Hart's Reward (Pirates & Petticoats #3) by Chloe Flowers

darted away between the rolls of canvas and out of sight.
    “Thankless cat,” she muttered, stumbling her way out of the sail closet.  
    Once on the main deck she peered out to the flat surface of the sea with growing uncertainty. The predawn sky was purple, blue and pink, bathing everything in the low glow of dawn. Why did she still sense something wasn’t right? All seemed calm and clear. No ship or storm threatened on the horizon. In fact, there was hardly any sound at all.
    Perplexed, she scanned the aft deck for Landon without success, so she headed for the helm. The usual activity on deck was suppressed. Limp and lethargic sails hung from the masts. The crew were all at ease, resting in whatever comfortable place they could find.  
    As she neared, the low timbre of her husband’s voice drifted in conversation with one of the crewmen.
    “What do you suggest?” Landon’s question hung in the air for a moment.
    “Well,” Gus answered. “We could kedge her off.”
    “Let’s do it then,” Landon said.
    Keelan ducked back down away from the helm and sauntered over to the rail. The still air amplified the eerie silence of the sails.  
    “Well! A fair morning to ye, lad,” Gus said, his voice almost booming in the stillness.  
    Keelan smiled her greeting in response. “Good morning, Mr. Gus.”
    “Just Gus, lad. Just Gus.” He stopped beside her and looked out over the glassy sea. “We may have to kedge off the vessel today, if we are going to make any time.”  
    “Kedge off the vessel?” Keelan was curious as to the meaning.
    “Aye,” Gus nodded. “’Tis when we tie the anchor to a launch with about a mile of rope and team it with a first cutter. ‘Tis then rowed out until we run out of rope. The anchor is tossed into the water. It sinks, then we weigh it back in. As we do, the weight of the anchor pulls the Desire to it. The anchor is raised up and tied back to the launch and we do it again.”
    “That sounds very time consuming,” she observed.
    “Aye, that it is, but ‘tis better than sittin’. I imagine the captain will try and hug the coastline a bit in hopes of catching a bit of a breeze off it as well.” He jammed his hat down on his head and rubbed the back of his neck. “As long as we stay ahead of them British bastards scouring the seas for press gangs, we’ll make port without much of a delay.”

    Day and night, for the next day and a half, Landon’s crew continued to move the ship by dropping the anchor and then heaving in the hawser, pulling the ship forward an inch at a time. It was a slow monotonous process, which frayed the nerves of even the most passive men. Keelan helped Marcel make hard tack in the galley. She hunted for and found where most of the hens were laying their eggs and collected what she could find. She milked the goat and sneaked a small trencher into the sail closet along with a thimble-sized chunk of cheese for Louis, who always found a way to snuggle on her legs without waking her and yet shoot out of arms reach in the morning.
      At dawn on the third day a shout from the crow’s nest broke the stillness of the morning, much like a dropped book in an empty room.
    “Sails ahead, Captain Hart!”
    All hands not otherwise occupied, ran to the foredeck, straining their eyes to catch a glimpse of the ships mentioned.  
    Gus peered through the glass. “A good number of vessels ahead are stranded with no wind to fill their canvas, same as us. Circumstances are most dire for the ship in the midst of them, I would say. The one nearest to us just hoisted an American flag.” He handed the glass to Landon.  
    Landon gave Gus a curious look before putting the glass to his eye. He moved the glass from left to right then sucked in his breath. He didn’t try to hide the worry in his tone as he answered. “Tis the Glory . She’s surrounded by a fleet of four British warships.”
    Keelan peered at the small dark dots on the horizon and tried to make out their