Surrender the Heart

by Marylu Tyndall

  But he had something far more powerful than anything they possessed.

  He had God on his side.

  Gripping the handle of the knife through the fabric of her skirt, Marianne squeezed past throngs of sailors as they dashed through the companionway. The pounding of her heart joined the pulsing cadence of the crew’s boots thumping over the wooden planks as they bumped and shoved her with barely a pardon tossed her way.

  She gazed over the harried scene. With most of the bulkheads removed to clear the area for battle, the lower deck had transformed into a large open space that reminded Marianne of a dreary tavern where she’d once found her inebriated father. Only the occasional furniture or crate marked where the walls once stood. The crew’s anxious muttering tied her nerves in knots. Though no doubt accustomed to battle, the men’s heightened intensity told her that familiarity with war did not lessen their terror. She pressed a hand over her stomach in an attempt to quell her own fear. They intended to do battle against the USS Constitution—against her country’s ship. And in the Constitution’s present situation, entwined with the Guerriére, they would win. But Marianne could not let that happen.

  Thankfully, no one noticed her as she slipped down the ladder farther below decks. The mad dash of water against the ship muffled both the shouts above and distant cannon fire, offering a surreal peace—a peace that could be obliterated at any moment with a puncture to the hull.

  Allowing the sea’s mighty fingers to pour in, grab her, and drag her to the depths.

  Marianne trembled. She could not think of that now.

  The rotting smell drenched her heaving lungs as she made her way to the tiller. Without a lantern, darkness created ghostly shadows on the bulkhead. Shadows that loomed above her on both sides as though they intended to pounce on her and stop her from completing her mission. Sweat crept down her back and chest, molding the fabric of her gown to her body. The knife slipped from her moist hand. She fumbled for it in her pocket and gained the handle once again.

  Voices grew louder. Light poured down the ladder.

  Drat. Marianne shrank into a dark corner. Crewmen descended like a waterfall, shouting and cursing. Footsteps tromped over the wooden deck.

  Blood raced through Marianne’s veins. Her head grew light. She closed her eyes and stiffened against the wood.

  Groans screeched through the dank air as if the men lifted something heavy. More footsteps. More cursing. And then they were gone.

  Marianne melted against the rough wood. She caught her breath, then inched forward, feeling her way as she went.

  The ship pitched. She stumbled to the deck. A splinter pierced her hand. Her knees ached. But she barely felt the pain above the numbing terror that gripped her heart.

  If she accomplished this. If she disabled the ship and Captain Milford discovered her treachery, what would he do to her? Did the Royal Navy punish women in the same way they did men? Would she be flogged? Or worse …

  Executed?

  Her knees transformed to custard. She couldn’t find the strength to rise.

  Bowing her head, her vision blurred with tears. Lord, help me. I’m a coward. I need Your courage.

  She sat for a moment, searching for the voice of God amidst the distant gunfire, the creak and groan of the ship, the boot steps pounding like hail above her.

  But no voice came.

  Yet …

  Strength returned to her legs. Bracing herself against the deck, she rose to her feet, and once again grabbed the knife in her pocket.

  She took a step forward.

  For such a time as this, for such a time as this. Whispery words formed from the water crashing against the hull.

  “So be it, Lord,” Marianne said. “Whatever comes of this, let it come, but I will obey You. I will fulfill my destiny.”

  Armed with a courage that was not her own, she entered the tiller room. She withdrew the knife from her pocket then brushed her fingers over the deckhead above her. There. The rough hemp scratched her skin. Gripping the ropes with one hand and the knife in the other, she began sawing through the tight threads.

  Minutes that seemed like hours passed. Sweat moistened her face. Blisters formed on her palms. Fear threatened to force her to her knees. But finally, she sliced through the final twine. With a snap and an eerie whine, the ropes split.

  Zip. Twang.

  Clank! The sound of iron and crashing wood echoed through the hull.

  Marianne jumped back. The knife slipped from her hand.

  No time to retrieve it. She dashed toward the ladder. Her knee hit a crate. Pain shot into her thigh. Grabbing her skirts, she leapt to the deck above faster than she thought possible.

  Joining a line of sailors rushing down the companionway, she followed them up another ladder. Better to be found above than suspiciously hiding in her cabin. She emerged onto the main deck to a wall of smoke-laden wind and a man at the helm shouting, “We’ve lost steering, Captain.”

  Curses, followed by commands flew from Captain Milford’s mouth. “Send men down to check on the tiller ropes at once, Mr. Reed! Mr. Blake, have the top men adjust sail. We must maintain our course!”

  An unavoidable smile toyed upon Marianne’s lips as she pressed through the crush of sailors and made her way to the railing. She gazed toward the Constitution, still entwined in the Guerriére‘s lines. Swords drawn, men from both crews scrambled back and forth between the ships. The yellow spark of pistol and musket fire flashed from the top yards.

