The Sea Sprite Read online

  “Why are you captain of this ship instead of Newt?”

  “Because the Undaunted belongs to my family. Newt was first mate aboard the Undaunted when my grandfather was captain. He’d thought that part of his life was over. But now that my father and brother are gone, my sisters and I decided to carry on the family business, and we’ve asked Newt to join us.”

  “It must be nice to have family.”

  She paused in her work. “Is there no one except your uncle?”

  He shook his head.

  “But now you have Gryf.”

  “Aye.” His face lit with a happy smile. “And he’s better than anyone in the world.”

  “Ahoy, the Undaunted.” At Newton’s shout, Darcy and Whit hurried to the rail to watch as the old sailor and the others climbed the rope ladder to the deck.

  Fielding happily hauled his supplies across the deck, heading toward the galley.

  When Gryf hauled himself over the rail, Darcy stood back as the boy rushed to his side. In that instant she found herself wishing that she could be as free to rush to him as the lad was.

  The boy’s eyes were bright with curiosity. “Did you bring me anything, Gryf?”

  “I might have.” The man kept his features carefully masked.

  “What is it? What’d you bring?” Now the lad was fairly quivering with excitement.

  Gryf reached into his pocket and removed a handful of cookies.

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Where’d you get these, Gryf?”

  “From the cook at the tavern. I told her I knew of a lad who had a yearning for anything sweet.”

  The boy looked up at him adoringly as he bit into the first confection. Then, remembering his manners, he held out his hand to Darcy. “Have one, Captain.”

  She shook her head in refusal. “You keep them, Whit. And save one for a special treat later tonight.”

  “I will. Thanks, Gryf.” The boy carried his treasure off to the crew’s quarters.

  Darcy watched him leave, then turned to Gryf with a smile. “That was sweet of you. I doubt Whit has had many gifts in his young life.”

  “Aye. It occurred to me.” There was no answering smile. In fact, he seemed almost eager to flee her side as he abruptly turned away.

  Puzzled, she watched as he crossed the deck and picked up a hammer. Minutes later he joined the rest of the crew in their work, effectively shutting her out.

  She returned to her own work, wondering what had brought this about. Perhaps Gryf and the others had had words while they were ashore. Or perhaps she was merely imagining a slight when none had been intended.

  Darcy finished writing in the ship’s log and set aside her book and quill. She’d been closed in her cabin for hours, attending to business. Now she wanted to take a turn around the deck before going to sleep. She picked up her heavy winter coat and blew out the candle before heading for the steps.

  An icy wind caught her hair, whipping it across her cheeks as she stepped on deck. She paused to give her eyes a chance to adjust to the darkness. Then she looked around. Everyone, it seemed, had retired for the night. She felt a vague sense of dismay, which she quickly shrugged aside; then she caught the sharp bite of tobacco on the night air and turned to see a shadowy figure all alone at the rail.

  Gryf. Her heart missed a beat before starting to race. Though she wouldn’t admit it to herself, she’d been hoping he would be here.

  “Aren’t you freezing?”

  He didn’t turn. He’d heard the light footfall on the deck, and knew instinctively it was Darcy. “I hadn’t noticed the cold.”

  “Hadn’t noticed?” She laughed. “You must be made of stone.”

  “If only that were true.” He took a last puff on his pipe, then tapped it on the rail, watching the burning ashes drop into the dark water below.

  “You sound so…somber. You must have some serious thoughts on your mind.”

  “Aye.” He closed his hand around the bowl of the pipe. Finding it cool to the touch, he returned it to his pocket and turned up the collar of his seaman’s coat. “I seem better able to sort through my thoughts out here, where I can see the moon and stars.”

  “I love looking at them, too.” She lifted her face to the wind and watched the path of moonlight shimmer across the waves. “Do you mind if we watch them together?”

  “How can I object? You’re the captain.”

  She turned to him, feeling the thread of anger beneath the words. Without thinking she put a hand over his. And felt him flinch.

