Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Under false pretenses,” he growled. “At least I was honest in my reasons for marrying you.” Then a second thought struck him—she never truly wished to marry him. Even though her behavior on board the Fortune spoke otherwise. Even though the ardor he’d seen in her eyes recently and the way she had kissed him screamed otherwise. She needed him only for his signature on a marriage license and his “I do” at a ceremony. A heavy weight sank to the bottom of his stomach. Noah had been used all his life.

  And he was tired of it.

  “So now you know.” She gathered her things and rose, her chin lifting in that petulant tilt he remembered as a child. “And you have my word that if we ever get off this ship, my first order of business will be to break off our engagement.”

  Noah cringed. Sorrow weighed upon him, forcing his forehead to the table. Wasn’t that what he had wanted? Wasn’t that what he had tried to prod her into doing on board his ship? Then why didn’t her agreement seem like a victory? “Most kind of you.” He kept his tone dull, too angry and too proud to let his feelings show.

  She turned her back to him and he saw that the hand by her side trembled. When she swung back around, tears pooled in her eyes. “Why did you kiss me the other night?” Despite her obvious effort to appear indifferent, the sorrow in her voice cut into Noah’s heart.

  He longed to jump from the table and take her in his arms. He longed to tell her that he’d kissed her because he thought she was kind, generous, and beautiful—because he thought he loved her. But she had lied to him. Used him. Like everyone else. “Why did you kiss me back?” he replied without emotion.

  Her nose pinked and she drew a trembling breath. “You have your wish, Mr. Brenin. You are free of me. If we ever get off this ship, marry Priscilla, marry whomever you want, but you will never marry me.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Noah eased over the yard, his sweaty hands clinging to the backstay.

  The foreman brayed from below, and Noah and his fellow topmen began hauling in the lower topgallant sail. Beside him, Blackthorn grunted with the exertion as he took up the slack for Noah. Five days had passed, and Noah’s back still flamed as though a dozen branding irons lay across his tender skin. Yet the captain had ordered him back to work. Every move of his arms, every shift of his weight, sent searing agony across his torso.

  A heavy gust of wind struck him, and he tightened his grip. Though the breeze cooled the sweat on his hands and neck and eased the fire on his back, in his weakened condition, it threatened to shove him to the deck below.

  Blackthorn’s worried eyes assessed Noah as the crew folded the heavy sailcloth and began tying it. Noah attempted a grin to reassure the man that he was well.

  Well—as long as he didn’t look down to the deck ninety feet below him. Well—as long as nothing so much as a feather brushed across his back.

  He’d not seen Marianne since she’d stomped out on him in sick bay. Why she was angry, he had no idea. She had deceived him, snuck aboard his ship, caused them to be impressed into the navy, and created the circumstances that resulted in his flogging. Yet she dared to raise that smug nose of hers and be cross with him. Him? He would never figure women out. Especially not this particular one. Her moods were as fickle as the captain’s.

  Just minutes before her anger, nothing but admiration—dare he hope—affection shone in her gaze. But it had all disappeared just as quickly as she had, leaving him alone in the darkness. Though he’d been angry at first at her deception, the more he’d considered it, the more he understood that it blossomed from a love for her mother. She’d had no choice but to agree to the engagement and keep her true inheritance a secret. Her mother’s life depended on it. And how could he fault her for such undaunted affection? It was admirable, in fact.

  Like most things about Marianne.

  Besides, he had behaved the unconscionable cad to her not only in their youth, but on board his ship. Surely he could forgive her, given the circumstances. What bothered him the most was that he wished she’d had an entirely different reason for agreeing to marry him in the first place.

  The wind gusted against him as he tied the final knot, tying sailcloth tight to the yard. The spicy scent of rain bit his nose.

  The ship plunged down a rising swell. Bubbling foam swept over the bow. Noah’s breath halted as he clung to the yard. He hoped he wouldn’t be called upon to strike the upper yards and set the storm sails in these rough seas.

  “A storm approaches.” Blackthorn pointed to the dark clouds swirling over the eastern horizon.

  A storm approached indeed. For tomorrow they arrived at Antigua. And Noah had made up his mind. One way or another, regardless of the danger, regardless of the threat of death, tomorrow they would escape.

  Marianne dipped her cloth into the black grease and rubbed it over the captain’s boots, buffing as hard as she could in an attempt to achieve the impossible shine he demanded. Normally her hands ached, but if she imagined the boot to be Noah’s face, they seemed to soar effortlessly over the leather. Oh, how she wished she could scrub that insolent scowl from his lips as easily.

  Lips that had sent a warm quiver through her belly with a simple touch.

  How dare he judge her for betraying him when his reasons for marrying her were as self-serving as hers?

  She had thought … No. If she dared to admit it, she had hoped that after all they’d been through, her inheritance wouldn’t matter to him.

  “You are a fool, Marianne, the biggest fool of all.” She blew a section of hair from her forehead. “A fool for ever thinking that a handsome, honorable man like Noah Brenin would ever love you.” The look she’d mistaken for affection in his gaze had been merely gratitude for her ministrations. For how quickly it had transformed into one of fury when he’d discovered her deception.

