrashing Jack at her bow.

His mouth stretched into a thin sneer. "Kinsley, take us in close, fifteen hundred yards."

Adrian's order reaped a storm of cheers from his sweat-stained sailors. Kinsley tacked the ship with skilled hands, adjusting its course to reap the full benefits of the draft, scrambling the sailors balancing in the rigging to pull and roll the straining sails. The hull creaked beneath them, and the large canvases snapped above as the Ranger shot through the waves toward the struggling sloop, effortless and with merciless precision.

"Scott! Report."

"Guns ready and loaded, Capt'n," his boatswain shouted from the gun deck below.

"Gun crews at the ready." Adrian's fingers tightened around the worn leather covering the hilt of his cutlass as he gauged the distance to My Lady .

"Eighteen hundred yards."

He raised his arm, a calm coolness settling inside him as he waited for the Ranger to slide into the perfect position.

Captain Spence didn't need a warning shot across the bow to get the picture. My Lady's gunports were thrown open, gun snouts flung out and positioned, but before My Lady's crew could load a single shot, Adrian's arm cut through the air.

"Fire!"

Will Scott repeated the order down at the gun deck. His words echoed throughout the hold, and the iron-fisted broadside from the starboard batteries hurled across the heaving sea with a deafening blast. The Ranger lurched beneath Adrian's feet, the recoil of the cannonade reverberating up his legs and back.

Gray smoke billowed from the gunports, and moments later, the sour but energizing stench of burned powder filled his nostrils.

The wall of fire ripped open canvas and gouged through wood. One of his shots tore through My Lady's fore topgallant, breaking the mast like a twig and sending the sail crashing onto the deck in a tangle of canvas and splinters. The yard hung broken from the rigging, and the fore topsail flapped loosely in the draught, powerless.

Adrian's gun crews were well trained. In less than half a minute, they had reloaded the guns and stood waiting for their orders.

"Keep her steady, Kinsley, and take her around the bow."

A broadside from Spence echoed through the air, but the Ranger was out of reach of My Lady's eighteen-pounders, and the cannonade splashed into the choppy waters between the vessels.

Kinsley maneuvered them around My Lady's bow, positioning the Ranger for another devastating blow. When the Ranger prepared a third round, Spence ate crow and hoisted the white flag.

"She struck her colors."

"Hold your fire!" Adrian commanded. "Kinsley, take her back with the wind and be quick about it. Lieutenant, report!"

Thomas's soot-stained face poked out from the first gun deck. "Warden will nurse a black eye tonight. Apart from that, there are no injuries."

"The boy?"

"Swearing like a sailor because the battle is already over."

"Thank you, Lieutenant. Make sure he stays belowdecks," he commanded. He raised his voice. "Ready with lines and grapples. Prepare to board!"

An earsplitting squeak shot across the deck when the two ships made contact. Grappling hooks and lines flew through the air, securing their connection to My Lady.

Adrian jumped over the railing onto the British ship. He let his eyes glide over My Lady's crew, ignoring the screams from injured sailors scattered across the blood-stained deck. He scrutinized the enemy with a discerning gaze, calculating the potential threats and assessing any sign of defiance. The Ranger outnumbered My Lady's crew by three times, and Captain Spence might have struck her colors, but Adrian didn't lay money on this lot surrendering even if his life depended on it.

Captain Spence stood before the capstan, flanked by his highest-ranking officers. With fists clenching to the point his knuckles almost broke through his scarred skin, he glared at Adrian. Gray curls buffeted his shoulders, catching in the bushy eyebrows contracting above a needle-sharp nose.

"How dare you?" Spence spat, baring both his teeth and his gums in a sneer. "How dare you seize a British ship like this! You unsophisticated American!"

Somewhere in his fifties, Spence had collected a substantial belly under his expensive silk coat, but he had a proud tilt to his bearing.

Adrian's eyes narrowed. "I've got quite the courage, haven't I?"

Adrian's lazy, somewhat nasal colony accent seemed to rub Spence's defeat into his British pride. A blue vein throbbed at his temple, and for a moment, Adrian wondered if it would burst.

