Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  The man’s sarcastic tone grated on her from behind. “Most people take a boat to shore.”

  “I am not most people. Now, if you don’t mind.” Would the man never leave? Dark clouds hovered overhead, portending doom, as a wind whipped the dust off the street and sent a chill through her again.

  “May I at least escort you to your destination?”

  She should be flattered by the handsome man’s attention, but she knew better. He wanted something. They all wanted something.

  “Sir.” She faced him, pasting on a smile. “Mr. Dutton, was it? I thank you for your attempted rescue but—”

  “Attempted?” He snorted. “Bah! If not for me, you’d be at the bottom of the bay.”

  “You are mistaken. I was merely swimming ashore.”

  He chuckled. “Swimming was it?”

  She raised a brow. “Did I not demand that you release me?”

  “You were panicked, Miss. People say all sorts of foolish things when they are panicked.”

  “I assure you, I was no more panicked than you.” She planted hands at her waist.

  His smile lit up the gloomy day, straight white teeth with a dimple creasing the right side of his mouth. She averted her gaze from it. “As I said, I am in your debt, Mr. Dutton, but I have business in town and must be going.”

  “Business? In your soaked gown? What of your luggage? Or does a mermaid not require luggage?” His chuckle grated on her.

  “Business that is my business, Sir,” she ground out.

  “Miss, though Governor Rogers has done much to rid the city of pirates, I daresay, ’twill not be safe for you wandering about town alone.”

  There it was again, that concern in his eyes, as if he truly cared. Ah, this man was good. Most likely a villain who tricked innocent women out of their fortunes.

  “I can take care of myself.” Even as she said it, she bit her lip, knowing it was more of a dream than a reality. Still, she was determined to never need a man’s support or protection again. And she might as well start now. She set her jaw and stared him down.

  “Very well.” He shrugged. “I shan’t press it. Good afternoon to you.”

  She faced forward and heard his footsteps fade. Finally. Now, first things first. She would sell some of her jewelry, seek out a ready-made gown or at least a dry overskirt, then inquire about the next ship heading to Charles Towne. If need be, she’d rent a room for the night in a reputable tavern.

  Nay. She huffed. She had no need of anyone—especially a man—to take care of her.

  Clutching her skirts, she made her way down a row of buildings, only then noticing a group of men in colorful attire, strapped with swords and pistols, drinking from mugs outside a pub. No doubt the nefarious sorts of which Mr. Dutton had warned her. Ignoring their whistles and grins, she hurried past a lady dressed in fine embroidered taffeta holding a silk parasol over her head, her hand on the arm of a gentleman who was equally well-dressed—both turning their noses up at Charity. Humph. Pompous clods! If they only knew she bore a title, Lady Villemont, wife of Lord Villemont!

  Or at least she had.

  A group of slaves marched by, burdened with crates and boxes, and Charity’s heart broke at the sight. Turning away, she nearly ran into a man who scowled and gave her wide berth as if she had the pox. It was then that she saw the sign. A piece of parchment tacked onto a post. She rubbed her eyes, not believing what she was seeing, but as she drew closer, her heart nearly froze. ’Twas a drawing of her, a rather good one sitting above the words:

  WANTED FOR MUDERING HER HUSBAND, CHARITY GREGSON, LADY VILLEMONT

  REWARD FOR INFORMATION LEADING TO CAPTURE, 40 POUNDS. CONTACT LORD VILLEMONT THROUGH CONSTABLE WILSON

  Lowering her head, Charity darted into a narrow alley between two buildings and backed against the cold brick wall. Her breath galloped. Her pulse raced. She clutched her throat. How could Charles have alerted the authorities so quickly? No doubt every greedy sot in town was on the lookout for her.

  The Queen was in the parlor, eating bread and honey … She needed dry attire. Yes. And a large hat to hide her face. The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes. Terror pricked her skin, causing it to itch. Then she must either find a ship leaving today or a place to hide for the night. Reaching through a slit in her skirts, she searched for her hanging pocket. Nothing but wet petticoats met her hand. Terror rising, she slid her fingers over her waist. The rope that held the pocket was gone.

