Scuttle (The Pirate King Series, Book 2)

Chapter 3: Hoist the Colors

My feet are firmly rooted to the deck until Graves leaves my side. Similarly, it seems the Admiral also needs a few moments to recover from what just happened. By the time he turns his attention back to his own ship, the three men from the Phoenix Rising are in their rowboat on the way back to theirs.

Running to the railings, I watch them slowly weave the small craft between the surrounding vessels until they're completely obscured from view. None of them glance up, but I don't mind. Having to say good-bye once was hard enough.

I touch my lips with my fingertips where Cade's taste lingers and sigh. No, we don't need to extend the painful process.

I dally topside for a few more minutes, attempting to clear my mind of needless worry. I've come to enjoy the sea with its mesmerizing glimmer and salty breeze, but this day isn't like any other. The sight of all the men in uniform and ships preparing for battle unnerves me instead of appeases, so I ask for permission to retire to my cabin.

A young mate escorts me below. The first level we reach contains rows of heavy, black cannons pointed outward with a large, open area in the middle. It seems like an inefficient use of space until I see some of the crew eating further toward the bow and realize this is probably where most of the hundreds of men usually rest and sleep.

The air is getting increasingly stale as we descend one more set of steps and head toward the stern. On the other ships I've been on, large officers' cabins were always located here. Even though the Bedford dwarfs those vessels both in the number of men, as well as artillery it carries, space here comes at a premium.

This is confirmed when the young man opens a door into a room barely large enough to hold a cot. "Here we are, Miss. This would be our chaplain's quarters, but he's currently on the Intrepid. You can stay here until we dock in Yorktown. Now, if there's nothing else-"

"You're confident then we can break de Grasse's line?" I turn, stopping him from leaving.

He wrinkles his brows at my skepticism. "Of course. There's no one better than Rear Admiral Graves to lead us to victory."

Although I was hoping for something more convincing, I feel foolish in pressing him further. "Thank you for escorting me here. I can manage on my own now."

Rolling his eyes as he tips his hat, the young man leaves the way we came without another word.

Entering the small cabin, I shut the door behind me. Immediately feeling the tight confines, I squeeze my skirt between the cot and the wall to get to the lone window. No matter how hard I crank the handle, however, the pane only budges enough to leave a small gap. Luckily, even this limited amount of fresh air allows me to feel less like I'm imprisoned.

I close my eyes and just breathe.

Dear Lord, how do I keep ending up like this? I'm reminded of the previous times I've found myself a captive on a strange vessel, but then shake my head. No, don't think like that, Ana. You're here for my own safety and not as a prisoner. You can't forget that. You should be thankful, not peevish.

Covering my face with my hands, I sit on the firm mattress. As I try to recline, however, something pokes me in the back.

I've been so preoccupied with everything else I didn't even notice my traveling bag Henry delivered for me. Reaching over to toss it on the floor, I'm surprised by its unexpected heaviness.

Twisting at the waist, I un-do the latch and peek at the bag's contents. On top is my sword, which I remove at once. Underneath are layers of familiar fabrics: the white of my nightclothes and the blues of my second favorite dress. Pushing these aside, I'm met with an unexpected sight.