On a Lee Shore (32 page)

“Kit?” As he shouted, Griffin drew away and looked up, his expression concerned. He didn’t turn his head away quite fast enough. “Damnation!”

“No! Oh God.” Quivering with the aftershocks of pleasure, Kit stared at Griffin’s bespattered face and chest and swallowed a gulp of apprehension. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “I—I didn’t mean for that to…”

“No, I don’t suppose you did.” Griffin was scrubbing at his left eye with the back of his wrist. “Goddamn it. It’s as bad as powder smoke. You might have warned me.”

Kit opened his mouth to apologize again, to explain that he hadn’t expected it to happen that fast, that it never had before, but Griffin growled, “Dammit Kit, do you want to see me wearing an eye patch?” and Kit found he was stifling a chuckle instead.

“You’re the captain,” he faltered, voice shaking. “You can do what you like. You could wear two?”

Griffin glared until Kit was unable to hold in his laughter any longer, then he snorted and hooked Kit behind the knee, pulling him off balance. Toppling into his captain’s arms, Kit continued to laugh until his mouth was stopped by Griffin’s kiss. He sighed at the drift of a hand down his side, the hot pressure of Griffin’s cock against his belly.

“Insubordinate,” Griffin murmured against his cheek. “And insubordinate lieutenants had better mind their Ps and Qs. I’m your captain, and I can do what I like and what I like is this.”

Kit caught his breath as Griffin ran his fingers through the mess on his chest and slathered it on the inside of Kit’s thigh. He hoped he didn’t look scared or mistrustful, but Griffin must have felt he needed reassuring because he smiled. “You’ve read your Aristophanes, haven’t you? Sometimes the old ways are the best.”

Griffin turned them until Kit lay on his back, Griffin’s knees outside his own, holding his legs tight together, the hot bar of flesh that was Griffin’s cock caught between them.

“All right?” Griffin asked, touching Kit’s chin. He moved, the warm pressure against Kit’s cods awaking another spark of pleasure.

“Oh yes,” Kit murmured and raised his head to kiss him again.

* * *

“Kit,” Griffin sighed. “You taste of the sea. I like that.”

“You mean of fish, tar, and bilges?” Kit asked. His head was in the crook of Griffin’s arm, and he had almost got his breath back for the second time. Everything had been most satisfactory, from the exciting weight of Griffin’s body moving over him to the gentleness with which Griffin had taken him in his hand to bring him to bliss once again. Kit was only just now beginning to feel the hardness of the planking under the blankets, the discomfort as one of the ringbolts for the guns dug into his side, and the sticky chill on his belly and thighs.

“No.” Griffin snorted. “That would have been me on the island otherwise I might have made a grab for you then. One side of the island had lethal currents. The other was lousy with sharks. One came and gave me the eye when I was in the shallows digging for clams, so I decided I would prefer to keep all my limbs, even if they were dirty.”

“We saw them when we rowed in,” Kit admitted. “The sharks. Vile creatures.”

“Don’t be so harsh,” Griffin said. “They make their living as best they can, just as we do—the Brethren of the Coast.” He stroked behind Kit’s ear and Kit realized he was handling the earring. “This has healed well. It looks good there.”

Kit turned his head to press his mouth to Griffin’s throat, breathing in the warm, sweaty musk of him. “Does it?”

“It does. Is there any brandy?”

“No.” Kit smiled and pushed himself up on his elbow. He laid his other hand on Griffin’s chest, combing his fingers through the thick hair and enjoying the unhurried beat of his heart under his palm. “I will fetch you water, if you wish. It must be close to dawn, and I should get to my post.”

Griffin’s arm tightened around him. “Your post is here,” he murmured, his eyes half closed. “But someone should check our heading, and I am so tired. The ship is yours, Mr. Penrose.” But he drew Kit down for another kiss.

Kit left Griffin settling in the remade cot and made his way forward to the heads to make himself comfortable. A bucket of seawater sluiced away most of the stickiness and another washed out the shirt that had been pressed into service as a mop. It was Griffin’s shirt. Kit inspected it, decided it would do, then pulled it on, shivering at the chill.

When he approached the helmsman, Protheroe gave him such a knowing look that Kit couldn’t prevent himself from chuckling.

“Oh, be quiet,” he said.

“Me, is it? I’m quiet as the grave. Unlike some I could mention.” Protheroe grinned again. “Anyhow—the weather seems fair. Wind a point or two north of nor’east. Lewis has gone to fetch Davy and a couple of the Spaniards then I’ll turn in too.”