  Which only meant one thing. Her jewels were at the bottom of Nassau Bay.

  Thunder growled and a blast of rain-scented wind struck her.

  Her legs gave way and she leaned against the wall, wondering if things could get any worse. A man’s voice drew her gaze onto the street.

  Her brother-in-law was heading straight for her, five men on his heels.

  ♥♥♥

  Elias stomped away from the ungrateful woman, chastising himself for playing the fool yet again. Why was he always drawn to defenseless, distressed women? Surely some of it was his calling to be a missionary, for God commanded His people to come to the aid of widows and orphans. But it went deeper than that. Elias was the eldest of eight children, and ever since he could remember, he felt responsible for their safety and well being. Perhaps he was a protector at heart, a misplaced Knight of the Realm from ages past. Or mayhap ’twas part of God’s protective nature given in extra measure to him. Protect and save. Principals he lived by. The protecting from evil and want, and the saving of the soul from hell.

  Yet his zeal had gotten him into trouble on more than one occasion. Particularly with the ladies. The comely ones. As was Miss … Miss … she’d never given him her name.

  Just as well. He hoped he’d never see her again. He prayed Godspeed to her and her biting tongue. A rather lovely tongue set among pearly white teeth and lips as pink and full as hibiscus petals…and most likely just as soft. He changed the direction of his thoughts before they got him in trouble. Such a wisp of a lady for so much spitfire. The top of her head stood no farther than his shoulders, and she was as thin as a ship’s mouse. Saturated hair the color of coffee flattened around a comely round face. And something in those large, honey-colored eyes, fringed in a wild thicket of black lashes, told him she needed help, despite her insistence otherwise.

  He shook her memory away as the swish of his boots reminded him he needed to get his luggage from the docks, change into some dry attire, and seek out a ship heading for Barbados. Mayhap God would smile on him and there’d be one setting sail before dark.

  Shops, taverns, punch houses, stables, and warehouses lined the street. No doubt they’d moved the brothels to another part of town. Such a change from a year ago when Nassau had been a haven of pirates, boasting the likes of Benjamin Hornigold, Stede Bonnet, and Calico Jack Rackham. Unwanted memories skittered out from hiding of a time when Elias had joined such villainous sorts—first to save their sorry souls. But in his weakened condition, he’d been trapped in their quicksand and sank into the mire alongside them.

  ’Twas a short time in his life of which he was not proud, but enough time spent in the darkest of worlds to know that he never wanted to go back.

  Thankfully, Woodes Rogers, a reformed pirate himself, became governor of Nassau and chased most of the freebooters out to sea.

  A fiddle and pianoforte joined in a discordant ditty. Thunder rumbled yet again, and a drop of rain struck his forehead. He passed a punch house and stepped off the walkway onto the sandy street, weaving around a lone horseman, a wagon, and a woman and her children, who eyed his soaked attire with curiosity. Once at the dock, he found his dunnage and then located the port master who told him that there was, indeed, a ship heading for Barbados within the hour.

  Silently thanking God, Elias made his way to the dock in question and found a weathered man with a gray beard who looked to be in charge, ordering sailors to load crates into the waiting boat.

  “Captain Littleman?” Elias inquired.

&
nbsp; “Aye.” The thick chested man with the bulbous nose withdrew a pipe from his mouth and looked up from the parchment he was holding. “Who might ye be?”

  “Elias Dutton.” He glanced at the brig anchored just offshore, a worthy craft by all appearances. “I seek passage aboard your brig, Captain. Do you have room for a paying customer? I’m proficient at handling sails.”

  “Ye there!” The captain shouted at one of his sailors. “Ye brainless lout! Move that crate to the other side or we’ll sink.” He shook his head and returned to his parchment. “We’re all full up, Mr. Dutton. Don’t need more deck hands neither.”

  Elias growled silently. “I’ll work, won’t eat much, and will sleep anywhere.”

