Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  The sailor whistled a tune as he strolled in front of them before halting at the end of a corridor, tapping lightly on the door, and swinging it open. Elias stretched back his shoulders, tight from his day’s exertion. Captain Littleman had no compunction putting Elias to work—hauling in and loosening sheets, polishing brass, repairing ropes and sails, holystoning the deck—even though Elias had paid for the voyage. Regardless, he welcomed the distraction from the baffling woman and hoped it would give him time to formulate a plan of how to handle spending the night in the same cabin with her. But, all he achieved was sweat, sore muscles, and thoughts focused on places they ought not venture.

  Now, he faced an even bigger challenge. Making these sailors believe he and Miss Westcott were married without actually lying. But wasn’t the pretense itself a lie? If so, surely God understood the reasons for it and wouldn’t add it to Elias’ long list of failings.

  He led her into the cabin. “Did I mention you look lovely tonight, darling,” he said as all eyes embraced them from the dining table that centered the room.

  “No, you didn’t, darling,” she returned with a tight smile.

  “Ah, do come in.” Captain Littleman rose from his seat and gestured toward two empty chairs on either side of him. “Our guests, gentlemen, Mr. and Mrs. Dutton.” He made quick introductions of the three men who also rose at the sight of Miss Westcott. Rigley, his second mate, whose head appeared far too large for his small body, Bates, his quartermaster, a balding, barrel-chested man with a perpetual scowl on his face. But it was Nelson, his first mate, a man with a pock-marked face, greasy light hair, and angry eyes, who reacted quite oddly at the sight of Miss Westcott—brows leaping, eyes widening, and a smile stretching his mouth so wide Elias thought his jaw would crack.

  The Captain took no note of it. “An’ yer husband’s right, Mrs. Dutton, if I do say so meself. Ye look lovely.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” she said as Elias pulled out her chair, then took his own seat across the table.

  She sat with all the grace and poise of a true lady, defying what her lack of possessions, suspicious flight from her past, and deceptions indicated.

  The ship rolled and platters skidded over the rough-hewn table laden with all manner of steaming food, baskets of fruit, decanters of wine, and several candles whose dripping wax formed chaotic shapes down the holders. The cabin was like most captains’ quarters Elias had seen, save a bit more disorderly. A wooden desk, covered with charts and navigation instruments, had been shoved against the bulkhead to make room for the table. Chests overflowing with clothing and trinkets sat at the foot of a small cot, a pile of weapons lay haphazardly in a corner, and heavy, dark-blue-and-gold brocade curtains hung down each side of the stern lights. Beyond the windows, a starlit night dappled silver on the dark sea.

  Platters and bowls were passed containing rice, boiled pig, sweet potatoes, and carrot pudding. The men dove in without thanks to God, and despite their mouths stuffed with food, proceeded to engage in lively conversation. If one could call it conversation. Elias cringed more than once at the coarse language used in the presence of a lady. Spending most of his time among sailors, he was accustomed to it, but he could tell by the lowering of her lashes, the shifting in her seat, and how she gazed out the stern windows that Miss Westcott was not. Which spoke well of her character. Of which he was strangely glad.

  “How long before we reach Barbados, Captain?” She took the opportunity of a lull in the discussion to ask.

  Captain Littleman lit his pipe from a candle and leaned back in his chair. “With fair winds and clear skies, no more than a week, my dear. What be yer business there, might I ask?” His gaze shifted to Elias.

  “Visiting family,” Elias said between mouthfuls.

  “Just visitin’? Seemed ye were in a bit more of a hurry than a simple visit would warrant.”

  Elias forced back a grimace. “There’s trouble with the family business that only I can address. And my sister is expecting her first child.”

  “My wife just popped out our fourth wee one,” Rigley announced. “After so many, they just come sliding out like butter.”

  The other men chuckled. Miss Westcott blushed.

  Captain Littleman finally noticed her discomfort and chastised his men, but they only shrugged and took to more drink.

