Sea of Ruin

by Pam Godwin

  There, I rose to my feet and peered inside.

  Fire flickered beneath the spit. Syllabub glasses sparkled. Mutton stew bubbled in the kettle, and the cook maid—a young native woman—hummed a foreign tune.

  Everyone knew servants weren’t supposed to sing, hum, or make any noise within earshot of the master’s family.

  I grinned at her rebellion. With her back turned to the doorway and her pretty voice vibrating the air, she didn’t catch my escape through the kitchen and out the servant door.

  Morning sunlight blotted my vision, and a warm breeze tugged at my hair, loosening the curls. I squinted in the direction of the barn and listened.

  And listened harder.

  Damn the silence! Where were those hounds?

  Don’t panic.

  The dogs would find me. They always did.

  I bolted across the dewy lawn, tripping over the petticoat and scattering my nerves in a burst of exhilaration.

  In the distant field, a tenant farmer lifted his head to watch my inelegant race to the stable. But he wouldn’t stop me. No one did as I made a break for an unfamiliar horse that was already tacked outside.

  Saddled in the finest leather and tied to a post, the black thoroughbred didn’t belong to the estate.

  “Miss Benedicta?” The stable boy emerged from the barn and offered me a kind smile. “Do you fancy a ride today? Shall I ready a mare?”

  “There’s no time. Did Lord Grisdale arrive by carriage?”

  “Nah, he came by horse. That one there.” His freckled face scrunched as he pointed at the beast I was already mounting. “You mustn’t—”

  “I’ll return it.” I stuffed my wrapped package in the saddlebag.

  “He’ll have my hide!”

  “Have my adventures ever earned you a lashing?” With my gaze on the surrounding copse of trees, I tucked the bulky skirts beneath my legs.

  “No, but Lord Grisdale—”

  “Will aim his strap at my behind.” I adjusted my jade pendant to rest against my chest. “Hand me the reins.”

  He made a show out of dragging his feet, as he so often did when I involved him in my mischief. Then a curse slipped under his breath, decision made. He untied the tether and tossed it to my waiting hand.

  “I’ll sneak you some plum cake after my flogging tonight.” My wink brought twin stains of pink to his freckled cheeks.

  Snapping my hips forward, I spurred Grisdale’s horse into a gallop.

  Within minutes, the pins in my hair surrendered to the wind, giving flight to a tangled mane of curls. At the tree line, I shoved two fingers into my mouth and released a high-pitched whistle.

  A racket of noise disturbed the undergrowth. Moments later, the hounds shot out of the woodland and bounded in my direction.

  I slowed the horse, exploding with laughter, as paws and jowls scrabbled at my legs. The dogs jumped and licked with vigor, coating my fingers in strings of drool.

  And mud.

  It was everywhere, blackening the petticoat and streaking my sleeves. Nothing I could do about it now.

  “Shear off, you rascals!” I clapped my hands, calling the hounds’ attention. “Where is he? Show me!”

  Just like all the times before, they took off into the trees, tails up and muzzles down, letting their noses lead them to the rendezvous point.

  I gave chase, bending into the pursuit and hugging the trails. At length, I lost track of all the twists and turns and forged headlong into unknown lands.

  The terrain grew savagely rugged. Twiggy branches grabbed at my skirts, ripped seams, and gouged irreparable holes in the chintz.

  I’d scrounged up a lot of trouble in my life and managed to fight my way out of all of it. But stealing a nobleman’s horse and destroying my mother’s precious gown? There was no coming back from this.

  Maybe I wouldn’t have to. Maybe this time he would let me go with him.

  My heart rate sped up, filling my chest with giddy anticipation.

  He never ventured too close to town, so I wasn’t surprised when the journey extended into the next hour. The hounds maintained a frantic northernly pace, sharing my excitement to reunite with their master.

  Deep into the woods, the dirt paths grew narrower, choked with foliage and disappearing beneath unexplored wilderness. But I hadn’t strayed far from the coast. The scent of brine and tang of salt lay heavily in the warm air, and the resonance of surf thundered over the clap of hooves.

