The cabin boy had fallen overboard again.
A shouted curse, followed by a resounding splash, jolted the captain from contemplative stillness to sudden action. Silhouetted against a vibrant blue sky, balancing at ease on the steeply canted deck of the port bow, the ship's commander had been idly tracking the path of a dapple gray gull as it circled the topgallants high above. Gold-burnished red hair framed the hollow-cheeked face, and a billowing silk shirt fluttered in the sultry breeze, molding itself to a slender yet strongly muscled torso. Tight black breeches encased lean, perfectly formed legs, and a heavy sword belt was buckled low across slim hips. Power and grace fairly emanated from the captain's lithe figure. A figure that had never, ever been mistaken for a man's.
Reacting instantly to the disturbance, the captain turned her attention down to the gently lapping waves below, where a quick scan of the situation told her all she needed to know. The ship's youngest crew member had slipped his tether, tumbling headlong into the aqua waters of the bay for an unexpected bath.
Lynnette swore she'd never met another human being quite so clumsy as young Davie, nor one so prone to making the same mistakes twice. She'd told the boy a hundred times to have someone else tie the knots on his makeshift sling when scraping the hull, or she'd make him do it the hard way - by keelhauling. Davie's own knots weren't worth the rope they were made from. This was the third time he'd fallen - and the last time she was going to save him.
She sighed, stripping off her high boots quickly. When they got back aboard, she was going to have someone teach the boy the correct way to tie a knot. She'd no time to mollycoddle her men.
"Damn," Lynnette swore. From all that splashing, it sounded like she'd better hurry, or he'd tire himself out before she could get to him.
She could have had one of the men aboard go after Davie, but in truth, she was the strongest swimmer on the Maiden's Revenge, and besides, she was their leader. It was her duty to protect her crew, and that, unfortunately, included fishing them out of the drink when necessary.
Unbuckling her sword belt, Lynnette let it clatter to the deck. She leapt to the railing, balanced for a second, then dove cleanly into the crystal-clear waters of the Caribbean far below.
They weren't that far from the shore, reefed for the moment in a safe harbor on the north coast of Tortuga for repairs and a proper careening of the hull. The ship was pulled close to shore, and a system of weights, ropes and pulleys held it slanted so that most of the port side was above water. That way, the sailors could get to work with their scrapers on the barnacles encrusting the hull, as well as check for possible weak spots in the seasoned wood.
Just above the waterline were several gaping holes that could only have been made by cannon fire. A couple of the men were repairing them with obvious skill and experience. As she dove, Lynnette thought she heard someone snickering behind her on deck, but then she hit the water with a shock, and for a moment, could hear nothing as the water rushed past her. Surfacing with a gasp, she flung her long hair back impatiently out of her eyes. One of these days, she swore, she was going to cut it all off. But thoughts of shears and curls faded as she spotted Davie by the great splashes of water he was sending up. She made her way to the boy in short seconds, and had her arm beneath his shoulders before he could do more than blink.
"Easy, lad," Lynnette spoke calmly in his ear, "I've got you. No need to clutch me so tight; we've been through this before." She looked up to the rail of the ship, where her first mate stood ready with a rope and a grin. "Harry!" she called, and he tossed the line down before she could complete the order. "All right, Davie-boy, up you go." The boy, a cheeky lad of thirteen, gave her a grateful, almost worshipful look and caught the end of the rope. With her support, he got a good grip and began ascending, his wiry arms more than equal to the task. When he was halfway up, Lynnette started up herself, and was soon aboard the sloping deck, dripping wet and ready to deliver a tongue-lashing the youthful cabin boy was unlikely to forget.
Before she even began, she noticed that the boy was directing his gaze some-where below her own, and not toward the floor, either. Specifically, to her soaked white silk shirt, and what lay beneath, not at all hidden by the wet fabric. Lynnette's eyes narrowed. The coincidence was too much to be ignored. One simply did not fall overboard three times in a year, even in the worst weather, and the weather today was fine, sunny and hot. A perfect day, in fact, for a short dunk and a long look at the attributes of one's rescuer - especially if one was a young man just beginning to notice the fairer sex. She understood the meaning of that snicker now. Some member of her crew had figured out Davie's little scheme before she caught on to it herself.
Lynnette did not find the situation amusing.
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