  Wind snapped in the sails above her. The Undefeatable yawed widely to starboard.

  Away from the battling ships!

  A river of foul words spewed from the captain’s lips, confirming Marianne’s assessment.

  “Blast it all!” He pounded a trail across the quarterdeck. “We’ll have to come around again.”

  Lieutenant Reed and a horde of men jumped up from below and approached the captain. Reed caught his breath. “The tiller ropes have been cut through, Captain.”

  “Cut through?” Red blotches exploded on the captain’s face.

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Who would do such a thing?” Spit flew from the captain’s mouth.

  Heart clawing at her throat, Marianne swerved around and gazed down at the trail of foam bubbling off the side of the ship. The wind blasted over her, stealing what was left of her breath. Her knuckles whitened on the railing.

  She lifted her gaze and saw a two-masted merchantman heading straight for them.

  She closed her eyes against the deceptive vision, no doubt a fabrication of her overwrought nerves. Clearly she’d gone mad with fear. As she sought her mind for an ounce of reason, she listened to the sounds surrounding her: the distant crack of gunfire, the rush of water against the hull, the whine of strained wood, the curses and commands of the ship’s officers.

  Nothing had changed.

  “A sail! Bearing fast, Captain, off our stern!” The call from the tops bounced off the deck. She forced her eyes open.

  The Fortune stormed toward them, foam cresting her bow.

  And there perched on the gunwale, gripping a stay and leaning over the edge of the ship, stood Noah, hair flapping in the wind, looking more like a pirate than a merchantman.

  Noah’s heart soared. Marianne. She stood at the railing, her maroon gown fluttering in the breeze. Wayward strands of her brown hair blew about her face. She was alive. He wished he could see her expression. Wished he knew whether she saw him, and if so, what was she thinking?

  “What ails the frigate?” Luke approached the bow railing.

  With a frown, Noah’s gaze took in the ship once again. At first sight, he’d seen nothing but Marianne. But now he noticed that the frigate veered away from the battle. But why? One glance at her stern and then at her sails brought a chuckle to his lips.

  “She’s lost steerage.”

  Luke gave a disbelieving snort. “You don’t say?”

  Noah dropped from the gunwale to the deck, spouting a string of
rapid-fire orders that sent some of his crew up into the shrouds and others to the remaining guns.

  “She’s lost her steering, my friend,” he repeated, slapping a stunned Luke on the back.

  Matthew approached, shaking his head. “How?”

  “I haven’t time to ponder it.” Noah could hardly believe it himself. “But let us not miss the opportunity it affords.” He found his gunner down on the main deck. “Weller, load the chain shot. We’ll go for her masts.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The stout man grinned, his single gold tooth twinkling in the setting sun.

  “They may not be able to steer, but they’ve still got their guns.” Matthew’s voice carried a hint of fear.

  Noah gave him a reassuring look. “Then we shall have to stay out of their path, shan’t we?”

  “What luck,” Luke exclaimed with a huff.

  “Not luck.” Noah’s gaze shot beyond the Undefeatable to the two warships stuck together in the distance. “Whoever or whatever destroyed the frigate’s tiller saved the Constitution. Until she frees herself, any enemy that comes along could blast her into splinters within minutes.” Noah rubbed the back of his neck. No, not luck at all. Thank You, Lord.

  A sly grin formed on Luke’s lips. “Luck or not, I say we make it so the Undefeatable never has that chance.”

  “Aye, and then we’ll go after the Guerriére.” Blackthorn joined the conversation, rubbing his thick hands together.

  Noah flinched. “What, pray tell, has sparked such fervency, Blackthorn? I seem to remember hesitancy on your part in joining this venture.”

  From his six foot two frame, Blackthorn gazed at Noah, his black hair flailing in the wind. “Sink me, but too much has happened for me to deny that God is with us.” He shook his head. “My pretty wife was right all along. About God, about our special son.” His gaze took in the ship until he found Daniel at the stern. “An’ about God bein’ real an’ powerful an’ active in people’s lives.”

  Despite the chill of the approaching night, Noah felt warmth down to his toes. He grinned and slapped the man on the back. “I couldn’t have said it better.”

  Noah gazed at the Undefeatable. He hoped—no, he prayed—that today would be the day the mighty ship would not live up to its name. He needed her to be not only defeatable but also willing to surrender her precious cargo into Noah’s hands. Even as his thoughts drifted to Marianne, he could no longer see her on deck.

  Good. She’d be out of the line of fire. But Noah still had no idea how to rescue her from the frigate. How did one board a man-of-war, saunter through two hundred armed sailors and fifty marines and beg the captain’s pardon while he stole the man’s steward? An impossible task, to be sure.

  “Nothing is impossible with Me.” Noah started beneath the inner voice. “Okay, Lord. Then You’re going to have to show me what to do,” he whispered. “I’m putting my trust in You.”