"This is an offense against His Majesty, King George!" A spray of frothy spittle, propelled by Spence's words, flew with the wind and caught in the mustache of his indignant lieutenant.

"That might be." Adrian suppressed the urge to drive his cutlass through the hypocritical dandy. "At any rate, I will need your logbook and a list of your cargo."

Spence's jewelry-adorned fingers balled into fists again. "I carry nothing but tea and silk."

"Mighty heavy silk rolls, Captain." Adrian swiped a disdainful look at Spence's officers. " My Lady rides the waves like a fat grandma riding cock."

Snickers from Adrian's crew drifted through the humid air, but Spence's mouth tightened into a thin line.

"Now, we can do this the easy way," Adrian drawled, and his hand tightened around his cutlass, "or we can do this the hard way."

Spence's jaws worked so furiously that his cheeks quivered under the strain, but he held his stance. Adrian studied the captain's eyes. Lethargic, but with a smoldering flame deep down.

Outrage?

Or fear?

"The British Navy will hang you for this," Spence spat.

"I hear the British also hang their own."

The dark center of Spence's eyes dilated.

Fear, then.

"Search her!" Adrian cast over his shoulder.

Captain Spence's face darkened another notch. "Say what you want, and I'll ensure it is loaded onto the Ranger ."

"I prefer sightseeing," Adrian said. "Please join me."

Adrian and Thomas followed a reluctant Spence into My Lady's dim gangways while the rest of Adrian's men held Spence's crew at gunpoint on the deck. The musty smell reminded Adrian of another moist place behind cold stone walls. He took a couple of deep breaths to stave off the shiver creeping down his back.

Beneath the half-deck, Spence hung the lantern on a hook and unlocked the hatch to the hold. Wooden boxes and barrels piled from deck to ceiling, layered with a thick coat of dust that made his nose tickle. Nobody had set foot in the hold for weeks.

"Aft hold," Adrian demanded and turned a disinterested back to the silk and tea.

"Aft hold? I don't know what you imagine you will find," Spence bristled. "You have seen for yourself I carry tea and silk–"

Adrian snapped his head around, and Spence recoiled. " My Lady is loaded to the brim, and it isn't your tea or silk or even your cannons or iron bearing her down. Now open the aft hold before I cut your stomach open and toss you overboard as shark bait."

The aft hold was a mess. Boxes of all shapes and sizes stood stuffed in the hold without considering sailing performance or buoyancy. Black ink identified the boxes and revealed their destination.

HMS Essex

Fort Diamond Rock

Adrian met Thomas's eyes in the dim hold. Should they be caught with British weapons in their holds, the entire Ranger crew would meet the noose, no questions asked.

Adrian slid his cutlass out of the sheath with a hissing sound. Spence stepped back, but Thomas's sturdy stance cut off his retreat.

"This is unnecessary–"

A sharp crack shot through the hold as Adrian pried open the lid of one of the boxes. The planks came off in a spray of wooden debris.

Weapons. And ammunition, enough for a small army. Precisely the capacity of Fort Diamond Rock, a disputed stone in the sea outside of French Martinique and one that King George was eager to control.

Adrian shot Spence a dark look. "Stealing from ol' King George, are we? That is high treason."

Spence brushed off some wooden splinters from his coat. "Look, I'm willing to give you a share. You're American. You have no loyalty to the English throne. The King is blockading your ports for no good reason. He is a lunatic, and we all know it. I was lucky to run into Essex. You would have done the same thing."

Adrian concealed his disgust behind a steely exterior. "You're right to assume I bear no loyalty to the English throne, but unfortunately, I'm not known for sharing."

Footsteps from the companionway approached.

"There is more where that came from," Spence tried. "I can make you a deal–"

"The logbook, Captain." Scott entered the hold and handed him a leather-bound book. "And then there is this."

His boatswain held out a letter addressed to Captain Spence. Adrian unfolded the ivory sheet of paper and held it closer to the swinging lantern. Blood hurled through his veins, jacking up his pulse as he read the few lines written down.

Adrian's eyes lifted to Spence, whose face drained of all color. My Lady's captain twitched his mouth, but not a word passed his stiff lips.

Definitely fear.

Adrian turned to his lieutenant. "Sweep the holds."