The Red Siren

by M. L. Tyndall

  No one uttered a word. No one came to her rescue.

  Sir Wilhelm tightened his grip around her waist, and she suddenly felt as though she were chained to an anchor, sinking deeper and deeper into a bottomless sea.

  The priest’s searching gaze then passed over Sir Wilhelm and landed on Faith. He raised his brows as if encouraging her to respond.

  Lowering her gaze, Faith bit her lip then clenched her jaw and held her breath—anything to keep the words blasting forth from her mouth that yes, she knew of an impediment to this marriage. She knew exactly why they should not be lawfully joined together. Joined. A shudder ran through her, and she pressed a hand over her rebelling stomach.

  But for Dajon’s sake, she remained silent.

  Casting an anxious glance over his shoulder, Sir Wilhelm waved a hand through the air. “If you please, Reverend. We are in a hurry.”

  Giving Sir Wilhelm a look of annoyance, the priest cleared his throat and resumed his reading.

  “Sir Wilhelm Carteret, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”

  Sir Wilhelm opened his mouth and said something, but his answer was drowned beneath the enormous thud of the door crashing open behind them.

  Wheeling around, Faith squinted at the tall figure standing in the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the light that blazed behind him. Water dripped from his breeches onto the wooden floor like droplets of hope.

  “I hope I’m not too late for the wedding.” Sarcasm rang in his deep voice.

  Dajon.

  Faith’s heart leaped and then took on a frenzied beat, stealing her breath away.

  Sauntering toward them, Dajon shook water from his cotton shirt. His blue eyes were riveted on her, laughter and love sparkling within them.

  Sir Wilhelm thrust his pale face into the reverend’s. “I said, I will. Now carry on.”

  Dajon tore Sir Wilhelm’s hand from Faith’s waist and pushed himself between them. He swiped a hand through his wet hair, its dark ends dripping onto his shirt. The wet fabric clung to his muscled chest still heaving from exertion. He smelled of the sea and of salt and life.

  He winked at Faith, and a warm, peaceful sensation flooded through her, quickly extinguished by her fear for his life. “What are you doing here?” she whispered through clenched teeth. “They will arrest you.”

  Ignoring her, he turned toward the priest. “I protest this union, Reverend.”

  “Finally.” The reverend snapped his book shut and folded his arms over his robes.

  “I order you to continue.” Sir Wilhelm’s rabid gaze shot over them and then locked onto the reverend as if he would devour him whole.

  But the priest simply shrugged as if the situation were out of his control.

  “Deputies, arrest this man at once!” Sir Wilhelm ordered the men standing guard at the now open door, then he glanced at Judge Trott, who stood to the side watching everything with a stern yet detached gaze.

  A sickening wave of dread washed over Faith. She had done everything to prevent this very thing from happening. Why, God? Please help us.

  “On what charge, may I inquire?” Dajon asked in a tone that bespoke no fear of the answer.

  “Treason.” Sir Wilhelm threw back his shoulders and faced the judge. “Judge, this man willingly allowed this pirate to go free.”

  “Indeed?” Judge Trott rubbed his chin, seeming to be more amused than appalled.

  “Yes, I have a trustworthy witness from his ship. His own first lieutenant.”

  Faith studied Dajon, his body a statue. Not a tremble passed through him. No fear shot from his clear eyes. In fact, he stood nonchalantly as if he were awaiting his breakfast. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and he raised it to his lips, locking his gaze upon hers—a sultry, playful, dangerous gaze.

  “Is this true, sir?” Judge Trott shifted his stance.

  “That Sir Wilhelm has a trustworthy witness?” Dajon released her hand and cocked a brow at the judge. “Or that I let this lovely pirate go free?”

  Judge Trott grunted. “Never mind. This is a matter for the Admiralty Court. I shall ensure they are assembled as soon as possible.”

  “Pray don’t trouble yourself, Your Excellency.” Dajon bowed slightly. “The witness Sir Wilhelm speaks of cannot seem to recall the incident. But it doesn’t matter. . ..” He cast a sly glance at Faith. “I resigned my commission yesterday to the commander in chief aboard the HMS Perseverance.”