  “Be that right?” The captain snorted. “The last passenger I took aboard—a big strapping fellow like yerself—was a pirate who sabotaged me brig and allowed his fellow marauders to board and rob us blind. Stole me ship as well and left me crew to rot on some island.” His eyes became slits as he pointed his pipe toward Elias. “An’ ye do look like a pirate, Mr. Dutton, if I do says so meself. Why are yer clothes all wet?”

  Frustration rumbled in Elias’ belly. “I rescued a lady who fell in the bay.”

  “Humph.” Turning, the captain shouted obscenities to his men, before facing Elias again. “Sorry, can’t help ye.”

  If Elias had a choice, he’d rather not sail with this man who seemed intent on insulting his crew every chance he got. But he must get to Barbados. His sister’s safety depended on it. And there wasn’t another ship heading out for two days. “If you would but—”

  “There you are.” A female voice danced around Elias’ ears before a woman appeared by his side. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you, darling.”

  Darling? The mermaid vixen smiled up at him as if they’d been friends forever.

  Captain Littleman’s drooping eyes suddenly came to life as he spread back his shoulders and attempted to stand taller. He perused her wet attire—that for all the undergarments women wore—clung to her curves rather nicely.

  The men in the boat stopped loading and gaped.

  “Be this the lady ye fished from the bay?”

  “One and the same.” The mermaid held out her hand for the man to kiss. Which he happily did. “What a man won’t do for his wife.” She winked at Elias.

  Wife? Elias swallowed, attempting to make sense of her words. “What are you talking—”

  “Well,” the captain started, still staring at the lady. “I suppose a man wit’ such a wife wouldn’t be a pirate.”

  “A pirate?” The mermaid vixen chuckled. “My husband a pirate? Why he’s as gentle as a lamb. Oh my, you have made my day, Mr…Mr…”

  “Littleman, Captain Littleman at yer service.” He adjusted his lapels and brushed a hand through his scraggly hair.

  “A captain?” she cooed. “Oh, my. Such a pleasure.”

  Captain Littleman grinned. “On second thought, I’m sure we can find a berth for ye both on board. I’ll enjoy the company o’ such a lovely lady.” His smile faded as he turned to Elias, hand extended. “That’ll be one pound, three shillings.”

  The lady glanced up at him with a smile. “What are you waiting for, darling, pay the man.”

  Chapter 4

  Mr. Dutton begged a moment from Captain Littleman, then dragged Charity aside. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” He spat, his jaw a steel line, his eyes aflame.

  Charity dropped her smile. It had been an effort to keep it up, anyway, a bigger effort to flirt with the captain—not something she enjoyed doing or had perfected like her sister, Hope. And a major effort to allow this man to touch her. She jerked from his grip and stepped back.

  “I’m getting you on the ship. Isn’t that what you want?” she whispered curtly as she glanced over her shoulder and scanned the crowded street, her heart galloping. Charles and his henchmen were nowhere in sight. She’d managed to evade them by slipping through the back door of a mercantile, then taking the alleyways onto the main street several blocks away. She’d spent an hour searching for Sophie, but to no avail, until finally, running out of time and options, she’d spotted Mr. Dutton at the end of a long wharf, looking as though he was bartering passage on another ship. Which was exactly what she needed. As she approached, she’d overheard the entire conversation, and a glorious idea had occurred to her.

  Now if the buffoon wouldn’t ruin it for them both! She inched in front of him, using his large body to block her from sight.

  “This is absurd!” he all but growled. “I will not deceive these people into believing we are married.”

  “Do you wish to get to Barbados or not, Mr. Dutton?”

  He huffed and ran a hand through his hair. “I thought it was darling.” A hint of a smile peeked at her from beneath his scowl. A rather handsome scowl, if she were to admit. Not at all like Lord Villemont’s depraved grimace that had sent the staff, and even the rats, scurrying.

  Raindrops tapped on Charity’s head and gown and absorbed into the already sodden fabric.

  The captain’s open palm thrust toward Mr. Dutton. “Are ye gonna pay or not?”

  Mr. Dutton huffed and puffed like a bellows for several minutes, staring out at the bay, then shifted angry eyes toward her.

  Please, she mouthed, gazing up at him with a pleading look that she hoped conveyed her desperation.

