Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  But Charity couldn’t move. She glanced at the ship, finally spotting the black flag she’d been seeking, flapping in the breeze complete with skull and a dagger dripping blood. At least fifty men armed with cutlass and pistol and wicked grins covered the deck like flies on horse manure.

  Her blood turned to ice. Had she rid herself of one monster only to be captured by dozens more? Tales of horror had made their way to Portsmouth of the tortures inflicted by these pirates. Especially the unthinkable things they did to women. And what of her child? She pressed a hand to her stomach and fought back tears. Fought back nausea. Terror. She’d spent the past two years a victim of brutality, and she’d be dead in her grave before she’d endure that again.

  Angry shouts drew her gaze to the quarterdeck where the captain and Elias were engaged in another verbal battle. Sailors dashed chaotically back and forth across the deck, cursing and grunting, their expressions stiff with fear. The captain’s face had gone completely white. Shoving Elias to the side, he howled orders that scattered the crew.

  She leaned over the side and saw a charred hole in the hull sinking below the water line with each sway of the ship.

  They were taking on water.

  Above them, two sails were ripped clean through. How could they possibly outrun the pirates now?

  “Lay aloft, loose the main!” Captain Littleman shouted to his men.

  “Belay that!” Storming onto the main deck, Elias spouted orders, different orders, something about swivels and gunpowder and pumps.

  The crew halted, their gazes shifting between the two men and finally landing on the first mate Nelson.

  Captain Littleman gripped the quarterdeck railing and glared at his crew. “I am the captain and ye will obey me orders or face execution!”

  “If you obey this man you will all die!” Elias shouted with enough conviction to convince Charity, though she wondered how he knew what he was doing. Vapors! He was a mere preacher. Had he ever commanded a ship in battle?

  “What!” Captain Littleman drew his sword. “I’ll have your heart on a pla—!”

  The world suddenly exploded above them, and Charity’s heart with it. Ducking, she covered her head as the ship splintered all around and screams shot into the air. Face down, she stared at the wooden planks of the deck, heart pounding in her ears, mind reeling, afraid to stand up, afraid to breathe. A stream of blood trickled down the deck beneath her and pooled in a cleft of the wood.

  She finally lost the contents of her stomach.

  “The captain! The captain!” someone yelled.

  Batting away smoke, Charity looked up to see Captain Littleton lying on the quarterdeck.

  Without hesitation, Elias pointed to two men. “You, you! Bring the Captain to his quarters and alert the surgeon. You, Myson, was it? Get two more men and take the rest of the wounded below.”

  He marched toward her. “Miss Westcott, below!” There was something different in his eyes. Not fear, as she would expect. Nay, ’twas a sense of justice, of power and command, of control. And it stirred within her a desire to trust this man, a sense that she was safe with him. She shook the betraying feeling away.

  “Give me a gun.” She held out her hand. “If we are to be boarded, give me a gun so I can defend myself.” And her child. Or, if need be, end their lives before falling into the hands of pirates.

  ♥♥♥

  Elias didn’t have time to argue with the surprising woman.

  “Do you know how to use it?”

  She nodded and snatched it from his hands as another volcano of fire charged the air.

  A plume of gray smoke thrust from the pirate ship. The whiz and whine of shot scraped past his ears, and shielding Miss Westcott, Elias forced her to the deck once again. Explosions rippled through the ship. The sting of gun smoke and blood filled his nostrils.

  Rising, he motioned for her to remain where she was, then he took charge like he’d been taught to do his entire life. Like he’d done many times before.

  Only he’d never faced an enemy with a ship so crippled before. Or a crew that wasn’t his. Would they even obey him? Instead of waiting to find out, Elias took stock of the situation and fired off orders.

  Nelson, jaw stiff, and eyes shifting, charged Elias as if he intended to challenge him. But his gaze shifted to the approaching pirate ship and then to the crew awaiting orders. Fear blazed in his eyes.

  Giving a nod to Elias, he faced the men. “You heard him! Do what he says!”

  As the sailors scrambled to their tasks, Elias studied their oncoming enemy. He had but one chance to save Captain Littleman’s brig, and one chance only, before Charles Vane sunk them to the depths.

