Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

“Seems to me you was havin’ a bit of fun.” Josiah followed him into his cabin, along with Ballard, his quartermaster, and Gage the ship’s surgeon, all three of his friends obviously curious about their new guest. Gage went for the bottle of rum housed in Elias’ cupboard.

  Sighing, Elias sat back on the top of his desk and crossed arms over his chest. “The foolhardy woman wouldn’t listen to reason.”

  “Whose reason? Yours or hers?” Ballard snickered and tugged on his neckerchief.

  “Any reason at all,” Elias returned. “In any event, she’s alive and free, which wouldn’t be the case if she’d remained in Kingston.”

  “Though I doubt she sees it that way, Captain.” Gage poured himself a glass of rum and tossed it to the back of his throat. “The alive part perhaps,” he choked out as the liquor no doubt burned going down.

  Cringing as his friend poured himself another, Elias added, “I’ll set her free once we set sail.”

  Josiah only grunted.

  The brig teetered over a wavelet, creaking and groaning and sending ribbons of light over the bulkhead from the lantern above.

  “’Tis a good thing most of the crew are of the Godly persuasion, Captain. She’s a comely one, that one.” Ballard plopped into a chair and motioned for Gage to pour him a drink.

  “Aye, though there’s a few men I intend to keep an eye on.” Elias stared at his friend. Ballard being chief among them. “Either way, she’ll be safer here than in Kingston or on the last ship she sailed on.”

  Josiah grunted again.

  “You have something to say, my friend?” Elias raised brows toward the black giant who was both his friend and his first mate, but the man remained silent, as was his way. Except of course when he had wisdom to impart. On that rare occasion, ’twas best to listen to every word for fear of losing valuable advice. Something Elias could not say of most people.

  Gage handed Ballard a mug. “Word in town is the woman stole a horse.”

  Ballard sipped his rum and cocked a brow. “And you paid double the fee to release her.”

  Elias chuckled. “How swift the wings of gossip fly.”

  “Truth isn’t gossip.” Gage lifted the bottle toward Elias, but he put up a palm and bit back his burning desire to join his men in a drink. He’d not had a sip since he’d returned to his senses three years past, and he intended to continue his sobriety, though he oft wondered if his cravings would ever diminish.

  Gage’s hand was already shaking as he set the bottle on Elias’ desk. Hopefully there would be no injuries tonight that would require his surgical skills.

  “Why is the lady traveling alone on the Spanish Main?” Ballard crossed legs at his knees and lit a cheroot from the lantern on Elias’ desk. “Not exactly a safe haven for her gender.”

  Elias shoved a hand through his hair. “I’m not entirely sure she’s been forthright with me. Something about a broken engagement and an angry relation in pursuit.” He only hoped that during the week it would take to sail to Barbados, he’d get to know the lovely Miss Westcott and mayhap discover why there was such anger and fear in those lustrous honey-colored eyes.

  “Most fortunate she happened upon you, then, wasn’t it?” Ballard winked.

  “If you mean to imply I encouraged the lady, you are mistaken. And it wasn’t luck. It was God looking out for her. If only she’d recognize it and accept the help.” Any help. Yet God had put her in Elias’ hands, and he didn’t intend to let the Almighty down.

  “Takes some o’ us longer to see the hand o’ God at work.” Josiah shifted his gaze to Gage, but the surgeon stared hazily out the stern windows where lights flickered in the distance from town.

  Ballard puffed on his cheroot. “But you do have a penchant for beautiful women, Elias. There’s no denying it.”

  “There’s no denying any man does. But I no longer look merely at the outward appearance.”

  “What else is there to look at?” Gage chuckled and downed the remainder of his drink.

  Elias frowned and decided ’twas best to change the subject. “Josiah, did you get the new bosun, Nelson, settled?”

  Josiah shrugged. “Took off after you did, Cap’n. I showed him his berth and then he was gone. Said he had business t’ attend in town before we set sail.”

  Gage turned from the window and set down his cup. “Gentlemen.” He rose. “I shall relieve you of my company, for, I daresay, I hear the siren’s call from shore.”

