And unlike the McQuoid children, who could not be tamed, a blush broke out on this bear of a man’s cheeks—big bright, circular splotches of red. “Aye, aye,” he muttered, and then with a last quick scowl for Cassia’s benefit, he took himself off in the opposite direction.
She followed his swift retreat, never more grateful to be away from a person and relieved she’d not have to face him again. “Thank you so much,” she said, dipping her voice into those deeper tones she’d been paying extra close attention to every time her brother-in-law and brothers spoke, practicing in private and, at last, putting them to use. “I’m grateful for your assistance.”
The gentleman touched the corner of his brow. “Think nothing of it,” he said, going and gathering up her sack, scooping it as easily as if he hefted a pillow and not a weighted bag filled with sketch pads.
He handed it over, and Cassia took that offering, grunting as she sagged under its weight.
The gentleman’s pleasant mouth tipped slightly at the corners as if he were fighting a smile. “I gather this is your first time,” he ventured.
Cassia wrestled her sack onto her opposite shoulder. “I . . . yes.” She troubled at her lower lip. “Do I look very green?”
This time, the gentleman allowed a smile to fully form, and it was a warm, gentle one. “You definitely have the look.”
“And what look is that?”
“Like you’re a peer’s son off for his first adventure, queasy before you’ve even set foot on the ship.”
“Oh.” She balked at how very close this stranger had come to the mark. That was, with the not-so-insignificant difference being that she was no peer’s son, but one’s daughter. And here Cassia had believed that all the time she’d spent reading from the sailing books she’d pilfered from her brother’s room would allow her to easily slip in amongst Jeremy’s crew.
“It gets easier, and the men less frightening, too,” he promised.
The men less frightening. Which suggested . . . there were men even surlier than Mr. Shorty about.
Cassia swallowed. Or attempted to. She choked around the knot of unease that had formed in her throat.
Oh, stop, she silently chided. Jeremy wouldn’t hire men like Mr. Shorty. Why, it’d be more likely he’d an entire crew made up of men like Cassia’s kindly rescuer.
“Hayes!” someone bellowed from afar, and the gentleman looked in the direction of that summons.
“Duty calls,” he said. He gave Cassia a reassuring pat on her shoulder, and she sagged under that solid thump.
Another grin played on Mr. Hayes’s lips, and then he left.
But when he did, she’d be on her own, and amidst a crowd of angry-looking men with even angrier eyes, he’d been the first kind one to meet, and the moment he was gone, until she found Jeremy’s ship, she would be well and truly alone once more and . . .
Quickening her steps, Cassia hurried after him, her shorter legs and the added weight of her bag making it impossible to catch his longer strides. “Mr. Hayes?” she called after him.
The gentleman stopped and turned back, waiting for her to catch up to him.
Panting lightly from her efforts, Cassia struggled to get a proper breath in. “I was wondering if you might help me locate my boat.”
His eyes twinkled warmly. “Your ship?”
Cassia stared quizzically at him. That was what she’d said. Hadn’t she? She searched her mind for the reason for his confusion.
“What is the name?”
“My name?” she blurted. Her mind drew a momentary blank.
“Your ship,” he said gently, and a wave of relief hit her.
“Dragon,” she said on a rush. “That is, the—”
His eyes flared with surprise.
She took an eager step forward. “You know of it?”
“Very much so.” His eyes twinkled. “I am the quartermaster.”
She didn’t have an inkling as to what a quartermaster was or did, but there was a sound of importance to it, and she had to say something. “Indeed!” she exclaimed, her voice climbing an octave, and she instantly felt her face go warm.
Mr. Hayes gave no indication, however, that he’d identified her as anything but the lad she pretended to be, with her breasts strapped uncomfortably down, passing for a youth. For if he had, he’d have at best offered to help her with her hefty sack and, at worst, dragged her to Jeremy, who’d in turn drag her straight back to her family’s Mayfair townhouse. Instead, he swept his right arm in a light arc forward. “Come along. I will show you to the ship and below deck, where you’ll be sleeping.”
“Thank you ever so much,” she said, deepening her voice a touch more, as she’d practiced since she’d crafted her plan.
And as Cassia followed beside the gentleman, now her escort, the earlier trepidation receded and she felt the same forbidden thrill that had followed her from the moment she’d crafted her plan to last night, when she’d been unable to sleep from the excitement of the adventure to come, and out of fear that, with her love of sleep, she’d in fact miss arising in time to make it to sail with Arran and Jeremy.
“Which is it?” she asked, unable to keep the excitement from creeping into her voice.
“There she is.” Mr. Hayes pointed his finger on a slight diagonal, and she followed it to—
Cassia gasped.
The boat soared several hundred feet into the sky. Even had her family’s townhouse been plucked from its foundation and set on this shore, it would have still been dwarfed in size by the mighty vessel.
“Beautiful, is she not?” He spoke with the same pride he might have possessed had he been the owner of that great big boat.
“She is.” Sheer reverence made her reply come as nothing more than a breathily exhaled whisper. Since she’d cooked up her plan to see the world and expand her knowledge of it, she’d imagined any number of times just what the vessel she’d be sailing on would look like. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could have prepared her for the sight of it. Set against the backdrop of the inky black in early-dawn hours, the sails stood out, as stark as the white clouds that peppered the still night sky. What looked like hundreds of ropes twisted and twined like a spider’s web that men of all ages and sizes scrambled and scurried upon as effortlessly as if they strolled the perimeter of a ballroom.
If possible, the closer each stride brought her to the boat, the greater that vessel soared in size. Long, and far narrower than she’d ever imagined, there was a sleekness to the boat.
“She instills awe in everyone who sees her,” Mr. Hayes explained with another one of his friendly smiles.
As they approached, the bustle of activity around that area grew, with men and boys swarming like busy ants, going about a familiar routine—back and forth, men streaming up a plank and others coming back down. She’d never set foot upon anything other than a horse or carriage—and the earth, of course—in the whole of her life, but even she could see these men were masters at their jobs.
Mr. Hayes reached the wood slatting that served as a gangplank onto the boat. He cupped his hands and shouted, “Permission to come aboard.” When an answering cry went up, the kindly gentleman motioned for her to follow. “This way, lad.”