Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance)

by Constance O'Banyon

  A smile tugged at his lips. "You are breathtaking when you are angry, do you know that?"

  She tried to pull away, but he would not relinquish his hold on her. "Save your compliments for your wife. You will find she needs an enormous amount of flattering to make it through every day."

  Sebastian's breath came out in a hiss, and he felt his body come alive. "You little firebrand. Don't you know that I desire you? I have watched you bloom into a beauty. You are wild and unpredictable and every man here wants you. Have I not had to stand by while others lusted after you?"

  "Let me go," Liberty said in a disgusted voice, feeling sick to her stomach. "I detest you!"

  "You should be nice to me, little sister. I happen to know that before your father died he borrowed heavily against Briar Oaks Plantation, and you face the possibility of losing everything. Perhaps I can help you."

  "You cannot even help yourself, Sebastian. You will be living here on my charity. Because of my sister, you and your mother will have a place to stay. I know that both of you have been living with friends in New Orleans, and that your welcome was growing very thin. Everyone believes that your uncle is being unreasonable in throwing you out of his home—I happen to know you deserve far worse."

  Again he smiled. "Do you know your eyes sparkle like blue fire when you are angry?"

  "How dare you insult me so. If my father were here he would — "

  His eyes darkened. "Your father is dead," he said flatly.

  "I wonder what our neighbors would say if I were to slap you right now?" Her eyes held a hint of warning.

  His brow furrowed. "Try it and see."

  Suddenly, unable to stand his touch any longer, Liberty wrenched her hand from his grasp and spun away. Unmindful of the curious stares that followed her, or the anger on her sister's face, she rushed across the floor and outside. Standing on the terrace, Liberty breathed in large gulps of cold, cleansing air.

  Tears washed down her face as she gazed up at the moon. Somewhere that same moon shone down on Judah. Was he with a woman at this moment? "Please come back soon," she sobbed. "I have waited so long for your return. I have grown up, and became a proper lady, hoping you will be pleased when you see me."

  A dark, ominous cloud moved over the moon, and Liberty shivered. Tonight her heart was troubled. Sebastian had been right. If she didn't do something soon, she would lose Briar Oaks. She had received several marriage proposals from wealthy young gentlemen who would help her save Briar Oaks, but she had turned them all down. Her heart and body belonged to a man who had probably forgotten her very existence.

  Hearing a rustle of silk, Liberty turned to find her sister at her side. "Once again you have drawn attention to yourself, Liberty. I will not have this kind of behavior from you, especially on my wedding day."

  Liberty suddenly felt pity for her sister. The death of their mother had been hard on her, because Bandera no longer had a close confidante. "I am truly sorry, Bandera. I just do not feel well tonight."

  "Come back inside, and at least pretend that you are happy for me. Lord knows what kind of impression you made when you bolted out the way you did."

  "You are right, Bandera," Liberty said, drying her eyes on a lace handkerchief. "It was unforgivable of me."

  "From your behavior tonight, one would think that you had designs on Sebastian yourself. Have you not enough men paying court to you that you would covet my husband? I believe you only pretend to despise Sebastian to cover up your true feelings. Why else would you allow him to move in with us?"

  Liberty sighed heavily, knowing it would do no good to tell her sister she had only agreed to have Sebastian and his mother at Briar Oaks for her sake. "Believe me, Bandera, Sebastian is safe from me. I would not take him if he were the last man on earth."

  For a moment, Bandera looked as if she might cry, but then she straightened her shoulders. "You may not like Sebastian, but he is my key to wealth and power. Do you think I would have married him had I not known he would one day be master of Bend of the River?"

  Liberty watched Bandera whirl away and storm into the house. She could not see how Sebastian had convinced her sister that he would one day be master of Bend of the River. Monsieur Montesquieu has forbid Sebastian to ever step foot onto his land. Liberty dreaded the thought of having Sebastian in her house. Sometimes the obligations she felt for her sister weighed very heavily on her.

