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.“Beautiful,” he murmured, letting go of her hands in his eagerness to feel her flesh.Jeannette groaned, not caring whether he’d interpret the sound as pleasure or pain and reached for the knife.It was time.Time to claim her weapon.If only she could reach it.The tips of Jeannette’s fingers brushed the hilt several times before she managed to pull it from her shoe.By then the lieutenant had shifted to fumble with his belt and unknowingly knocked the knife from her shaking hand onto the bed along with them.Oh God, help me.Frantically patting the bedclothes, Jeannette searched for the cool steel of the blade.Finished undoing his pants, the lieutenant turned his attention to stripping off the rest of her clothes.“Treynor,” she whimpered.“Treynor.” And then her fingers found the knife.*“Breakers dead ahead! The rocks!” The lookout’s cry caused the entire ship to take notice.“Heave to! Heave to!”Some of the French sailors scrambled up the wet rigging.Others raised the ship’s blue lights and fired the warning rockets.The three men guarding Treynor and the other English prisoners peered questioningly at each other.They’d been given strict orders not to leave their posts, but the emergency of the situation clearly confused them.“All hands to stations!” someone else shouted.“Vite! Vite!”Treynor felt Smedley slump against him and glanced down.The man had drawn his last breath without Treynor knowing it.Another loss—but there was nothing Treynor could do.And, with any luck, Smedley could still be of help.“This man is about to die! We need a surgeon! Have pity!” he cried above the roar of the wind and waves.His yells destroyed the last vestiges of the guards’ resolve to remain.Injured and dying English prisoners were of no importance when the ship would wreck if they did not act in time.The rocks along the coast seemed to rise from the foaming breakers a quarter-mile away, growing larger by the second.Lowering their pistols, the guards ran off, some slipping across the deck in their efforts to help with the sails and keep the Superbe from certain doom.Treynor blinked against the rain.“Let’s go!” he called and sprang into action.“Now is our chance!”Had another man led the charge, perhaps the Tempest’s battered crew would not have followed, but they were used to his voice.Some grabbed slabs of wood as a weapon.Many went at the French with nothing more than their fists and sheer fury.Favre had to have heard the alarm.But he was nowhere in sight.And Treynor couldn’t look for him.Despite the wind buffeting every move they made and the rain slashing into their faces, they had to subdue the French and gain control of the ship or they would all die.The rocks rose higher on their leeward side, backed by the humped shadow of land.From the ship, the jagged coast looked like the teeth of some great serpent slithering through the water to devour them.After knocking away the Frenchman who tried to stop him, he rushed the steersman with single-minded determination and slugged him until he let go of the wheel.Without someone at the helm, the Superbe swayed even more dramatically.Treynor planned to take control, but the steersman wasn’t about to let him.They grappled for several seconds, fighting on the slippery deck, before Treynor managed to get enough space to knock him out.Pushing the limp man aside, he rose unsteadily to his feet, wincing.Many of the wounds on his arm had reopened in the struggle.Fresh blood soaked through the makeshift bandages, but he ignored it along with the damp, windy weather and the pain.Jeannette.He had to reach her.But at that moment he could do nothing other than steer the ship out of danger.Wiping the water from his eyes, he grasped the wheel and turned it with unthinking skill, hoping to save them all.The others, still locked in battle, were fighting with equal parts rage and desperation.But it wasn’t long before they sent up the cry of “Long live the King!” The French had been taken by surprise by both the rocks and their English prisoners.Without someone to lead them, they soon gave up, begging to surrender.But Treynor intended to take no prisoners.He couldn’t risk an uprising later, would need all hands from the Tempest just to sail the ship.He shouted an order for any Frenchman yet alive to be thrown overboard, and soon the Superbe’s crew jumped ship and swam for the very rocks Treynor worked so hard to avoid.Then his men, shouting to each other and to him, swarmed the rigging and regained control despite the rain.But the switch had cost them time, too much time.The ship began to swing the wrong way again
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