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The Ashe girl was in the rigging, and damned if Billy knew how she’d managed to get up there without anyone noticing.
When Flint and Vane had returned from the carnage of Charles Town, they’d brought with them two unexpected guests: Mrs. Barlow – or was it Hamilton? – still wearing shackles about her wrists and a bandage that looked to be torn from a young lady’s petticoat wrapped haphazardly around the bloody furrow a pistol shot had left across her scalp – one that would likely scar horribly if Billy was any judge at all of such wounds – and Miss Ashe in a dress torn and tattered and stained with soot and mud and so much blood Billy’d thought her surely half dead before he realized none of it was her own.
Just as she’d almost been unrecognizable then, so too was she now. Miss Ashe was clean of blood at least, but she certainly looked nothing like the proper young lady they’d escorted from Nassau to Charles Town.
Her bare feet made sense considering the climb she must have made, but Billy wasn’t sure where she’d gotten the trousers and shirt. He imagined it unlikely that they were the Barlow woman’s, but it seemed even less likely that such a quiet little thing would get up the nerve to ask one of the men for a spare. Course, he’d have thought the sight of her climbing up to the sails in the first place next to impossible, so who knew what was “likely” on his ship anymore. Perhaps Muldoon had offered a pair to her. He’d been in and out of the sick room almost as often as Mr. Howell had, hovering over Silver as if he felt himself personally responsible for the loss of the man’s leg. It was possible Muldoon had taken the time to get to know the ladies as they convalesced there as well. Of all the men, he would likely be one of the least intimidating to the women, and he was close to a size with Miss Ashe, Billy thought.
The rest of the men aboard seemed far less likely to have any opportunity or cause to converse with her, let alone loan out clothing. And even if they had the chance, most wouldn’t for fear of looking as if they planned something less than proper towards her person. Indeed, he knew his brothers weren’t fool enough to bother her, not with Flint hovering over her like a particularly dangerous father figure. The unwelcome guests consisting of Vane’s ragged crew on the other hand…
It wasn’t all of them, mind. Those who’d followed Vane to shore to take part in the rescue of Captain Flint seemed to hold the same wary respect for the young women that Vane himself did. It was enough to make Billy wonder again at just what the hell had happened in the chaos of those streets, not that he thought he’d get a straight answer if he asked any of them.
The others though, the ones who’d stayed behind and barely survived their first mate’s attempt to leave with the Walrus, those made a habit of following Miss Ashe with their eyes hungrily. Billy didn’t doubt one or two thought to bide their time until they caught her alone; the orders of both Captains be damned.
It wasn’t likely they could get to her up in the rigging without being intercepted, but judging from DeGroot’s muttering as he stared up at her, she was still likely to at once distract the men and make them a mite nervous. “You need to get up there and deal with that,” DeGroot told him. “If she falls, Flint will slaughter the lot of us.”
Billy didn’t think she’d fall, but he couldn’t deny the sailing master was right about the Captain’s likely reaction. He sighed. “I’ll head up. What if she doesn’t want to come down, though?”
“Then you convince her. At the very least, we’ll be able to tell the captain that someone was watching her. She can deal with his wrath then.”
“Fair enough.” Billy shook his head, bemused at the entire situation with the woman even being on board in the first place, let alone perched up comfortably in the rigging like a particularly lovely seagull.
With a nod to DeGroot, he moved to the railing and began to climb his way up the web of rope and knots to where Miss Ashe had settled herself, not quite to the level of the top of the first sail, but close. She’d also apparently chosen to keep herself as far out of the way of the sailors needing to ascend to go about their duties, curling herself in the last block of rope at the edge. Despite her precarious perch, her face looked unconcerned as she stared out over the water. Only when he’d almost reached her did she look away from the waves to shyly meet his gaze.
“Can’t say I expected to come across the likes of you up here,” he remarked after he’d settled himself as securely as she had.
She shrugged with a small smile, serene as a queen on a throne in the fucking rigging of all places. “There was a tree outside my window at boarding school. I used to climb out into it when I wished not to be found. I’d climb right out onto a branch and up higher until one could not see me from below.”
It was likely more words at once from her than he’d heard the entirely of their voyage up until now, and he found himself enjoying the sound of her voice, soft as it was. “Did you now? In skirts and dainty shoes and all?”
“Mm, if I left behind my shoes, they might have guessed where I’d gone.” She looked down at her attire with a slightly larger smile than the first she’d gifted him with. “This was much easier to climb in. And we’re up so high here!”
Billy couldn’t help but grin back at her, sharing in her delight. “You should see it from the crow’s nest. Nothing but water in every direction. It’s peaceful-like.”
“I imagine it must be,” she agreed, craning her neck back to peer up through the rigging to the platform above.
He followed her gaze upwards, giving a hard look to one of the men a level above whose eyes seemed aimed a bit improperly towards Billy’s current charge. He cleared his throat, hoping Miss Ashe hadn’t got his brother staring. “It’s strange, you’d think I’d hate the sea, but I found it suits me after all. More than I expected.”
“Captain Flint told me you were impressed.” It wasn’t a question, but he found himself inclined to explain nonetheless.
