Caribbee Part 32

He looked down at her bodice and exploded with laughter. "I don't think anybody's apt to mistake you for one of them. But hadn't you best tell somebody where you'll be?"

"What I do is my own business." She looked past him, toward the sh.o.r.e.

"So be it." A long fork of lightning burst across the sky, illuminating the sh.o.r.eline ahead of them.

The muddy road was leveling out now as they neared the bay. The ruts, which ran like tiny rapids down the hill, had become placid streams, curving their way seaward. Ahead, the mast lanterns of the Dutch merchantmen swayed arcs through the dark, and the silhouettes of Dutch seamen milled along the sh.o.r.e, their voices m.u.f.fled, ghostlike in the rain. Then she noticed the squat form of Johan Ruyters trudging toward them.

"Pox on it, we can't unlade in this squall. And in the dark besides.

There's doubtless a storm brewing out there, maybe even a _huracan_, from the looks of the swell." He paused to nod at Katherine. "Your servant, madam." Then he turned back at Winston. "There's little we can do now, on my honor."

"Well, I'll tell you one thing you can do, if you've got the bra.s.s."

"And what might that be, sir?"

"Just run all the ships aground here along the sh.o.r.e. That way they can't be taken, and then we can unlade after the storm runs its course."

"Aye, that's a possibility I'd considered. In truth I'm thinking I might give it a try. The _Zeelander's_ been aground before. Her keel's fine oak, for all the barnacles." His voice was heavy with rue. "But I've asked around, and most of the other men don't want to run the risk."

"Well, you're right about the squall. From the looks of the sea, I'd agree we can't work in this weather. So maybe I'll just go ahead and run the _Defiance _aground." He studied the ship, now rolling in the swell and straining at her anchor lines. "There'll never be a better time, with the bay up the way it is now."

"G.o.d's blood, it's a quandary." Ruyters turned and peered toward the horizon. The mast lights of the fleet were all but lost in the sheets of rain. "I wish I knew what those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds are thinking right now. But it's odds they'll try to move in and pilfer our provisions as soon as the sea lets up. Moreover, we'd be fools to try using any ordnance on them, bottled in the way we are. They've got us trapped, since they surely know the battery up there on the Point won't open fire on the bay while we're in it." He whirled on Winston. "You wouldn't, would you?"

"And risk putting a round through the side of these ships here? Not a chance!"

"Aye, they'll reason that out by tomorrow, no doubt. So grounding these frigates may be the only way we can keep them out of English hands.

d.a.m.n it all, I'd best go ahead and bring her up, before the seas get any worse." He bowed toward Katherine. "Your most obedient, madam. If you'll be good enough to grant me leave . . ."

"Now don't try anything foolish." Winston was eyeing him.

"What are you suggesting?"

"Don't go thinking you'll make a run for it in the storm. You'll never steer past the reefs."

"Aye. I've given that pa.s.sing thought as well. If I had a bit more ballast, I'd be tempted." He spat into the rain, then looked back. "And I'd take odds you've considered the same."

"But I've not got the ballast either. Or that Spaniard of yours we agreed on. Don't forget our bargain."

"My word's always been my bond, sir, though I wonder if there'll ever be any sugar to ship. For that matter, you may be lucky ever to see open seas again yourself. Just like the rest of us." Ruyters sighed.

"Aye, every Christian here tonight's wishing he'd never heard of Barbados." He nodded farewell and turned to wade toward a waiting longboat. In moments he had disappeared into the rain.

"Well, Miss Katy Bedford, unless the rest of the Dutchmen have the foresight Ruyters has, those merchantmen out there and all their provisions will be in the fleet's hands by sundown tomorrow." He reached for her arm. "But not the _Defiance_. Come on and I'll get you a set of dry clothes. And maybe a tankard of sack to warm you up. We're about to go on a very short and very rough voyage."

She watched as he walked to where the indentures were waiting. He seemed to be ordering them to find shelter and return in the morning.

Timothy Farrell spoke something in return. Winston paused a moment, shrugged and rummaged his pockets, then handed him a few coins. The Irishmen all saluted before heading off toward the cl.u.s.ter of taverns over next to the bridge.

"Come on." He came trudging back. "The longboat's moored down here, if it hasn't been washed out to sea yet."

"Where're your men?"

"My gunnery mates are at the batteries, and the rest of the lads are a.s.signed to the militia. I ordered John and a few of the boys to stay on board to keep an eye on her, but the rest are gone." His face seemed drawn. "Have no fear. In this sea it'll be no trick to ground her. Once we weigh the anchor, the swell should do the rest."

As he led her into the water, the surf splashing against her shins, she reflected that the salt would ruin her taffeta petticoats, then decided she didn't care. The thrill of the night and the sea were worth it.

Directly ahead of them a small longboat bobbed in the water. "Grab your skirts, and I'll hoist you in."