  Chapter 8

  Charity knew she should go below, if only to get out of the crew’s way. But she couldn’t tear her eyes off Elias. Or off the pirate ship advancing fast off their starboard beam—black flag taunting in the breeze, foam spewing from her bow. Gray smoke hovered over her, a cloud of haunting specters, as her guns were reloaded and run out like tongues salivating for meat.

  She knew enough about ships from her father to know that the Enmity was badly damaged. With two sails ripped and a hole in the hull, she listed to starboard and moved as if she sailed through a sea of mud.

  Curses and threats fired at them from the pirate ship, and every inch of Charity screamed in terror. She had assumed God had abandoned her years ago. Now, if she was to be tortured and ravished by pirates, there would be no doubt.

  Crouching against the quarterdeck, she gripped the gun tightly to her chest and awaited her fate.

  Elias, on the other hand, was the epitome of calm assurance as he marched across the deck issuing orders like he commanded a ship at battle every day.

  “Watch your luft! Watch your luft! Ready about! Bring her into the wind. Steady now.”

  Captain Littleman’s officers, Nelson, Rigley, and Bates, repeated Elias’ orders as if there hadn’t been a change in command at all. One by one, the crew also scrambled to do his bidding, some leaping in the tops, some jumping down hatches below.

  She couldn’t blame them. Something about Elias’ tone, his fearlessness, evoked a confidence and hope that made one want to obey his every word. He came into view then, the wind flapping his shirt and tossing his hair behind him, his jaw a steel rod, his eyes locked on the pirates. He had strapped on a sword and two pistols and looked more pirate than preacher, for not a speck of fear emanated from him as he gripped the pummel of his blade.

  The pirate ship belched another fiery round, and Charity shielded her head with her hands. A death whine filled the air. Wood snapped. Then a splash. Charity looked up to see that the cannonball had chipped a piece of the mainmast below the sails then dropped into the sea off the larboard railing.

  Elias, who had not ducked at all, continued shouting orders as if nothing had happened. Water gushed against the hull. Sails roared above, some flapping impotently, others bloated with wind. The Enmity leapt over a rising swell. Black squalls swept back over the deck, foaming around Charity’s shoes and leaping up to douse her skirts with seawater.

  Elias barreled down the quarterdeck ladder onto the main deck and shouted something Charity couldn’t make out to Nelson.

  “Hot shot?” The first mate stared up at him, balancing on the heaving deck. “With musket shot, ye say?”

  “Aye, and now!”

  “But the galley fire’s been put out for battle.”

  “Stoke it.”

  “’Tis dangerous.”

  “And being captured by Vane isn’t?” Elias yelled. “Do it now!”

  Nodding, Nelson dropped blow.

  “Bates!” Elias turned to the quartermaster. “We’ll tack to starboard and come along her stern.”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” the man said without question, then brayed further orders to the men.

  The ship turned and slowed a bit then turned again. Sails floundered like fish out of water, and for a moment it seemed they had lost all momentum. Charity gr
ipped the gun tighter. Her pulse pounded so hard she thought her veins would burst. One peek beyond the quarterdeck ladder showed her the pirates were gaining fast and making a turn for a broadside. A broadside! Ten guns fired at once at such close range would be the end of them.

  Minutes went by like hours as the two ships made quick maneuvers, counteracting the other’s in some eerie dance of death. Silence invaded, save for creak of block and tackle and rush of wind, which only increased Charity’s terror. Sun slashed her from above. Perspiration trickled down her neck beneath her gown.

  Elias paced, shouted orders, then paced some more, his hawk-like eyes ever on the pirates. And she found herself almost believing he could save them, that he could defeat these pirates, these expert warriors of the sea. She forced down the admiration rising within her. She didn’t want to admire him. For admiration led to affection and affection led to trust. And trust is something she would never give to another man.

  Finally Elias cupped his hands and shouted, “Brace in the mainyard! Up helm! Shift over the headsheets!”

  The wind came around on their starboard quarter, catching the sails in a thunderous snap.

