“So I took over in my father’s place, and the Esperance continued sailing, patrolling, fighting the French. Mostly to hold them at bay. Other than certain special missions, our role was to ensure no speedy French frigate tried to spy on Plymouth or Falmouth, and then race home to report. As you might imagine, the Esperance is well known. The instant any French frigate lays eyes on us, it piles on sail and flees.”
She paused, eyes instinctively checking the sails, the wind, the waves. “As to why the Letter of Marque is still in effect, the fleet commanders at Plymouth and Falmouth recommended it remain in effect permanently, essentially because they have no faith that, should their need of the Esperance ’s services arise again, they’ll be able to convince the Admiralty to issue a new letter to a female captain-at least not quickly enough.”
Pushing away from the rail, studying the sails, she strode to the forward rail of the stern deck and called a sail change. Again, the crew sprang instantly to carry out the order. After considering the result, she spoke with Griffiths, then, leaving him with the wheel, swung down the ladder to the main deck. Logan followed more slowly as she strolled to the prow, looking over the waves as she went, constantly checking the breeze and the sails above, reading the wind and the sky.
It was as if, now they were out on the sea, it called to her. She seemed to have some connection with the elements that commanded this sphere, some ability beyond the norm to interpret and anticipate. Even he could sense that, see it. A commander himself, he didn’t need to ask the men, her experienced and well-trained crew, what they thought of her; their respect, and more-their unshakable confidence in her to the point they would unhesitatingly obey her orders, would follow her into battle with total conviction that she would guide them in the best way-shone in every interaction.
The crew trusted her implicitly. It wasn’t hard to see why. Her competence-and that certain, almost magical ability-were constantly on show. As the deck rolled and pitched as the ship neared the northern point and Linnet called more sail changes, trapping the wind as she prepared the Esperance to come about onto a northwest heading for Plymouth, Logan felt the power beneath his feet, felt the rush of the wind, the lifting surge of the ocean, and fully understood the crew’s eagerness to sail on this ship, with her.
He watched as, satisfied for the moment, she strode swiftly back toward the helm, then followed more slowly.
This-the unrivaled, unquestioned female captain of a privateer-was another part, a large part, of who and what Linnet Trevission was.
It was, he could admit to himself, an awesome part, one that boggled his mind, yet also filled him with honest and true admiration. Not an emotion he’d expected to feel for a lover, let alone a wife. Yet she was proving a lady of many parts-and each and every one called to him.
And that, he suspected, as he climbed the ladder to the stern deck where she had once again claimed the helm, was something she didn’t yet understand.
But she would.
Smiling to himself, he settled against the stern railing to watch his lover, his sometime-soon-to-be wife, send her ship racing over the waves to Plymouth.
With her ship smoothly heeling around the northern tip of Guernsey, Linnet set sail to best capture the brisk breeze for a fast run to Plymouth. Setting course for Plymouth Sound was something she could do in her sleep in any weather; Plymouth was the port to which she and the Esperance most frequently sailed.
Although Cummins and his men had been on the wharf at dawn, as had a number of other merchants, even with their collective goods in her hold, the Esperance was still running light; no need for full sail to streak over the waves.
Beside her, his large hands curled about the rail, Griffiths nodded. “That’s a good pace. If the wind keeps up-and no reason it shouldn’t-we’ll be in Plymouth well before dusk.”
“That’s what I’m aiming for.” Leaving the wheel in Griffith’s capable hands, Linnet stepped down to the main deck and set out on a circuit-a habit when underway. She ambled down the deck, exchanging comments with the crew members she passed. Logan, she’d noticed, had halted in the prow. Hip against the rail, arms crossed over his powerful chest, he stood looking down into the waves.
Lifting her face to the breeze, she briefly closed her eyes, savored as always the inexpressible thrill of being at sea, of flashing over the waves, the wind tugging her hair, the salty tang of the ocean sinking to her soul. She was a child of sea and ship, of wind and wave. She loved the familiar, reassuring roll of the deck beneath her feet, the creak and snap of spar and sail. Loved the sheer exhilaration of speeding beneath the wide open sky.
Opening her eyes, she continued on, taking stock as she always did. She’d taken Logan’s warning to heart and given orders she hadn’t had to give for some years-not since the end of the war. A Royal Navy ensign might be flapping over her head, signaling to all others on the waves that any vessel seeking to impede the Esperance would, in effect, be taking on the English navy-the navy that currently ruled the seas-yet while she found it hard to believe that anyone would engage, she’d nevertheless given the order to have the crew armed, and the guns made ready. Two words from her and the cannon would roll out, primed and ready to fire.
She’d rarely uttered those two words. The Esperance ’s guns were especially deadly, and she’d never liked seeing such graceful creations as ships smashed, broken, and sent to the deep. Nature’s wrecks were bad enough; only if the opposing captain gave her no choice would she fire. She’d been forced to do so on more than one occasion, and knew she would again if that was the only way to protect her ship and her crew.
Threaten either, and she would act; safeguarding ship and crew was her paramount duty as captain.
Her circuit had led her into the prow. As she joined Logan by the rail, other ships came into view.
He nodded toward them. “Company.”
She scanned the sails, but could tell little from this distance. “Hardly surprising. This is the Channel-we’re traversing the busiest shipping lane in the world.”
Leaning on the rail, she glanced at him, realized he was looking at the gun port below.
“I went down onto your lower deck, took a look at your guns.” He met her gaze. “They’re not positioned in the usual way.”
She smiled, shook her head. “My father built this vessel, the fourth to carry the name. He was always looking to make improvements, and one he designed and implemented was a different sort of platform for cannon, at least of the caliber barques of our size carry. The platform allows a greater degree of swivel than found in other ships. Through using it, and changing the position and structure of the gun ports accordingly, the Esperance is able to fire effectively well before we’ve attained the customary broadside position, which puts us one up on the opposition from the first.”
“You can still fire fully broadside as well?”
“And even angled sternward. It gives us more freedom in any engagement, whether the other ship is coming up on us or we’re chasing them.”