  A few minutes later, the trees parted to a view of oceanic blue.

  The hounds sprinted toward the shore, kicking up sand in their wake. I dismounted the horse and secured him in the shade. Then I darted out of the forest and into the embrace of uninterrupted sunshine.

  The narrow crescent of beach formed an inlet some sixty paces across. On the north side, waves broke in a spray of foam against the base of a cliff. Gulls circled overhead and perched on the rock face. Farther out, past the pounding surf, lay endless swells of water.

  There were no ships, no signs of human life, but I felt him. He called to me in the crash of breakers upon the beach and hugged me in the clingy damp wind that whisked across the Great Western Ocean.

  He was the sea. Rough. Dangerous. Dependable. No matter how far he traveled or how long he stayed away, he always returned to me.

  I scanned the coastline to the south, where it curved out of view. The hounds had vanished in that direction, beyond an outcrop of trees.

  Gathering my skirts, I dug my toes into the sand and took off after them. But a few steps in, something stirred in my periphery.

  I spun toward the movement and shielded my eyes, squinting at the trees.

  Shadows shifted in the woods near the horse. Someone was there, right where I’d been standing.

  My lungs compacted as a man stepped onto the beach. A huge mast of a man, dressed head to toe in black.

  His hair was red, long around the ears, and wild like the wind. He wore a flowing shirt of silk, knee-high jackboots, and a cutlass that glinted in the sun.

  Despite his ignoble attire, he radiated a lord-like bearing. Commanding in stance and purpose, he stalked toward me.

  My knees wobbled beneath the storm of his surly eyes.

  “A lovely young lass like you should pay better attention to her surroundings.” His long-legged strides devoured the distance between us. “You never know what might be lying in wait.”

  My throat closed, too constricted to squeeze out a sound.

  When I’d dismounted the horse, I hadn’t examined the perimeter or used my senses to probe for threats. In my excitement, I’d let my guard down.

  The curve of his mouth descended, his face carved in stone, deeply tanned and infamously elusive.

  The notorious Edric Sharp.

  His visage was rendered on newspapers, edicts, and proclamations all over Charleston. They called him a pirate and offered a substantial reward for his capture.

  I’d read every account of his description. Some said he was tall and mean. Others claimed he was scarred, bearded, and wore a peruke. Every word and sketched reproduction was created from the imaginations of artists who had never encountered him.

  He was more handsome in person, more menacing. But I wasn’t afraid.

  I was awestruck.

  Sand crunched beneath his boots as he paused within arm’s reach. I didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

  A muscle bounced in his stony jaw. Then it spread to his lips, twitching at the corners. I waited for a break in his expression, and when a smile finally lit his eyes, I pounced on the seaman’s massive chest.

  “Father!” I embraced his wide shoulders, squeezing with all my might.

  “Aw, Bennett. I missed you.” He swung me up into the safety of his arms and buried his scratchy cheeks in my neck. “You must be more vigilant. Anyone could have sneaked up on you. Have I taught you nothing?”

  “Forgive me. I was overcome with excitement. That’s no excuse, but Father, it’s been eight months. Please, d
on’t be upset with me.”

  “Never, deary. Never that.”

  I leaned back to reacquaint myself with his hardened features. My hands went to his jutting jaw, my fingers curling around the squared edges. All blunt angles and sun-darkened skin, his face still held its youth. And it’s smile.

  That infectious smile widened, tickling wiry whiskers against my palms as I traced new crinkles around his wise eyes and touched the familiar gold ring in his ear.

  His arms hugged me tighter, thick and muscular, and his boots spread wide beneath me as if bracing against the roll of the sea even now.

  He was every inch the seafaring knave. An unrivaled buccaneer. Ruthless. And rich, if the lore could be believed.

  I knew the truth about his conquests and could recall every prize he’d won and lost. His treasure was greater than anyone could imagine.

  “Have you brought me more tales from the high seas?” I tugged at the collar of his shirt, searching in fear of finding fresh scars.

  “Indeed. I have much to tell you, my beautiful girl.”