  And just like the sirens of old, the wenches Gage frequented would end up leading him to his death.

  Elias bit back his disapproval, knowing it would do no good. He allowed his men their freedom as long as they performed their duties and obeyed his rules while at sea. Still, he would love to stop his friend from wenching and drinking, both of which were the ruin of a man. Yet until God opened Gage’s eyes, pointing out the man’s faults would do more harm than good. Yes, Elias was first and foremost a preacher, and he loved opening people to the truth, seeing that light in their eyes when they realized there was a God who created them and loved them, who died for them so they could spend eternity with Him. But Elias was also—when necessity called—a merchant and a privateer should his country need him. Hence, he manned his ship with the most skilled sailors he could find, some Godly men, some not, knowing that the influence of the former on the latter was of utmost importance.

  Gage was one of the latter. A man who reminded Elias of himself just three years past. Even now as the surgeon straightened his coat and bid them adieu, Elias could see the hopelessness in his eyes.

  Then there was Matthew Ballard, the state of his soul unclear to Elias. He spoke all the right words, but he seemed more in love with money and women than God.

  After his men left, Elias blew out his lantern and lay down on his bunk, one hand behind his head, trying desperately to empty his mind. But his thoughts filled with Miss Westcott.

  Should he go see her? Nay, she would still be angry at him. And rightly so. ’Twas the first time he’d been reduced to kidnapping a woman, but it couldn’t be helped. If he would have done so with his sister Caleigh three years ago, her life would never have been ruined.

  ♥♥♥

  Charles Gregson, Lord Villemont, entered the printer’s shop, two of his men on his heels, and removed his gloves ever so slowly. Slowly because it helped calm his nerves, bound tight ever since he’d anchored at Kingston and found the Enmity undergoing repairs and Lady Villemont nowhere to be found. He’d sent his men out to question the drunken flotsam inhabiting the uncivilized port town, but all they’d returned with were tales of a man carrying a wench over his shoulder onto a ship. Not an uncommon occurrence, according to the locals. Surely Lady Villemont wouldn’t be involved in such improper antics. But then again, she had murdered his brother.

  He drew a deep breath, stifling the pain of that last thought. Poor Herbert. He didn’t deserve to die so young. Not at the hands of a fluff-headed harpy. Herbert had told Charles more than once that the woman was mad—the reason he’d kept her locked up at home. But Charles hadn’t thought she was dangerous. If he had, he’d have been there to save his brother—like Herbert had saved Charles all those years during their childhood from their father’s violent cruelty.

  Charles’ throat clogged with emotion. He cleared it and tapped his cane on the floor.

  The printer looked up from his work and approached, wiping soiled hands on his apron. His brows lifted as his gaze took in Charles’ blue silk French coat embroidered with satin floral motifs. Apparently he rarely entertained people of class.

  “I’m Lord Villemont,” Charles began. “Was there a message left for me, perhaps by a sailor recently come to town?” He’d discovered that the local newspaper, if one could call it that, was only printed every fortnight. Hence in all likelihood, if one of the sailors aboard the Enmity had seen the reward poster in Nassau and recognized Lady Villemont on the ship, he certainly would have left word at the most logical place. In lieu of a proper postal system, the
inhabitants of this squalid town had informed his men that letters were passed through the printer, who charged a penny a post.

  “Ah, yes, milord.” The man started one way, then turned to go the other way, all the while mumbling to himself. He returned within seconds and handed Lord Villemont a piece of folded parchment.

  Taking it, Charles broke the seal.

  “He didn’t know how to write.” The printer pointed toward the script. “So I wrote it for him.”

  “Thank you.” Lord Villemont turned from the annoying man, snapped his fingers, and one of his men handed the printer a shilling as Charles read:

  Your Lordship,

  Lady Villemont goes by the name Charity Westcott and is now sailing on the Restoration under Captain Elias Dutton, bound for Barbados. My name is Nelson and I be sailing with him as his bosun sos you can find me when you catch us.

