Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  She stared straight into twitching, gray eyes. The scent of brandy stung her nose. Gathering her bravado, she tugged from his grasp and took a step back. “It seems a rather lonely existence, Captain.” She kept her voice steady, despite her quivering belly. “And I would appreciate you keeping your hands to yourself. No gentleman would employ such crude manners.”

  If he intended to strike her or lock her in irons, she preferred that he simply proceed without delay. For every time she was in the captain’s presence, she felt as though she were walking one of those thin ropes in the top yards, waiting to be shoved off to the deck below.

  A tiny vein pulsed in his neck just above his black neckerchief. The hungry sea dashed against the hull and tipped the ship slightly to larboard. Marianne braced her feet against the deck and her soul against another onslaught of this man’s deranged outbursts.

  Instead, he broke into a chuckle and swung about.

  “The navy’s been good to me,” he continued the conversation as if nothing had happened. Perhaps to him, it hadn’t. “Why, I’ve seen exotic places most people never see. I’ve fought in glorious battles that have changed the course of history.” He rounded his desk and caressed one of the leaves of his plants. His rock-hard expression softened. “Tender precious things, aren’t they? Grew them from seeds. Just one little seed”—he gestured the size with his thumb and forefinger—“and you can grow a tree that will feed a family.”

  Marianne released a sigh at the change in his demeanor. He seemed to respect those who took a stand against him, or at the very least, her courage had caused him to shift back to the calm, reasonable captain, not Captain Maniacal, who so often appeared out of nowhere.

  “Perhaps you should have been a farmer,” she said.

  Captain Maniacal returned. His face reddened. “Begone, Miss Denton. I tire of your company.”

  Before she made it to the door, a knock sounded. The captain growled a curse that made her ears burn, then he shouted for the intruder to enter. A man dressed in a marine sergeant’s uniform gave her a cursory glance as he passed. Her heart leapt in her throat as Luke followed on his heels. His brows lifted at the sight of her, and he winked in passing. But it was Noah’s blue eyes that latched upon hers that sent her blood racing. She took a step back and leaned on a nearby chair for support. Instead of anger, she saw relief on his face as he perused her. A faint smile lifted his lips.

  Behind him, another marine nudged him forward. Lieutenant Reed brought up the rear.

  Noah looked well. They both looked well. She silently thanked God.

  “What is this about?” Captain Milford grumbled. “Can’t a man enjoy his evening without interruptions!”

  “Sorry to disturb you, Captain.” Lieutenant Reed stepped forward and saluted. “But it appears these Americans have been stirring up trouble with the crew. As well as disrespecting the Royal Navy.”

  It took all of Noah’s strength to stare straight ahead and not turn for another look at Miss Denton. Although she appeared well, and young Daniel had said as much, Noah longed to hear it from her own lips.

  “Causing trouble, you say?” The captain’s sharp tone brought Noah’s focus back on him. A much larger man in person than he appeared from the tops, the captain took a step away from the windows, wobbled, then crossed his arms over his chest.

  When the marine had first announced they were to see the captain, Noah’s hopes had lifted. At last he would have an audience with the only man who could set them free. Surely, once he explained the altercation during dinner as well as the circumstances of their impressments, this officer, this man of honor, would see reason. But now as Noah stood before the man, the haughty lift of the captain’s shoulders and the scowl on his face did not bode well for that notion.

  “Well, speak up. What happened?” the captain said.

  “Captain, nothing but a—” Noah began.

  “Not you, deserter!” Captain Milford barked and spittle landed on his desk.

  “Captain,” the sergeant said. His voice quavered. “This man started a fight with another crewman and insulted His Majesty’s Navy.”

  Luke skewered him with a glare. “That’s a lie and you know it.”

  “We are not deserters, Captain,” Noah said.

  “Silence!” the captain shouted. He plopped into his chair as if it took too much strength to keep his bulky frame standing. Black hair, streaked with gray, sprang like the edges of an old broom about his shoulders. He gripped his side then turned to the Lieutenant. “What say you, Lieutenant Reed?”

  “I was not present during the altercation, Captain. I have only the marine sergeant’s testimony.”

  “Hmm.” Captain Milford’s tired, gray eyes focused on Luke. “A fight you say? What was the cause?”

  “An insult to the navy, sir,” the marine stated.

  “Did you hear this insult?”

  “No, sir.”

  Luke grimaced. “I made no such slur, Captain.”

  The captain rose and adjusted his coat. His angular jaw flexed and gray eyes, alight with cruelty, shifted over the men. Fatigue drew the lines of his tanned face downward.

  “Who struck who first?” he demanded.

  The sergeant coughed. “I believe it was this man who threw the first blow, sir.” He gestured toward Luke.

  “Your crewman insulted our country, Captain,” Noah said, not wanting the lie to go unchallenged. “And my man here merely gave him a little shove.”

  “Your country,” the captain mumbled. “You have no country but England.” He snorted and narrowed his eyes at Noah, then shifted them to Luke. He released a sigh, heavy with boredom, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Well, I shall take my marine’s word over that of these two deserters.”

