Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  Thunder cracked a deafening boom in response. The ship trembled, mimicking her own body. The deck careened to the left. She propped herself against the bulkhead. Her thoughts went to the Fortune they’d spotted earlier. No doubt Matthew, Agnes, and the crew suffered in the midst of the storm as well. And protect them, too, Father.

  Yet they had come.

  The excitement in Noah’s voice at the sight of his ship had been unmistakable. But Marianne dared not join in his optimism. A rescue seemed as impossible as this frigate surviving the ferocious gale that pummeled them.

  The ship pitched, then dove. Something thumped to the floor. Groping in the dark, Marianne found the Bible Daniel had lent her. Clutching the Holy Book to her chest, she realized she’d not once opened it since he’d given it to her. “Oh Lord, forgive me. If you save us from this storm, I promise I’ll read Your Word.”

  Yet even those words seemed to fall on empty ears as the ship bolted again. Marianne tumbled into the leg of the table attached to the bulkhead. Her arm throbbed.

  Struggling to stand, she supported herself against the door and gazed out the heaving porthole. The sea splashed against the glass, only to be torn away by the howling wind. Lightning shot a white devil’s fork across the sky. A chorus of thunder gave a demonic chuckle in its wake.

  Marianne hugged herself. She squeezed her eyes against the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. Her hope that God was indeed the personal God Daniel claimed Him to be faltered beneath a plethora of unanswered prayers and the continual storms that assailed her.

  Storms that now seemed to culminate in the ferocious gale lashing the ship.

  A strip of light seeped beneath her door, drifting over her shoes.

  Pound pound pound. She felt rather than heard someone knocking and moved to answer it. The oak slab began to open, pushing her back.

  A burst of light filled the cabin and in walked Noah, lantern in hand.

  Without thinking, she fell against him and clung to his shirt. She didn’t care that he didn’t love her. She didn’t care that he didn’t want her. She didn’t care what propriety dictated. All she cared about was feeling his warm strength surround her. At least she would not die alone.

  One thick arm embraced her and drew her close. Marianne buried her face in his shirt drawing a whiff of his scent. He hung the lantern on a hook and wrapped his other arm around her. Muscles as firm as wood encased her in a warm cocoon—a cocoon from which she never wished to break free.

  “Never fear, Marianne. It will be all right.”

  “We shall all die in this storm,” she sobbed.

  He chuckled, and the rumble in his chest caressed her cheek.

  The ship canted. Bracing his boots upon the deck, he gripped her tighter. “No, we will survive, I assure you. This is but a tiny squall.”

  “A tiny squall?” She lifted her gaze to his. Only a few inches separated them. His blue eyes drifted over her face as if soaking in every detail. They halted at her lips.

  Her body warmed, and she pushed off of him. “Forgive me. My fear has relieved me of my senses.”

  “I made no complaint.” A playful glint lit up his eyes.

  Her heart leapt. Why wasn’t he angry with her? Anger she could deal with. Hatred even. But not the desire, not the ardor she now saw burning in his gaze. The ship bolted, and she thumped against the bulkhead.

  He gripped her shoulders. “Why didn’t you tie yourself to the bed as you were instructed?” His gaze took in the ropes scattered across the deck.

  “And drown in my bed when the ship sinks? I could not bear it.”

  His chuckle soothed her frayed nerves. He led her to the bed and gently nudged her down on the mattress. She gripped the frame and glanced out the undulating porthole. Surely if he found humor in the situation, the storm could not be as bad as it seemed.

  He gathered the wayward ropes. “We will not sink. I’ve seen far worse than this out at sea.”

  “Truly?”

  He smiled and ran a finger over her cheek. “Truly.” Kneeling, he brushed the hair from her face. “Now, may I?” He held up the ropes.

  “Tie me up?” She gave him a playful smile. “Wouldn’t you enjoy that?”

  His deep chuckle filled the cabin as he took her hand in his. “I did tease you quite harshly as a child, didn’t I?”

  Marianne swallowed, forcing down a lump of traitorous hope at his kindness. “If you call dipping my hair in tar teasing, I suppose. However, I prefer to call it cruelty.”

  Releasing her hand, he ran his fingers through her loose hair. “And such glorious hair, too.”

  Her mind whirled. Her breath threatened to burst through her chest. He was toying with her again. That was all. “Mother had to cut so much of it off that I looked like a boy for months.”

  “I doubt that would be possible.”

  Her insides dissolved. She must keep her wits about her. She must focus on his bad traits, on his ruthlessness. “And remember when you released a jar full of locusts in my bedchamber?”

  He chuckled.

  “I see nothing humorous about it.” Marianne crossed her arms over her chest and she looked away.

  Lightning flashed. The ship swooped over a swell. Noah grabbed her shoulders and drew her near.

  Her heart thumped, but not from the storm this time. She lifted her gaze to his. Compassion and strength radiated from his eyes. She pushed back from him. “You’ve changed.”

