over the world will probably wish me dead when they hear you’re leg-shackled.”
He laughed out loud, banishing some of the tension between them. “Where did you hear such a term? Aha, those infamous novels.”
To her great relief, he took her hand again and led her through the common room into his cabin. The space was minuscule, quite intimate and not conducive to any sort of formality.
There was a bunk fastened to the wall on which they would sit side by side. His small travel trunk served as a table. It had been set very simply with two plates of eggs, bread and ham, assuredly cold by this time. She didn’t mind in the least. It was his effort to please her that mattered.
Laurel could scarcely believe the events of the past three days or credit her good fortune at Jack’s coming to Spain for her and taking her to wife.
She was almost afraid to celebrate. Where had she heard that when something seemed too good to be true, it usually was?
Chapter Four
Early next morning, Jack leaned against the rail again, looking out to sea, wondering if he would ever sail again after this short yet momentous voyage.
How strange it seemed to be aboard a ship and have nothing to do. Even so, the restlessness that constantly plagued him seemed somehow less today.
He knew what he would like to be doing, but accepted the wait as his punishment for tricking Laurel into a hasty marriage. She was no lightskirt to tumble in a narrow bunk and laugh with at the inconvenience. She was his wife, an untried, convent-bred young lady with tender sensibilities.
He had not slept. Of all the men he knew, he was the last he would have figured to spend his wedding night alone. His friends would have a great laugh over that if they ever learned of it.
Especially Neville Morleigh. He smiled recalling the joint venture that had reaped such a grand profit for both. They had met aboard the Emelia when Jack served as navigator for Captain Holt, the privateer. Neville had been about some havey-cavey government business.
The two had formed an instant friendship. Later on, by combining funds, refitting an old merchantman, gaining his license to captain and a letter of marque, their privateering had gone smashingly well.
The Siren had given Neville a means to travel to almost any port so he could do whatever intelligencing he had been set to do. When they captured French ships, England had acquired the vessels while he, Neville and their crew shared the booty. Neville eventually bought out and continued his furtive work elsewhere.
He had not seen Neville since, but had read in a London paper of his friend’s marriage to a baron’s widow shortly after the war ended. Perhaps Neville had lost his profits on another venture, too, and decided to marry for money.
“Lost in thought or watching for whales?” Laurel’s cheerful question dragged him back to the present.
“Just thinking of a friend of mine with whom I sailed in times past,” he admitted, turning to smile a greeting. “Good morning. Did you pass a comfortable night?”
“Not very. Did you?”
He shook his head, laughing a little. “Not at all, but then I seldom sleep well. Shall we take a turn around deck?” Jack took her arm and they strolled, avoiding the coils of ropes and a sailor who was busy swabbing the planks. He noted that their walk seemed almost restful to him instead of being merely a thing he must do to keep her in good spirits.
The wind picked up considerably in the next quarter hour and a bank of clouds moved closer, obliterating the horizon. “We’re in for a blow,” he muttered, squinting to the east. “Best you go to your cabin.”
Her fingers dug into his arm as she looked up at him. “Please, no. I would rather face it on deck if there’s a storm.”
“Don’t be a goose,” he said. “If it’s only rain, you’ll be soaked through, and if it does get rough, you could be injured. At best, you’d be in the way.”
“You’ll come, too?”
“No, I’ll give a hand up here,” he said, speaking more calmly than the situation warranted. The ship had begun to pitch appreciably even as they spoke. The sky grew dark and drops began to pelt them.
He shrugged off his coat, slung it around her shoulders, then plopped down on a coil of rope to quickly remove his boots and stockings. He handed them to her. “Go, Laurel. Now!” he ordered as he looked up at the billowed sails and whipping flag.
“You will be careful!” she cried, hugging his boots to her chest, struggling to keep her balance as the pitch and roll grew worse. She glanced up at the crewmen who had hopped the rigging. The first mate was shouting orders.
“Hurry! Go!” Jack gave her a gentle shove in the direction of their quarters, watching for only a moment to be sure she minded.
The captain stood at the wheel, issuing orders to the first mate, who then bellowed them to pilot and crew. Jack made his way toward them to offer his services.
By the time he traversed the distance, waves were visible, rising higher than the rails, sloshing over the deck.
Laurel must be terrified. He hoped she had made it inside before getting soaked. Sharp needles of rain increased in density, nearly blinding him. He was wet to the skin. And back within his element.
They were in for it all right. He put Laurel out of mind and leaped into the fray against his oldest enemy, the weather at sea.
The mate had him helping to secure cannon when Jack heard the shout of man overboard not ten feet away. His first thought was Laurel. What if she had come back on deck and a wave had swept her over?
He grasped the end of a coil, deftly securing it around his waist with the proper knot. Already halfway over the rail, he shouted to the two men working beside him to man the rope. He saw something white bob in the water, then disappear when a heavy swell rocked the ship.
“There! I’m going in!” he shouted and dived.
Under the surface, he saw a column of white flutter and made for it. All he could think was of Laurel in her white frock, sinking without a struggle. He fought the tow, kicked until he thought his legs would break and lungs burst.
Finally, when nearly there, he pushed to the surface, dragged in a deep breath and went under again. When he reached the small body, he grabbed it with one arm and lifted, scissoring his legs, pulling upward with his free hand until he felt the welcome pelt of rain on his face.
Immediately, the rope jerked taut and he was being hauled backward. Salt stung his eyes and his hair plastered to his face like seaweed.
As he touched wood, fingers grappled at his shirt, caught and hauled him to the rope ladder. “Here, man! Let me put ’im in the net. Can ye climb?”
“Aye,” Jack rasped as he released his burden to strong hands and reached for the ladder hanging over the side. With tremendous effort and heaving for breath, he gained one flexible rung at a time until he was at the rail.
Seamen dragged him up and over and laid him on the wet deck. Jack rolled to his side and