  Noah shook his head as his hope for justice faded completely before this blustering man.

  “You both are in violation of Article 22 of the Articles of War which prohibits all fighting, quarreling, and reproachful speech aboard a Royal Navy ship. Since this is your first offense, I’ll spare you the cat.” The captain waved a hand toward Luke. “Lock him in irons below. No food or drink for two days. Perhaps that shall suffice as a lesson to you, sir, that I do not tolerate brawls on my ship.”

  Marianne gasped and all eyes shot to her.

  “With all due respect, Captain—” Noah stepped forward.

  “This is madness,” Luke interrupted. “I did nothing wrong.”

  “Hold your tongues or I’ll have you both flogged!” The captain’s left eyelid began to twitch. “You are British sailors now, not crude, undisciplined Americans.”

  “We are not British sailors,” Luke spit out through clenched teeth.

  “Make that three days,” the captain said. “Shall we go for four?”

  Noah elbowed his friend and shook his head. Luke scowled but remained silent.

  “Captain, please!” Marianne’s sweet voice flowed over Noah from behind like a refreshing wave. He glanced over his shoulder at her. She stepped forward, her anxious gaze shifted from him to the captain. “Have mercy, I beg you.”

  The captain cleared his throat and for a moment—a precious, hopeful moment—the harsh glare in his eyes lessened. “I told you to leave, Miss Denton.” His steely voice softened as he addressed her. She remained firmly in place. Noah blinked. How had the woman worked her charm on such an ill-tempered beast?

  The captain snapped his gaze back to Luke. “Take him,” he ordered the marine, who promptly tugged Luke by the elbow and led him toward the door. Noah tried to give his friend a reassuring look before he left, but Luke’s gaze remained on the deck.

  The marine sergeant smiled, while his companion Lieutenant Reed stared ahead, his lips set in a stiff line.

  Captain Milford turned flashing eyes toward Noah. “And this one?

  What did he do?”

  “He, too, was in the midst of the altercation, sir.” The marine announced proudly.

  “You’re the captain of that merchantman we b
oarded, aren’t you?” Captain Milford studied Noah as one would an insignificant organism beneath a microscope.

  “Yes, I am, sir.” Noah searched the captain’s eyes for the honor, the integrity, he had hoped existed in the commander of a British warship. But instead, he found nothing but an apathetic cruelty that set the hairs on his arms standing straight.

  “Ah, but you are no longer a captain of anything.” Milford circled his desk and planted his thick boots in front of Noah.

  “Captain, my men and I are not deserters.” Despite the man’s obvious derision toward them, Noah had to convince him of their innocence. He leveled a stern gaze upon Milford, captain to captain. “We are American citizens stolen from my ship without cause. Your man Garrick did not even examine our papers.”

  A slow smile lifted one corner of the captain’s mouth. “Tsk tsk. I have no time for woeful tales.” He exchanged a glance of amused annoyance with the marine.

  “I have friends in South Hampton, Captain,” Noah went on, “who can vouch for my character and integrity.”

  “To the devil with your character and integrity, sir! You and your men are sailors in His Majesty’s Navy. You will forget your past. Forget your ship. Forget your country.” Milford thrust his rigid face toward Noah. The odor of brandy and sweat filled the air between them. “I run a tough ship, and I’ll not stand for insubordination, sir. Do I make myself clear?”

  Noah stiffened. The captain swung about and grabbed a glass from his desk, giving Noah a chance to steal a glance at Miss Denton who was behind Lieutenant Reed. Desperation poured from her brown eyes. Desperation for him or for herself, he couldn’t tell. Regardless of her culpability in their dire situation, a warship was no place for a lady.

  He faced forward. Knowing he might not have another opportunity to speak to the captain in person, he must try to win Miss Denton’s freedom. He must risk the captain’s temper once again. “Permission to have a word with you, Captain.”

  Giving a disinterested huff, Captain Milford poured himself a drink and waved him on.

  “It’s about Miss Denton.”

  The topic brought the captain’s cold gaze back to Noah.

  “She’s an innocent, captain. She’s not a seafaring woman, sir, and found herself on my ship quite by accident.”

  He glanced at Marianne. Shock filled her misty eyes.

  The captain sipped his drink. “Nevertheless, she is here now.”

  “I appeal to your honor, sir.” Noah took a bold step toward him. Surely an officer in the Royal Navy would do no harm to an innocent woman. “She is a civilian. A proper lady with fortune and status in Baltimore. By the laws of civilized warfare, please return her to her home.”

  “You appeal to my honor, do you?” Captain Milford chuckled. “I have been in enough wars to know, sir, that there is nothing honorable about the men who fight them. You ignorant, savage Americans”—he pointed at Noah with his glass—“ever a source of amusement.” He glanced at Reed but the man remained a statue.

  The marine sergeant chuckled.

  Anger flared in Noah’s belly. “Yet I do believe it was we ignorant, savage Americans who defeated Britain’s best army and navy and sent you scurrying back to England.” He knew he sailed on dangerous seas, but Noah could not allow the insult to his country, to his countrymen, go unchallenged.

