On A Lee Shore Read online

  “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?”

  “A little west of north,” Valliere said, nodding to the binnacle. “That cloud to the nor-nor’east is above Grenada. If we’re not being pushed too far west by the currents, we should raise it day after tomorrow.”

  Kit nodded. “I’ll take the tiller if you want to stand down,” he offered.

  “I’m fine,” Valliere said. He lifted his face to the sun, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Could anything be better than this?”

  Kit laughed and headed for the galley to see if he could scrounge some breakfast and to consult with Pollack about their dwindling food supplies. He was happy enough to eat fish, but he knew that other men on the Africa demanded “proper” food—smoked pork or beef and rock hard biscuit.

  “We’ll do maybe a week more,” the cook said. “But it won’t be long till our gums start getting soft. Don’t want that bright smile of yourn spoiled, do we, young Kit? Proper water we needs. And rum and lemons. Sovereign for scurvy, that punch is.”

  “And it lifts the spirits,” Saunders confirmed when Kit consulted him half a glass later. “You’ve been at sea for long enough to know what scurvy does to a man, Kit. And Griffin is already weak. Get us to the Grenadines, give me some of the silver, and I’ll do the rest. I’ve never lost a man yet.”

  “I pray to God we don’t,” Kit said. He hesitated a moment before asking his next question. “When we get sight of the Garnet—what then? Will Africa be able to overpower her? We have barely enough men to man one gun as well as sail the ship.”

  “One gun can be enough with the right man to lay her,” Saunders pointed out. “But I doubt we’ll fight. Jago is just a sea robber—a dock rat that has moved up in the world. It is Griffin who made the plans, who decided when to come to port to off load the take. Who found out about the shipments and made the deals. Jago’s men are thinking with their cocks right now. They’ll be wanting to make port and spend their portions of the treasure. But when they sober up they’ll remember that it was Griffin who won it for them, and they’ll be wanting him to do it again.”

  “I’ll kill Jago if I can,” Kit pointed out. “That is, if Detorres doesn’t beat me to it.”

  Saunders nodded toward the hammock where the Spaniard was sleeping. “He said as much. I’ll hold your coats while you do it.”

  They sailed for the rest of the day, fighting currents and tacking widely to get the best of the wind. Progress was slow and frustrating, so Kit decreed a make do and mend day to give himself, as much as the rest of the crew, something to do to take their minds of it. Africa went gallantly on her way, flapping with bunting made from laundry, and Kit finally managed a proper wash and got rid of most of the soot clogging his hair. Griffin slept soundly until noon when he awoke, groggy and bad tempered, more because he needed to piss than because he was slept out. Once he had finished in the heads, Kit brought him tea and persuaded him down to the cabin.

  “I’ve had my sleep,” Kit assured him, “and you need to be rested for when we catch up with the Garnet.”

  “That I do,” Griffin agreed. He sat on the edge of the cot, bare feet swinging, and yawned. “Wake me before sunset,” he said and caught Kit by the wrist then by the collar, drawing him close. Kit went to him, pushing Griffin until he lay back, and stooped over him to plant a gentle kiss on his healing lips.

  “Sleep,” Kit said. “I’ll call you if anything of interest happens.”

  “If you stayed it’s possible something of interest might happen right here,” Griffin suggested. But his eyes were already closing, so Kit laughed and went to open the stern windows to let the air blow through.

  Kit insisted they let Griffin sleep and took responsibility for it when Griffin woke and swore at him. But Griffin’s heart wasn’t it, and he soon calmed down enough to accept the food Pollack had made for them. Food, drink, and rest were improving his looks by the day. The blistering from the sunburn was healing to a healthy, if patchy, tan, and the lack of drink had shrunk the network of blood vessels in his eyes. Griffin looked younger, less careworn, though he still grew silent and grim if Jago was mentioned.

  That evening Saunders relented and allowed Griffin a small tumbler of br
andy. Denny fetched it, as proud as Punchinello with his silver tray, and everyone who could be spared gathered in the waist of the ship to talk and pass the time. Kit had no real interest in drinking brandy, so he took some small beer to the tiller to relieve Lewis.

  “Ah, our captain is back and looking a treat,” Lewis said before he went to join Protheroe. “And you are glad to have him back.”

  “That I am,” Kit agreed.

  “Ah,” Lewis nodded. “But you’ll still leave him if you can.” It was said with confidence as well as regret, as though it was a conclusion reached long ago by everyone but Kit.

  “I can’t be a pirate,” Kit said and was astonished to hear the apologetic tone in his voice. “Privateering, in time of war, perhaps, but I can’t just—ruin honest merchants, sink fishing vessels. I can’t do that. The Santiago was different. That was—denying comfort to the enemy.”

  “Lucky the man who feels he has a choice.” Lewis sighed. “And bear in mind that, when it comes to the law, young Kit, you may not be the one doing the choosing.”

  “If you could go home, wouldn’t you?” Kit asked.

  “And leave my dewydd, Protheroe?” Lewis shook his head. “There’s no choice for us. We’re thieves and pirates and scoundrels, but we love each other. Time was, here in the islands, men like us could sign a paper to say they were together and be honored for it as—what was the word? As mates—matlows?”

  “Matelots?” Kit suggested.

  “Aye, that was the word. But times moved on and now this is the only place for us—among the gentlemen of the coast where some remember the old ways and others just don’t care. That’s why we stay. Better the bright blaze, soon ash, with loving company than the long, dark, cold alone. No, I’ll not leave him—and see, he’s seen us looking so I’ll go and maybe light a little spark. Good night, Lieutenant Penrose, sir.”

  Kit joined in Lewis’s laugh, though he didn’t really feel like it. The long, dark, cold alone—it had an ominous ring to it.