  Yet wasn’t that what she had wanted? Wasn’t that why she had told him? To invoke his anger at her duplicity so he would stop looking at her like he had been the past few days. Like he cared for her. Like he wanted her.

  Like no one had ever looked at her before.

  A look she would never see again.

  Emptiness invaded her heart at the realization.

  The captain marched in, grunted his salutation, and proceeded to the stern windows. Picking up a watering jug, he began tending his plants. From the look of exasperation on his face, Marianne knew better than to engage him in conversation, so she continued her work.

  An ear-piercing howl filled the cabin. “What happened to my aloe?”

  Marianne’s heart clamped. She’d forgotten about the missing leaf, and suddenly wondered why he hadn’t noticed until now. He swung around, face fuming, eyes latched upon her.

  Midshipman Jones appeared in the doorway.

  The captain scowled in his direction. “Burn and blast your bones, what is it now, lad?”

  “Lieutenant Garrick’s compliments, Captain, but we’ve spotted a sail.”

  The captain slammed down his jug, spilling water on the charts laid out across his desk. “Clean this up at once!” he barked at Marianne. Then grabbing his hat, he followed the midshipman aloft.

  Thank You, Lord. Marianne breathed a sigh at the temporary reprieve. With any luck, the captain would forget the aloe upon his return. After dabbing up the water, she set the boots aside and went above. They had not spotted a sail since boarding this horrid ship. Were the guests friend or foe? She couldn’t keep her hopes from rising.

  But as soon as she emerged above, those same hopes fell to the hot deck beneath her shoes. Too small to be a French warship, it was most likely a merchant or a privateer, neither of which would take on a British frigate.

  The Undefeatable pitched over a rounded swell, then swooped down the other side. Balancing over the teetering deck, Marianne inched toward the capstan, not daring to venture to the railing in such rough seas. Bloated, foamy waves billowed all around the ship. The wind clawed at her hair, loosening it from its pins. The scent of salt and rain swirled about her, a
nd she glanced at the dark horizon. She gripped the wood. Her knuckles whitened. Lord, please don’t send a storm our way. How many horrid tales had made their way back to Baltimore of ships that had sunk to the depths during a squall where not a soul on board was ever seen again?

  Unable to stop herself from seeking a glimpse of Noah, she glanced aloft and found him clinging to the third yard above her on the mainmast. Her pulse quickened at the sight of him. With his broad shoulders stretched back and his bare feet gripping the swaying ratline, he seemed more comfortable in the heights than he had been at first. Blackthorn said something to him, and Noah’s hearty laughter spilled down upon her like a warm spring shower. She shook off the sensation, not wanting to relish in the new and frightening feelings the man invoked in her.

  Especially when nothing would ever come of them.

  The crack of a rattan split the air, drawing Marianne’s gaze to the petty officer hovering over Luke. Mr. Heaton released the rope and rose to his full height, leveling dark, snapping eyes toward the officer and then at Lieutenant Garrick who stood behind him.

  “Again! For your insolence, sir,” Garrick commanded, and the petty officer struck Luke once more. Grimacing, Luke bent to pick up the rope and took up his spot in line. His black hair hanging in his face did not hide his fury, and Marianne wondered how much a proud man like Luke could take before he retaliated.

  A satisfied smirk on his face, Garrick surveyed the deck, his eyes halting when he saw her. A superior grin crept over his lips. His eyes grew cold, and he started toward her, but Marianne nodded toward the captain at the helm.

  Following the direction of her glance, Garrick gave her one last look of scorn, then spun about.

  Though she knew her reprieve was temporary, Marianne breathed a sigh of relief. The determined look in Lieutenant Garrick’s slitlike eyes told her that he would not be easily swayed from his objective. And for some reason—perhaps because she was the only woman aboard—his objective was her. She must be careful not to be found alone again anywhere on the ship. Perhaps she could appeal to the captain. He displayed some admiration toward Marianne—at least when he had his wits about him. Not to mention she had a feeling that he had lessened Noah’s sentence on her behalf. Perhaps if she expressed her terror of Garrick to the captain, he would keep the licentious lieutenant at bay.

  Thunder pounded its agreement in the distance as the ship crested a wave and salty spray misted over her.

  “Blast her! She’s taunting us.” The captain’s bellow could be heard above the rising howl of the wind. He snapped his scope shut and set his jaw in a firm line. Off their larboard quarter, the unknown ship’s sails appeared, then quickly disappeared behind the foamy peak of a surging wave, only to reappear as the vessel crested the roller. Marianne wondered why they weren’t chasing the small craft as they’d done with Noah’s.

  Her answer came quickly from Lieutenant Reed’s lips. “She’s aweather of us, sir. With the oncoming storm, we’ll never catch her.”

  “I am aware of that, Mr. Reed,” the captain spat.

  Daniel appeared at Marianne’s side, bracing himself so sturdily upon the tilting deck that he had no need to hold on. He smiled up at her, his dark hair tossing to and fro in the wind. “That ship will save you.” He nodded toward the ship that dared to tease the HMS Undefeatable.

