Chapter 8

The wind tore at Elias's shirt, billowing the oversized garment like the sails rippling around him.

"That's it, Elias. Just like that." Adrian kept an eye on the boy's feet, ensuring he maintained a sound grip on the ratline. "Fasten the sheet in the block like you have practiced."

The Ranger lurched, and Elias wobbled in the swaying rigging. The boy stiffened momentarily, his knuckles turning white as he clutched the sheet, but he managed to secure the line smoothly.

He had potential, but he was still afraid of heights. He had been on board the Ranger for almost six months, and Adrian had persistently taken him to the shrouds daily, helping him grow comfortable working high above the deck. There was no alternative. Elias had to face his fear if he was to succeed at sea.

Elias focused on the quarter block above his head.

"Keep an eye on the sea, remember?" Adrian raised his voice over the whistling of the wind in the rigging.

"Yes, Adrian." Elias shifted his gaze to the heaving deep below and studied the waves rolling in from the southeast.

Adrian chose not to call attention to Elias's use of his first name. The boy was agitated, and Adrian didn't want to exacerbate his distress when in the shrouds.

"You see that?" Adrian followed the wave breaking higher than the rest.

"Is it a rogue wave?" Elias's fingers tightened around the sheet.

"No, it is not, but the Ranger will respond forcefully. What do you do?"

"Hold on to the halyard," Elias said quickly, a wobble distorting his voice.

"That's right."

Elias hooked his arm around the shroud and reached for the thick rope holding up the sail, bracing himself as a wave larger than the previous ones lifted the Ranger and tried to shake off the sailors hanging like spiders in her rigging.

"Good. Remember to always keep an eye on the sea. One moment of disregard can be fateful. Never–"

"Captain!"

Adrian peered down at Scott between the canvas sheets. "What?"

"With your permission, I would like to take Miss Hawthorn for some fresh air."

Adrian's teeth clenched, and the wound she had inflicted stretched on his throat. That woman had caused nothing but trouble since the moment she set her feet on the Ranger .

She not only disrupted the harmony among his crew, but she also threw his mind into a loop.

He had sensed her insecurity this morning outside the galley, and a part of him he thought long gone had prompted him to act on impulse and place a securing hand on the low of her back.

And then, for some unfathomable reason, he had ordered the carpenter to fit a new door to his cabin, spending their scarce wood supplies for the sake of her modesty. Not as sturdy as the previous one, but still a defense against hungry eyes and foul intentions.

"Captain?" Scott repeated.

Adrian sighed. She needed fresh air. The last thing he wanted was a sick woman on board.

"Granted."

Scott bounced across the main deck and disappeared down the hatch.

"Let's weather the topgallant braces, Elias."

"The topgallant braces?" Elias glanced at the organized chaos of rigging almost ten yards higher up.

Adrian couldn't comprehend what led him to demand such a task from the boy. Elias had never ascended to the topgallant before, never mind adjusted the topsail.

"You'll have to sit astride the main topsail yardarm and lock your feet in the footrope as I have shown you."

"Uh…"

"You don't have to do it if you don't feel ready."

"I want to!" Elias assured him, a little bit too fast to be convincing. "I want to be like you."

A heavy sensation settled in Adrian. Elias had no idea what kind of man he idolized. Despite what he had said to Miss Hawthorn when she called him out yesterday, Elias's infallible captain had thrown overboard every shred of dignity and honor he had ever possessed, and the gentleman he had once been lay buried under a suffocating pile of hate.

"Very well. Whenever you're ready."

Elias dragged in a shaky breath and climbed up the shrouds of the main topsail with tentative steps. Adrian expected no less. He knew Elias didn't want him to think he was scared. The boy needed to prove himself worthy so his captain wouldn't cast him aside like his stepfather had done after his mother died. That would mean returning to the violent and unforgiving streets of Nassau, where an orphan boy risked being shanghaied to serve a brutal pirate captain or work the plantations.