  “Indeed?”

  “Pray tell, what transformed the impish waif into a gentleman?” she asked.

  His lips curved into a half smile that warmed her from head to toe. “A gentleman, you say?”

  She looked away. “Don’t let it swell that big head of yours.”

  With a touch to her chin, he brought her back to face him. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” He lowered his gaze. The lantern swayed above them, casting shifting shadows across the cabin. “Everything changed after my brother died.”

  Marianne watched as Noah’s shoulders seemed to sink. He shrugged and played with the frayed edges of the ropes still in his hand. “Tragedy has a way of changing one’s perspective.”

  She nodded, her thoughts drifting to how much her life had changed after her father’s death.

  “As well as reveal one’s shortcomings.” He sighed. “Then when I was unofficially promoted to captain of my father’s ships, I had to grow up in a hurry.”

  As had Marianne. Forced to carry the burden of care for her ailing mother and younger sister, she found her imperious manner quickly crushed beneath the humbling rock of poverty.

  Still kneeling before her, Noah shifted his weight to his other leg, seemingly oblivious to the oscillating deck. “And you, my princess, what transformed you into an angel?” he asked.

  Heat burst onto her cheeks. Angel? “I was a bit of a highbrow, wasn’t I?”

  One side of his mouth lifted. “A question I shall refrain from answering.”

  Thunder bellowed. The sea rumbled against the hull.

  “I was, and you know it.” Marianne smiled then grew serious. “The same thing that changed you, I suppose. Tragedy.” She gazed into his eyes, longing to see what emotions flickered there, but the lantern light swayed back and forth, giving her only glimpses of their deep blue color, taunting her. “I am sorry, Noah, for deceiving you about my inheritance.” She swallowed. “There was no excuse for it.”

  “Yes there was.” He took one of her hands again. “You did it for your mother. I understand.”

  Marianne’s vision grew blurry.

  He leaned toward her and whispered in her ear. “I’m truly sorry, Marianne, for every cruel joke I played upon you. The antics of a young brat.” His hot breath tickled her neck. “Will you forgive me?”

  Shock rendered her speechless. She’d never thought she would hear those words from Noah Brenin’s lips. No doubt his guilt had gotten the better of him. “I’ll consider it.” She gave him a playful smile. “But you didn’t come here to remi
nisce about our childhoods, did you?”

  “I knew the storm would frighten you.”

  Sincerity rang in his voice. A lump formed in Marianne’s throat, and she looked down.

  His finger touched her chin, lifting her gaze to his. “Now will you allow me to tie you to this post so you don’t injure yourself?”

  She shook her head. That would mean she’d have to rely on him to untie her later on. She would have to trust that he’d remember and that if the ship sank, he’d come for her. “I cannot.”

  He frowned. “You don’t trust me.”

  “Should I?”

  The ship bucked and he balanced his knees on the deck. “Haven’t I given you enough reason to?”

  Remembering their childhood, she lifted a brow.

  “As of late, I mean.”

  She sobered. “Yes, you have. But trust does not come easy for me, Noah.” Thunder roared in the distance. “Everyone in this world has let me down.”

  Noah frowned and ran a thumb over the lines on her palm. “If you mean your father, I’m sure he never intended to cause you or your mother pain.”

  Tears burned behind Marianne’s eyes. She watched Noah’s thick, callused thumb caress her fingers, so small by comparison. His tenderness, his compassion wove its way deep into her soul, coaxing out of hiding a secret she’d never shared with anyone. “There’s something you don’t know.” The words flew off her tongue before she’d had a chance to stop them.

  He looked at her.

  “My father’s death was not an accident.” Marianne squeezed her eyes shut. “He killed himself.”

  Noah’s heart shriveled. Killed himself. Of all the horrors to endure …

  “So, you see, he left us of his own free will,” Marianne continued. “Abandoned me, my mother and my sister.” Though her voice remained composed, even cool, the moisture filling her eyes betrayed her.

  “I’m sorry, Marianne.” He didn’t know what else to say. He’d suffered much rejection in his life but never something like that. “No doubt the shame of losing the family wealth was too much for him.” Something Noah could well understand.

  “It was his job to take care of us,” she went on. “His responsibility to love us. And he let us all down.” A tear slid down her cheek. “He and God.”

  He brushed the tear away with his thumb, his insides crumbling. “You can’t blame God for what your father did.”

  “No? Then why hasn’t He answered any of my prayers since? It’s like God and my father both abandoned me at the same time.”

  Noah lowered his gaze. He understood that sentiment, for he had barely spoken to the Almighty since his brother fell to his death.

  The ship rose—the pitch not as fierce this time. He squeezed her hand. Thunder rumbled from a distance. He tossed down the ropes, suddenly angry at her father. Angry at the man’s cowardice. Angry that any man could leave his family uncared for—unprotected. Angry at what the man had done to this angel sitting before Noah.