Kit leaned to look at the binnacle and gave a nod of approval. “Thank you,” he said. “Any signs of life?”

“Nothing.” Protheroe stifled a yawn. “Peaceful and calm—boring.”

Kit snorted and went to fetch the octant. By the time he returned, Davy was at the whipstaff, rubbing his eyes open with his free hand while Protheroe swaggered away arm in arm with Lewis. Lewis was laughing—Kit felt he could guess why but realized he didn’t mind. He tugged his earring and smiled. Being one of the Brethren of the Coast had its advantages.

“Kit?” Davy’s voice was anxious. “I see a light.”

“One moment.” Kit leveled the octant at the pole star, made his calculations, and noted them down. They seemed to be on course, as far as he could tell. He put the octant back in its bag and went to Davy’s side. “So, where’s this light?”

Davy pointed. “It’ll be behind us on our next tack. Do you think it could be the treasure ship?”

“I don’t know.” Kit took up the glass and peered out at the tiny speck. “Keep an eye on it, Davy. We’ll see what we’ll see when the sun comes up. For now I’ll stay on this course. We have the sea room.”

When dawn came there was nothing to be seen but the cloudy hills of Grenada on the horizon.

“Could have been a fishing boat,” Davy said, his elbow crooked around a stay as he peered through the glass. “Though I thought from the lights and where they were that maybe…” He lowered the glass and rubbed both lenses on his shirt. “Sun’s in my eyes, but I think there’s something in the water. Look—there’s gulls picking at it. And more.”

“A shoal of fish?” Kit asked, watching the distant white specks rise and fall.

Davy raised the glass again, leveling it carefully. “No,” he murmured then took a sharp breath. “No, by God! There’s wreckage. There’s a body in the water.”

Kit groaned and lay the tiller over to bring them more closely to the wind. An hour later they could see other pieces of wreckage in the water, and quite some time after that Davy let out a halloo and pointed.

“I can see a survivor. There—on that spar!”

The halloo must have roused Griffin because he came on deck yawning, then shot Kit a grin and raised his hand to rub his eye. That little gesture caused Kit’s heart to skip a beat, and he smiled as he explained the situation.

“We’ll pick him up,” Griffin said. “The ship might have gone down for some reason other than Jago but…”

The survivor came aboard the Africa in a scrambling rush and flung himself down on the deck.

“Jesus Christ and all his saints,” he gasped. “If I never see another shark it’ll be too soon. There were four of us when the sun come up. I’m the only one left.”

“Give the man some rum,” Griffin ordered. Once the mug was in his hand and his back was firmly against the mast, the survivor felt more able to talk.

“Yes.” He nodded. “A brigantine and a girt big galleon and us in a prize—a little French bark. We didn’t stand a chance, and they seemed reasonable enough so we heaved to. Then they saw our little lieutenant’s jacket, poor lad, and that was it. Bastard pirates.” He shuddered and drank off his tot at a gulp. “Gutted him they did, and he was a decent child too, unlike our hangin’ bastard of a captain. The ship went down around near dawn. They must’ve opened the cocks. We pumped while we could, but there weren’t enough of us left to make a difference.” He held out his mug for more rum.

“What happened to the captain?” Kit asked.

“Nothing. Least ways, he took the crew off the bark in irons and set us to sail her back to Nevis. Miranda carried on south.”

“The Miranda.” Griffin’s tone was bleak, and the sailor looked up, alarmed.

“Aye,” he said. “Bad luck to her and the devil that commands her.”

“Indeed,” Griffin agreed and offered the man his hand to bring him to his feet. “We can’t have any passengers. As of now you’re part of the crew. What’s your name?”

“Runyon,” the man replied.

“Runyon.” Griffin nodded. “Then you’ll be in Penrose’s watch. Any concerns bring them to him first, or to me or Valliere.”

“Penrose?” Runyon stared from Griffin to Kit. “I heard that name before. Gentleman on Nevis was asking us to look out for you. Said you’d been taken by bastard pirates.”

“Sir George!” Kit said. “So the Hypatia made it then. Thank God. How was Sir George? Was he unharmed?”

Griffin grunted. “Kit—find Runyon a place to sleep and a meal.” He waved a dismissive hand. “You can catch up on your news while you do it. Yes, Runyon, we are bastard pirates too. Get below.”

“So, out of the frying pan, eh?” Runyon asked as Kit led him to the fo’c’sle.

“Yes,” Kit said with a grin. “But a lot better than swimming with the sharks.”