  Flinch? Her heart did a quick little flutter in her chest.

  “What’s wrong, Gryf? Have I said or done something to upset you?”

  “It isn’t you, Darcy.” He turned then, and looked at her for the first time. He felt a razor’s edge of pain around his heart at the way she was watching him. God in heaven, how was he supposed to ignore the invitation in that trusting smile? “It’s me. I need time by myself.”

  “Oh. Aye. Of course.”

  He watched her smile fade from joyful to puzzled, her eyes go from happy to sad.

  “I’ll—I’ll leave you alone, then.” She started to turn away and he caught her by the arm to stop her.

  “Wait.” He’d meant only to soothe. To offer an apology for his disturbing behavior. “Darcy…”

  The look she turned on him was so hopeful, he instantly hated himself. Still, he couldn’t help reaching out to brush a strand of her hair from her cheek.

  For a moment she stiffened, then moved against his hand like a kitten.

  What happened next was completely without rhyme or reason. Giving not a single thought to the consequences, he swore, low and deep in his throat, and dragged her against him, savaging her mouth.

  Darcy’s first thought was to push free of the arms imprisoning her and slap his arrogant face. Was she supposed to ignore the fact that he’d just tried to snub her? Now did he think it would all be forgotten by a kiss?

  In truth, it could. In the space of a single instant, everything that had happened before this moment was wiped from her mind as his mouth moved over hers and took.

  This was no tender coaxing. No sweet caressing. This was a savage mating of mouth to mouth. A quick, greedy assault. And though it frightened her, it was also deeply, distressingly arousing. For it uncovered a raw, primitive hunger in her that demanded satisfaction.

  He tangled a fist in her hair and pulled her head back, plundering her lips. She was instantly caught up in a quick flare of desire. Without a thought to where this would lead, she moaned and clung and gave what he demanded.

  And what he demanded was more. All. His hands moved over her, igniting fires wherever they touched. He couldn’t get enough of her. He wanted to touch her everywhere. And did.

  At her moan of pleasure, he suddenly froze. As quickly as it began, it ended. He lifted his head and held her a little away, staring down into her eyes already glazed with passion. His own were dark and troubled and as turbulent as a storm-tossed sea.

  It infuriated him that even when he kissed her in anger, she responded with such generosity.

  What he wanted, more than anything in the world, was to accept the invitation in those eyes and crush her against him. To take what she was so obviously offering, and to hell with the man she’d loved and lost. It was no concern of his.

  But it was. It was. Now that he knew about her loss, it wasn’t something he could forget or ignore. It ate at him. Tore at his soul. And mocked him. He’d be damned if he’d try to fill the role of a dead man.

  “Good night, Captain.” He lowered his hand to his side and turned away, leaving her standing alone at the ship’s rail, while he stalked off to the crew’s quarters to brood.

  Chapter Nine

  Darcy stood alone at the rail, listening to Gryf’s footsteps fade.

  What had just happened here? She wasn’t quite certain. There had been such raw passion. And then a fierce, barely controlled anger in those dark eyes and in his tone of voice. An anger that she
felt was directed at her. But what had she said or done to cause it?

  She searched her mind, wondering what had set him off. One minute he was touching her, kissing her, drawing her into his web of passion. The next he was distant, aloof. And doing everything possible to push her away.

  She’d sensed an almost barely controlled violence in his kiss. As though he’d wanted to devour her. She shivered. It excited her. And that worried her. It was true that she lived in a man’s world, a world of villains and pirates and bloody battles. But she’d always managed to hold herself apart from the other passions which the rest of her shipmates indulged.

  The thought came unbidden. Maybe he simply needed a woman. Any woman. Perhaps, on his trip to the village, he’d seen the others take their pleasure with one of the tavern wenches. There were always village wenches lurking about the taverns, hoping to snag the interest of a sailor with coin in his pocket.

  She knew so little about Gryf. He was a solitary figure, keeping to the shadows to hide his scars. Perhaps a tavern wench had been unwilling to overlook his disfigurement.