  Faith gasped. Dajon’s career meant everything to him. She could not believe he would willingly resign.

  Dajon shrugged one shoulder. “You may speak to him yourself, if you wish.”

  Judge Trott plucked his watch out again, eyeing the time. “Very well. Very well.” Returning the watch to his pocket, he eyed Sir Wilhelm. “Unless this lady protests, I believe this wedding is canceled.” He tilted his head at Faith and awaited her response.

  She could hardly believe her ears. Was this truly happening, or was she dreaming? She dared not move for fear of waking up.

  “Indeed, I do not, sir,” Faith said.

  Sir Wilhelm barreled toward Judge Trott, his eyes alight with fury. “But, sir. I insist you arrest this man.”

  “Do you have some other charge to make against him?”

  Sir Wilhelm’s face turned purple as he sputtered curses and shot his fiery gaze over the room.

  “Then this matter is closed.” The judge released a heavy sigh. “Now if you will excuse me, I have far more pressing business to attend to.” He started for the door.

  “Then I insist you hang this woman for piracy.” Sir Wilhelm’s quivering, frantic voice bounced off the brick walls and screeched through the room like a wail from a badly tuned violin. He pointed his bony finger at Faith.

  She clung to Dajon’s wet arm and swallowed, knowing well this man’s vengeance was not beyond watching her die.

  Dajon laid his strong, warm hand over hers.

  Judge Trott spun on his heel, his face puffed out in exasperation. “Egad, man. She has been pardoned.”

  Sir Wilhelm plucked the paper from his pocket, holding it up for all to see. Then, gripping it between his fingers, he started to rip it, but Dajon was on him in a second and snatched it from his hand. “Thank you. So kind of you.”

  Judge Trott turned and marched from the room, his deputies in tow.

  Sir Wilhelm faced them, his face contorted into a sickly knot, his eyes afire with hatred. For a brief moment, it seemed as if he contemplated charging Dajon, but he must have seen the futility of such an action, for he remained in place.

  “You have not seen the last of me.” He spat and wiped the saliva from his chin.

  “To my utter despair,” Dajon replied.

  Sir Wilhelm turned and marched from the room, flinging a chain of foul curses over his shoulder.

  Faith fell into Dajon’s arms. The moisture from his shirt soaked into her gown like a refreshing ointment. “Is this really happening?” She leaned back and gazed up at him. “I cannot believe you came for me.”

  He took her face in both hands and shook his head. “How could you ever believe that I would not?” He kissed her forehead, her nose then placed his lips on hers.

  Heat inflamed her belly, threatening to overtake her, but feeling the reverend’s eye upon them, Faith pushed from Dajon’s embrace and threw a hand to her hip.

  “What took you so long? I nearly married that buffoon.” She glanced at his powerful physique, all the more evident through his wet attire. “And why are you all wet?”

  “’Twas such a hot day I thought I’d swim into port instead of taking a boat.” He chuckled, a playful gleam in his eyes. “And I had to wait until I was sure Sir Wilhelm had procured your pardon, which I knew he must do before you wed.”

  “Will there
be no wedding?” the whining voice of one of the girls asked. Embarrassment flushed over Faith. She had forgotten the silly girls were still present.

  Dajon cocked a brow and gazed at Faith then at the reverend, who had remained before the judge’s bench like a pillar of aplomb, a look of satisfaction on his face.

  Faith’s breath kindled anew, sending her chest heaving. Once again her legs wobbled beneath her.

  Dajon took her hand in his and gazed down at her, his blue eyes so assured, so true, so loving.

  “Miss Westcott, will you marry me?”

  Chapter 35

  Leaning on his elbow, Dajon gazed at the beauty sleeping beside him. Sunlight streamed in through the stern window, setting her curls sparkling in an array of red, orange, and gold. Dark fringes of lashes shadowed her golden cheeks, and a tiny cluster of freckles danced upon her nose. Stirring, she moaned and snuggled close to his chest. The scent of lemon and lilies danced around him, reminding him of the glorious night they’d spent in each other’s arms. He allowed his gaze to wander down her creamy neck, across her bare shoulders, and down to where the coverlet forbade his eyes to go farther. He couldn’t believe she was his wife.