“Or sailing under Wells’s command. Let me tell you—”

“Wells?” Kit stared at him.

“Oh aye,” Runyon snorted. “Know him do you? Then I pity you, I really do.”

Runyon was in his mid-thirties and had been a top man on the Miranda. Kit judged him no fool. He answered Kit’s questions fully and succinctly. Once he had eaten, he got into his hammock, thanked ‘Lieutenant Penrose,’ and pulled the blanket over his head. Kit left him to sleep and went to give Davy the news about Hypatia before he turned in himself.

“That’s such a relief.” Davy sighed. “And all of them all right?”

“Yes, she weathered the storm.” Kit smiled. “They were further south than we were. Uttley corrected his course once the storm had blown out and brought them into St. Kitts right on the bull. Not a man lost, and the ship was undamaged.”

Davy groaned with relief. “Oh Kit, do you think we’ll find our way back to her?”

“We’ll try,” Kit said, though he still had no idea how it might be achieved.

Before Kit could settle, Griffin came in search of him and closed the cabin door. “Right,” he said. “You know what I need to hear.”

“The Miranda docked at Nevis two days after Hypatia.” Kit paused in readying himself for bed. He leaned back against the larboard gun and draped his shirt over the barrel. “Runyon can’t recall the date, but it must have been while we were beating southward through the islands after leaving Barbuda. She reprovisioned and sailed in less than forty-eight hours. Her captain’s name is Wells.” Kit glanced at Griffin and shrugged. “I know him. He is a bully and a hypocrite, professing no time at all for our kind.”

“Our kind?” Griffin said. “And what kind is that?”

Kit shrugged. “Anyone who isn’t a British naval officer called Wells, I suspect.” He smiled at Griffin. “And since I’m a Penrose and am currently very nearly a pirate…”

“And what else?” Griffin demanded. “Are you still my messmate or are you anxious to get back to your former employer?”

There was an edge in his voice that took Kit by surprise. Likewise the grim set of his mouth and the sharp movements with which he poured himself a drink. Glass in hand, he raised his eyes to Kit’s, and Kit felt his color rise.

“What are you implying?” he demanded but continued before Griffin could speak. “My former employer is an elderly gentleman traveling abroad for the first time. He seemed frail to me and was badly frightened when your ship and the Garnet attacked the Hypatia. Of course I’m concerned for his welfare.”

“And you’re going back to him,” Griffin said. “Don’t bother to lie. I heard you talking to Davy.”

“Davy wants to go home.” Kit felt his stomach gripe at the anger in Griffin’s face, but he had no choice but to give an honest answer. “And I must go with him.” He might have said more, but Griffin drained his glass and put it down with a click.

“Then there is no time to waste, no point in patience. Carpe diem.” Two paces brought him toe to toe with Kit, and his hands gripping Kit’s shoulders brought him closer still. His kiss was hard, almost bruising. Griffin’s hands moved, harsh, gripping rather than caressing until Kit caught his breath with a hiss of pain. At once Griffin jerked his head back, staring at Kit and breathing somewhat heavily. He glanced down and frowned.

“I’m sorry.” Griffin stroked his palm down Kit’s side over the little cut Valliere’s whip had made, now mostly healed, that he had caught with his thumbnail. “I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.”

Kit couldn’t help leaning into the caress as Griffin’s hand moved over his hip and around to cup his arse. “Didn’t stop you splitting my lip, did it?” he growled.

Griffin’s hand stilled. “No, it didn’t,” he said, his gaze on Kit’s mouth. He cupped Kit’s jaw and brushed his thumb across the place he had hurt. “I wish—”

“No regrets,” Kit said and reached for Griffin’s belt. “I’m where I want to be. Now. Here with you. Carpe diem.”

* * *

When Kit awoke it was to the sound of laughter and Denny’s voice singing his favorite song. Kit crooned it quietly while he dressed and went up to the heads then joined in the chorus as he ambled aft to join the group around the tiller.

Griffin smiled to see him, and Kit smiled too to see the space that had opened for him to step into at Griffin’s side.

“What have I missed?” he asked. “Have we changed course? What’s our heading?”

Detorres looked up from cleaning a pistol. He nodded a greeting to Kit. “Carriacou. Though your captain insists we put in at one of the Grenadines for water.”

“We need water,” Kit agreed. “What we have is getting soupy. But why Carriacou?”

“Runyon,” Griffin said, his arm warm across Kit’s shoulders, “tell Lieutenant Penrose what you told me.”