“It’s true then.”
“What?”
“You are afraid of the sea.” He glanced at the tight grip her trembling hands had on the railing.
She hated that it was so obvious. She hated showing this man any weakness. “You need not concern yourself with me, Captain.”
“As captain, I must concern myself with everyone on board.” His brows lifted. “What has me quite baffled, miss, is in light of this fear, why you would steal the very instruments which will aid us to shore. What were you planning on doing with them? Tossing them overboard?”
A wave of shame heated Marianne’s face. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the sea rushing past them not twenty feet below. “If you must know, yes, that was exactly my plan.”
He chuckled. Which further angered her. “I assure you, miss, I’ve been at sea long enough to know how to navigate without them. Difficult as it would be, it would only delay our reaching the safety of land.” He leaned toward her until she could feel his warm breath on her neck. “I would abandon your efforts to turn this ship around, Miss Denton. Mark my words, we will make it to England as well as our other ports of call.”
Marianne gave a smug huff. England perhaps, but once he discovered she had ruined his precious cargo, he’d have no choice but to return home to Baltimore. “We shall see, Captain Noah.”
“Yet your perseverance and ingenuity are commendable.”
“A compliment?” Marianne faced him. “Have a care, Captain, or a crack may form in your heart of stone.”
Noah’s smile was rewarded by the curve of Marianne’s lips. Surprisingly, it warmed him from head to toe. Her brown eyes shimmered in the silver light of the moon now dipping beneath the sea. Why hadn’t he ever noticed how beautiful her eyes were? She had removed her bandage, allowing her hair to flow like liquid cinnamon down her back.
Resisting the urge to run his fingers through it, he folded his arms across his chest.
The woman was an enigma. How terrifying the past days must have been for her in light of her fear of the sea. Yet here she was up on deck. Her bravery, her kindness to those she should consider beneath her, her willingness to cook and care for the sick, hammered away at the imperious image he had formed of her as a child. Was she playing him for a fool? Nothing but sincerity burned in her gaze. He wanted to hate her for it. But at the moment, he could find no trace of that emotion in his heart. Quite the opposite, in fact.
She broke the invisible thread between their gazes and glanced away. “What brings you on deck so early?”
“This is my favorite time of day.” Even as he said it, a soft glow spread across the eastern horizon, chasing away the dark night. “See there.” He pointed. “Dawn arrives. A new day. Fresh beginnings.”
Marianne twisted the ring on her finger and eyed him curiously. The light brushed golden highlights over her hair and face, and Noah swallowed down a lump of admiration. Confound it all, what was wrong with him?
The ship bucked, and Noah placed a hand on her back to steady her. Salty mist showered over them and her chest began to heave. “Never fear, Miss Denton, you are quite safe aboard this ship.”
She shot him a look of disbelief. “Are you so determined to make your fortune that you cannot spare a few days to return a frightened woman—your fiancée—to her home?”
The muscles in Noah’s jaw tightened. “You do not know my father.”
“What has he to do with it?”
“This is his ship, his cargo. He and Mother depend on me for their survival.”
“A heavy burden to bear alone.” Her voice sank with genuine concern.
How quickly she transformed from a woman demanding her way to one who cared for his concerns. He looked away from the sympathy pooling in her eyes and thought of his demanding father, hoping to resurge the anger and guilt that kept him strong. “I must apologize for my mother’s behavior at the engagement party. She has taken to an excess in drink as of late.” He lowered his chin. “It is an illness with her.” Confound it all, why was he telling her this?
She laid a hand upon his, jarring him. “No need to apologize, Noah. Many people who have suffered tragedy find succor in spirits. It is understandable.” She offered him a timid smile. “I am sorry.”
Noah felt her sorrow—genuine sorrow that began to melt a part of his heart he wasn’t ready to let soften. “I do not want your pity,” he said in a harsher tone than he intended. He snatched his hand from beneath hers.
She clutched the railing again and flattened her lips in disappointment just as Noah’s mother always did when he’d done something wrong. As he always did.
Unlike his father, Noah’s mother never chastised him openly. She didn’t have to. Noah’s failings and weaknesses lurked about their home, hanging from the dark corners of the ceiling like heckling specters. Which was why he preferred to be at sea. He patted the pocket inside his waistcoat. “My mother drinks because I failed her. I failed her and my father. But I will fail them no longer.”
Her brows drew together. “Certainly your father understands there are things that affect your fortune that are beyond your control.”
“The only thing he understands is success.”
A breeze lifted the soft curls of her hair and brought with it the fresh smell of dawn seasoned with a hint of salt. Why was she not angry at him for snapping at her? Why did he battle the strong desire to apologize for all the pain he had caused her?
“Anyone can see you are a more than competent captain.”
He cocked a brow. “A compliment? Have a care, Miss Denton. A crack may form in your heart of stone.”
They both laughed.
The sun fanned its rays over the sea, brushing golden light over her face.