  When Liberty reentered the room, she saw that Sebastian and Bandera were dancing. She could tell that her sister was angry, and she knew Sebastian would not have an untroubled wedding night. Poor Bandera—she did not want Sebastian, but she wanted his undivided attention.

  Liberty doubted that her sister would have his attention or his faithfulness for many days. She almost found it in her heart to feel sorry for Bandera . . . almost, but not quite.

  The square rigging of the Winged Victory filled the sky as she smoothly rode the choppy waves with a grace and dignity that proclaimed her to be a lady of the sea. No longer did seawater have to be pumped from below her leaky decks to keep her afloat in a storm, and no longer did her sails bear the signs of numerous patchings. She was clean and sleek. Having been modified to her captain's exact specifications, she was reputed to be the fastest vessel in the Atlantic. She was now a privateer. Her captain was famous for his quick strikes and his ability to disappear without a trace. The men that sailed on the Winged Victory had made their fortunes by capturing English and Spanish ships, nevertheless, it was said that their favorite targets were the Barbary pirates!

  The Winged Victory's sun-bleached canvas was unfurled and playing with the stiff breeze. Majestically, her bow caught a wave, and lurched upward, seeming to reach for a piece of the heavens.

  Her captain stood on deck his eyes trained on the distant pyramid of sail on the eastern horizon. His attention shifted for the moment, to his left, and he saw a second ship appear on the horizon.

  The brisk north wind ruffled Captain Judah Slaughter's golden hair, but not his poise. There was a coldness in the captain's turquoise eyes, and maturity and confidence etched on his handsome face. No longer was he the confused and bitter young man who had fled New Orleans. His wits were sharpened, and he captained the Winged Victory and her crew with a firm hand and an easy confidence. The adoration of numerous females had added a certain arrogance to his stance, even though they had all left him feeling unsatisfied and unfilled. Many things had changed about Judah, but the passage of time had not lessened his need for revenge on his cousin and Bandera.

  Philippe Cease stood at Judah's right, a telescope aiding him to gauge the distance to the two oncoming ships. "They are British, Captain. It looks as if one of them is flying the Blue Ensign, so there must be an admiral on board."

  Judah reached for the telescope and gazed at the approaching vessel. "There's a third ship," he said, adjusting the lens to his eyes. "It's an American Naval vessel. I make her out to be a twelve-gunner."

  "She's in trouble, Captain! They're closing on her fast, and will soon catch her. She's outnumbered and outgunned!" Philippe observed.

  Judah had not set foot on American soil since that night he had fled to New Orleans. He knew returning would mean immediate arrest. However, he was very aware that his country was fighting a war with the British. Although he had thus far not been drawn into the conflict, he had felt particular satisfaction, each time he had taken an English ship as prize. Now, seeing the small American vessel in danger from the enemy, he was outraged. Closing the telescope with a snap, he narrowed his eyes.

  "Suppose we even the odds, Philippe? How do you feel about helping a sister ship in trouble?"

  A smile spread over the Frenchman's face. "I'd like that fine, Captain."

  "I have but to win the approval of the crew and convince them to take on a fight that will net them more trouble than booty."

  "They like a good scrap, Captain. I believe they could be easily persuaded,” Philippe responded. "Put it to them, Captain, and see if they are w
illing to go along."

  "Assemble the men on deck, and I'll do that." Judah's eyes brightened. "Meanwhile, heave to, Philippe, and allow the ships to gain on us. We do not want to outrun the fight before it begins."

  By the time every crewmember had gathered to hear what the captain had to say, the three ships were less than half an hour away. The smaller American ship was trying without success to escape her powerful enemies. Soon the three vessels would play out their life-and-death struggle within distance of the Winged Victory. Every eye was trained on the captain to see what his plans were concerning the impending battle.

  Judah was a dashing figure as he stood on the quarterdeck, one booted foot resting on the railing. He wore black leather britches and a white ruffled shirt. A knife and a pistol were pushed into the folds of the red sash wound about his waist, and a rapier dangled from a black leather strap.