  Thank You, God. Thank You for this precious gift.

  The ship rocked over a wave, shifting the sun across her eyelids that she slowly fluttered open. When she focused on him, a delicate grin adorned her lips. “Good morning, husband.”

  “Good morning, wife.” He brushed a thumb across her cheek.

  Reaching up, she ran her fingers through his hair and then allowed her hand to boldly caress his shoulder, then the muscles in his arm, then over to finger the hair upon his chest.

  His body warmed. “I’m real, I assure you.” He grabbed her hand and kissed it.

  “I would never have believed I could be so happy.” She shifted her shimmering auburn eyes to his. “Yesterday I faced either the noose or Sir Wilhelm’s bed—both equally repugnant.” She smiled, but then a flicker of sorrow pinched her features. “I had lost all hope. And now here I am, not only freed from those hideous fates but the wife of the most wonderful man I’ve ever known.”

  The snap of a sail sounded above them, followed by the creak of the hull.

  “And I’m at sea.” Her eyes widened with glee, and she sat up, holding the coverlet to her chest. “And I’m on my ship”—she gave him a measured smile—“your ship, I mean.”

  Dajon chuckled and toyed with the curls cascading down her back.

  Faith traced a trail over his arm with her finger. “What a grand idea to spend our wedding night aboard the Red Siren. I’m so glad you brought her to port.”

  “After I resigned my commission, I must admit I felt naked without a ship to command.” Dajon caressed the silky skin of her back, his mind and body shifting to the soft feel of his beautiful wife.

  Leaning down on her elbow, Faith frowned, the mirth of only a moment ago drained from her face. “I can’t believe you did that for me. You love the navy. Your career—it meant so much to you.” She lowered her gaze and began to pick at a loose thread on the coverlet.

  Placing a finger beneath her chin, he raised her eyes to his. “Truth be told, as soon as I began to understand the enormity of God’s grace, I realized I didn’t need the navy to redeem me from my past sins.” He shrugged.

  “But you love the sea as much as I do.”

  A lock of her hair fell over her shoulder and grazed the bed. Dajon twirled it between his fingers. “You gave up your seafaring career as well, did you not?”

  “Career?” She giggled. “If you can call it that, but aye, I did. For the Lord.”

  “Then perhaps He has other plans for us upon the sea.” He pulled her down beside him, showering her neck with kisses until she pushed him away, laughing.

  The tiny purple scar below her left ear caught his eye. He traced the half-moon with his finger. “Where did you get this?”

  “In a sword fight.” She gave him a sassy look.

  “Of course.” Dajon laughed. “I know I should be horrified to discover my new wife is a swordsman”—he cleared his throat—“or swordswoman, but somehow I find it quite enticing.”

  A challenge sparked in her eyes. “Perhaps we can try our hand at swordplay someday.”

  “Perhaps, but I fear you are not a woman accustomed to defeat.”

  “Nay and why would that change?” One side of her mouth curved in a grin.

  “Speaking of pirating.” Dajon thought better to change the subject before she challenged him to a duel. “What of all the treasure you’ve stolen?” He raised his brows.

  Faith held a finger to his lips. “The Lord has already shown me what I am to do.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Since I cannot return the wealth to its proper owners, I shall give it all to charity—to the poor, to those in need.”

  “What about providing for your sisters and their future?”

  “I won’t deny I’m a bit uneasy about it.” Faith sighed. “But I need to trust God. I know He has a plan for all of us—a good plan—if we will only trust and follow Him.”

  Dajon smiled, feeling the warmth of her statement spread down to his toes.

  “All save this ship, that is.” She gave him a sideways smile. “I have returned her to her rightful owner.”

  “Nay.”

  “What do you mean? The Red Siren is yours.”

  “I am giving her back to you. . .as a wedding present.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t deserve such a gift. Not after I stole her from you.”

