The Least Likely Bride by Jane Feather Read Free Book Online

helmsman at the wheel behind him. “Jethro, I think it’s time we took her wind.”
    The man licked a finger and held it up to the wind. “Oh, aye, sir. Come up on the starboard bow, then, shall us?”
    “That’s my idea.” Anthony took the wheel from the helmsman.
    “What is it that you’re going to do?” Olivia came to stand beside him.
    “You see the direction of the wind. It’s coming from her right, from the starboard side. If we come up alongside her on that side, we’ll steal her wind and her sails will flatten. She’ll have only the oars to keep her under way. And while she’s helpless, we shall board her.”
    “That sounds like a good plan,” Olivia said consideringly. “Do you have guns?”
    “A battery on either side. But we’ll get really close before we run ’em out. The more confused they are about our intentions, the better.” He glanced up at the sun and said with a curve of his mouth, “Perfect timing, though I say it myself.” He made a minute adjustment to the wheel.
    “What do you mean? How’s it perfect timing?”
    “The Spaniards enjoy their midday meal,” he replied, and his smile took a cynical twist. “A heavy dinner where the wine flows free invites a long siesta. We’ll catch them with their bellies full and their heads muddled.”
    Olivia abruptly realized that she was famished. “Do you not eat at midday on
Wind Dancer
?” she asked involuntarily.
    “Oh, are you hungry?” He glanced down at her. “I forgot you’ve had nothing solid to eat for three days. We will dine in style when the engagement is over. The cookstoves are out at present.”
    They were gaining on the galleon now, and Olivia became aware of a different atmosphere on
Wind Dancer
. The men in the waist of the ship were no longer laughing and singing. They were moving silently into positions against the rails, standing shoulder to shoulder, tense and purposeful. And now Olivia could see the line of guns and the gun ports that for the moment remained closed.
    As they came closer to the galleon, she saw how the other ship’s sails began to flap. “Oh, yes, you
are
stealing her wind!” she cried softly.
    Then a voice hailed them across the narrowing stretch of water. A stout man in flounced petticoat britches, his coat smothered in gold braid and silver buttons, had emerged from the companionway onto the galleon’s poop deck. Olivia couldn’t understand the language but the tone was unmistakable. The Spanish captain was livid as his sails flapped uselessly. He waved a soiled table napkin as if it might do the work of his empty sails as he bellowed through a megaphone.
    And then Olivia smelled it. A vile cesspit stench that reminded her of rotting meat and the unmentionable filth of the kennel. She covered her mouth, choking, her hunger vanished.
    Anthony pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her, advising grimly, “Cover your mouth and nose.”
    The frigate was almost alongside the galleon, and Anthony called, “Starboard guns … nets … let’s waste no time, gentlemen.”
    And things happened very fast. There was a great rattling as the guns rolled forward into the ports, and boarding nets flew through the air, grappling irons hooking onto the side of the galleon.
    The Spaniard was screaming and hopping from foot to foot on the poop deck. Olivia could now hear the violent creaking of the oars under frantic arms, the vile crack of a whip, the ugly groans and cries as scarred backs were lacerated anew. Men on the galleon raced to throw off the boarding nets, but even as they did so, the pirate’s men were swarming across the now narrow gap.
    “Starboard guns …
fire!
”
    The deck beneath Olivia’s feet shook under the booming cannonade, and she would have lost her footing had Anthony not thrown out an arm and clasped her tightly against him as he swung the wheel, bringing
Wind Dancer
impossibly close to the galleon. So close it seemed she must ram the other ship. The sound