On a Lee Shore (30 page)

“My honor demands I take my own revenge,” Detorres said. “But even to hear of his death at another’s hands would ease my mind.”

“But remove some of the satisfaction,” Kit said. Behind them the door opened, and Kit looked over his shoulder. Saunders stepped out, looking cheerful, his arms laden with bottles.

“The captain would like to speak to you…both of you,” he said. “Don’t let him at the brandy, Kit. Lock him in if you have to. His belly won’t take it right now. I’m going to go and have a sharp word with Denny on that very subject.”

From the cabin Griffin’s voice rose in a shout. “Is that Kit? Tell him to get in here.”

Saunders rolled his eyes. “Back to normal,” he said and stalked away toward his cabin.

In the cabin, Griffin was seated on his cot with his shirt loose around him and the sharp scent of one of Saunders’s salves in the air.

“Our guest,” he said, nodding to Detorres. “Please, Kit, introduce me.”

“No need, we have met,” Detorres said. “I was first officer of His Catholic Majesty’s carrack Ciervo, which you and your confederate caused to burn to the waterline. If you were not ill I would be asking for satisfaction.”

Griffin had leaned back, propped on his arms. The look of disbelief on his face, Kit was unsettled to see, was giving way to amusement.

“You’d demand—demand—satisfaction of me?” Griffin said. “I’m sorry, but you’ll be going wanting, then. Ill or not, I’ll have no time for such nonsense when I have more pressing concerns than some Spaniard’s half-arsed notions of honor.”

Kit intervened quickly. “I think we all agree that our priority has to be catching and accounting for Jago and his ships before they can do any damage.”

“True,” Detorres said before Griffin could reply. “But it was plain to me whose was the mind behind the plan to take the Santiago. Whatever Jago did afterward, it was this man who caused my ship to be destroyed and my men to die.”

Griffin nodded, his amusement gone. “Yes, that is true,” he agreed. “And if you’re dead set on it, I’ll stand up with you—swords or pistols, it’s all one to me—but after I’ve swung Jago by the heels. Agreed?” He stood and offered his hand.

Detorres considered it for a moment then nodded and shook hands with him.

“Now go,” Griffin, said, “and give Valliere the course to steer. I wish to talk to my first officer about my ship, which I’m sure you will recall, came back to do what she could for you and yours.”

“I recall,” Detorres said with a smile. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance, Captain Griffin.”

Griffin waited until he heard the Spaniard’s steps on the stairs before snorting with laughter and nodding to the cot. “Take a seat, Kit,” he said. “I’ll pour us both a drink.” Now Detorres had gone, he seemed diminished, exhausted, his face creased in pain.

“No, you won’t,” Kit protested. “Saunders warned me that brandy is likely to burn a hole clean through your bowels. Bide awhile and I’ll have Pollack brew you some tea.”

“Tea is insipid pap suitable only for invalids, but if I must—water will do.” He grinned and extended his hands to Kit. “A kiss, Kit? Or do you only bestow those upon the dying?”

Kit hesitated, glancing over his shoulder to the door, but looked back as Griffin chuckled.

“God’s teeth, Kit, if I’d ever enjoyed coyness I’d have courted maids. I’m not asking you for anything I thought you were unwilling to give.”

Kit felt his cheeks heat. “It’s not that,” he said. “One of us needs to be on deck.”

“Aye, and Saunders is getting Pollack to heat water to fill that damned tub for me. Two baths in three months, Kit. You should be proud! But there is time.” Griffin reached out and caught hold of Kit’s collar, easy to do in the small cabin. “Come, Kit. A tender moment or two.”

“There’s always time for that,” Kit agreed.

Their kisses were careful. Griffin’s mouth was still sore and his lips inclined to crack if used roughly, and Kit could feel the slackness in his skin, the chill in his hands despite the sunburn, which suggested he would be ill awhile yet. It was hard to restrain himself from pressing for more than the gentlest caresses, but they had their tender moment, soon over as they heard the rumble of the tub being rolled down the stairs and the curses of the men restraining it.

Griffin sighed. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in asking you to stay?” He tugged Kit’s hair, pulling a curl straight and letting it spring back again. “I may be rank, but you still have soot in your hair.”

