The Huntress ✓

04. Culmination

Bronte and Sam wiped the sweat and sand from their brows. They'd spent the morning loading the last of the equipment onto the Bluebird (the name given to the sloop by the owner on the day of launching) and getting everything tied in. It now floated offshore, the blue they painted it blending with the sea so you could hardly tell where one ended and the other began, fitted out and ready to sail.

Sam and Bronte became anxious when Blackwater sent a message to the ship owner that very morning. They'd finished ahead of schedule and he was hoping to bring himself a bit of renown by showing off the ship immediately. The two friends had already had to up the pacing of their plans for commandeering the ship and now they feared if the new owner took possession today, all their careful planning would be for naught.

The morning had worn on with Blackwater becoming increasingly difficult to please as he hurried them along with the finishing touches.

Now that everything was complete, the poor man resigned himself to pacing the shoreline, mumbling under his breath. He'd fully expected the owner to arrive straight away to admire his work, but he'd yet to appear. Now it neared noon, the ship happily bobbed in the clear blue waves with her sails neatly furled, and his impatience grew.

"I hope the fellow shows up soon," Sam mused, "or Blackwater is going to wear a new canal on this beach."

"Is your end ready for, you know?" Bronte asked in a hushed tone.

"You bet. As long as he doesn't take over the ship today—tonight's the night. Should be easy sailing too. Weather's been fair."

Bronte looked around anxiously; wanting to be sure they weren't overheard. "Just make sure those two men you procured know what to do. I'll take care of the rest."

"Right," Sam affirmed. Then after a moment's silence asked, "What was it you needed them to do?"

Bronte cast him a caustic look but before she could answer the shipwright flashed by (as fast as a middle-aged, over-sized person could flash) and they turned to see where he was headed.

Four white horses pulling a grand looking carriage trotted to a stop at the shipyard. A striking young man, uncommonly tall and well proportioned, stepped from the carriage. His pale hair fell in curly locks around wide blue eyes, set in a strong, broadly chiseled face. The shipmaster, looking comparatively short and oafish, flurried toward the gentleman and bowed respectfully. Another man, slighter and much older than the first, also exited the carriage. The shipmaster bowed to him, too, and waved out to the harbor, indicating the sloop awaiting its master. They began the short walk to a waiting cockboat.

Bronte almost felt a wave of pity for the would-be owner of her sloop. Almost.

When the men were level with her and Sam they both gave the gentlemen a nod of respect. As she looked up her eyes locked with the young man's momentarily and her heartbeat quickened. His blond hair ruffled in the breeze and his deep blue eyes sparkled like the sea in the sun; he smiled politely and continued on. A peculiar feeling of loss swept through her as she watched him go. Sam made a movement beside her and she jumped.

"Did you say something?"

"Yeah. Let's get a drink! I'm drying up like salted meat here!" Sam answered.

They turned and headed up the beach, discussing the night's plans discreetly.

Not long afterward, Bronte practiced the knife throwing techniques Sam had showed her near the house while trying to digest the new feeling she'd been confronted with. She held the handle loosely in her hand, brought it over her shoulder and released. It spun and hit the wall handle first, then clunked to the ground, like always. She thought, not for the first time, she'd just stick with pistols. Sam made it look too easy. Her solitude was interrupted as Sam hurried toward her.