Page 26 of Valour

Hester groaned. Even the kiss on the hand stirred heat in her core. She turned and made her way morosely back to the Valour.

So, Septimus was planning to leave in two days. She chewed the inside of her cheek. Two days was not enough time for the men to be ready.

She needed Fliss.

Hester found her first mate consulting lists of provisions in the hold of the Valour, a pencil tucked behind her ear.

“By tomorrow morning we’ll be fully stocked and ready to sail,” Fliss said, rolling the list and stuffing it into her pocket.

“Good. Excellent. I’m taking Winston, Rufus and Betty over to the Intrepid to offer our services.”

“What? Why?”

“They need help.” She couldn’t stand by and watch the Intrepid’s crew flounder. If it were to be a race, she wanted an even footing, to prove to Septimus that she could do just as well as him.

Fliss snorted. “That’s really their problem. If they want to compete with us, let them. But we shouldn’t help them.”

“It’s the sporting thing to do. We go. No arguing.” She left Fliss amongst the boxes of stores and made her way through the ship and out onto the deck. Hester called Winston, Rufus and Betty over.

“We’re going to help with the Intrepid’s repairs,” she told them, hands on her hips. The others exchanged glances. “Septimus will never ask for help, but they clearly need it, and what’s the fun in a race if we’re so much further ahead of them?”

Winston grinned at that. “Fine. Now?”

Hester nodded and led the way off the Valour and to the Intrepid.

“What do you want?” Emlyn asked from the deck, arms full of timber.

“To offer our services.” Hester marched across the gangplank and spotted Septimus knelt on a plank of timber, saw in hand. She sidled over to him, and he sat back on his heels, a furrow between his eyes.

“The crew of the Valour, at your service, my lord,” Hester said sleekly. She knew he would refuse. She didn’t care.

“We don’t need your help,” Septimus rumbled, brushing sawdust from his thighs.

Emlyn walked up and set the timber down. “We could use some extra hands to make the repairs, my lord.”

Septimus took up the saw again and sliced viciously through the plank in front of him.

God, he was stubborn. Stubborn and proud. “It ought to be a fair race,” Hester said.

He glowered up at her. “Fine.”

“You’re so welcome,” Hester chirped, then turned to Emlyn. “Tell us what to do.”

Charlotte walked into the galley to find Arnold with his shirt off and Mei bent over his arm beside the long dining table, stabbing at his skin with a needle.

“Oh!” She halted. He was certainly well-built, dark hair curling on his chest. She followed the line of hair under his belly button, to—she covered her eyes with her hands, heat creeping up her neck. “I’m so sorry.”

“Wait, Charlotte. Come and hold my hand through the pain,” Arnold said, smiling and reaching out for her. “Mei is inking a new swallow—argh!”

Charlotte hesitated and then stepped towards them, peeking through her fingers.

“I thought you said it didn’t hurt.” Charlotte peered over Mei’s shoulder to see a bird taking shape beneath the needle.

“It doesn’t. I just…slipped,” Mei said, smirking.

Arnold laughed. “Slipped, of course.”

Charlotte pulled up a chair and settled down to watch. She tucked her hand into Arnold’s still outstretched palm, a tingling creeping up her arm, heat rising to her cheeks. She’d never seen how a tattoo was made, but Arnold didn’t seem to be in too much discomfort. He was positively beaming now her hand was gripped in his, in fact.