  Your humble servant,

  Marcus Nelson

  Good lad, this Nelson. Good lad. He folded the paper and slid it in his pocket as he limped from the shop and adjusted his periwig. Placing his tricorn back atop his head, he slid on his gloves and waited for his men to flank him. “Find out all you can about a ship called Restoration and a Captain Elias Dutton, then meet me on board in two hours.” He gazed up at the sun halfway to its zenith in the sky. If the ship had set sail that morning, they’d still have time to give chase.

  Chapter 13

  Charity stood at the railing of yet another ship and gazed over the glittering fan of turquoise spreading to the horizon. Though her father was an admiral in the Royal Navy, she’d never been fond of sailing. Not like her sister Faith who talked of naught but wind and wave and knew the name of every sail on her father’s flagship. For Charity, there was something daunting about being confined on a boat no larger than a home, surrounded by dangerous waters, trapped, imprisoned. Mayhap that was why she hated it so. She’d been locked up in a house for the past two years, and all she wanted now was to be free.

  A blast of warm, salty wind wafted around her, loosening curls from pins and cooling the perspiration on her neck. Bracing her feet on the shifting deck, she closed her eyes and pretended she was a bird soaring over these gorgeous seas, not subject to wind or current or the desires of man, but free to go where she pleased, when she pleased.

  And for that brief moment with the setting sun warming her eyelids, all was well with the world.

  But Elias’ first mate, a large Negro with a beaming grin, barked an order to the men in the tops that gave her a start. Sailors’ bare feet pounded over the deck and loosened ropes from belaying pins.

  She kept her face forward, too embarrassed to look any of them in the eye after she’d demanded they rescue her from their captain the night before. Even so, most had smiled warmly at her when she’d first come above. Only a few had stared inappropriately. And though she was livid with Elias, she had to admit she felt much safer aboard a ship that he captained.

  After a restless night, a man who introduced himself as Leggy—odd since he was missing one leg below the knee—brought her a boiled egg and toast for breakfast. And coffee! Such delicious coffee she’d not had since leaving Portsmouth. Famished, she ate every last bite of food and completely drained her mug. Though the door remained unlocked, and Leggy had told her she was free to roam the ship, she’d remained in her cabin most of the day, too angry to face Elias and too weary of facing the lecherous gazes of yet another crew. But late in the day, the heat and boredom conquered her stubborn will, and she crept down the hall and up a ladder, following the sunshine. Thankfully, Elias was not on deck.

  Now, as she attempted to balance on the heaving ship, it occurred to her that she’d kept her breakfast down. Which put her in her fourth or fifth month. Already, when she disrobed, the swell of life at her belly brought a smile to her lips. But it wouldn’t have the same effect on others when they noticed it on an unwed woman. Where she would spend her lying-in and how she would conceal it from the world, she hadn’t considered yet. Her family would offer to take her in, of course, but she wouldn’t dare put them in danger.

  She drew a deep breath as the ship bucked and misted her with salty spray. One day at a time, Charity. One day at a time. First things first, extricate herself from the clutches of this pretend preacher, who must be working for Charles, for no one was this kind to a stranger unless they wanted something in return. She’d once believed in kindness, naïve as she was. She’d once believed that some people were willing to sacrifice for others, expecting nothing in return. After all, she had been that way most of her life. But then she had married Lord Villemont. And he had laughed at her innocence—

  And taught her the truth.

  There are no good in people, he would say, just a desire for wealth, success, and pleasure. If being kind to someone aids in acquiring those delights, then so be it.

  And this from a man who went to church religiously and oft quoted Scripture. Charity thought to ask him why the Bible spoke of loving one’s neighbor as oneself, but decided it wouldn’t be worth the repercussions.

  “Good day, Miss.” A man appeared beside her, giving her a start. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” His smile was genuine on a pleasant-enough face with a straight nose and serious eyes. Brown curly hair loosened from a ribbon tied behind him and fluttered in the wind. “Matthew Ballard at your service, quartermaster on the Restoration.”

