The heat in the wardroom intensified, and dread prickled along Heather’s nerves as she waited. Though her world seemed to slow to a crawl, she was certain it would be only moments before the room flooded not only with the earl’s men, but also with officers and crew.
“Fire! Get the buckets!” an officer bellowed.
Men scrambled and shouted, and Heather stealthily slipped from the room and down the nearest companionway. Heart racing, she reached the aft platform and peered into the surgeon’s room.Empty. She released a breath and darted inside.
The diversion had been a success, but now came the true challenge of ensuring that she reach the earl’s tea before it was brought to him.
In her lessons, Duncan had spoken of a new herbalist named Samuel Thomson, who lived in the Americas. The man had espoused the use ofLobelia inflataas an emetic and claimed that was a useful cure for a number of ailments. But curing ailments was not why Heather wanted it.
She searched the wall of vials and jars and, at last, discovered a small vial that fit in the palm of her hand. Its barely legible label was tied around its neck with string.
Voices boomed above her head, and she jumped.Better move.
On silent feet, she crept from the room. The ringing of the bell reverberated through the ship, and more men shouted and stomped about. With fear still riding her, Heather took advantage of the chaos and scrambled up two decks to the gun deck. The shouting continued, but she had eyes for only one thing: the kettle upon the galley’s stove.
To her relief—and amazement—the crew, who had organized a system of water retrieval and bucket-passing, paid her no heed as she slunk closer. The cook seemed intent on shutting down the oven’s fires, so with speed and focused intent, Heather lunged toward the still-steaming kettle and poured the vial’s contents down the spout.
“Where’s the Earl of Hanley’s tea?” one of the earl’s footmen asked.
Heather quickly ducked behind a cask, deliberately slowing her breath so that she wouldn’t be heard.
“Now’s not the time for tea,” the cook replied gruffly.
A crawling sensation raced up Heather’s neck and she turned her gaze sideways. And froze. Berta stood nearby, a small bucket of water in-hand, and her gaze locked on Heather’s.
Sodding hell. I’ve been caught.
“The earl has requested it,” the man continued. “And if I don’t have it?—”
“Get it yourself,” the cook interjected. “Water’s already boiled, but I’ve got to shut it down.”
Berta’s gaze flicked toward the men, then back to Heather behind the cask. Berta’s lips quirked and she gave a subtle nod before striding away. The maid wouldn’t reveal the truth.
Relief swept through Heather, even while guilt shrouded her heart.
Behind her, there was a grumble and the clink of earthenware before footsteps shuffled away.
“To your stations!” someone shouted.
Heather backed away and darted up the companionway to the quarterdeck. Here was even more chaos, and for the first time, confusion marred her brow and worry crawled up her spine. Something wasn’t right. Were these menallintent on fighting the fire? Had she done more than create a diversion?
“Run out the cannons!” the captain bellowed. “Guns at the ready!”
Heather’s breath seized in her throat, and her gaze swung wildly aft. And there was Butcher at the bow of thePandora, his light eyes wide and alight with triumph…and revenge.
With a throaty gurgle,the blighter slumped to the ground, dislodging himself from Percy’s blade. Most men had ignored his ascent through the decks, but the men who had fought ended up dead.
A wave of dizziness stole over Percy, and he took a slow breath. He was almost there. He had to stop Butcher.
Boom! Boom-boom!
His insides twisted sickeningly. The battle has begun.
With renewed vigour, he dashed up the companionway to the quarterdeck. Gunpowder filled the air, and the men’s voices carried as they shouted.
Butcher stood at the ship’s bow, his spine stiff and shoulders back as he barked orders at the crew.
“Fire!”