She had barely managed to seize the sides of her dress before a wave washed over them both. She was still sputtering, salt in her mouth, as he swept her up into his arms and settled her over the side. She gasped as the boat dipped crazily in the swell, pounded by the sheets of rain.

He traced the mooring line back to the post at the sh.o.r.e where it had been tied and quickly loosened it. Then he shoved the boat out to sea and rolled over the side, as easily as though he were dropping into a hammock.

The winds lashed rain against them as he strained at the oars, but slowly they made way toward the dark bulk of the _Defiance_. He rowed into the leeward side and in moments John Mewes was there, reaching for the line to draw them alongside. He examined Katherine with a puzzled expression as he gazed down at them.

" 'Tis quite a night, m'lady, by my life." He reached to take her hand as Winston hoisted her up. "Welcome aboard. No time for G.o.dfearin' folk to be at sea in a longboat, that I'll warrant."

"That it's not, John." Winston grasped a deadeye and drew himself over the side. "Call the lads to station. After I take Miss Bedford back to the cabin and find a dry change of clothes for her, we're going to weigh anchor and try beaching the ship."

"Aye." Mewes beamed as he squinted through the rain. "In truth, I've been thinkin' the same myself. The fomicatin' Roundheads'll be in the bay and aimin' to take prizes soon as the weather breaks." He headed toward the quarterdeck. "But they'll never get this beauty, G.o.d is my witness."

"Try hoisting the spritsail, John, and see if you can bring the bow about." He took Katherine's hand as he helped her duck under the shrouds. "This way, Katy."

"What do you have for me to wear?" She steadied herself against a railing as the slippery deck heaved in the waves, but Winston urged her forward. He was still gripping her hand as he led her into the companionway, a dark hallway beneath the quarterdeck illuminated by a single lantern swaying in the gusts of wind.

"We don't regularly sail with women in the crew." His words were almost lost in a clap of thunder as he shoved open the door of the Great Cabin. "What would you say to some of my breeches and a doublet?"

"What would you say to it?"

He laughed and swept the dripping hair out of his eyes as he ushered her in. "I'd say I prefer seeing women in dresses. But we'll both have to make do." He walked to his locker, seeming not to notice the roll of the ship, and flipped open the lid. "Take your pick while I go topside." He gestured toward the sideboard. "And there's port and some tankards in there."

"How'll I loosen my bodice?"

"Send for your maid, as always." There was a scream of wind down the companionway as he wrenched open the door, then slammed it again behind him. She was still grasping the table, trying to steady herself against the roll of the ship, when she heard m.u.f.fled shouts from the decks above and then the rattle of a chain.

She reached back and began to work at the knot in the long

laces that secured her bodice. English fashions, which she found absurd in sweltering Barbados, required all women of condition to wear this heavy corset, which laced all the way up the back, over their shift.

This morning it had been two layers of whitest linen, with strips of whalebone sewn between and dainty puffed sleeves attached, but now it was soaked with salt water and brown from the sand and flotsam of the bay. She tugged and wriggled until it was loose enough to draw over her head.

She drew a breath of relief as her b.r.e.a.s.t.s came free beneath her shift, and then she wadded the bodice into a soggy bundle and discarded it onto the floor of the cabin. Her wet shift still clung to her and she looked down for a moment, taking pleasure in the full curve of her body. Next she began unpinning her skirt at the spot where it had been looped up stylishly to display her petticoat.

The ship rolled again and the lid of the locker dropped shut. As the floor tilted back to an even keel, she quickly stepped out of the soaking dress and petticoats, letting them collapse onto the planking in a dripping heap. In the light of the swinging lamp the once-blue taffeta looked a muddy gray.

The ship suddenly pitched backward, followed by a low groan that sounded through the timbers as it shuddered to a dead stop. The floor of the cabin lay at a tilt, sloping down toward the stern.

She stepped to the locker and pried the lid back open. Inside were several changes of canvas breeches, as well as a fine striped silk pair. She laughed as she pulled them out to inspect them in the flickering light. What would he say if I were to put these on, she wondered? They're doubtless part of his vain pride.

Without hesitating she shook out the legs and drew them on under her wet shift. There was no mirror, but as she tied the waiststring she felt their sensuous snugness about her thighs. The legs were short, intended to fit into hose or boots, and they revealed her fine turn of ankle. Next she lifted out a velvet doublet, blue and embroidered, with gold b.u.t.tons down the front. She admired it a moment, mildly surprised that he would own such a fine garment, then laid it on the table while she pulled her dripping shift over her head.

The rush of air against her skin made her suddenly aware how hot and sultry the cabin really was. Impulsively she walked back to the windows aft and unlatched them. Outside the sea churned and pounded against the stern, while dark rain still beat against the quartergallery. She took a deep breath as she felt the cooling breeze wash over her clammy face and b.r.e.a.s.t.s. She was wondering how her hair must look when she heard a voice.