The Indebted Earl Erica Vetsch (iphone ebook reader txt) 📖

start.” Admiral Barrington took her arm. “Captain Wyvern has command of the ship!” he shouted to the crew.

Charles headed to the bridge. Marcus lurched with the pitch of the ship, but Charles walked as comfortably as if on land. Probably more so.

“Ma’am?”

She allowed the admiral to lead her toward the stern.

“The cutter is lean and fast, built that way to aid in catching smugglers’ boats, but there isn’t much room, no luxury, and almost no privacy.” The admiral spoke above the sounds of men running and the constant patter of rain. “But there is a bit of an alcove where we might remain until we intercept the Shearwater.” He led her into a corner formed by a set of steps to a raised deck. A small overhang got them out of the worst of the rain. “I could escort you below.” The admiral had to shout as the noise increased. They were moving out of the shelter of the cove and into the open sea. “You’d be drier there.”

Sophie shook her head. She needed to stay topside. If she went into a dark hold, both her sickness and her fear might overwhelm her completely. She recognized Charles’s voice, shouting commands. He seemed firmly in control.

“He’s one of the best captains in the navy. I’ve watched his career for more than two decades.” The admiral braced himself against the roll of the deck and gripped Sophie’s arm as she lurched. “He’ll find them, even in the dark.”

“Do they know where the Shearwater is going?”

“Toward Plymouth.”

“How can you be sure?”

“That young boatman of yours, Enys? The boatyard his grandfather used to own? Marcus discovered that the warehouses have been used as a depot for smuggled goods for a long time.”

Her heart pinched. “So Miles is with them?”

“Yes. He’s sailing the Shearwater. He’s been helping them ever since the father of your young wards was killed. He took Pembroke’s place, helped them raise and repair the Shearwater after the wreck, and started running stolen goods up and down the coast with the old earl’s backing and blessing.”

Though she had no time now, she knew she would mourn the poor choices Miles had made. He had seemed a nice young man with great promise.

Men swarmed over the cutter, following orders, and as the sails caught the breeze, they filled and lifted the vessel higher in the water. The wind slapped at Sophie’s wet clothes, and her teeth chattered. Quite an odd sensation when coupled with her desire to be sick.

After what seemed forever, huddled as she was with nothing to think about but Thea’s peril and her own seasickness, someone finally shouted from the bows, “Sails ahead.”

Sophie grabbed the rail and pulled herself upright. She had to see what was going on. Her head swam, and she swallowed too much saliva, gulping in as much fresh air as she could. Please, Lord, not now.

How anyone had seen a ship in this squall, she didn’t know. She couldn’t see a thing. Charles stood behind the helmsman, giving orders. Marcus hung on to the rigging to keep from being buffeted about. His hair had come out of its queue and lashed his face and neck, making him nearly unrecognizable. The hood of his cloak whipped behind him. The pistols he’d taken at Gateshead were crossed in his belt.

Sophie went to her brother, and he clamped his arm about her waist, helping stabilize her. The deck pitched and rolled, sometimes feeling as if it were dropping away altogether. She tucked into his side, and the hilt of a knife dug into her ribs.

“If you throw up on me,” Marcus yelled into her ear, “I’ll toss you into the sea.”

Somehow his jesting made her feel better, as she knew he intended.

“Come right twenty degrees,” Charles shouted.

The helmsman twisted the wheel.

Sophie stared through the sheets of rain and finally saw their quarry. The sails were barely lighter than the surrounding darkness and occasionally disappeared from view as spray shot over the cutter’s bow.

“Those lights are Seaton.” Marcus pointed.

Seaton, the coastal town west of Gateshead.

A sailor hurried from the bow. “Sir, there’s something amiss with the Shearwater. She’s spun like there’s no one at the helm.”

Charles held out his hand, and one of the men slapped a telescope into it. The rote nature of the gesture surprised Sophie. Charles looked and acted as if he could never be anything but a ship’s captain, and the crew followed his lead. He raised the glass, searching the sea ahead of them.

“The headsail’s come loose. It’s flapping like a flag.” He lowered the telescope.

“Sir,” the helmsman shouted. “There’s a shoal not far ahead. If they don’t get her straightened out, she’ll hit it.”

Marcus put Sophie’s hand into the rigging. “Hold on. I’m going forward.” He plunged away from her. Spray flung up, and the cutter rolled, plowing into each wave. Sophie hung on tight. She tried to pray, but no words formed. Please, Lord, was all she could muster.

“We’re closing on her.”

Sophie opened her eyes. The Shearwater was maybe a hundred yards ahead, and her sails flapped like clothing on a line. The sail in front—what had Charles called it?—the headsail, whipped and fluttered, and beneath it, two men tried to grab the loose ropes to haul it down.

A flash of lighter cloth appeared, someone small darting on the deck. That had to be Thea. She was alive. Sophie’s breath snagged in her throat. She let go her hold on the rigging and staggered toward Charles. “I see Thea!”

The cutter leaned with the wind, taking the buffeting of the waves three-quarters on her bow, and gave a sudden lurch. Sophie crashed into Charles, and he grabbed her to keep them both from skidding to the deck.

“Hold on.” Charles anchored her into his side, clamping his arm around her shoulders. He gave the order to reduce sail. The Shearwater was only fifty yards away, but it heeled over as the boom swung and dipped. The mainsail gave a shudder and began to sink toward