  “Why have ye not eaten, Mrs. Dutton?” Nelson, the first mate pointed at her plate with his fork where barely a few bites were missing.

  Only then did Elias notice that her face was pale and her hand was pressed to her stomach.

  “D’ye not like the food?” The captain’s tone was incredulous.

  “Nay, Captain, the food is quite good. I’m just not feeling well.”

  “Ye aren’t in a family way, are ye?” Nelson laughed and slapped Elias on the back.

  Miss Westcott seemed to be having trouble breathing.

  “Nelson, ye fish-brained oaf!” Captain Littleman’s shout caused Miss Westcott to jump in her seat. “Ye’ve the manners of a barnacle. Apologize t’ the lady at once.”

  Nelson only snorted and returned to his meal.

  Elias braced himself for the Captain's fury and the punishment that would surely follow for the man’s insubordination, but only the creak and groan of wood filled the air as the captain returned to his drink. Deciding ’twas best to change the subject, Elias said, “Captain, how long have you been a merchantman?”

  “Aye, do regale us wi’ yer tales o’ bravery, Cap’n.” Bates sneered at his captain and chuckled.

  Either not noticing or ignoring the sarcasm in the quartermaster’s voice, Captain Littleman puffed on his pipe and raised his shoulders. “Thirty years at sea I’ve been. Since I was a boy helpin’ me father on his ship.”

  "’Tis a family business, then?" Elias asked.

  “Aye, an’ a good one. Took over from me father when he was murdered at sea five years back. Pirates it was.” He scowled. “It weren’t enough they stole his ship an’ all its goods, but when he wouldn’t sign on wit’ them, the vile curs stripped him naked, gut an’ quartered him, and hung his—”

  “I’m sorry to hear of it,” Elias interrupted and gestured toward Miss Westcott, who stared at the captain in horror.

  “Sorry, mam.” Littleman nodded toward her. “I’m not used to havin’ a lady around.”

  Sails thundered above as the ship rolled over a wave, and men held onto their plates and mugs.

  “Is this your father’s ship?” Elias set down his spoon.

  “This old bucket? Nay. Me father’s ship Red Hawk—God rest her wooden hull—was a sleek-lined, three-masted, square-rigged beauty, swift as her name, and armed with thirty guns.”

  “Where is she now, Captain?”

  “He ran her aground.” Nelson snorted and the other men shared a chuckle.

  “I did no such thing!” Spit flew from the captain’s mouth. “I should have you flogged fer such an insult.”

  Nelson poured himself more wine.

  Elias’ heart coiled tight. The lack of respect—or even fear—for their captain made the crew much more dangerous, especially to Miss Westcott.

  “’Twas a storm that ended her fair life, one of them wicked hurricanes,” Captain Littleman continued. “No captain an’ no ship coulda survived that monster. Straight from the Kraken’s lair, says I, all blusterin’ and blastin’ wi’ seas eruptin’ like volcanoes. Only due to me skill did I save the entire crew, ’cept one. The ole Red Hawk, well, the winds drove her into the rocks an’ she broke up.”

  His men chuckled.

  Oddly, Miss Westcott cast a scolding glance at them before she faced the captain. “Sounds terrifying, Captain. How fortuitous you survived.”

  “’Twas by me own skill, Mrs. Dutton,” he announced, proudly. “That's why ye’ve naught to fear on board this ship wit’ me in command.”

  She smiled. “That brings me great comfort.”

  Nelson snickered.

  The deck canted over a rising swell,
sending one of the platters crashing to the deck as if in defiance of the captain’s boasting.

  Miss Westcott laid a hand at her throat, skin still white and perspiration gleaming on her forehead.

  “Darling, allow me to take you on deck for some fresh air. Mayhap that will help?” Elias scooted out his chair and stood.

  “So soon?” Rigley sat back in his chair and belched. “Don’t take her away so soon! We hardly ever entertain a decent lady.”

  “Indeed? I hadn’t noticed.” Elias teased, but the insult floated past the man and never made a landing.