Kit squinted at the ends and grimaced at the dark marks on his shirt. “It will have to wait,” he said. “We have a pirate to catch, remember? And a treasure to reclaim.” He stood, smiling as Griffin squeezed his hand. “I will go and care for the ship while you get some rest. Pollack should be bringing food, though sadly we are close to the end of our fresh supplies. Putting in to top up our water and buy some greens would not be a waste of time. We have a small enough crew as it is. We don’t want to weaken it further with scurvy.”

“Lemons,” Griffin said. “Saunders swears by lemons.”

“We’ll have to take what we can get,” Kit said with a grin as he lifted the door from its hinges to allow Maxwell to propel the tub inside. “And when you are comfortable I would like to know…everything.”

Griffin nodded. “That’s a tale for the whole company, I think. Let me rest and drink the foul nostrums that Saunders will be brewing. When I can I will tell you the whole story.”

The rest of the afternoon was spent in setting as much sail as Africa could safely carry and the crew could handle in an emergency. Much though Kit had despised Wigram as a man, he had to admit that he had been a good boatswain with a sharp eye for the sails and a ruthless demand for good housekeeping. Africa’s spread of canvas gleamed in the sunlight, and she lay over to larboard as Valliere steered her nor-nor’east.

“You know these waters, Val,” Kit said when he went to relieve him at the tiller. “Where is a good place to stop for water? And fresh food too if possible?”

“The Grenadines,” Valliere said. “They are a scatter of islands, many places to drop anchor without being seen, and villages that don’t much care who they trade with. And they are on our way.”

“How long do you think?” Kit asked.

“Two days, unless the wind gets up. Maybe three. I’d think we have enough water to take us beyond that, but I haven’t checked for a while. Have you?”

“Last week,” Kit admitted. “I…I suppose I’ve had my mind on other things.”

Kit had been aware that Davy Forrest had been close by while he was talking to Valliere, but it wasn’t until Val had gone below that it became clear that Davy had been eavesdropping. Davy spoke up then. “I’m glad we found Captain Griffin. I can see it means a lot to you.”

“It does indeed,” Kit admitted. “As pirates go he is one of the better ones.”

“Yes,” Davy continued to fiddle with the end of rope he was whipping. “It’s good to be loyal to your captain.” He glanced at Kit, his face reddening a little. “I got to ask, though. Does this mean we won’t be trying to get home?”

“Oh Davy.” Kit shook his head. “I have not forgotten my promise to you. But for now we need to find water—and fresh greens and meat if we can—and then we must find some way of warning people about the Garnet and Santiago.”

“But we could do that,” Davy assured him. “We could take the Africa to Nevis, into Port Royal. Let the Navy deal with the Garnet.”

“And Valliere would go back to being a slave,” Kit pointed out. “And some of our other friends would probably hang. True they are pirates, but I’m not sure I could bear to have that on my conscience, could you?”

Davy stared at him, his mouth dropping open. “No,” he said, after a moment. “I don’t think I could. But, Kit, I so want to go home.”

“I promise you,” Kit said and laid a hand on his heart. “My word on it that I’ll do my best to see you home again.”

Davy nodded and thanked him. As he walked away he cast one glance back, a cool and measuring one, and Kit’s heart sank. He was all too aware that he had said nothing that Davy hadn’t heard before and that his own feelings were no longer so straightforward.

This prevarication would no longer do. It was time he admitted that what he was feeling for Griffin was far beyond loyalty or hero worship, or even lust. He looked down at the deck, imagining Griffin in his bath, water soothing his burns, Saunders’s lemon water soothing his belly. How this could end honorably for them he couldn’t say, but for the moment he felt weak and stupid with relief that Griffin was back where he belonged.

Chapter Eighteen

At Griffin’s request the whole company gathered on the little quarterdeck to dine. Kit watched him with great contentment as they ate the fish Pollack had baked with the peel of their last couple of lemons.

“We need more,” Saunders said.

“And more rum,” Pollack chipped in. “Though it’s water that worries me most.”

Griffin nodded, leaning against the tiller as he watched the shadows thrown by the stern lantern sway across the faces of his crew. “That’s our priority. Water and food—fresh food. For Jago too. Garnet’s supplies must have been low, and the Santiago was still being victualed when we took her. We may get word of them.”

“And then we follow?” Detorres said.

“Then we follow,” Griffin smiled at him. “Jago has always been a bastard, but until now I have been able to control him with promises. Taking the Santiago and her silver has clouded his mind.”