  Judah's eyes moved over his thirty-man crew, all of whom he had come to know very well over the years they had sailed together. The Winged Victory was renowned for her battles with the Barbary pirates, as well as her attacks on French and English merchantmen. Each man present had made his fortune under the command of Captain Judah Slaughter—each man trusted and admired him —but Judah did not yet know how far their loyalty went. Many of his crew were fugitives from American justice; some were of foreign birth and had no interest in the war with England.

  "Men," Judah began, fingering the hilt of his rapier. "As you are all aware, there is a battle about to take place just off our starboard. Like you, I know this battle is none of our affair." Judah paused for effect. "Why should we care that the small American ship hasn't a chance against two larger British ships? It is no concern of ours that the British are at war with the United States. It does not effect us that the British have been firing on American ships and impressing their crews into her service. No, I say we turn tail and run. We have more important things to do. In a week or less, we will be in Martinique where we can celebrate our last three victories and count our booty."

  Judah saw a troubled look appear on many of the men's faces as their eyes moved to the American ship that was losing in the sea chase. Her enemies were bearing down on her.

  Crossing his arms, Judah took the few steps that brought him down to the lower deck. Climbing up on the hatch so he would be above the crew, thus focusing them to look up at him, he played the men as an actor would play his audience. "Let the American Navy look after their own. We certainly have no reason to fight her battles."

  To Judah's surprise it was a Spanish sailor, known only as Rojo, who spoke up first. "It does not seem fair to let the two bigger ships attack the smaller one, Captain. We have never before run from a fight." A murmur of agreement arose from many of the others. "We take pride in serving aboard the Winged Victory, and we do not want word to get around Martinique that we are cowards.

  "Perhaps you have a point," Judah speculated. "We have never run from a fight . . . neither have we interfered in one that didn't directly concern us. What do you think we should do, men?" He acted as if the decision rested with his crew.

  "Begging your pardon, Captain," a man called Gordon said, respectfully removing his cap and tucking it under his arm. "It kind of gets my ears to burning, knowing them English are about to fire on my own countrymen. It don’t hardly seem right to turn our backs when we could help. Hell, sir, there could be some men from my home state of Virginia on board. I vote that we teach the English dogs a lesson they won't soon forget!"

  "Aye, sir," the others agreed in chorus.

  "Let's give them what for!" Gordon rallied the men. "Let's blow them clear out of the water!"

  Judah took a deep breath and laughed heartily. "All right, men, you've won your point. If it's a fight you want, then it's a fight you'll get."

  A chorus of voices rose in deafening approval. In one lithe stride, Judah moved up the quarterdeck and began to issue orders. "Hoist sail, Philippe. Gunners, make your cannons ready to fire. Look lively men —prepare to do battle."

  Philippe caught Judah's eye, and he almost laughed aloud at how easily Judah had maneuvered the crew to do his bidding. Judah knows a lot about human nature, he thought. "Man your stations," Philippe yelled across deck. "Like the captain says, prepare to do battle."

  In the distance, several volleys were fired, and the American Naval vessel sustained two direct hits. Her bow splintered, and one of her masts toppled onto the deck.

  It did not take long for the Winged Victory to be drawn into battle. One of the crew, Philippe suspected it was Gordon, raised an American flag above the mast. That drew almost immediate fire from one of the English frigates, but the shot was clean and wide, sailing harmlessly across the bow of the Winged Victory.

  By now the American Naval craft had spotted her only salvation, and was swinging wide so the Winged Victory could stand between her and harm. Judah saw that the larger of the two British ships, a fifty-two gun ship-of-war, named Freemont, had turned and was heading straight for him. Judah knew he was outgunned and he had to get closer so it would be harder for the enemy to deliver a heavy broadside. A quick glance told him the small American craft had turned to take on the other British ship. Damaged as she was, he knew she couldn't last long.

  With the wind at his back, Judah brought the Winged Victory so near the Freemont that Philippe shouted across the deck.

  "Do you want us in their laps, Captain?"