  “You stole my heart, too.” Dajon brushed a thumb over her cheek. “And I’m giving that back to you as well.”

  Her eyes moistened. “Then I vow to take good care of both.” She pulled him down and met his lips with hers. For a moment, Dajon lost himself in her taste, squeezing her closer, his body heating.

  As if completely unaware of her effect upon him, she pushed him back. “What shall we do with the ship? Merchant or”—her voice sparked with excitement—“privateer?”

  Dajon chuckled. “Only in wartime, my little pirate, or we shall be right back where we started.”

  “Oh, very well. But we shall command her together.” Faith folded the top of the coverlet and patted it with finality.

  “Together?” Dajon cocked a brow. “Nay, my love. I never share my command.”

  Her lips leveled in a satisfied smirk. “Well, ’tis time you begin, my husband.”

  “Having such a notorious pirate for a wife should prove quite interesting.” He rubbed a thumb over her lips, longing to kiss them again.

  She kissed his finger and smiled. “We should return home soon and tell my sisters the good news. They must be worried sick about me.”

  “Yes, we shall.” Dajon crept closer. “But ’tis far too early.”

  Faith ran her fingers over the stubble on his cheek and frowned.

  “Why the sad look?” he asked.

  “I am too happy for words. What if I am only dreaming?”

  “I assure you, you are not.” Dajon brushed her curls from her forehead. “But perhaps I need to prove it to you.”

  “And how do you intend to do that?” Her tone held a challenge.

  He gave her a roguish grin.

  She smiled at him in return, her gaze beaming an invitation.

  And Dajon lowered his lips upon hers to accept it.

  Epilogue

  Faith pushed open the front door of the Westcott home and nearly ran over Edwin. He stumbled backward, his bloodshot eyes rounding like saucers.

  “Miss Westcott. What. . .where. . .how?”

  Dajon entered behind her and led the tottering steward to a chair beside the grandfather clock. “There, there, man. Have a rest. I assure you we are not ghosts.”

  Edwin slid into the seat. “But you were in prison.”

  “I am aware of that, Edwin. Now, if you please, where are my sisters?” Excitement rippled through her. Faith gripped the banister and peered upstairs.
At nearly one o’clock in the afternoon, everyone should be up and about.

  “In the drawing room, I believe,” Edwin stuttered, withdrawing a handkerchief and dabbing his forehead.

  After closing the door, Dajon proffered his arm with a smile. “Shall we?”

  Gripping his elbow, Faith allowed him to lead her up the stairs. She still couldn’t believe that the extraordinary man beside her was her husband, and she couldn’t wait to share the news with her sisters.

  “Miss Faith! Miss Faith!” Molly’s high-pitched voice pulled them back to the bottom of the stairway. The cook sped down the hallway, her muslin skirts flailing behind her. “I thought I heard yer voice.” Her eyes landed on Dajon, and she halted. “Oh, Mr. Waite. Warms my soul to see you.” She caught her breath as her gaze shifted suspiciously between them, then she darted to Faith. “How did you get out of prison, Miss Faith?” She reached up as if she wanted to hug her but hesitated. Throwing her arms around her, Faith embraced Molly, and they both broke into a jumbled mix of sobbing laughter.

  Pulling away, Faith held her at arm’s length. “I have much to tell you.”

  Grace’s soft footsteps upon the stairs drew Faith’s attention. Her normally glowing skin seemed pale in the light coming in through the back window. Dark smudges tugged on her glassy green eyes. Clutching a book in hand, she inched her way down to Faith as if she didn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

  The back door slammed, and a thud of boots sounded before Lucas barreled into the foyer, hat in hand and smelling of hay and horses. His eyes shimmered as a beaming smile took over his mouth.

  “Lucas!”

  “Miss Faith. How did ye—”

  Grace flew down the remaining stairs and into Faith’s arms, stopping Lucas’s question in midair and nearly knocking Faith over. “Praise be to God. I’m so glad to see you.”

  “And I you, sweet sister.” Faith squeezed her then took a step back. “You’re trembling.” She took both her hands in hers. “Everything will be okay now. I am free.”