  Disfigurement. The very word offended her. Despite the puckered scars on his neck and back, he was easy on the eye. And though he continued to hide from the world under that beard and the brim of a hat, what she’d seen so far was dangerously attractive. Aye. Attractive enough to catch the eye of any woman.

  The thought brought a shaft of pain directly to her heart. She couldn’t bear to think about him in the arms of another. Still, what right did she have to such thoughts? He was little more than a stranger. A sailor who’d been hired to fill in for missing crew members. And when this voyage was over, he’d no doubt sign onto another ship and sail away to some far-flung country, never to be seen again.

  Well, let him go. And good riddance.

  Men, she thought with a sudden rush of fury. She’d never understand them. And wasn’t inclined to even try.

  If Gryf thought he could play her for a fool, he was mistaken. He’d find in her a worthy opponent. She could avoid him, no matter how confining the space between them. She’d show him.

  She swallowed the hard lump that had settled in her throat like a stone. Not disappointment, she told herself. Anger. And she’d always known just how to deal with anger.

  Newt stood in the shadows, wondering how long Darcy would remain topside in the bitter wind.

  He’d overheard the words exchanged between the lass and Gryf. And though he was suffering a twinge of guilt for his part in all this, he couldn’t help rejoicing that one of them had had the good sense to put a stop to this thing that had begun to develop between them.

  An innocent like Darcy needed protection from her foolish heart. And he’d given his word to her grandfather and the others that he’d watch out for her. Even if it meant causing her momentary pain.

  Still, the guilt gnawed at him. He’d always believed that, in matters of the heart, some things seemed to have no rhyme or reason. He could see why Darcy was attracted to the lonely sailor. He looked so much like Gray, he even had Newt wondering. But that didn’t explain Gryf’s intense interest in a lass he barely knew. Unless she somehow stirred memories in him. Memories that, though buried beneath layers of pain, were struggling to break through. If that was the case, the memories would continue creeping up to the surface, until his past would merge with his present. In the meantime, it was Darcy’s heart that needed tending. And Newt intended to do what he had to, to keep her safe.

  The old man shivered in the cold and tucked his hands in his pockets before crossing the deck to stand beside her.

  “Ye’re up late, lass.”

  “Aye.”

  “Was that Gryf I saw leaving?”

  “It was.”

  He heard something in her voice, though whether it was pain or anger he couldn’t be certain. He glanced over. She was looking up at the sky.

  “What are ye thinking, lass?”

  “About the time Gray returned from his first voyage aboard his father’s ship, and told me about the great hunter, Orion. No matter how hard Orion tried, he couldn’t defeat the scorpion. When he tried to escape, the scorpion stung him to death with its poisonous tail. And ever since, the scorpion is always chasing after Orion in the night sky.”

  She pointed. “There they are, Newt. The hunter. The scorpion.”

  “Gray was a fine storyteller, lass. No one could tell a tale better.”

  “Aye.” She was silent for a full minute before she whispered, “Gryf tells a fine tale, as well.”

  He glanced over and saw a hint of moisture glittering on her lashes. He didn’t think he could bear it if she started to weep on his shoulder. “We’d best get in out of this cold.”

  “Cold?” She looked around. “I hadn’t noticed.”

  “Then ye’r blood is hotter than mine, lass. Come.”

  Newton led the way below deck.

  At the door to her cabin she paused. “Good night, Newt.”

  “’Night, lass.”

  The old man waited until he heard the latch set before he continued along to the quarters he shared with the crew. Inside, he made his way among the hammocks until he came to his. Wrapping the blanket around himself he rolled into bed. Shrugging aside the guilt that stabbed at his conscience, he was soon asleep.

  Across the room Gryf lay in his hammock, brooding. He’d heard the old man come in. Listened as the men around him sighed, and the fat cook, Fielding, snored. But the sleep he longed for eluded him. All he could think about was Darcy Lambert.

