Without turning around, I sensed Jobah at the helm, awaiting my signal. Behind me, seamen carried on as if nothing were amiss.
For their mutiny to appear authentic, I needed the participation of the entire ship. So I waited a few more minutes, giving Reynolds enough time to quietly pass along orders, preparing the men for the subterfuge.
Then I exchanged the spyglass for the speaking trumpet and jumped up onto the gunwale.
Near the stern of HMS Blitz, rowers and lieutenants began to descend the ladder to the jolly boat.
“Advance no further, impotent Puritans!” I yelled at them across the waves. “Or your livers will bleed on the end of my cutlass!”
The men filed into the jolly, ignoring my hollow threats. I continued shouting at them, solidifying the ruse that my only defense was to attack them with words.
I was so lost in my dire declarations to cause harm that I didn’t sense Reynolds behind me until his arm chopped the backs of my knees.
Loss of balance sent me tumbling. The trumpet flew backward. My body toppled forward, and Reynolds shoved my legs, sealing my fate.
I fell.
It was a long, horrifying drop. Long enough for a thousand doubts to flood in and swallow me in panic.
At the last moment, I gathered my senses, arrowed my body, feet first, and pressed my arms to my sides. When I hit the surface of the water, it felt like I collided with hard earth. My teeth sliced my tongue. Air ripped from my lungs, and every bone jarred with the impact.
Then I sank. And sank. As I plunged deeper into the sea, my thoughts obsessed over what was transpiring above the surface.
Jobah would be executing my orders to flee. The crew would be hauling lines, turning canvas, and hooting in mutinous cheer, leading Lord Cutler to believe they had just sacrificed their wanted captain to save their own lives.
If Lord Cutler opened fire to stop their escape, I wouldn’t just die down here. He would lose my carcass amid the wreckage and debris.
Right now I suspected he was weighing the value of my drowning body against that of my captured crew. And he would settle on the same conclusion I had.
My head was worth more, whether or not it was attached to the rest of me. He wouldn’t chase Jade at the risk of losing his prize to the sea.
Every second was an eternity as I descended through blue water, lungs burning, legs frantically kicking, heart flailing, vision fading. I’d understood the danger of falling overboard but wasn’t prepared for the sudden, petrifying attack of hysterics.
My throat spasmed, fighting the reflex to gulp. Undercurrents of water slammed into me like invisible fists, thrashing me around and jumbling my sense of direction. I searched for the surface, unable to see sunlight through the increasing black spots.
I’d hoped to avoid unconsciousness, but it was inevitable now as my strength abandoned me, giving way to violent, involuntary contractions in my muscles. The need to breathe was so vicious I didn’t think I could suffer another second without gasping.
The last thing I saw was Jade’s mighty hull overhead. She dispersed waves of water as she turned, making her utmost speed with sails that must have been full and close-hauled. With the warship still moored, Jade would be safely out of firing range within minutes.
I clapped a hand over my nose and mouth, stifling the agonizing ache to gulp as her wake shoved a tonnage of bone-breaking seawater over my head.
Undercurrents grabbed my useless legs and pulled me down, down, down into the yawning darkness.
I came to awareness, choking, convulsing, and vomiting seawater. Callused hands turned me side to side, pounding my back, and pushing on my abdomen between agonizing intervals of wet coughs and tremors.
Minutes lasted hours as every muscle and organ worked to expel the burning water. When my airway finally cleared, I lay bone-tired and grateful to be alive with a wooden deck canting lazily beneath me.
The warship.
Blinking ocean tears from my eyes, I stared up at the rank and file of uniforms on the upper deck, where I sprawled like a starfish.
Gold buttons, hats cocked on three sides, navy-issued dragoon pistols, boots of the finest leather, stoic expressions… The soldiers stood as one, symbolizing England’s power.
I couldn’t see Jade’s mighty masts off the starboard bow. Couldn’t hear her sheets hissing in the wind. Couldn’t detect the stench of blood or the gunpowder smoke of battle. The navy sailors were all here, seemingly awaiting orders without urgency. Which meant they weren’t engaged with my ship.
They’d let her go.
By the teeth of almighty God, my ruse had worked.
Jade escaped!
Quiet jubilation startled into my throat and tumbled past my lips, rolling into hacking fits of laughter.
Two men stood over me, bowing their cocked hats together. Lieutenants, given their buckled shoes and powdered periwigs.
“Why is she laughing?” one asked. “Does she not realize her crew threw her overboard to save their own hides?”
“She’s mad as a March hare,” the second lieutenant said.
“Oh, my foolish lads.” Grinning maniacally, I pushed to a sitting position and straightened the shirt to cover my nudity. “You have no idea what you just invited onto your ship.”
They glowered down their bladed noses with all the haughtiness of English nobility. I yawned, losing interest.
Meanwhile, every muscle in my body continued to shake, reminding me I almost drowned. Or maybe I did? Which one of these pretty boys brought me back to life? Why was no one addressing me or slapping me in irons?
Perhaps I was the first woman to ever step onto this first-rate ship of the line. But every seaman in the vicinity stared as if I were a mystical, fire-breathing sea dragon they’d mistakenly hauled from the sea.
They’d caught a lady pirate and seemed uncertain about what to do next.
“Don’t put a ball through my heart.” I thrust my hands in the air. “I’m just going to stand.”
No one moved as I wobbled ungracefully to my feet and made a quick scan of the horizon. The silhouette of distant sails sent a flutter of relief through my chest. Beyond the range of the warship’s guns, Jade was already vanishing beneath the horizon.
Keep them safe, Reynolds.
Centering my bare feet on the rolling deck, I took a quick inventory of my body. Dripping wet, Priest’s shirt hung to my knees. The jade stone still sat against my throat. And that was the extent of what I carried with me.
I staggered toward the uniformed men. Numerous fingers twitched against pistol belts, but not a gun was drawn.
My fate didn’t reside in the hands of low-ranked soldiers.
I searched the sea of blue frocks, looking for the one with jeweled buttons and elaborate embroidery of gold curlicues.
There. Lord Ashley Cutler, the commodore of HMS Blitz, stood just aft from a short raised deck, his hat tucked under an elbow, and a big hand curled around the top rail, confident, patient, cool as rain in the warm sea air under the bluest of blue skies.
Stunning bright blue like his eyes.
How unexpectedly…gorgeous.
The shocking intensity of his gaze pushed against me, rudely, blatantly glaring, so distractingly at odds with the sweetness of his face. Mercy God, he had such an innocent-looking face. All marble-smooth skin, full rosy lips, thick heavy lashes, with the wind ruffling the black as ink strands of his short hair.
That sweet look, however, didn’t disparage the unsettling aura of his presence. He regarded me as if he didn’t care a whit if I lived or died or sprouted wings and clucked like a chicken. Apathy formed an impenetrable shield around him, and perhaps that explained why his face gave the impression of youthsome innocence.