  She recognized him as one of the men who’d approached Elias when they’d come aboard last night. “Miss Westcott,” she replied, encouraged by the man’s apparent education. “And if you are truly at my service, can you free me from the madman who captains this ship?”

  His lips lifted slightly, then lowered to a frown. “In truth, I am appalled at the manner in which you were brought aboard,” he said with all sincerity as he straightened his fine cambric waistcoat. “’Tis most untoward for a lady to be treated thus.”

  “Indeed?” She studied him with a huff. “And yet you sail with the man who performs such atrocities with impunity.”

  “A necessity for the time being.” He squeezed the bridge of his nose, and Charity wondered if she’d found an ally aboard the ship.

  “Does Mr. Dut—the Captain—make a habit of kidnapping ladies?”

  He chuckled and glanced over the sea. “I believe you are the first, Miss Westcott. At least since I’ve been sailing with him.”

  “’Tis unclear whether I should be happy or sad at that news.” She frowned as a blast of wind gusted over her, whipping hair against her neck. “How long have you been sailing under Mr. Dutton? You don’t appear … you don’t seem …”

  “Like an uncultured sailor?” He laughed. “My father was a gentleman, Miss, my mother the daughter of a baron. They owned a large estate in Northhamptonshire, just outside Brackley.”

  “Owned?”

  “Yes, they are passed now.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.” Charity well knew the grief of losing a parent. “What of the estate?”

  “It fell to me, their oldest. I hired a trustworthy overseer and went to sea. Too many memories there, I’m afraid.” He drew a deep breath, though Charity sensed no sorrow within it. Nor in his eyes as they gazed out to sea. How odd that a man of land and wealth would subject himself to a dangerous life at sea.

  “And how did you come to meet Mr. Dutton?” she asked.

  She knew before he opened his mouth to answer that Elias stood behind her, for Mr. Ballard stiffened, put on a tight grin, and offered no reply.

  ♥♥♥

  “Back to your post, Mr. Ballard,” Elias commanded. “The sails need trimming.” He’d expected the man would seek out Miss Westcott’s company. He just hadn’t expected he’d do it so soon.

  Mr. Ballard bid her good day and sped off while Elias leaned one arm on the railing a good yard from where she stood.

  Egad, but it was good to see her here on deck with her cinnamon curls dancing about her neck, her maroon skirts fluttering in the wind, and those th
ick lashes brushing over sun-kissed cheeks. He’d feared she would remain in her cabin the entire week. Yet when he’d come above, he could not deny the leap of his heart at the sight of her.

  “Have I grown horns that you stand so far off?” she said curtly without looking his way.

  “I fear those fists of yours, Miss Westcott. My back still suffers from the thrashing they gave me.”

  She gave a ladylike snort. “I doubt that, Mr. Dutton.”

  “At the very least,” he said. “I fear you may attempt to toss me overboard.”

  “If only I had the strength to do so,” she murmured, and he believed she meant it.

  “I hope you’ll see in time that I merely wished to save your life.” He inched toward her.

  “Do you always go about saving people who do not wish to be saved?”

  “Of course.” He smiled, though she still refused to look his way. “’Tis my job as a preacher.”

  “Preacher, vapors!” she spat out. “Do you find me such a dolt?”

  He chuckled. “I would never permit myself to think such a thing.”

  “I know you are working for my br—Charles.”

  Elias closed his eyes for a second. Oh, how the woman’s words scrambled his mind! “I know not this brcharles, and I work only for God.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “You are truly the captain of this ship?”

  “Brig, and aye.”

  “You could have simply told me that when you extended your invitation.”

  “Would you have come with me then?”

  “No.” The bite in her tone made him smile.

  Sails thundered above as the brig plunged into the trough of a wave, and he moved closer to place a hand on her back to steady her. She leapt away as if he had the ague.

  He leaned his elbows on the railing. “Leggy informed me you ate your food this morning. Mayhap you are growing accustomed to the sway of the sea? If so, I invite you to dine with me and my officers tonight. Rarely does such a lovely guest grace our table.”