  The captain’s face turned a dark shade of purple. “The presumption, the audacity, sir! I should have you flogged!” He set down his goblet and moved toward Noah.

  Marianne gasped.

  “Mark my words, young captain”—Milford crammed a finger toward Noah’s face—“should our nations meet at war again, we shall squash your American spirit as well as your pathetic military forces and reclaim the land that belongs to us!”

  Noah didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t allow the fury boiling within him to rise to the surface. He had once thought that a country so steeped in traditions of honor and glory, so rich in the history of fighting for their own freedom, would never consider stealing the freedom of others. Now he knew differently. Now he knew better.

  Captain Milford’s dark brows arched. “For your insolence, sir, you will scrub the weather deck day and night for as long as your slick-tongued friend is locked below.”

  Noah’s breath clogged in his throat.

  “And if you are caught sleeping while on the job,” the captain leaned toward him, a greasy smile on his lips. “The penalty is death.”

  After a sleepless night that left her eyelids as heavy as anchors and her head throbbing, Marianne attended her duties with the mind-numbing routine of a longtime servant. She fetched and served the captain his breakfast and then helped him on with his uniform, brushing off specks of invisible dust. Afterward, she ushered him on deck, promising to have his cabin sparkling by the time he returned.

  She’d learned to ignore his insulting quips and constant grumbling and placate him with feigned agreements hidden behind an occasional smile. He was British, after all, and who could argue with a man who believed he came from a master race destined to rule the world. Mad or not, when he straightened to his full commanding height and raised his voice to its most vociferous capacity, her insides melted in fear. But she’d learned that not soon after such an incident, his shoulders would sink and his voice lower and he would speak to her as if he hadn’t just called her every abominable name he possessed in his vast vocabulary.

  Leaning on her knees, Marianne scrubbed the wooden planks of the captain’s floor and thought of her mother and Lizzie. Without Marianne’s marriage or a certificate proving her death, her mother would never be able to touch Marianne’s inheritance. Another year and her beloved family would run out of money to live on. And then what would they do? Marianne’s chest grew heavy. If she had not taken matters into her own hands aboard Noah’s ship, and ended up a prisoner on a British frigate, Noah would have returned her home after his voyage. Now, because of her lack of faith, none of them would ever see home again.

  Lord, I’m sorry I didn’t trust You. Yet with the utterance of the words came the realization that she still didn’t trust God—that she no longer truly knew how to trust anyone. Please, God, if You’re listening, please help my family. But her prayer seemed to dissipate into the humid air of the cabin.

  The scent of linseed oil and lemons burned her nose. Pain shot into her legs and angled over her back. She grew accustomed to the constant aches, welcomed them, in fact, as punishment for bringing such tragedy upon herself, her family, and her friends. Friends? Could she call Noah, Luke, and Mr. Weller friends? Would they consider her as such? And why, lately, did her thoughts center on the one man who had caused her the most grief—Noah Brenin?

  She cringed at the thought that he’d been up all night scrubbing the deck above. And poor Luke, locked in irons below. She must do something to lessen their strict punishments. Yet her attempt to bring up the subject with the captain that morning had resulted in yet another outburst of his fury.

  Noah had risked punishment on her behalf. She could not shake the thought, nor could she imagine why he would do such a thing, when she was the one who had put them all in this horrible situation. The door squeaked open and in walked Daniel, wearing his usual bright smile, torn shirt, and breeches. His hands were tucked behind his back as if he were hiding something from her. His eyes sparked with excitement. “Hello, Miss Marianne!”

  Sitting back on her haunches, she returned his smile. “Hello, Daniel.”

  “I brought you something.” He swept out his hands and handed her a book.

  On closer inspection—a Bible.

  Marianne set down the cloth and allowed him to place the holy book on her open palms. She gazed down at it with an affection that surprised her. As a child, she had enjoyed hearing her mother read aloud the wonderful stories it contained. As she grew, she immersed herself in its loving words whenever she needed wisdom or comfort. But, much to her shame, Marianne had not read from the precious book in quite a while—not si
nce her father died. “Is this yours?”

  “Yes, miss. But God told me you needed it more than me right now.”

  “Oh, indeed?” Marianne laughed. “But I really can’t accept this.”

  “You must. Not forever.” He shrugged. “Just until you help rescue me.”

  “Oh, Daniel.” Marianne set the book atop one of the padded chairs and began scrubbing again. “I am not so sure you have heard from God. How am I going to help you escape when I can’t even help myself or Mr. Heaton and Mr. Brenin?”

  Yanking a cloth from a pile, he dabbed some oil on it and began scrubbing beside her. “It don’t matter, miss. God’ll help you.”

  “God help me?” Marianne concentrated her scouring over a particularly stubborn patch of dried dirt. “He has better things to do.” Much better things or He wouldn’t have allowed her father to die, wouldn’t have allowed her mother to become ill and wouldn’t have allowed their family fortune to blow away in the wind.