‘No.’ Clemence rubbed her ear resentfully. ‘You hurt me.’
‘It had to look real. Swear, Clemence, or I’ll lock you in this cabin for the duration.’
She had never broken a promise in her life. Oaths were sacred, but was a promise to a renegade binding? Was her conscience worth more than the lives below deck?
‘I promise,’ she said. I promise to let those men out, I promise to do everything in my power to sink this ship.
Nathan had obviously dealt with equivocal promises before. ‘What, exactly, do you promise?’
‘I promise not to go down to the orlop deck again,’ she said between gritted teeth.
‘Good, now stay here out of McTiernan’s sight until he finds someone else to divert his attention.’ He went out, closing the door behind him with such deliberate care that he may as well have slammed it.
‘Yes, Lieutenant, or Captain or whatever you were, Stanier,’ Clemence said mutinously to the empty air. ‘Whatever you say, sir.’ It did not help that she knew, deep down under her simmering frustration and anxiety, that he was only trying to protect her. She rubbed her ear again, wincing as she circled her shoulder to ease the bruises where McTiernan had flung her against the bulkhead, and made a conscious effort not to sulk.
Nathan leaned on the rail of the poop deck and watched Clemence seated below on an upturned bucket, peeling sweet potatoes for the next day by the light of a lantern. When he had let her out of the cabin, judging McTiernan’s mood to have lifted a trifle, she was silent, stiff-shouldered, but not, thank God, prone to pouting.
She seemed to feel safe with the cook, so he did not interfere when she went to the galley and offered her services. At least he could keep an eye on her and she had stopped rubbing her sore ear. He felt bad about that, but he could hardly have taken her by the hand and led her off under McTiernan’s bloodshot gaze. The urge to tell her who he was, what he was about, was an almost physical pressure that had to be resisted for her own safety. Clemence, when her emotions were engaged, was not the best actress in the world.
‘We’ll skulk for one more day,’ the captain was saying to the first mate and the bo’sun. ‘Let that bloody frigate get well away, then at first light the day after tomorrow we’ll slip out and see what we can catch. Mr Stanier, show them your trap.’
Nathan turned to the chart and began to explain. When he looked back, Clemence and her bucket of potatoes had gone. With any luck she’d be asleep when he went down.
‘You’ll take the second watch, Mr Stanier.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’ Time to snatch some sleep himself, in that case. Nathan touched two fingers to the brim of the wide straw hat he wore, noting inwardly how deeply the habits of respect to a captain were ingrained, and made for the cabin, collecting a mug of the well-stewed coffee from the galley stove as he passed.
‘Good lad of yours, Mr Stanier.’ Street loomed out of the shadows.
‘He is that, most of the time. Boys will be boys.’ Nathan eyed the big cook. He was a rogue, but not, he judged, a vicious one. ‘Keep an eye out for him for me, eh? If we get into a scrap and I’m…not around.’
‘Aye.’ Street nodded, impassive. ‘I’ll do that.’
That was probably all he could do in the way of insurance. Nathan opened the door softly on to the dark cabin, noting the hump in the opposite bunk that was Clemence’s sleeping form. He took off his shoes, unbuckled his sword belt and lay down, silent in the stillness so as not to wake her.
Then the quality of that stillness hit him and he held his breath. No one was breathing. When he pulled back the bedding he found not a young woman, but a roll of blankets. He did not waste any time swearing. There was only one place she could be, in defiance of her promises.
He did not take a lantern, feeling his way through the shadows, down past the gun deck with the occupied hammocks swinging to the motion of the ship and small groups of men dicing in pools of candlelight, down like a silent wraith into the stinking darkness of the orlop.
Only it was not dark. There was a figure holding a half-shuttered lantern, hand raised to the keys on their hook. As his heel hit the deck she swung roun
d with a gasp and the keys dropped.
‘You little fool.’ He went down on one knee to retrieve the keys. ‘I trusted you. Why is it impossible for a woman to keep her word?’
‘This is more important,’ she hissed back, her face white in the lamplight. He must have scared the wits out of her. ‘This is my duty. Let me open the door and see who is in there, speak to them.’
‘Duty!’ He got to his feet. He knew where duty got you. ‘Get back up. Now.’
They both heard the sound of feet on the deck over their heads at the same instant, saw the spill of light from a lantern. He had never hit a woman in his life, had never dreamed that he would. Nathan clenched his fist and caught Clemence a neat uppercut under her chin. She went down like a stone. He had just enough time to push her under the steps before McTiernan and Cutler appeared in the hatchway above.
‘Well, well, well. What have we here, Mr Cutler?’ The drawl sent a cold finger down Nathan’s spine, his hand closed on empty air where his sword should be.
‘It seems we have a navigator who doesn’t obey orders, Captain,’ the first mate answered, his eyes sliding warily over Nathan. ‘You want to explain what you are doing here, Mr Stanier?’
‘Curiosity.’ Nathan hung the key back on its hook.
‘Curiosity flayed the cat,’ McTiernan said, coming slowly down the steps, his eyes never leaving Nathan’s face. ‘With the cat.’ He smiled thinly at his nasty pun. ‘I don’t make idle threats, Mr Stanier.’