“Indeed. The press gang took me just a street over from our home. I’d probably never have set foot on a ship if not for that.”
“Why not if I may ask?”
He scratched the back of his neck, considering the answer and indeed the subject of his past at all as he realized he hadn’t in years. “My father was a printer. He’d have expected me to take over for him. And with him being opposed to impression in particular and the establishment in general, he’d never have stood for me joining the Navy or even shipping out on a merchant vessel, I’d wager. And why would I have? I’d have had proper employment and the rest of my family to help see to. Not much reason to leave on my own.”
“But instead you were taken.” Her face held no pity, he was glad to see, only a sad sympathy for the boy he’d been.
He looked away and out over the waves, unable to stand the sincerity in her eyes. “So I was. But once the captain won me and the other impressed lads free, I found myself growing attached to the life, to the freedom the sea can grant a man.”
“That sort of freedom would be worth a sacrifice, I suppose.” Her voice had gone flat, and he looked up at her to find her face just as carefully expressionless.
Billy remembered her father then, the governor lost somewhere behind in Charles Town, a likely sacrifice to Flint’s wrath for their arrest and the injury to the Barlow woman.
A father that, if he understood her history as he thought he did, she’d not seen in years, and had finally been reunited with only to lose him all over again, and this time with finality.
Billy swallowed and weighed his words carefully. “That’s not exactly what I meant. I mean, sometimes…sometimes we lose things, people, that matter, and it’s still a loss, still painful. Even if we find something else, it doesn’t lessen that loss does it?” She still wasn’t looking at him, but he went on anyway, feeling compelled to finish for her. “It’s not a trade, one loss for another joy. It’s just life. It’s hard and it’s beautiful; sometimes it’s both at once, and I swear that’s harder than either on their own.” He pulled himself up higher on the rigging and ducked his head into her line of sight, forcing her to finally look at him. “You can mourn your father and relish finding something that makes you feel whole all at once. You don’t have to be guilty for the latter because of the former. You don’t.”
She swallowed and nodded once, though Billy doubted she’d be convinced so easily. He cast about for more to say but couldn’t summon the energy for any further conversation, and she didn’t seem any more inclined to speak to him either. Instead, he twisted himself about, the better to keep an eye on both her and his brothers. Miss Ashe kept quiet beside him as he supervised the men at their work, calling out encouragement or admonishments by turn, trying to remember to take care with his language but cursing once or twice despite himself.
She didn’t complain either way.
After a while, he glanced to his right and saw the captain leave the cabin, coming to a halt with his eyes clearly trained on Billy and the young lady up in the rigging. As always, Flint’s gaze left a knot of unease in his stomach; loathe though he was to admit it, he stilled feared the man.
He let out a sigh and met Miss Ashe’s eyes again. Billy jerked his head toward the captain. “Looks like we need to head down. You’ve been missed.”
She echoed his sigh but nodded in agreement, finally breaking her silence. “Of course. Thank you for allowing me to stay as long as I did. And…” she hesitated, “and for keeping me company. I enjoyed the conversation.”
“So did I,” he answered, then ducked his head embarrassed by both the admission and the weight of what they’d discussed. “I’ll head down first so there’s someone to catch you if you lose hold, yeah?”
He started making his way down the grid of rope, keeping his attention split between his descent and that of the surprisingly nimble lady. Billy reached the railing, then jumped down to the deck beneath her. She’d been wrapped mostly on the inside of the rigging for their conversation, and as she climbed down, the angle finally made her feet slip free to hang several feet above the deck. Without thinking, Billy reached up and caught hold of her waist. “I’ve got you. Let go now.”
His breath caught as she did as he bid, trusting him to catch her and set her lightly on the deck. For an instant that set his skin burning, Miss Ashe dropped her hands down upon the top of his own where they still rested against the curve of her waist. He was caught by them, held still by the paleness of her skin against his tan and the delicate way her tiny hands were dwarfed by his own. His hands tightened at her waist without him meaning to, and she shivered lightly.
It was that shiver that had him leaning down to murmur in her ear. “If you can’t find that joy again on your own, I’ll help you. I will. I promise.”
Then he was dropping his hands and backing away to leave a proper distance between them. Billy fought to keep his face impassive as Flint strode over and led his charge away with a surprisingly gentle hand to her shoulder. He eyed Billy over her head, but said nothing in censure or approval. Billy didn’t bother to guess which the captain might be feeling either.
It was only after Flint took his eyes off him that he allowed himself to fold his hands into fists, keeping the feel of her cradled in his palms.
There was no chance of keeping his distance now, he knew. He wanted her hands back on his, and his hands wrapped around her in whatever way she allowed. Billy’d have to follow her now, whether climbing up again into the rigging or a tree reminiscent of her childhood, or down into the depths, the pair of them swimming freely in the ocean that it seemed was getting its hooks into both their souls.
He’d follow her even out past their common shore if she wished it, somewhere out of Nassau’s reach, though where he couldn’t even begin to guess.
It was enough to know she’d caught him, Billy thought. Where she’d lead him wasn’t nearly as important as the fact that he’d follow.