  What was it about this woman that kept nagging at the edges of his mind? Was she like someone he’d known and loved? Could he actually be this man for whom she was grieving? It didn’t seem likely. The name had meant nothing to him. Besides, her man had gone down in a ship. And his wounds had been caused by a tavern fire.

  Still, he’d been instantly attracted. That first night, when he saw her in the tavern room, he’d thought her different from any other woman. Dressed like a seaman, in breeches and boots, instead of the usual demure gowns the women in the village wore. And that golden hair, all free and flowing, instead of hidden beneath a bonnet. No wonder he’d noticed her. Every man in that tavern had taken note of her. But for his part, it had been attraction, not recognition.

  He rolled to his side, trying to get comfortable. He couldn’t fault Newton for trying to warn him off. The old man loved her. He had a right to look out for her, especially since she’d been thrust into a man’s world.

  Odd, that one who looked like that, with that cloud of golden hair and eyes bluer than any sky, should choose such a profession. If she were dressed in an elegant gown, and thrust into the proper setting, she could pass for royalty. But even the rough garb of a sailor couldn’t mask her beauty, a beauty laced with a toughness that helped her survive in this life she’d chosen.

  Still, for all her skill as a sailor, she was an innocent when it came to men. She may have loved a lad, but she hadn’t loved a man. Not the way a woman loved a man, at any rate. It was obvious in the way she kissed. As though her lips had never before touched a man’s. And in the way she responded, with the sort of open trust that was at once endearing and worrisome.

  Still, she wasn’t exactly a helpless female. He’d seen the way she fought. There wasn’t a man among them who could toss a knife with as much accuracy as Darcy. She’d handled a sword with equal skill. In fact, when it came to a battle with hardened cutthroats, he’d rather have Darcy Lambert at his side than most of the sailors aboard this ship.

  She was, quite simply, a most amazing woman. No wonder he was attracted to her. His eyes opened, and he watched a flicker of moonlight dance across the ceiling. Aye. He was still attracted to her. Even knowing that she’d loved and lost another. And now, having been warned that she might be confused at times about his true identity, what was the harm of it? He’d let her know that he was Gryf. A simple sailor. And that he was attracted to Darcy Lambert, a not-so-simple sea captain.

  He smiled in the
darkness. There now, this conflict hadn’t been so difficult after all. Perhaps one of the best things about having no memory of the past was the fact that he couldn’t tell if he’d lived by the rules of other men, or had lived by his own.

  For now, he would be content to make up the rules as he went along. One day at a time. Especially where Darcy Lambert was concerned.

  Relieved in his mind, he slept.

  “We’ll stay here in port today and finish the necessary repairs, mates.” Newton stood in the center of a cluster of sailors. “Until I’m satisfied that the Undaunted is seaworthy.”

  Gryf, standing on the fringe of the circle, watched as Darcy made her way topside. As always she wore men’s breeches tucked into tall boots and a colorful shirt with billowing sleeves. Her wind-tossed hair was a mass of long yellow tangles that framed a face kissed by the sun.

  When she caught sight of him she turned away and busied herself filling a dipper from a bucket of water.

  He ambled over and assumed a careless pose. “Good morrow, Captain.”

  She drank. Swallowed. And struggled to keep her emotions banked. “Good morrow.”

  In the uncomfortable silence between them they heard young Whit shout a question.

  “If there’s time, will we be allowed to go ashore and visit the village?”

  Much to the delight of the others Newton nodded. “Ye will. After ye’r chores are done. But I’ll expect ye to return to the ship before dark.” He and Darcy had discussed it, and agreed that, though a night on shore would be a lovely break with routine, they couldn’t afford to have any more of their crew taking off, and leaving them shorthanded. The best way to see to it was to demand that they return at night to the Undaunted.

  Darcy and Gryf strolled over to join the rest of the crew, careful to keep their distance from each other as they did.

  Whit was practically dancing with eagerness at the thought of setting foot in a new country. “Do the Scots speak our language, Newt?”

  The old man grinned. “In a manner of speaking.”

  “What does that mean?” the boy asked.