  Marianne wrinkled her brow. “I’m sorry, Daniel, but that ship is no match for this one. I fear they are doing nothing but infuriating the captain. Which is never a good thing.”

  His eyes twinkled as if he knew a grand secret.

  Thunder roared again. Thick, black clouds churned in a sooty witches’ brew over the horizon, spreading dark fingers up to steal the light of the sun not yet halfway across the sky. A light mist descended upon them. Marianne shivered.

  “Take in topgallants and royals!” Lieutenant Reed yelled from his post beside the captain, causing more orders to be shouted across the various stations.

  Glancing aloft, Marianne saw Noah inch his way alongside a dozen other men farther up the mainmast. She thought of his brother’s tragic death and she shuddered. Lord, protect him.

  A yellow flash lit up the seas, followed by a jet of gray smoke. The air pounded with the blast of a cannon. Marianne raised a hand to her throat, staring at the audacious vessel who dared fire upon His Majesty’s royal frigate. Her hopes for rescue had just begun to rise when the shot fell impotent into the foamy sea several yards away.

  A string of vile curses flew from the captain’s mouth. He paced the quarterdeck, stopping to stare at the pesky ship though his long glass. Despite the mad rush of wind, she heard bits and pieces of his dialogue. “Show them … How dare they? They don’t know who …” He ceased his pacing and took a commanding stance.

  “A signal shot.” Garrick laughed. “Too far away and too absurd to be a warning.”

  Captain Milford fumed. “A signal for whom? For what purpose?”

  Marianne leaned toward Daniel. “What ship is that?” she asked, but the boy’s attention was riveted aloft where excited chatter filtered down from above. She glanced back at the vessel. The gray sails faded against the darkening horizon and soon disappeared.

  “That’ll teach them!” the captain brayed as if he’d been responsible for the ship’s retreat.

  “It’s a good ship, Miss Marianne.” Daniel’s voice rose above the wind, and he took her hand in his. “A good ship.”

  Marianne chuckled. “You are a curious lad, Daniel.”

  “Is that a good thing?” The mist pooling on his long lashes sparkled.

  Giving his hand a squeeze, Marianne smiled. “A most excellent thing.”

  The mist transformed into raindrops that tapped over the deck and sounded like applause. Applause for what, Marianne didn’t know. Perhaps for the ship that had dared to fire upon them, or perhaps for this young boy beside her who seemed more angel than human. As if to confirm her thoughts, Daniel held out a hand to catch the drops of rain, then he closed his eyes and lifted his peace-filled face to the wind, treasuring the moment. Innocent trust and glee in the midst of such chaos. She envied him.

  Further commands to lower sail echoed across the ship. Shielding her eyes from the rain, Marianne looked aloft to see Noah descending.

  Her heart skipped as the details of his face came into view.

  The captain grumbled, handed command of the ship to Lieutenant Reed, and dropped below deck. Marianne should follow him and tend to her duties below or risk his wrath, but the identity of their curious visitor kept her feet in place. Perhaps Noah could offer more information than Daniel’s “good ship.”

  The rain fell harder, and Marianne drew Daniel close, dipping her head against the drops and the buffeting wind. The deck tilted, and she tightened her grip on the capstan. Her legs trembled.

  Noah landed on the deck with a thud. He winced and stretched his shoulders beneath his wet shirt. The fabric clung to his corded muscles as red bands appeared across his back. Swinging about, his gaze landed on her and remained. He ran a hand through his wet hair and attempted a smile. Despite the rain, heat rose up her neck at the intense look in his eyes. Not the anger she expected. Quite the opposite, in fact.

  Luke joined him, drawing Marianne’s attention. She inched her way closer to them, keeping Daniel by her side.

  Noah gave his first mate a look as if they shared a grand secret. “Did you see what I saw?” he said to Luke.

  Luke smiled and lifted his brows. “I did, indeed.”

  “What did you see?” Marianne edged between them.

  “That ship.” Noah gestured to the span of agitated, foamy sea where the gray sails of the vessel had last been seen. “I’d know that ship anywhere.”

  Marianne shook her head.

  “It was my ship, the Fortune.”

  CHAPTER 20

  The ship bucked. Marianne’s feet lifted off the deck, and she tumbled against the bulkhead of her tiny cabin. Wind howled. Waves battered the hull with the fury of a je
alous lover pounding on the door to his beloved’s bedchamber. Dropping to her knees, Marianne gripped the bed frame and leaned her head against the mattress to resume her prayers. The sharp smell of aged burlap filled her nose.

  Oh Lord, please do not let us perish in this storm.

  The ship rose as if the great sea monster, Leviathan, had picked it up. Marianne clutched the wooden frame. The splinters bit into her skin.

  Lightning flashed. An eerie shroud of gray passed through her cabin before plunging the room back into darkness.

  Terror sent her mind reeling with visions of herself sinking beneath the violent waves. Gurgling, fuming water filled her mouth, her lungs and stole her last breath. She resumed her prayers. She prayed for her mother and sister back home. It may be the last chance she had to lift them up before God. Oh Lord, take care of them please. Heal my mother and send someone who will provide for them.