How to Seduce an Earl

Chapter 16

Wind whipped at his hair, but Percy didn't care. The moment he stepped onto his ship, he felt a part of him stirring. There was nothing like being on the seas, feeling the sun tanning the skin and wind swirling the air. Even more so when the seas were rough, slapping at his ship with waves only for the ship and her sailors to emerge unscathed. The Iron Maiden stayed true to her name.

Percy scowled at the sails, where rope was flapping about through the ripped grommets. His men tried to bring the cloth to obedience to no avail.

"We're trying to get the sails done to resew the grommets, but the winds are making it hard," Calen excused himself. "When we tried earlier, the gales just about ripped off another few grommets. We were worried that the sails were going to fly off into the seas."

Percy ignored the excuses of his second mate. Pity his first mate, Tyson, wasn't here. Tyson was currently on vacation in the Atlantis Empire and would meet the crew when they headed back home. If Tyson was here, he would have kept a vigilant watch on the ship. Percy liked to run a tight ship, and Calen was not contributing to that tightness. Calen was a good fighter, but he had his weaknesses, hence being only a second mate.

The Earl stepped closer to the grommets, observing the damage done. Were there no storm, new grommets could be easily attached and the sails restitched or even replaced. The voyage could have started that night, storm or no storm.

Something caught his eye. He had become a runaway at the age of twelve, spending over a decade on the sea as a cabin boy to becoming a captain before the Olympian Kingdom called for allies in their war. Those ten years of experience accumulated to where he could tell just how exactly a ship was damaged.

Sails were made of tough cloth, unrelenting in the face of wind and sun. The grommets themselves were custom-made on his orders, forged to repel rust from abrasive salts of ocean spray and pelting rain. So how did a few drunken sailors tear his sails when most storms would have tough trouble doing?

There were two different kinds of tears, Percy noted. One type was ragged, far above the second type, undoubtedly from when his men had tried to lower the sails to repair them. The frayed nature of the cloth would have been caused by the ravaging powers of the wind.

But it was the second kind of damage that Percy was interested in. The rip was much straighter, as though someone had deliberately taken a knife to the sails.

Being in the throes of drunkenness could cause people to act in strange and uninhibited ways. But Percy doubted there would be any reason for drunk sailors to sabotage a ship, in particular a ship that paid their wages. He knew he paid his sailors fair and square for the tough work on the seas. Aside from the new sailors, they were all men he trusted.

Someone did not want them to head to the Atlantis Empire.

"Calen." Percy said quietly. "Where the hell are these new hires now?"

Something crawled up his skin like a centipede. It was these instincts that had him survive so many years out in sea and in war. Marital bliss had not dulled those instincts.

He heard the twang of a bow being drawn.

"Men, arm yourselves!"

Percy drew his own sword, just in time to cut down an arrow that would have pierced his eye. Beside him, Calen yelped as an arrow lodged itself in his shoulder.

Swearing like a sailor, Percy slashed another arrow aimed at him. Intruders garbed in black swarmed the ship. They were dressed to blend in the darkness of the night.

Thanks to his alarm, most of his men had time to dodge and pull out their swords. Only a few casualties had occurred. Percy felt his gut twist. His sailors were his comrades, his friends whom he had fought alongside many battles. To see them fallen brought back memories of other friends, other brave fallen warriors who sacrificed their lives to protect the people they cared about.