  “Some air would be nice.” Miss Westcott slowly rose. “I thank you for your hospitality, Captain.”

  Captain Littleman stood, staggered a bit, and reached up to swat a fly that buzzed between them.

  Shrieking, Miss Westcott ducked as if the man intended to strike her.

  Elias darted toward her, but the Captain grabbed her arm, a look of dismay on his face. “I wasn’t goin’ t’ hit ye, mam.”

  Miss Westcott groaned and hugged her waist, her face turning as white as a sail in full sun. She covered her mouth and seemed to be having trouble breathing, wide eyes skittering about the cabin. Finally, she leaned over and spewed what little she had eaten all over the Captain’s boots.

  Howls of laughter rose from the three sailors as Littleman’s face grew red and a string of curses shot from his mouth.

  Offering his apologies, Elias quickly escorted Miss Westcott out the door, through the hallway, and back to their cabin before the captain’s temper got the best of him and he tossed them both overboard. “I’m sorry for their crude behavior, Miss,” he said after he shut the door and lit a lantern.

  “Why should you be sorry?” She sounded breathless, embarrassed, as she dabbed her mouth with a cloth.

  “I’m sorry any time a lady is made uncomfortable.”

  She looked at him as if he’d said he was growing another head. “Many things make me uncomfortable, Mr. Dutton. Few I can avoid.”

  He frowned. “Are you truly ill or was it the company that made you so?”

  “My stomach is unsettled.” She lowered her gaze to the deck.

  “No need for shame, Miss. The food wasn’t good and the company worse. In truth, I’m rather enjoyed watching you toss your accounts on the captain’s boots.”

  His comment brought the first smile he’d seen on her lips, a glorious smile that lifted her cheeks and sparkled in her eyes and made her twice as beautiful, if that were possible.

  A giggle broke through her smile. “I can’t believe I did that.” Then another giggle and another, and in moments they were both laughing so hard, it drown out the rush of water against the hull.

  Oddly, the musical sound of her laughter soothed his soul and unwound nerves far too tight.

  Finally, she lowered into a chair. “Were you telling the truth about why you are traveling to Barbados?”

  Unsure of where to stand in the tiny cabin, he leaned against the bulkhead. “You’ll find I’m an honest man.”

  “Except for telling the captain we are married.”

  “’Twas you who told him. I merely refused to correct the error.”

  Her smile disappeared. “So like a man of God, twisting the rules to suit your conscience.”

  “I thought you didn’t believe in consciences.” He gave her a sideways smile. “However, if you have changed your mind, I’ll be happy to appease mine and go correct the error right now.” He nodded toward the door.

  Silence filled the room, and she lowered her gaze. “’Tis commendable that you care so much for your sister.”

  “I am close with all my siblings.”

  “All?”

  “I’m the eldest of eight. Three sisters and four brothers.”

  “I am the oldest of four, all girls.”

  Elias huffed. “I trust they are not as troublesome as my siblings.”

  At this, the mermaid smiled again. “I would not venture such a wager, Sir.”

  Shrugging off his coat, he began unbuttoning his vest, causing the expected look of horror on the mermaid’s face.

  “What are you doing?” she shrieked.

  “I’m tired and wish to sleep. ’Twill be a long day tomorrow.”

  “Surely you know that you can’t stay here.” She stood and scratched her arm as if an itch suddenly rose.

  “I assure you, darling. I can and I will.” Tossing his waistcoat and coat on the table, he grabbed his case, dropped it to the deck, and laid down with his head atop it.

  Several minutes passed, filled with the lady’s sighs and groans and the sound of water dashing and wood creaking. Finally she said, “How am I to undress with you here?”

  “Blow out the lantern. I can’t see you in the dark.”

  But he could see her in the dark. Especially in the moonlight sifting through the salt-encrusted window. He squeezed his eyes tighter, filling his thoughts with his sister’s wedding, his parents, Scripture, God help him! … anything to keep his mind off the beautiful woman disrobing just a few feet away. But the swish and swash of her gown and her tiny sighs and moans drove him to distraction.