Unable to resist any further, he took a strand of her hair between his fingers and relished in the silky feel of it. Her sweet feminine scent drifted over him.
Her eyes widened, searching his.
“A sail. A sail!”
Noah slowly tore his gaze from her brown eyes, and for the first time, he felt the pain of their loss. He shifted his attention to the horizon.
“Where away, Mr. Grainger?”
“She’s to leeward, sir, about four leagues,” the lookout shouted.
Marianne remained frozen beside the railing while Noah marched away, spyglass raised to his eye. Stunned not by the sighting of another ship, but by the tender look on Noah’s face as he fingered her hair. What had just happened? She had no idea, but she hadn’t time to consider it as the ship exploded in a flurry of activity at the appearance of their new guest. After ordering one of his men below to wake the crew, Noah took a stance on the quarterdeck to study the intruder. Within minutes, sleepy-eyed sailors sprouted from the hatches like gophers from their holes. Luke gave her a wink as he passed and took his place beside his captain.
“Hoist all sail, up topgallants, and courses!” Noah ordered. “Mr. Pike, veer to starboard!”
Mr. Heaton repeated the orders, addressing certain sailors to specific tasks.
Marianne’s blood pounded in her ears. Men jumped into the shrouds and scrambled aloft until she could barely see them. They ambled across yards to loosen the sails, dropping them to catch the wind.
“She’s British,” a man above yelled. “A warship. A frigate.”
Following the line of Noah’s scope, Marianne spotted the object of excitement. A red-hulled ship, sporting three masts and crowded with sails, stood out stark against the rising sun. White foam leapt upon her bow as she split the dark waters and bore down upon them.
With her heart in her throat, Marianne made her way up onto the quarterdeck and clung to the mast behind the helm. At least from there she could hear what was happening.
Noah slammed the glass shut and slapped it against his palm. Then turning, he spotted one of his sailors. “Run up our colors, Mr. Lothar.”
Within minutes the American flag sprung high into the wind on the gaff of their foremast.
“What do they want do you suppose?” Mr. Heaton asked.
“I don’t intend to find out.” Noah narrowed his eyes upon their pursuer, his face a mask of confidence and command. No hint of fear glinted from behind his sharp blue eyes as he directed his men to their tasks—men who were quick to obey, their expressions displaying trust in their captain. Mr. Weller leapt upon the quarterdeck and stood beside Noah.
“They have the weather advantage,” he said.
“I can see that.” Noah scratched his chin. “But we are much lighter and swifter. We can outrun them.”
“Should I ready the guns, Cap’n?” Mr. Weller clawed nervously at his scarf with his two remaining fingers. “Just in case.”
Guns. Marianne swallowed. Surely they wouldn’t engage in battle with a British warship?
Noah gave him a curious look. “No need. We will not allow them to get close enough.” He looked aloft and then off their bow and the confidence slipped from his face. “Mr. Pike, I told you to bring her to starboard.”
The helmsman hefted the massive wheel and grunted. “Cap’n, she ain’t respondin’.”
Noah marched to his side, gripped two of the spokes and assisted him.
“They’re gaining, Cap’n,” Mr. Heaton shot over his shoulder.
“The sails are stuffed wit’ wind.” Mr. Weller scratched his head. “Why haven’t we picked up speed?”
Noah released the wheel and rubbed the back of his neck.
The helmsman gazed up at his captain. “It feels like we’re draggin’ an anchor.”
Marianne’s heart lurched. She threw a hand to her mouth. “Oh drat.”
All eyes shot toward her.
Noah marched toward her. “What have you done, Miss Denton?”
CHAPTER 10
Marianne watched as Noah emerged from the companion-way, his face twisting with rage. His eyes latched upon her like arrows about to fly from their quiver as he made quick work of the ladder to the quarterdeck. His officers followed timidly behind him, their faces reflecting fear. Fear, she assumed, for what he might do to her.
He stormed toward her. Marianne cringed, not daring to release the mast.
“Do you know what you have done?”
“Ruined your rice and flour?” she answered sheepishly.
A cannon blast cracked the peaceful sky with a thunderous Boom!
Marianne jumped and stared in that direction, but Noah’s eyes never left her.
A splash sounded where the ball dropped into the sea.
“A warning shot, Captain,” Mr. Heaton shouted from his spot by the quarterdeck railing. “I believe they want us to heave to.”
“Confound it all! More than ruined my cargo, Miss Denton.” Noah seemed to be having difficulty speaking. “You have filled my hold with bloated rice and sticky paste and caused the ship to move as if she were a pregnant whale.”
“I’m sorry, Noah, I could think of no other way to—” She halted, fear strangling her voice at the crazed look in his eyes.
He backed away and clawed a hand through his hair. “Now we are caught like a fish in a net.”
She glanced from him to the frigate and back again. “I thought you said we had nothing to fear from the British.” She forced a ring of hopefulness into her voice.