  His lips flattened and he let out one last sigh before he tugged a pouch from his breeches and counted out the amount. Ching ching ching, it chimed in Captain Littleman’s rough-like-rope hand, sounding out her salvation. Yet, by the frown on Mr. Dutton’s face, one would think it sealed his doom.

  Thunder quivered the dock as if God Himself were angry at the deal just made. Wiping rain from her eyes, Charity glanced over the harbor, a blue canvas of dots where rain pummeled the water. Back on the crowded street, parasols bobbed above ladies as gentlefolk ran for cover from the storm.

  Storm, indeed. A more threatening one came her way if they didn’t hurry! Hurry…time ticked by interminably.

  “Wilson, make room for two passengers! Is this yer luggage?” The captain’s voice sounded hollow in the rain as he pointed to Mr. Dutton’s case.” And where be yours, Mrs. Dutton?”

  “I’m afraid I lost it in the harbor.”

  Mr. Dutton stared at her again with that benumbed look as if she’d spoken in Chinese.

  “Come, darling,” she said. “Do assist me into the boat. Forgive him, Captain, the poor man is still in shock after nearly losing me in the bay.”

  Captain Littleman nodded his understanding.

  As if waking up from a stupor, Mr. Dutton tossed his luggage to a man waiting in the boat, then leapt in himself as if he’d done it a thousand times. Charity started carefully down the rope ladder, hoping she didn’t fall and make a spectacle of herself, but the wind wrapped her damp skirts around her ankles and sent the rope swaying. She started to trip. Strong hands gripped her waist. Uncontrolled fear sped through her at the man’s touch, her first thought to slap him away, but he lowered her into the boat and released her. ’Twas Mr. Dutton, his concerned look filling her vision.

  She averted her gaze only to find five sailors ogling her. Clearing his throat, Mr. Dutton led her to sit on the only empty spot in the craft beside an old sailor, whose one remaining eye never left Charity as she settled on the thwart.

  Vapors, but she was far too close to Mr. Dutton. His thigh rubbed against hers with every jostle of the boat, sending her pulse racing. Not in a good way, either. She doubted she’d ever feel delight at a man’s touch again. Still, Mr. Dutton didn’t seem to notice, just dropped his head into his hands and stared at the water sloshing about the bottom of the boat as if he’d lost a bet with the devil himself.

  Within minutes, they arrived at the ship, and, ignoring her protests, Mr. Dutton assisted her up another much larger rope ladder. At the top, she swung her legs over the railing as modestly as possible and found herself assaulted further with ribald s
tares and a bull of a man—with more hair sprouting from the collar of his shirt than his head—storming toward her.

  The rain ceased, and Mr. Dutton leapt on deck and immediately stood in front of her.

  “Who are ye? No passengers allowed on board!” the man bellowed, spittle flying from his mouth.

  “Stand down, Bates!” Captain Littleman swung over the railing and fisted hands at his waist. “These be payin’ passengers an’ they’ll be treated as such. “

  “But women is bad luck. Ye said so before.”

  “I’ll be sayin’ somethin’ different now. Get these crates on board, then ready the ship to set sail.”

  Casting seething looks at Charity, Bates turned and shouted orders to the crew.

  “I’ll have your cabin prepared,” Captain Littleman said, and off he went, leaving Charity alone with the man she’d just tricked into paying for her trip to Barbados.

  He gripped the railing and stared at Nassau. “Married?” He grimaced. “What kind of woman are you to forge such a lie?”

  “A desperate one, I’m afraid. Thank you for indulging my deception.”

  “Don’t thank me. I’m not altogether sure why I didn’t reveal your treachery.” Icy blue eyes speared her.

  “Because you wanted to get to Barbados quickly is my guess,” she returned, a bit too sharply.

  “That I did. But now I fear the cost.” His mouth tightened as he stared at the water slapping the hull.

  Feeling a twinge of guilt, Charity stepped away from him. What else could she have done? Face the noose? Besides, she would pay him back once she established herself, of that she was sure, for she never wanted to be indebted to any man again.