“Valliere said that Jago has some mad scheme of making himself King of the Leewards?” Detorres asked, his tone filled with disbelief.

“That is so,” Valliere said. “Is that why they put you on that island?”

“Mutiny,” Griffin admitted. “We had argued about the course to take. He wanted to pass by Curacao. I, naturally, wanted to stick to our agreement because I wanted to see my ship and the best part of my crew again.” He smiled. “That’s when he agreed to let Valliere take the long boat with whoever else wished to part company. After they had gone Jago became harder to handle. Wigram and Probert were constantly at his elbow. George Campbell, his sailing master, was as unhappy as I was. We talked, discussed ways of getting Jago to see sense, and the next thing I knew George was in irons and they tied me hand and foot and dumped me on that damnable sandbar with a musket and half a dozen bottles of brandy. I’d fried before I managed to get my hands free.”

“Poor knots?” Protheroe asked. “If I tie a man, he stays tied.”

Griffin smiled and shook his head. “O’Neill dropped his knife and made sure I saw it before he scraped sand over it. I think it was O’Neill who had managed to swap the brandy in half the bottles for water. That kept me going the first day while I was puzzling out my alembic.” His lips tightened. “It didn’t work very well, but it kept my mind occupied while I waited…for rescue.”

It came to Kit that, while Griffin may have hoped that Kit would come for him, he had not expected them to be in time to save his life.

“And rescue you we did,” Saunders said. “But now it is getting late and I need to rest my eyes. Detorres—I have nobody suffering in my sick berth at present. You are welcome to it. Kit, you need to sleep as well.”

Griffin nodded. “I have a small matter about the arrangement of the watches that I wish to discuss with Kit so perhaps we could go below?”

Kit had been expecting such a summons and went eagerly, ignoring the murmur and laugh from Protheroe and Lewis. Once they reached the cabin, he lit the lantern then turned to lay his hands on Griffin’s waist, but Griffin caught them and held them away.

“You need to sleep, Kit,” Griffin murmured. “Much as I would love to play not whist but Laugh And Lie Down, I prefer a partner less likely to doze off. Also I am due on deck to relieve Valliere.” He released Kit’s hands and drew him closer.

“I thought I would be taking the watch,” Kit said. His heart thumped pleasantly as Griffin took hold of his collar, his thumb grazing the side of his throat. “You need to rest,” he added.

“As do you.” Griffin was even closer now, the warmth of his sweat all that Kit could smell. Griffin leaned his head a little so his forehead rested against Kit’s temple. “I know—I spoke to Valliere—you’ve only slept in snatches since he came aboard. I need you to be rested Kit, not half dead with fatigue.”

“I’m not such a weak reed as that,” Kit scoffed.

“Nevertheless, you will do as I say.” Griffin’s lips touched Kit’s ear, his hands on Kit’s hips. Kit closed his eyes. It seemed perfectly natural to turn his head to catch Griffin’s lips with his own, and he moaned a little at the familiar taste of him. Griffin held him close for a moment then removed his mouth from Kit’s with a chuckle.

“I saw you nodding over your supper. Do this for me, Kit. I need to be on deck, to guide my ship, and watch over my crew with a clear head. And I need to know,” his voice dropped a little and so did his hands, “that in the morning you will be bright and alert and will take care of them for me while I am in my bed.”

“And how do you expect me to sleep with you doing that?” Kit demanded.

Griffin chuckled. “Perhaps you’ll have happy dreams?” He squeezed Kit, one hand fore, the other aft, and Kit groaned and pushed him away.

“Then sleep I shall,” he said. “Wake me at four.”

“I will wake you when I see fit,” Griffin said. “Meantime take your ease.”

Griffin had left before Kit noticed that his hammock was nowhere to be seen, so he laughed and set about getting ready for bed.

* * *

It was Valliere who came to wake Kit for his watch. It was full light, and the Africa was butting steadily through medium high seas, as close to the wind as she could get.

“We decided to leave him,” Valliere said, nodding to Griffin who was sound asleep propped in the corner under the transom with an oilskin keeping the spray off. “If I’d been marooned, I’d want to see the sea speed by and the sails filling as I woke.”

“True,” Kit said and stooped to tuck the oilskin more closely around Griffin’s shoulders. That done it was time for business. “What’s our heading?”