Page 6 of Only By Grace
“It’s over five hundred nautical miles and at five to seven knots per hour, that means it takes nigh seven days.”
Grace could only swallow hard. She was to be trapped in that dark, tiny cabin for seven more days? “Be that as it may, I must insist I be allowed to leave the cabin.”
“Insist, do you?” He looked amused at Grace’s bravery.
She thrust her chin up. “For one, I will need an endless supply of candles. For two, I do not need to be confined like a prisoner. I am very well-behaved.”
“Unlike Joy, who I would have expected to find herself in an imbroglio like this.”
“Well, yes.” No disrespect to Joy, but she did always find herself in scrapes.
“Very well, then. I will allow you to use my cabin during the day so you might have light and more room. The first mate’s cabin is normally never used for anything but sleep. However, you may still not venture to the deck without my escort. It is not your behaviour that concerns me.”
Grace was not certain what did concern him, then. She knew she should be happy for her small victory, but it was difficult not to rebel at the confinement. “And how often will that be?”
He stood and chucked her under the chin—as if she were a small child!
“Whenever the notion takes me,” he said in his deepest Irish brogue, then left. If only she’d had something to throw at him, she would have. So she told her inner bold self.
Ronan chuckleddespite himself as he closed the door behind him, his anger dissolving. He’d seen a new and unexpected side of Grace Whitford. Her eyes sparkled and her cheeks took on a bloom that made her dangerously attractive. Apparently all it took to make her forget her meekness was to anger her. Well, he foresaw a great deal of that in the upcoming days. He didn’t know if that was good or bad. She would at least be a more entertaining companion, but there was no place in his heart for more than that.
The poor innocent did not understand the likely repercussions of being alone together on a ship with him. He desperately hoped it would not come to her ruination and that Westwood and her family would be able to concoct an eventuality that even the servants would believe. But that would require a miracle, and Ronan did not believe in them. He could not imagine a worse fate than a woman being tied to him in marriage for life, especially someone meek and quiet. He’d done little to earn his roguish reputation, but neither had he ever bothered to dispel it. Perhaps if they could reach land quickly and send word, he and she could escape the parson’s noose. Because it would be a noose—for both of them.
If it came to it, he would give her his name, but only his name.
What could he do to keep her content until they reached Ireland? At least there, his mother and sister would be able to take care of her until she could be reunited with her family. Hopefully, Maeve would take to Grace and forget about Flynn…if it wasn’t already too late.
Now to pacify his crew, most of whom were waking to this news. He intended to keep her far away from them. Not that he expected any of his men to disobey him or try anything with her. His next point of business was to convince them they were not all doomed because there was a lady on the ship. Most sailors were superstitious as a lot, but to be Irish and a sailor…’twould be nigh impossible to convince them. But he had to try.
He’d already had to bribe Paddy to take a tray to Miss Grace, but since she’d given him the task of helping with the kitten, the boy seemed to have decided she was well enough.
The thought of anyone being afraid of Grace Whitford was laughable. A quieter, sweeter lass than her he’d yet to meet. Perhaps he could draw her out more.
Thank God O’Brien and Kelly had not decided to toss her overboard last night. Apparently, she’d convinced Kelly to take the kitten to relieve himself, which was unbelievable in and of itself. He’d take any small favours at the moment.
Most hands were on deck going about their morning chores as he gained the quarter-deck. They were a rough lot, his crew—a patchwork of hardened, weathered faces each carrying the marks of hard work. There was Murphy, the grizzled boatswain with a voice that could be heard even in the fiercest squall, his tangled beard streaked with grey and his nose permanently reddened by years of rum and biting winds. O’Brien, his second mate, with an uncanny ability to spot danger long before it appeared, had a lined, weathered face from years in the elements. Then there was Kelly, the quiet navigator whose shoulders were broad from years of breaking horses.
As he surveyed the scene, he wondered what Grace had made of them when she’d awoken and encountered them alone last night. He imagined her taking in the rough edges and gruff demeanours with fear. The crew was a far cry from the refinedgentlemen to which she was accustomed in Mayfair. These men had bawdy ways, and their manners were non-existent.
He could almost see her now, standing at the edge of the deck last night, her gloved hands clasped in front of her as she tried to reconcile the tales she’d read of pirates in her novels with the reality before her. How out of place she must have felt when she first stepped aboard his ship, surrounded by these rough, coarse men.
“The weather’s a-changin’. I can feel it in me bones,” Kelly prophesied.
“Of all the times to need good weather, this is it,” Ronan said.
“You should drop the chit at Portsmouth or Plymouth,” O’Brien warned.
“The ship is not cursed because she is on board. That is an old wives’ tale. And you know why I cannot take the time to do it. Besides being the ward of one of my closest friends, who would run me through if I did such a thing, I cannot give Flynn any further time. He does not think I will make it back by Samhain.”
O’Brien cast him a scathing look then crossed himself. If anyone else had tried that, Ronan would’ve flogged him, but O’Brien was like a second father to him and had been with him since he was a lad.
“Where did the superstition come from, that having a female on a ship curses it?” he wondered aloud, though he’d heard it his whole life.
“All I know is that women distract the crew, which angers the sea goddess, causing her to send the waters into tumult.” O’Brien shuddered.
“Clearly, that is the case,” Ronan pointed out dryly.
“If only you’d make some effort to appease the goddess, Cap’n,” O’Brien chastised.
