A damn fool, Billy thought as he wrapped his hand tight around the girl's and hauled her along behind him towards the water. He wasn't sure the captain would be far off the mark with that assessment either. He'd no idea of ever laying eyes on the governor's daughter again (not that she was hard to look on) once they'd delivered her off the ship and into the hands of her father. No one had. But none of this was playing out like it was supposed to. And he already had more than enough trouble to deal with without re-introducing the girl to the ship; the balance of power had shifted so many times he barely knew who was going to be in charge or what new alliance might have been struck in his absence.
He hadn't come in search of Abigail. He'd only happened to be surveying the aftermath in the square when he'd heard the piano and realized that nobody was supposed to still be up there.
Be in a whole lot less difficulty right now if I'd just ignored it and gone about my business.
Abigail Ashe wasn't his business. Known that, he had, the second they met eyes across the table when she was sitting with the Barlow woman and he'd come to ask the captain for a decision.
She's your problem now, he imagined Flint saying to him.
That was, if his captain didn't punch him in the face first, then dump him overboard and tell him to swim back to Nassau.
Actually, Billy knew his best hope for getting Abigail stowed back on the ship largely unseen and unmolested rested in the chance that everyone else would be far too busy with their own problems (as he should have been) to notice or care until they had pulled anchor and were sailing south.
Beyond that, he had no idea what he was going to do with her.
Near the jetty now, he swooped the girl over the side of a skiff and slashed at its moorings, shoving the vessel into knee-deep water and climbing aboard himself. Abigail shivered atop the seat while he grabbed the oars and told her to get down in the bottom. But she hesitated, staring at the several inches of rain-slime pooling on the floorboards.
A deafening cannon blast sent water showering in their direction, far too close by. Billy balanced one of the oars across his leg and pushed Abigail down, where she huddled in a heap. As strong an oarsman as he was, he estimated it was going to take a good quarter of an hour to cover the dangerous expanse of water between the ship and the port she was firing on. He set his jaw, positioned the oars and exerted muscle, watching the smoke of Charlestown swallowing the sunlight as the craft surged through the water. Abigail remained motionless in the hull, an arm sheltering her face from view.
By the time they'd reached the ship, a crewmate had spotted their approach and tossed down the rope ladder. Billy had considered he might have to throw Abigail over a shoulder and climb up for the both of them, but she gamely undertook to make her own way, faltering occasionally on the ladder when the wind gusted. He was right behind her on the chance that she slipped, trying not to be impatient with how long it was taking.
His crew member watched them board with amused fascination. "What's this then? Thought we were leaving this pretty face on shore?"
"Plans changed," Billy said, tersely. He helped Abigail off the last rung and over the edge before swinging over himself.
"Captain know about this?" The other man regarded the girl who had sunk momentarily against the boards.
"Not yet. Keep it to yourself." Billy took Abigail's elbow and helped her to her feet. For now, he'd put her in the small cabin Miranda Barlow had occupied. "And if anyone else hears," he added, "she's under my protection. Nobody goes near her, right?"
The other man made a whatever-you-say gesture with his hands and sauntered off. Billy escorted Abigail to the cabin as quickly as possible and showed her in, taking a quick look around. The dead woman's trunks were still sitting by the door, not having been unloaded yet, and the memory of the previous inhabitant lingered heavily in the air as they looked at their surroundings.
He checked the inside bolt on the door and wondered if it was strong enough to keep out anyone determined to get in. He could put a lock on the outside too, but that could be blown off with a pistol. Might have to sleep on her doorstep if I'm going to keep her safe from this lot. He hadn't lost any sleep over her on the journey in, but she'd been Flint's concern then, not his.
"I'll bring you something to eat later," he said, thinking aloud now. "Might not be till dark—don't know when I can get back. Don't even know if Captain's aboard ship or not."
Abigail sank down on a chair by the table. Her skirts hung limp and dirty around her legs and he could see her entire body trembling.
He had an instant's doubt he was able to handle this. He didn't know how to look after anyone but himself. What if she got sick?
"Ought to be things you can use," he said, gesturing at the trunks. "Clothes, and such."
She gave him an incredulous stare and murmured, "I couldn't possibly."
"She doesn't have need of them now." It sounded callous, but it was true.
"Besides, they are secured..."
Billy examined the lock on the trunk. The wood was so old he judged it would give way without much difficulty. Employing the appropriate amount of force, he stomped on it with the side of his boot, causing the entire mechanism to fly free from its moorings. "There you are," he said, feeling a little boorish when she wouldn't look at him.
Silence, beyond the noises of the ship around them, and the echoes of the disorder in the port.
"I've got to go," he said, after a few more moments. "Bolt the door and don't let anyone in, understand?"
She nodded, weaving her fingers together in a pathetic attempt to quell their shaking.
He nodded, too, running a hand over his close-cropped head and left her still staring into the shadows of the dim room. He waited outside the door until he heard the bolt slide across, then headed off to find out the status of the rest of the crew and their captain.