  This was going to be a very long night.

  Chapter 6

  Lord Villemont’s fist came down on Charity so fast, she hadn’t time to leap aside. Crunch! The eerie sound of bone snapping was followed by his hate-filled voice. “I told you not to entertain Lady Beverly and that baseborn companion of hers! Why must you always disobey me?”

  “I didn’t disobey … I … I …” Charity sank to the floor, hand over her aching jaw.

  “I … I …” he mocked and shoved her down on her side with his boot. “I what?”

  She curled into a ball, protecting the babe growing within. “She came to the door,” she sobbed. “Hysterical and upset. I couldn’t…I couldn’t turn her away.”

  “More lies!” His boots pounded on the wooden floor, and she braced herself for another kick.

  Instead, he grabbed her hair and yanked her up. Pain burned through her scalp and down her neck as he thrust his face into hers.

  “What did we learn in church only yesterday about lying?” Rage ignited his eyes as breath, hot and stale, blasted over her. “Apparently you weren’t listening, as usual.”

  “I’m not lying.” The words slipped out, though she knew better than to contradict him. Every muscle within her tightened. Please, God. No!

  He dragged her to the bed and tossed her down. She slammed her eyes shut, trying not to cry, trying not to give him the satisfaction, but tears spilled down her cheeks anyway.

  The clip of his knife sheath, the scrap of metal on leather—sounds she knew all too well. Not again! Pushing off the quilt, she bolted for the door, screaming for help she knew wouldn’t come. He snagged her by the waist, hoisted her off the ground, and shoved her onto the bed again.

  Hovering over her like a bird of prey, his knife dripped silver in the lantern light. Squeezing her eyes shut, Charity went to her secret place.

  Sing a song of sixpence, a pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a . . .

  No!

  She jerked up. Chest heaving, her eyes darted over the room, expecting Lord Villemont to leap out at her. But instead of her four-poster oak bed, she lay on a cot. Instead of her spacious room, four walls closed in on her. And instead of his raspy voice, creaks, groans, and rushing water flooded her ears. A predawn glow filtered in through the small window and alighted on a man sleeping on the floor.

  Pulse rising again, she laid back down on her pillow and covered her mouth. Had she screamed? When had she fallen asleep? She’d spent most of the night listening to the man’s snores, wondering whether he would transform into a beast and pounce on her. She’d learned long ago to keep one eye closed and one open during the long reaches of the night, for she never knew what mood Lord Villemont would find himself in or what infraction of hers he would invent that deserved punishment.

  Scattering the morbid memories, she l
istened to the gentle creak and grind of the ship as it rocked like a baby’s cradle, and she slipped a hand beneath the coverlet to touch her belly. She smiled and took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

  Lord Villemont was gone. He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

  A ray of sun penetrated the window and speared hope into the gloomy room. Shouts, feet thumping, and sails flapping joined other sounds above. The man stirred.

  Charity closed her eyes and kept still. He groaned, rustled, and must have risen due to the creaking floor. A flap of cloth, a few sighs, and the door opened and shut. Mayhap he was a preacher, after all. A good one. One who actually abided by what he taught. Not like the many rectors she’d run to for help who’d either chastised her for being a bad wife or offered to assist her—but at a price she would not pay.

  Rising, she swung her feet over the edge of the cot and pried the knife she’d gripped all night from her sore hand—the knife she’d taken from Elias’ things while he slept. Slipping it into her garter, she lowered her chemise, grabbed a damp cloth, and attempted to wipe salt out of her petticoats and skirts. She missed Sophie. For more reasons than one. Having a lady’s maid was a luxury she’d never enjoyed until she’d married Villemont, at least not a single maid dedicated solely to her needs. Having one who was also a friend was a special privilege, and she hoped Sophie had found safe passage home. However, that left Charity with no one to lace up her stays, so she finally abandoned them and hoped her multiple petticoats would suffice for modesty’s sake. That shouldn’t be a problem since her bodice rose up to her neck, which was how Villemont demanded she dress.