  The lantern light shimmered over her brown hair, setting select strands aflame in glistening red. He ran his fingers through it again, delighting in the soft curls swaying like waves over the shabby coverlet.

  Her brown questioning eyes the color of rich mahogany searched his, yearning. How could he have ever found her plain? How could he have ever wanted her to break their engagement? A man would have to be a fool to let such a treasure escape his grip.

  The ship bucked. He drew her close and held her tight. Her sweet breath feathered his jaw. He rubbed a thumb over her cheek and lowered his lips until they were but an inch from hers. Her feminine scent swirled around him, but she did not move, did not jerk away. He pressed his lips upon hers.

  Sweet and soft, they met his kiss, caressing, loving. She clung to him, and his body responded. Heat waved through him as he absorbed himself in the taste of her.

  His mind reeled with glorious thoughts. If they got off this ship, if she would still marry him, if she would allow him to, he’d vow to take care of her and protect her for the rest of her life.

  Thunder bellowed. He withdrew. His heavy breaths matched hers, filling the air between them. Doubts assailed him. Had he truly won her affection or was her ardor born out of her desperate need for him to unlock her inheritance?

  He studied her eyes still glazed with passion. No. That was not the kiss of a woman pretending affection.

  “What was that for?” she asked softly.

  He cupped her chin. “You enchant me, Miss Denton.”

  Shock sparked in her eyes.

  “In fact you always have.” Even when she was young and spoiled and full of herself. Something about her had grabbed hold of him. Which was probably why he’d bullied her so much.

  A tear formed at the corner of her eye. “I’ve never enchanted anyone.”

  He smiled. “I doubt that.”

  Her nose pinked as it always did when her emotions ran high. He placed a gentle kiss on it.

  Shouts filtered up from below. A gray hue swept the darkness from the porthole.

  “I must go.” Reluctantly releasing her, he stood and grabbed the latch of the door. “A new day dawns, my love. A grand new day.” He winked. “For tonight we will escape.”

  “But how, Noah?” Fear skittered across her gaze.

  “Trust me.”

  Unable to sleep after Noah left, Marianne bound her hair up in a loose bun, dabbed a moist cloth over her face and neck, and went to the galley to fetch the captain’s breakfast of oatmeal and a biscuit. Carrying the tray, she nodded toward the marine who stood guard outside the cabin, then entered when the captain screamed her name.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been awake for hours,” he grumbled as he flipped his coat tails and took a seat at his desk.

  “My apologies, Captain, but it’s not yet eight bells, and I had no way of knowing you had risen.” She squelched the frustration in her voice and instead kept her tone lighthearted.

  This seemed to appease him as he took to his meal with gusto, all the while muttering about making port in Antigua, about meeting Admiral Pellew, and being entertained on the flagship. Marianne listened intently for any valuable information that she might pass on to Noah as she brushed off his dress uniform and polished his boots before laying them out beside his bed. But the only thing of import she gleaned was the captain’s mention of receiving orders for his next mission—a mission he seemed most anxious to embark upon.

  After he left, Marianne quickly scrubbed and polished the deck, eager to go above as soon as possible. With her eyelids heavy from lack of sleep and her chest still wound tight from last night’s frightening storm, she hoped some fresh air would both revive and calm her. She hoped, too, that it might clear her head, still whirling with what had transpired between her and Noah last night.

  As she rose above deck, a flurry of morning activity met her gaze. The majority of the crew were on their hands and knees holystoning the decks. Midshipmen sauntered about issuing orders at the petty officers who were armed with rattan canes with which to strike any laggards. A light breeze, fresh and crisp from the storm, wafted over Marianne, and she inhaled a deep lungful as she carefully made her way to the larboard railing. Above her, Captain Milford and his officers stood upon the quarterdeck, like masters of the sea, ruling the ship and the men upon it with an iron scepter.

  Shielding her eyes from the rising sun, Marianne dared a glance aloft, seeking the cause of the ceaseless confusion in her mind and the odd feeling in her belly. But Noah’s eyes had already locked on hers. A flicker of a smile lifted his lips.

  “Land ho!” a cry came from above and all eyes scoured the horizon. A gray mound broke through the endless sea off their larboard bow.

  Despite her doubts that Noah could orchestrate their escape, excitement flared in Marianne’s chest at the sight of land. She’d been at sea so long, she was beginning to wonder if the earth hadn’t been swallowed up by this vast blue ocean.

  As the ship grew abuzz with acti
vity, Marianne clung to the railing and did her best to keep out of the way. She did not want to go below and miss seeing the island grow as they drew near.

  The sun rose into a clear cerulean sky that held no trace of last night’s storm. She wished the same were true of her own heart, for she could not stop thinking about Noah’s tenderness toward her—or his kiss. Heat rose up her neck in a wave. Though Marianne had no experience in the matter, she couldn’t believe a man would kiss a woman with such passion unless he harbored some affection for her.