Read Online Raven Saint by MaryLu Tyndall - Free Book Online Page B

between the ships and pummel Captain Dubois to the deck. Instead, all he could do was raise his fist in the air and assault them with his foul mouth. Captain Dubois leapt upon the gunwale and gave a mock bow. “Another time, perhaps, Capitaine. Mes compliments à Woodes.” Chuckling, Captain Dubois slipped down to the deck where he was engulfed with cheers from his men.
    His white shirt flapped in the breeze. The tanned skin on his chest and neck glistened with sweat in the noonday sun. He ran a hand through his coal-black hair, and his eyes latched upon Grace—dark eyes, flashing from the heat of battle. A shiver ran through her, the cause of which she could not explain. Fear, perhaps? More likely disgust at how easily he resorted to violence.
    Tearing her gaze from him, Grace released the mast, ignoring the pain in her hands, and took a tentative step with her trembling legs. Her stomach lurched, and she was thankful the broth had long since digested, or she feared she’d lose it upon the deck. She’d never been in a gun battle. Everything had happened so fast, she hadn’t time to consider that she could have been torn to pieces by a twelve-pound ball of metal. But now as relief flooded through her, she began to shake uncontrollably. She made her way to the companionway, hoping to manage a quiet exit, when she saw a gray mound rising out of the sea off their larboard side.
    â€œSir,” she called to one of the crewmen who was passing by—a young, lanky lad with a braid of brown hair hanging halfway down his back. He turned to her, surprise and delight brightening his sun-baked face.
    â€œWhat land is that?” She pointed to the sight on the horizon.
    â€œâ€™Tis the island they call Inagua, miss.”
    â€œIt appears so close.”
    â€œA mile or two, aye.” He started to leave.
    Grace grabbed his shirt, but quickly released it, not wanting him to think her wanton.
    â€œWhat is your name?” She attempted a coy smile as a sour taste filled her mouth. How did her sisters feign such coquettish mannerisms?
    â€œAndrew Fletcher, miss.”
    Grace leaned closer to him. “Mr. Fletcher, may I ask where we are heading?”
    Huzzahs and hurrahs blared from the crew. The young sailor glanced nervously across the deck as if seeking his captain’s permission.
    Grace wondered if he or any of the crew were aware of the reason she’d been brought on board. “I am a prisoner, Mr. Fletcher. What harm would it do to tell me?”
    He faced her and nodded. “We should arrive at Port-de-Paix in two days’ time, miss. I’m told we’ll anchor there for only a short while before setting sail again.”
    â€œThank you.” Grace smiled.
    He gave her a curious look before being whisked away by his companions who passed around bottles of some vile alcohol in celebration of their victory.
    Port-de-Paix? That would mean they’d be anchored close to land. Close enough to swim—or float—to shore. A daring idea began to form in her head.

CHAPTER 7
    Grace released Father Alers’s arm and entered the captain’s cabin. The desk and chairs had been pushed aside, the Persian rug rolled up, and in its place sat a long wooden table laden with steaming platters of food, mugs filled to the brim, decanters of wine, and brass candlesticks. Pewter plates shimmered in the flickering candlelight, and the spicy scent of pork and the pungent smell of cheese swirled about her. At the head of the table sat Captain Dubois and lining each side were members of his crew, some of whom Grace recognized, and all of whom jumped to their feet at her entrance. Including Captain Dubois, looking rather dashing in his black silver-embroidered coat and gold and purple sash tied about his waist. He had tamed his unruly mane into a slick style which he tied behind him, revealing a strong jaw which flexed beneath a sprinkle of black stubble. His white shirt, devoid