Adrian kept one eye on the boy's feet, ensuring he maintained his footing while scaling the treacherous rigging, and the other eye on Elias's gaze to make sure he remained attentive to the ebb and flow of the sea.

He didn't. His fear consumed him, but Adrian refrained from commenting as Elias eased out on the yardarm carrying the main topsail.

One step at a time.

"That's good. Now lock your feet and get used to the movement."

Elias hooked his feet into the footrope and sat swaying for a moment, adjusting to the topsail movement, which, due to its shorter head, had a more aggressive and unpredictable mood than the lazy main sail below.

"Fuck, she is beautiful, isn't she?"

For a moment, Adrian thought Elias was talking about the ship, but then he traced the boy's stare to Miss Hawthorn on the main deck below.

Her hair was collected with a ribbon at her neck and cascaded down her back as if she had captured the sun's rays and woven the sparkles into her locks. Before his reason could intervene, he envisioned his hand tangling in the soft waves.

Elias was right. There was nothing mundane about Miss Hawthorn, and she defied every expectation he'd nursed of Ashcroft's future wife.

As she stepped onto the quarterdeck, the hem of her gown crept up, giving him a distant glimpse of a naked ankle. His mind wandered back to another woman and another time when his life had been on a different and more promising trajectory.

A time before Ashcroft.

His fist squeezed around the coarse hemp. "Concentrate on what you're doing, Elias." His voice cut through the wind. "What did I just tell you?"

A shade darker than Elias's sunburned arms rose in his cheeks. "One moment of disregard can be fateful."

"That's right," Adrian said, softer this time, before his eyes returned to the quarterdeck.

Judging by the crew's sluggish movement, Miss Hawthorn's presence affected more than just Elias.

A woman on board means only one thing: trouble in any cursed way.

Thomas's words rang in his ears. Maybe his lieutenant had been right to challenge his plans to seize the Chirton , but the temptation had been irresistible.

"What do you need to ensure before you loosen the brace?" Adrian forced his eyes and thoughts off Miss Hawthorn. He had brought a puppy to the topgallant and needed to focus on his safety rather than the allure of a woman.

"To tighten the top sail tackles."

"And before that?"

Elias's brow knitted, and then he lit up. "Secure the halyard?"

"That's right."

Elias untwined the thick halyard hemp from above his head.

"Whatever you do, never let go of the halyard, right?"

"Never." Elias nodded.

"What happens if you do?"

A shiver swept through Elias's gangly body. "If I fall onto the deck, I'll split my head open, and if I fall into the ocean, I'll lose my contact point with the ship and disappear."

"Correct."

Adrian watched Elias tighten the tackles. His thin thighs clung to the line, but he did what he was supposed to, this time keeping a vigilant eye on the tossing sea below.

A peal of melodic laughter drifted up from the deck, rippling across Adrian's flesh, and despite his admonishing of Elias's distraction in the shrouds, he found himself looking down. Scott had resorted to his usual tactic of entertaining a woman—flirting.

She had a survivor's spirit, unlike what he had expected from a woman of her class. She had held on to her pride and not pleaded or wept for mercy.

She reminded him of his sister.

Adrian swore. He already had plenty on his plate. "Excellent work, Elias. After the evening meal, we'll engage in another training session. You need to be able to do this in the dark as well. Make sure the lanyard ropes and the shroud lashings are tightened before you descend."

"Yes, Capt'n."

Adrian swung over the top rail and climbed down the shrouds. His boots smacked onto the main deck with a heavy whack that startled Miss Hawthorn. He caught her sweet scent in the air—more potent beneath the sun but no less compelling.

"Captain," Scott greeted. "We were just strolling–"

"Why do you allow a child on board a pirate ship?" Miss Hawthorn interrupted, drilling her dark blue gaze into Adrian's.

Scott clamped his mouth shut and reared back, his eyes flickering from Miss Hawthorn to Adrian.