  I lowered my feet toward the ground, wriggling in his arms. Before my toes touched the sand, I spotted a dark presence over his shoulder, approaching from the beach.

  The man appeared out of nowhere, sneaking toward us on silent feet. With a bandoleer of guns slung across his chest, he stared at me with eyes too jaded for a face that was nigh twenty years.

  My hackles went up, and my stomach bottomed out.

  But Edric Sharp hadn’t taught me to tremble in the face of danger. No, he’d taught me how to fight with my fists and wit, a flintlock and blunderbuss, and my personal favorite, his cutlass. I could feel it now—the grip of the hilt in my palm, the clang of metal against metal in heated clicks, and its reliability in battle. A blade never misfired.

  Without a quiver of hesitation, I grabbed the cutlass from my father’s sash, swept behind him, and thrust the sharp point at the enemy. Then I charged.

  The man halted, his wicked eyes growing wide at the sight of me. I must have been a fright in tattered chintz and disheveled hair whipping around my ferocious expression.

  His alarm was his folly, and I used it to cleave through the sash of his bandoleer and relieve him of his weapons.

  “Stand down!” I swung again, slashing a hole in the sleeve of his shirt.

  “Damnation, girl!” He held up his hands and hissed at the rip on his arm. “What are you doing?”

  “Deciding which part of you I shall cut next.” I jabbed the cutlass toward his nether regions.

  His huge hand landed on top of my head, holding me away as he parried the stroke of my blade.

  “Unhand me, sir.” I thrashed, trying to dislodge his immovable grasp. “Do it now, or I’ll lop off the dull, inanimate fellow between your legs.”

  “Captain,” he said in a bored tone. “Call off your hell-born blowsabella before she hurts herself.”

  “Bennett, lower the blade.” My father chuckled, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s my new quartermaster.”

  “What?” I withdrew the cutlass and jerked away from the man’s grip. “How? Where’s Kirby?”

  “He lost his legs to chain-shot. And most of his internal organs, I’m afraid.”

  “Oh.”

  My insides clenched as I pictured an explosion of smoke and cinder, thousands of pounds of red-hot iron, and blood-soaked decks littered in dismembered limbs. I’d never experienced such brutality, but I’d lived every gruesome detail through my father’s stories.

  Most days, I believed Edric Sharp was invincible. But sometimes, when I stared at the sea from my bedchamber, I feared the next fallen buccaneer would be him.

  “Where are those dogs?” He strode away and whistled for the hounds.

  “So you are the reason the captain shortened sail and hove to?” The new quartermaster collected his guns, eying me sidelong. “Can’t convince him to drop anchor in Nassau for a night of drink, but he’ll put two-hundred leagues beneath her keel to see his brazen little she-devil.”

  I sucked in a breath and stood taller. “You don’t know me.”

  “You’re all he talks about.”

  “Then I’m at a disadvantage because I don’t even know your name.”

  “Now you fancy an introduction?” He clicked his tongue. “Have you no contrition for attacking me?”

  “No.” I met him stare for stare, despite the height he held over me.

  “You don’t mince words, do you?”

  I rested the cutlass on my shoulder. “I save the mincing for tangible things.”

  “Quite so. Point established.” A rakish smile stole across his lips. “The name’s Charles Vane.”

  My father jogged toward the beach to chase his hounds, leaving me in an incommodious stare down with his new quartermaster.

  I fought the urge to cross my arms over the revealing bosom of my gown. Charles didn’t rest his gaze there, but he was looking at me, scrutinizing and assessing my unsightly appearance.

  “Did you come from a party?” He canted his head, and a lock of black hair fell from the defined V of his widow’s peak.

  “No.” I stabbed the cutlass into the sand and leaned on the hilt.

  “Did you roll in every mud puddle you could find on the way here?”

  “I’m certain I missed one.”

  He glanced between his ripped sleeve and the soiled rags of my dress. “Are you in the habit of ruining fine garments?”

  “Are you in the habit of filling perfectly good silence with tedious questions?”