  Palms on the rough deck, Charity braced herself as the ship tilted high and veered to starboard. Elias must have anticipated the pirates’ move, for he was making a sharp turn away from them. Or was it away? Sunlight blinded her as the Enmity angled so high, she thought it would overturn. Splinters dug into her palms. She tumbled to the right and braced against the quarterdeck, breath heaving.

  When the ship finally righted, she dared a glance and discovered they had actually veered closer to the pirate ship, not farther away, and were coming around on the pirate’s stern.

  “Haul out! Brace up!” Bates shouted.

  The Enmity jerked forward and picked up speed. Struggling against the galloping deck, Charity stood and backed against the quarterdeck, pistol tight in her grip.

  No doubt caught off guard at Elias’ quick maneuver, the pirates attempted to follow the tack and protect their stern, but the wind vacated their canvas.

  “They are all aback!” one sailor shouted with glee.

  Charity had no idea what that meant, but from the sounds of “huzzahs” coming from the men, it was something good.

  Elias stooped and shouted down the companionway. “Get me that hot musket shot, Nelson!”

  “Ready, Sir. Loaded and primed!” came the bellowing answer.

  “Bear off, haul your braces, ease sheets!” Elias shouted. “Starboard guns standby. Fire as you bear!”

  Within minutes, the air quivered with the roar of guns. The Enmity shuddered from bow to stern, matching the one coursing through Charity. Black smoke swept over the deck and engulfed her. She gasped for air, her lungs stinging.

  Then all was silent. A ghostly silence, as if they were all dead and drifting through a portal to the afterlife.

  Finally men shuffled to the starboard railing. Coughing, Charity rose and crept behind them, fearing that if she were dead, she’d be stuck with these men for all eternity.

  But then a distant crackle sounded, followed by horrified shouts, and some of the crew laughed. Stepping up on the quarterdeck ladder, she peered above the crowd to the pirate ship. Shattered glass and splintered wood was all that remained of the stern as flames reached for the sky through gaping holes. Black smoke obscured the stern railing along with the guns mounted there. Pirates darted across the deck in a frenzy, buckets in hand and curses flying. A few pirates fired muskets at them from the tops, but they were already too far away. A large man wearing a multi-colored vest that glistened in the sunlight and a cocked hat with a bright blue feather approached the railing and gripped it hard.

  “Let’s hear it for Captain Dutton! Hip hip hurray!” Bates shouted.

  “Hip hip hurray!” the men chanted as they punched fists in the air.

  “Make all possible sail, gentlemen!” Elias ordered before leaping onto the bulwarks and bowing toward the pirates. “Another time, perhaps, Vane!” His shout echoed over the water.

  Charles Vane, the infamous pirate, glared at Elias as if his eyes could fire cannon balls. Charity shuddered at the sight.

  But thankfully, the Enmity, with most canvas spread to the wind, tacked aweather and soon sped on her way.

  Charity rubbed her eyes and tried to settle her heart, not yet fully able to believe they were out of danger. Yet with each passing minute, ’twas obvious they were.

  All due to Elias.

  But how? It made no sense. Holding the gun to her bosom, she watched the sailors congratulate themselves as Elias ordered them to task. Then before he noticed her, she quietly slipped below to their cabin and sat in the chair, her mind reeling, her nerves a tangled lump. She settled the gun in her lap and tried to slow her breathing, but her racing heart refused to calm. It wasn’t only from witnessing a battle with pirates. Nay, it had more to do with witnessing Elias battling pirates. Her suspicion only grew as hours passed and she waited, pondering the hopelessness of her situation and plotting her next move.

  Just when she’d decided Elias wasn’t going to join her, the door creaked open and in he walked, his skin flush with exertion, his hair tousled, a smile on his face, and his presence larger than life.

  Jumping to her feet, she pointed the pistol at his chest.

  One brow cocked. “Not exactly the thanks I was expecting.”

  “Who are you?” She cocked the gun. “You are no preacher, Sir, for no preacher I know could have commanded this ship and beaten those pirates against such overwhelming odds.”