  Crossing the main deck, he leapt to the helm to assist Mr. Pike with the wheel. While Luke handled the sails, Noah gently coaxed the Defender to within forty yards of the drifting Undefeatable, just off her larboard quarter. So close he could hear the anguish and fury searing in Captain Milford’s voice as he stood at the railing, raising his fist in Noah’s direction.

  The red coats of the marines lining the deck of the Undefeatable darkened to maroon in the deepening shadows. Drums thrummed a war song as sailors dashed across her deck. Men crowded the yards, adjusting sail to push the ship in the right direction. Others hovered around guns.

  “Steady as she goes,” Noah ordered Mr. Pike as he released the wheel and dropped on the main deck. Luke and Matthew joined him.

  “Are you sure they can’t hit us?” Matthew’s brow lowered beneath fearful gray eyes.

  Noah tightened his jaw. “Yes.” He hoped. He prayed.

  Matthew swallowed hard. He must have sensed Noah’s hesitation. He glanced down a nearby hatch, and Noah knew he thought of his wife. If either were hurt, Noah would never forgive himself.

  If any of his crew were injured, he would never forgive himself.

  “Get below, Matthew, and attend to Agnes,” he ordered.

  With an appreciative nod, the older man rushed away.

  Noah snapped the hair from his eyes. “We are out of range of the swivels on their stern, and they can’t maneuver their broadside in our direction,” he said more to comfort himself than his first mate. At least by his best calculations—the calculations of a man who’d never faced battle before.

  As if in defiance of his words, the muzzles of twelve guns thrust through their ports on the main deck. Noah’s stomach dropped.

  The sky exploded with a thunderous boom.

  Marianne paced before the stern windows in the captain’s cabin. She wrung her hands together and released a sigh.

  Noah had come for her.

  The thought swirled around in her mind, making her dizzy, and finding no solid place to land. Her toe banged into the bulkhead. Spinning on her heel, she headed the other direction.

  He had come for her. Just as he’d promised. For her? Plain, ordinary Marianne.

  Just after Captain Milford spotted the Fortune, he’d also spotted her standing at the railing. Immediately, he ordered two marines to escort her below and lock her in his cabin. Why? Did he think she’d jump overboard? If so, he didn’t know her too well.

  Distant gunfire tapped the gray sky. Boot steps pounded above her. She fisted her hands at her side. She must know what was happening. Was Noah all right?

  She glanced at the battle raging outside and realized his predicament. Was he mad?

  Single-handedly taking on a British frigate? Albeit, a frigate that had gone on a wayward stroll, but a fully armed and functional frigate, nonetheless.

  What was his plan? Did he think he would saunter on deck and steal her away beneath the British officer’s blue-blooded noses?

  What did it matter? He’d come for her. Her heart swelled. She’d completed her destiny, and the man she loved had come to her rescue.

  She would die happy with that knowledge.

  And die she might.

  Halting, she leaned her hands on the ledge and plastered her face against the cold, salt-encrusted glass. At the right corner of the window, the edge of the Fortune‘s stern drifted in the sea just thirty yards away.

  Too close.

  Weren’t they too close?

  Her answer came in an enormous roar that jerked the frigate to starboard and sent a quiver through her timbers.

  The deafening blasts echoed across the water and pounded in Noah’s ears. His crew froze as if time stood still. No doubt they all knew that dropping to the deck would make no difference if one of the shots struck them at this range.

  Splash after splash chimed a sweet melody in the sea just off their bow.

  “When that cap’n gives a warnin’ shot, he gives a warnin’ shot.” Weller chuckled though his laugh came out tense.

  Noah gathered his breath. “Indeed. Aim our guns at their rigging, if you please, Mr. Weller.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Weller turned and brayed orders to the gun crew.

  Luke’s blue eyes, wild with the thrill of battle, flickered over Noah before he leapt into the shrouds to direct the men aloft.

  Blackthorn and Daniel hovered around one of the guns on the starboard side. Blackthorn, his stance tight and his dark eyes burning with zeal, stood before Daniel like an iron shield of protection. But as Noah approached, Daniel didn’t appear to need protecting. The boy glanced up at him, a mischievous look in his eyes, a grin that reflected no fear, and a lit slow match in his hand.

  “I’ll allow you the first shot, Blackthorn,” Noah said. “I assume you’d want the honors.”

  A wide grin, devoid of two teeth split the man’s face. “Me pleasure, Cap’n.”

  The honor the title bestowed caused Noah’s throat to close. He turned away.

  Commotion on the Undefeatable drew his gaze to a gun crew preparing one of the swiv
el guns on their stern.

  Luke dropped to the deck with a thud. “The men are ready, Captain.”

  Noah glanced aloft where his crew awaited orders to unfurl sail. Mr. Pike, ever vigilant at the helm, gripped the wheel in preparation to bring the ship across the frigate’s bow.

  Within reach of her swivel guns.

  In order so that Noah could rake her and cripple her rigging, then be off in the wind’s eye before she could respond.