The strong breeze had loosened some silky waves that fluttered around her neck, framing her face with warmth and grace. A tiny quiver raced across her shoulders, but Adrian ignored the notion of comforting her.

"You may have earned their respect, but don't make the mistake of thinking it will gain you any favors," he gritted out, his voice striking like a whip. "Do you see that flag on the masthead?"

Her eyes dragged to the masthead above, where a yellow and black striped flag flapped in the wind.

"That is a letter of marque from the American President," he continued. "It gives me the right to plunder enemy vessels. I'll seize any English ship with the blessing of my president, so don't you dare call me a pirate again, or I'll show you precisely what a pirate can do."

She shuddered as if the sun's searing heat couldn't counter the impact of his frosty words. "What kind of man forces a child to work in the rigging? He is clearly scared to death up there!"

"I have absolute authority on this ship, and nobody questions my decisions. Including you."

"You're a brute."

"Most certainly," he agreed in a flat voice since there was nothing more to discuss with regard to the matter. "You have the liberty to wander the main deck unguarded, provided you stay within my line of sight. The evening meal is at six bells. You would do well to appear, or I may forgo my civility."

"Pray, what civility is that?"

"Just make sure to be there." Adrian pivoted and climbed to the quarterdeck before he said or did something he'd regret.

Damn woman.

"The dogwatch is ready for the drill, Captain," Thomas informed as Adrian ascended the quarterdeck. "Let me know when you want them to start."

"Thank you, lieutenant," Adrian responded. "Let's get them going. I want to hit the four rounds per minute target by the end of this week."

"Very well," Thomas said. "Scott, prepare the gun drill."

"Aye, lieutenant." Scott leaped down on the main deck, ignoring the ladder that was too slow for his youthful vigor. "Man the topsails! Hands by clewlines and buntlines, weather topsail braces!"

The first watch sprang into action, scrambling to their stations in the shrouds. They had less than a minute to scale the crosstrees and straddle the topsail yard, a routine Adrian had drilled into them, along with the ability to load and fire the mounted guns three times per minute.

Time was essential. A crew lax in training and discipline was doomed to fail in battle.

"Hands by halyards, bowlines, and lee braces! Haul out the reef tackles!" Scott's voice roared through the rushing of the waves. "Lay in! Gun crew at the ready!"

Adrian peered overhead, where his crew trimmed the enormous sheets of canvas. His heart swelled as he watched the Ranger glide over the waves, the sleek hull cutting through the water with grace and confidence. She was a masterpiece, his masterpiece, forged from fifteen years of braving the seas and paid for by blood, sweat, and tears after he escaped from Newgate.

He had scoured the ports along the eastern shore from Boston to Charleston in quest of skilled sailors, and though they hailed from dubious origins, under his firm guidance, his crew had risen to be one of the finest he had seen.

This frigate, this marvel of craftmanship, manned by a seasoned and fearless crew, made him a formidable force, a scourge, and a nightmare to any vessel that crossed their path.

Any English vessel.

The draft ripped at his shirt, and the briny spray prickled his face as the memories overwhelmed his mind. The blue abyss churning before him swirled into a wall of damp stones looming over him. His breath hitched, and he shivered as the chill from the prison walls seeped into his flesh. The spray from the ocean resembled the relentless drops of water that had pelted his forehead, rain mixed with fetid sewage from the London streets above.

The British had deemed him unworthy of a regular cell. Instead, they had shackled him to the wall in the depths of the dungeons, like the vilest scum England could spawn.

Adrian shook off the dark memory and returned his gaze to Miss Hawthorn. She was right about Elias. She had made sure to point out Adrian's shortcomings in the matter, loud and clear, and her arguments had struck him right where she intended.

The boy had no business being on a privateer ship. Most of the crew deemed him a nuisance, too young to sail, but fate had brought him to Adrian, and as captain, it was his responsibility to make the best of the situation.