  “Not usually.” He scratched his whiskered face. “You’re nothing like the well-bred ladies I’ve…” He cleared his throat. “Spent time with.”

  “I should hope not.” My cheeks heated at his meaning. “I’m not a strumpet.”

  His gaze dipped to his boots, and the corner of his mouth lifted. “God save the man who sets his sights on you.”

  “Speak plainly, Mr. Vane.” I anchored my fists on my hips. “What are you saying?”

  “You’re Captain Sharp’s daughter.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  I jumped at the growl in my father’s voice and found him standing a few paces away, watching me.

  The hounds bounced around his legs and nipped at his fingers, but he paid them no heed. Prowling toward me, he searched my eyes, and what he saw there made his expression grow dark, overcast, heavy like rain clouds.

  I knew that look, and it hurt my heart. “Don’t say it.”

  “It’s uncanny how much you resemble her.”

  “Please, don’t—”

  “It’s true, lass.”

  I released a sigh. The truest truth was that he still loved the countess. It was an eternal love, as deep and ungovernable as the ocean.

  But she wouldn’t have him. Not when she was carrying his child. Not after fourteen years of letters, in which he offered her marriage, wealth, and undying devotion.

  “Do you still write to her?” I curled my fingers around his callused hand.

  “Aye.” His gaze slipped to Charles and shuttered before returning to me. “Naught has changed.”

  “Maybe she’s not getting your missives?”

  “She’s getting them. My courier waits as she reads them, shreds them, and hands back the pieces without response.” Pain flashed in his eyes. “Has she still not given you my identity?”

  I shook my head.

  She never mentioned his name. Not once. Whenever I asked who fathered me, she punished me with her silence. If she knew about our visits… God’s blood, would she have him marched to the gallows and hanged? I didn’t know and couldn’t risk it.

  So I never begged him to stay. Instead, I voiced my usual demand.

  “Take me with you.”

  His expression blanked, and he released my hand. “No.”

  “Please? I can’t go back. Not after what I’ve done!”

  “Listen, Bennett. Stealing a horse is one thing. In time, Abigail will forgive you. Bu
t pillaging the king’s ships is something else entirely. There’s no forgiveness in my business, and the sea is no place for a child.”

  “I’m fourteen!”

  “She needs you.” He brushed a springy curl from my face. “I would not steal you from her.”

  “Steal me? She’s trying to get rid of me.”

  He went eerily still. “You say?”

  “She’s arranging a betrothal. If she succeeds, you’ll be visiting me in England. And that’s if I can sneak away from Lord Grisdale.”

  His nostrils pulsed with a furious snap of breath. “Who?”

  “A marquess of the realm. Deep in the pockets. Gray under the wig. I stole the old lobcock’s horse and—”

  “Slow down.” His hands flexed, and the vein in his forehead looked ready to pop. “Did you say gray?”

  “Well, I haven’t confirmed that detail because I missed our introduction. But the rest is true! He’s a whole decade older than you!”

  In a blink, his eyes lost their humanity, the depths sinking into an abyss of malice and ice.

  A shiver rippled down my spine as his entire demeanor took on that coldness. Rigid shoulders, white-knuckled fists, uncompromising scowl—he no longer stood before me as my father, but rather as the infamous captain of an eighteen-gun warship.

  His blade-sharp eyes cut to the tree line behind me. “That’s his horse?”

  “Yes.”

  “You stole it?”

  “I was in a hurry.”

  He glanced at Charles, and a hint of pride softened the edge of his anger. “Already pirating, this one.”

  “And thrusting blades at devilishly good-looking rogues.” Charles arched a brow at me.

  I winged up mine in return. “Careful, Mr. Vane. One might think you enjoyed it.”

  “She makes a point, Charles.” My father’s voice grew quiet. A deep, bone-chilling kind of quiet. “Around my daughter, your eyes are for decoration only. If you use them on her, I’ll carve them out and feed them to the gulls.”

  Charles looked away with a grimace. “I’ll head back to the ship and give you some privacy.”

  “Good plan. Return for me at dusk.”