  ♥♥♥

  Elias would laugh if he didn’t know the pistol was loaded—and waving across his chest in hands that were trembling far too much.

  “Your low opinion of preachers cuts me to the quick, Miss Westcott.” He took another step toward her, his intent to snatch the weapon.

  But she only tightened her grip on the handle and raised it to point at his head.

  What a treasure this lady was! Like a frightened forest sprite—and no bigger than one—with those large honey-colored eyes, her brown hair tumbling in disarray to her waist, her lips quivering … chest heaving. What prompted her to do such a thing? Such bravery, such spunk. Such foolishness!

  Her lips pinched. “Not another move! Not until you tell me who you are.”

  “Elias Dutton, as I have said.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What do you want with me?”

  “If I recall ’twas you who created the facade of our wedded bliss and insisted I take you on board.” He drew his sword from its sheath.

  The cold barrel of the gun pressed on his temple. “I will shoot you.”

  Her unique scent, so feminine and sweet spiraled around him. He laid the blade on the table and raised his hands. “Just removing my sword. Unless you wish me to remain armed?”

  She took a step back and gestured with the gun. “Remove your pistols as well, then.”

  Slowly slipping the baldric over his head, he laid it beside his sword and eased into the chair, his taut muscles screaming. “You’ve had a frightening experience today, Miss Westcott. Any woman would be distraught. But I am not your enemy.”

  “And you are no preacher, either. Of that I am sure. Besides, what happened to ‘thou shalt not kill’? Or do you only choose those commandments that suit you?”

  Elias leaned forward, elbows on his knees and gazed up at the crazed woman. “You know many Scriptures, my little mermaid, yet you fail to understand their meaning.”

  Frowning, she braced herself as the deck slanted. “Then tell me this, how did you learn to command a ship during battle?”

  “I grew up on a ship. A brig to be exact. My father’s, the Reckoning.”

  “And did your father make a habit of engaging in battle?” She smirked.

  “More often than he would have liked, I’m afraid.” Elias shoved his hair back, the exhaustion of the day finding its way into his bones. If he could but lie down and rest, only for a moment. �
�Give me the pistol, Miss. I have no intention of harming you.” He held out his hand. “If I did, I would have taken what I wanted already.”

  “Not if you are one of Charles’ henchmen.”

  He studied her. “I suppose this Charles is your would-be brother-in-law?” He huffed. “I fail to see how I could be allied with him. I don’t even know the man.”

  “So you say.”

  A spiral of hair dangled over her cheek, and he longed to touch it, to move it out of the way and see if it was as soft as it looked. As well as the skin beneath it. “So what are you to do now? Shoot me and toss me overboard?”

  “If I have to.”

  He smiled at her boldness. “Then you’d be left at the mercy of the crew.”

  “I told you, I don’t need your …” The ship pitched over a wave. Miss Westcott wobbled. In one swift move, Elias jumped up, swiped the weapon from her hands, shoved it behind his back, and steadied her.

  Startled, she shrieked and jerked from his touch, then backed away, eyes wide, breath coming fast. Finally, she deflated like a sail losing wind and sank onto the cot, dropping her head in her hands.

  “Miss Westcott, ’tis been a trying day. I don’t know of many women who could have faced a battle at sea and possible capture by pirates with such courage.” ’Twas true. She’d stayed above, clutching her pistol, witnessing the entire bloody business. He knew of only a few women who wouldn’t have fainted on the spot. His mother for one, along with his Aunt Juliana. But those two ladies were rare finds, indeed.

  As this woman seemed to be.

  “Mayhap I can find Bates and have some food brought for you.”

  She pressed a hand to her stomach and raised glassy eyes to him, the fight gone from them, replaced by a sorrow so deep, he felt it in his gut. “I’m not hungry.”

  He longed to kneel before her, take her in his arms and comfort the tears from those eyes. “What has made you so brave, dear lady?”

  She looked away. “I’ve had no other choice.”

  Elias gulped, wanting to ask more, but dared not. How on earth could he gain the trust of such a woman? And what sort of beast had stolen every ounce of it from her? Mayhap she did the right thing in fleeing from this fiancé of hers.