Colin’s arms tightened around her, his embrace both comforting and strangely desperate, as if he sought solace in her nearness as much she found it in his. They held each other for a long time, Lenore lost to her memories.
Her creeping melancholy threatened to cast a pall over this lovely but oh-so-brief time with the Guardian, and she resolutely shook it off. It was best to speak of other things, lighter things.
“I was at first disappointed that my inaugural voyage would be on a ship other than the Pollux,” she said. “But I think now it was for the best. Adjusting to my role aboard ship is much easier when it’s a peaceful journey on a cargo lifter. I’m not certain how well I’d do on a skyrunner in the midst of battle.”
Colin pressed his cheek to the side of her head. “Every crewman feels that way on their first flight,” he whispered near her ear. “I think you’d learn quickly enough to hold your own if put to the test.”
Either Fate played some great joke on her or had chosen to bestow some great beneficence. Colin Whitley might look like a ghost himself, tethered to this earthly realm by the most gossamer of threads, but to her, he was almost too good to be true. He heard the dead speak and protected their remains by means both mysterious and sometimes violent. People ran from the sight of him, even if dogs didn’t, proving what she’d always thought—man’s four-legged companion was often a lot more insightful regarding another’s character than the its master.
That last thought made her recall the intrepid little dog who’d tried to rescue her from the resurrectionists. “What happened to the hound who kept me company when I was unconscious?”
Colin exhaled a slow breath. “She’s currently in the care of the rector’s wife who spoils her relentlessly. She, however, fancies herself my dog.”
The news lightened Lenore’s heart. “And why wouldn’t she? I imagine you make a wonderful master.” No doubt, he’d make an equally fine spouse. The thought startled her almost as much as the peal of the bells that signaled the end of her watch.
She did turn then, still held in the cove of Colin’s arms. “My watch is over,” she said and wondered if any watchman ever regretted departing his post as much as she did.
The Guardian brushed his lips across hers in a tantalizing hint of a kiss. “I must go before your relief arrives.”
She traced the arch of his eyebrows with her finger. “Thank you for your kindness in keeping me company.” One eyebrow twitched under her touch.
“It wasn’t kindness, Lenore,” he said in that low, sensual voice. “It was selfishness, and temptation, and need.” He kissed her a second time with the sweep of his tongue across hers before setting her from him.
Lenore’s breath streamed from her nose and mouth in small clouds. For the first time since she’d boarded the Terebellum, she wanted to shed her layers of clothing and cool off her overheated skin. “I don’t know why you’re on this ship,” she told him. “But I’m glad of it. So very glad you’re here with me.”
He gazed at her in a way that made her heart pound as hard as his kiss did. “I am always with you, Lenore.” A pause. “Good night.”
He was gone before she had a chance to raise her hand in farewell, a wraith embracing the darkness beyond the door.
“Good night,” she whispered to the empty room.
CHAPTER TEN
The return journey from Gibraltar to London was proving as uneventful as Nathaniel hoped. The Terebellum was a fine ship and so far hadn’t suffered a single problem. He was both relieved and suspicious. Some might accuse him of an unnecessary paranoia; however, since the woman he loved was currently aboard, he’d argue for his caution. Nothing ever remained problem-free, and judging by the look on his former captain’s face as she handed him a snifter of brandy, she was about to prove him right.
They stood together at a pair of windows, staring down at the Portuguese coast. The city of Lisbon perched on the Atlantic, its imposing Sao Jorge Castle overlooking a cluster of white buildings with red tile roofs that marched down the hillside to the beach and gleamed under a cold winter sun.
Nettie swirled the brandy in its snifter, her expression grim. “I’m telling you first before I gather the crew for the announcement. We’re sailing to the Redan.”
His stomach wouldn’t have lurched any harder if she’d cocked back her arm and gut-punched him. Nathaniel stared, silently willing her to correct her statement. He surprised himself with the calm in his voice. “Why?”
“I received a cable from Fleet command. The fighting has been fierce. Two ships lost to the horrifics, four others crippled with a number dead and injured crew on board.” She abused the brandy, tossing it back as if it were gin. “The Terebellum, the Bellatrix and the Gatria are to alter course and offer assistance in both ballistics and transport.”
Nathaniel took a bracing swallow of his own, welcoming the burn of alcohol down his throat. The only sounds in the captain’s quarters were Nettie’s soft breathing and the constant background whir of the Terebellum’s propellers. Inside his head, the clamor was deafening with the wrench and squeal of broken girders, the screams of the dying, the gunshot snap of rivets popping out of steel.
The shuddering ship.
He closed his eyes to clear the images and opened them again to Nettie’s knowing, pitying gaze.
“The Terebellum isn’t built as a skyrunner,” he said.
She lowered her chin and gave him a don’t-play-stupid-with-me-lad look. “I think we both know she isn’t just a cargo lifter either. I’ve seen you inspecting her. Her middle gun deck alone has enough cannon and gun batteries on her to make the Pollux’s arsenal look like a child’s toy chest. Her engines can put out three times the horsepower for speed if pushed, and her shield is powerful enough to withstand a full broadside from the biggest horrific.”
Nathaniel shivered. He doubted anyone living had yet encountered the biggest horrific lurking in the dimensional rift. “That’s true, but her principal firepower is in that keel-mounted weapons platform. Completely unsuitable for fighting in the Redan. She’s a nautilus killer, Captain. Her guns are meant to blow holes into submarines and sea pirates. The rail ties can move the platform out a distance, but without a port or starboard rotation, the guns can’t target anything directly above the ship.”
“Jonas Tibbs is a first-rate helmsman,” she said. “I’d have poached him off the Serpentis years ago if Captain Narada hadn’t threatened to put a cannon ball up my arse if I tried it. God rest his poxy soul.” She pinned Nathaniel in place with a sharp gaze. “A good helmsman paired with a good gunner can make the clumsiest ship do cartwheels on a high wire and hit a fly at a hundred paces.”
Nathaniel returned the look she’d given him earlier. “That is either the most spectacular exaggeration I’ve ever heard, or the most ridiculous. I’ve not yet decided which.”