  "Aye," came the smiling reply, "that I do."

  The Winged Victory caught a wave, and her hull reached toward the heavens. As Judah brought her about, she raked the stern of the Freemont with a broadside. Now it was impossible for the English ship to fire her cannons, not so the Winged Victory. Simultaneously, her guns flashed fire. She couldn't miss her target at this close range. Each shot resulted in an explosion on board the English vessel, and in no time at all the enemy ship was crippled and taking on water.

  No longer seeing the Freemont as a threat, Judah turned his attention to the other English ship, the Royal George. The American Naval ship was in trouble, and since it was apparent that she was sinking fast, Judah wanted to finish off the Royal George quickly so he might rescue the American crew.

  As the English ship bore down on the Winged Victory, Judah ordered the sails filled so it would look like he was trying to escape. "Make ready for a sharp turn, men," Judah bellowed. "Pass the word on for everyone to grab hold of something and wait for an impact!"

  With the enemy in close pursuit, Judah quickly turned into the wind and caught his opponent by surprise. The two warring ships came together with a grinding crash that was felt from bow to stern. As Judah had hoped, the enemy had been taken by surprise, and many of her crew had been sent flying across deck, whereas most of Judah's men had braced themselves and were now armed and ready for a fight.

  "Toss grapples!" Judah commanded, as he swung himself over the side and onto the deck of the Royal George. A mighty roar rose up from the crew of the Winged Victory and they followed their daring captain into battle.

  The captain of the British ship, seeing the mass of men surging onto his deck, ordered his gunners to fire on the Winged Victory, but he had missed his chance. The fight was now limited to hand-to-hand combat, with the privateers clearly having the advantage of surprise.

  Amid the confusion, Judah had no trouble finding the English admiral on the forward deck. "I have no wish to see more bloodshed," he declared, brandishing his rapier. "Do you give quarter, sir?"

  "Not on your life," the Englishmen returned, bravely lunging forward to meet Judah with his own blade.

  With a slight smile, Judah defended himself against the thrust. The two men crossed swords again and again, taking little notice of the chaos around them. There was fighting on the upper and lower decks, on the platforms and riggings. The planking was slick with blood spilled by both sides. Judah thrust and parried, agilely side-stepping his opponent's thrusts, and it was soon obvious to the British commander that he was outmatched by the American
captain.

  The admiral of the Royal George, seeing the tide of battle was going against him, and knowing he had already lost one ship, threw down his sword and, to be heard above the noise, yelled loudly, "Quarter, sir, we beg quarter!"

  Judah order an immediate halt to the hostilities, then turned to see how the crippled American ship was faring. She was riding low in the water and slowly beginning to list to her right side. Judah knew that in another hour she would be at the bottom of the sea. The Freemont, although not as severely damaged as the American vessel, was likely to suffer the same fate.

  "Make haste, men," he cried. "Place the prisoners below. Philippe, put men at the helm and rescue the American sailors, then rescue the men from the Freemont." Judah grabbed a rope and swung back on board his ship. "And, Philippe," he called out. "When you see him, offer my respects to the captain of the American ship and invite him to dine in my cabin with me and the English admiral."

  The Americans were grateful for their rescue, and joyful shouts arose from the English ship as impressed American sailors again tasted sweet freedom.

  Captain Etienne Banard took a sip of claret from a crystal wineglass while he studied the man who had saved him and his crew from disaster earlier in the day. "The dinner was excellent, Captain Slaughter. I feel fortunate to be alive and able to indulge in such a feast. Can you imagine how I felt today when I had all but lost hope? Then I saw your ship with the American flag flying above her mast. It was like a miracle!" He raised his glass to Judah. "Again, I thank you for coming to my aid. I owe this day, my life, and that of my crew to you, sir."

  Judah studied his guest with a practiced eye. Judging from his slight accent, he guessed the man was of French descent and about his own age. In spite of the mishap today, the American captain was meticulously dressed in the white and blue dress uniform of the American Navy.