"Could be Morris is just saving us for the frigates." Winston was studying the bobbing mast lights off their portside bow. "He probably figures they heard the gunfire and will realize something's afoot."
"They've got their share of ordnance, that much I'll warrant. There's at least one two-decker still on station out there, the Gloucester. I sailed on her once, back when I first got impressed by the damn'd navy, twenty-odd years back. She's seen her years at sea, but she's got plenty of cannon between decks for all that."
"I think you'd better have the portside guns primed and ready to run out, just in case. But I figure once we get past the Point, we'll be clear. After that we can steer north and ride this coastal westerly right up to Speightstown, maybe heave-to there till the storm eases." He turned and headed down the deck. "I'm going aft to take the whipstaff. Get the yardmen aloft and damn the weather. I want the maintop and all braces manned."
"Aye, you never know." Mewes yelled the gunnery orders through the open hatch, then marched down the deck giving assignments.
Katherine was standing at the head of the companionway leading to the Great Cabin as Winston passed on his way to the quarterdeck. "I've put the African in your cabin, along with the mulatto woman." She caught his arm as he headed up the steps. "She's delirious. And I think he's all but dead. He's got a bad musket wound in his shoulder."
"Even if he dies now, it'll be better than what Briggs and the planters had planned." He looked at her face and pushed aside a sudden desire to take her into his arms, just to know she was his at last. "But see if you can clean his wound with brandy. I'd hate to lose him now after all the trouble we went to bringing him aboard."
"Why did you do it, Hugh? After all, he tried to kill you once, on this very deck. I was here, remember."
"Who understands why we do anything? Maybe I like his brass. Maybe I don't even know the reason anymore."
He turned and headed up the steps.
Serina lifted his cheek against her own, the salt from her tears mingling with the sea water in his hair. The wound in his shoulder was open now, sending a trickle of blood glistening across his chest. His breathing was in spasms.