He pointed a sharp finger her way, his face purpling. “Whatever happens is on your head, miss. Mark my words.” Then turning, he stormed toward the railing.
Within minutes, the British ship came alongside and kept pace with them. Men scrambled in formation across her deck, some in blue uniforms, others in red—all of them armed. Entangled within the lines above, men in redcoats pointed muskets their way. The charred mouths of fourteen cannons gaped at her from their ports on the main deck.
What had she done, indeed.
Noah eyed the British Naval Ensign flapping at the peak of the frigate’s mizzenmast as a man dressed in what looked like a captain’s uniform stepped onto the bulwark and held a speaking trumpet to his mouth.
“This is His Britannic Majesty’s frigate Undefeatable. What ship are you and where are you bound?”
Noah cupped hands around his mouth. “We are an American ship out of Baltimore, the Fortune, with a cargo for South Hampton, Noah Brenin commanding.” Noah took a deep breath to quell his rising fear. He had traded with the British for years—had friends on English shores. Surely when they discovered the Fortune’s nationality and their peaceful business, they would leave them be.
The British captain raised the speaking trumpet again. “Heave to at once, Captain, and prepare to receive a boarding party.”
Noah shook his head. Surely they would see reason. He raised his hands to his mouth. “We harbor no deserters, sir, and cannot be delayed.” He studied the frigate as he awaited a response. Sleek, tight lines and sturdy sails made her swift upon the seas. The barrels of a hundred muskets gaped at him from the tops. Not to mention the fourteen charred muzzles winking at him from her deck. A tremble went through him.
The captain turned to speak to someone beside him. Soon the air resounded with the thunderous fury of a cannon blast. Gray smoke blew back across the British ship, obscuring part of their forecastle. Once again, the ball heaved harmlessly into the sea just astern of the Noah’s ship.
“They be within our range, Cap’n.” Mr. Weller’s horror-filled eyes bulged as he transfixed them on the British warship. “Let’s give ‘em a bit o’ American ‘ospitality, eh?”
Noah shook his head, “We cannot fight a British frigate and hope to win. We would all be killed.” Confound the blasted woman! He expelled a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment then opened them to see the terror etching upon his gunner’s face. “Mr. Weller, I will do my best to protect you.”
Mr. Weller returned a knowing nod, but the fear never left his eyes.
“Go fetch my pistols and sword, if you please. No, belay that.” Noah spotted Mr. Boone on the weather deck and gave him that same order then turned back to Mr. Weller. “Get below and tell the men to arm themselves. Then stay out of sight.”
With a salute that gave Mr. Weller’s naval experience away, he dashed across the deck. Noah returned his gaze to the frigate. A blast of wind punched him with the sting of gunpowder. He rubbed the sweat from the back of his neck. For the first time in his merchant career, he was trapped—caught in the sights of fourteen guns, eighteen-pounders, from the looks of them. A broadside of which would sink him in minutes. He had no choice but to surrender and hope the captain was a reasonable fellow. Why wouldn’t he be? Despite the stories of illegal impressments that had made their way to Baltimore, most British naval officers were men of honor.
If Noah were a praying man, he would have lifted a petition to the Almighty, but he’d given up on God caring about him a long time ago. Noah was on his own now as he had been for years. Straightening his shoulders, he gathered his resolve to preserve his ship and the lives of those upon it.
He eyed his first mate. “Mr. Heaton, heave to.”
Luke gave him a wary look and laid a hand on Noah’s shoulder in passing as he barked the orders that would lower sails and halt the ship.
No sooner had the ship eased to a slow drift, than a cutter aboard the frigate was swung from its chocks and lowered into the water on their leeward side. From what Noah could make out, a lieutenant, a midshipman, ten marines, and five sailors clambered into the boat and heaved off from the hull.
Mr. Boone returned from below and handed Noah his weapons. After strapping on his sword, Noah turned toward the mast where he’d last seen Miss Denton, expecting to find she had gone below. But there she stood, leaning against the massive wooden pole, terror and remorse burning in her gaze.
“I’m sorry, Noah,” she said.
He marched toward her. “No time for apologies, miss. You need to get below.”
She shook her head. “I caused this, and I will accept the consequences of my action.”
Grabbing her arms, he peeled her from the mast and led her t
o the ladder. “Do as I say for once, Miss Denton.” She ceased struggling and lowered her chin.
Noah halted. “Muster the men amidships, Mr. Heaton,” he ordered Luke, who was strapping on his own weapons. His first mate’s eyes met his. No fear, only anger seared in his dark gaze, making Noah glad for the first time that he’d chosen such a courageous man for first mate. For never had he needed the man’s bravado and stalwart spirit more than he did now.
He urged Marianne down the ladder onto the main deck. She trembled, and his anger diminished. Despite her guilt in causing their present predicament, she must be more terrified than he. “Get below, Miss Denton, and you will be safe.” Yet he heard the uncertainty in his voice. “Hide in—”
Surrender the Heart Page 12