Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Suddenly I am your guest?” she quipped.

  “Of course. You are free to roam anywhere you like on the brig.”

  “You mean prison.”

  He glanced over the churning sea. “I’m sorry you see it as such.”

  “Not only a prison, Sir, but you have ruined my reputation by placing me on a ship full of men without a proper companion.”

  He growled inwardly. “And it wasn’t ruined when we shared a cabin as man and wife?”

  He enjoyed the blush blossoming on her cheeks as she glanced around and gestured for him to lower his voice.

  “If ’tis your reputation that concerns you,” he added, “it would have been ruined far more if you had stayed in Kingston alone.”

  “What is it you want from me, Mr. Dutton?"

  Elias breathed out a sigh. “Why are you always asking me that?"

  “Whatever Charles is paying you, I’m sure my father can match it.” She bit her lip. “Or double it.”

  “No one is paying me, I assure you.” Elias glanced toward the horizon where a dark haze rose to obscure the beauty of the setting sun. “Does your mistrust stem from me being a preacher or a man?”

  “Both.”

  “In truth, Miss Westcott, my only wish is to take you to Charles Towne and deliver you to your family unscathed. Is that so hard to believe?”

  “Yes.”

  Sails snapped above, drawing his gaze. “Reef topsails!” he shouted to Josiah, then waited for the man to repeat the orders before he faced Miss Westcott again. “Has no one ever done a kindness to you and not expected anything in return?”

  Drawing a deep breath, she seemed to ponder the question before uttering a definitive “No.”

  Elias’ heart crumbled. What had happened to this poor lady to make her so bitter, so angry and distrusting? Whatever it was, he longed to heal all her wounds, or better yet, point her to the One who could. “Then allow me to be the first,” he said, longing to ease a strand of riotous hair behind her ear. “And in the process prove to you that there is still good in the world.”

  The brig rose up a swell and she gripped the railing. “It seems I have no choice.”

  “What say you to a truce, Miss Westcott?”

  “I say ’tis a ludicrous notion since you have already won the war.”

  “Merely a battle.” He grinned, inching his hand closer to hers on the railing.

  He finally got a tiny smile out of her. “What exactly are your terms, Captain?”

  Elias fingered the cross hanging around his neck. “I shall promise never to kidnap you again.”

  Shielding her eyes, she gazed at him with suspicion. “Even after we arrive in Barbados?”

  If he hadn’t convinced her of his sincerity by then, he was a far worse preacher than he thought. “You have my word.”

  “Very well, truce.” She lifted her hand to shake his, and he relished the opportunity to encase her small, soft hand in his. But she quickly pulled it back.

  She may have agreed to a truce, but she obviously wasn’t done fighting. “Now that we are friends again—”

  “Again? Were we ever?”

  “Well, we were husband and wife for nearly three days.”

  “True.” She flattened her lips and gazed out to sea, giving him a chance to admire the way the setting sun cast streaks of golden glitter on her face and through her hair.

  “Tell me about your family in Charles Towne. Your father is an admiral?”

  “Yes, Rear-Admiral Henry Westcott. A good one too. In fact, he’d have you strung up by your toes if he knew you’d kidnapped me.”

  “Mayhap I won’t take you to Charles Towne, after all.” His chuckle garnered another smile out of her. “And your sisters?”

  “All younger. Faith, who loves the sea and sailing, Hope, who loves parties, and Grace, who is much like you, pious and self-righteous."

  “Ouch.” He cringed at the insult. “And I try so hard not to be either.” Regardless, he could tell from her tone and the affectionate look in her eyes that she loved her sisters.

  “How long since you have seen them?”

  “They left Portsmouth four months ago. I miss them terribly.” She swallowed and looked away.

  “Why did you not go with them?”

  “I was…engaged at the time.”

  “Surely they left you with a relative, your mother?” For no one would leave a single lady to her own devices.

  “My mother is dead.” Wind spun her hair into a frenzy as she lowered her gaze to the choppy sea. “Five years past.”

  “I’m sorry.” Elias laid his hand atop hers.

  Jerking hers away, her jaw stiffened. “Mother was taken from us far too young, and with Father away so much, my sisters and I had to run things. Honestly, I have few happy memories of my childhood. Our governess often took to her cups and stole money that should have gone to our needs.”

  Elias leaned on the railing and stared down at the water dashing against the hull. He’d love nothing more than to take the lady in his arms and offer what comfort he could. He’d had quite a different childhood—two parents who adored him, plenty of siblings to love and grow up with, a good education, all his needs met, and a home full of love and laughter. Not only did this lady have none of that—save the siblings—but her family had abandoned her. Why?

  “I'm sorry, Miss Westcott. You are here now. Safe and on your way to rejoin your family. All will be well, you’ll see."

  She turned her face away. “Forgive me. I overspoke. I don't know why I’m telling my kidnapper such intimacies.”

  “Not your fault, Miss. ’Tis a benefit of my vocation—luring people to spill their secrets.”

  “Cap’n!” one of the sailors hailed him from the quarterdeck.

  Elias nodded toward the lady. “I shall relieve you of my company for now, Miss Westcott. I’ll have Leggy escort you to supper at eight bells.” Before she could protest, he marched away, a smile on his face at the possibility of seeing her again so soon.

  Chapter 14

  A knock rapped on her cabin door, and Charity opened it to Elias, wearing a rather sultry grin on his face. Oddly, she began to mutter like a silly schoolgirl, quickly shifting her gaze away from his thickly-muscled frame attired in a cambric shirt and a damask waistcoat with silver braid. Black breeches led down to equally black leather boots. His hair was neatly combed and tied behind, his chin bore the barest hint of stubble as if his attempt to shave had faltered, and those crisp sea-blue eyes looked at her with such wisdom and care.

  And suddenly she wished for a fresh gown and a lady’s maid to pin up her hair in a proper style. Vapors! What was she thinking? Yesterday this man hoisted her over his shoulder like a sack of grain and stole her against her will!

  “I thought you would send one of your men to escort me.” She forced a tone of nonchalance.

  “After our engaging conversation on deck today, I longed for the honor.” He proffered his elbow.

  “Engaging? Is that what you’d call it?” She refused to take his arm and swept past him into the hall, still regretting disclosing so much about her past to this man.

  “Indeed. You are a fascinating woman, Miss Westcott.”

  Charity couldn’t remember ever being called thus. “Obviously you haven’t met many women.” She made her way down the narrow corridor, lit by flickering lanterns attached to the bulkhead.

  “Too many, I’m afraid. Of the wrong kind.”

  Surprised by his comment, she halted and stared up at him. Had he grown taller or was it being confined in such a tiny space that made him seem so large? “Why, Preacher, I’m stunned to hear you say so.”

  He gestured for her to proceed. “There are many things about me which might shock you, Miss Westcott.”

  She doubted it, but against her will, she found her curiosity piqued. Still, the only thing she should be curious about was whether this man worked for her brother-in-law. Which was the main reason she’d lowered her claws and
agreed to be friendly. If she played the nice mermaid, perhaps he’d let down his guard, and she could slip away once they anchored in Barbados.

  Elias’ cabin was elegantly and tastefully decorated. She’d expected a preacher’s cabin to be sparse, dull, housing a single chair, and a worn table on which perched a candle and an old Bible. On the contrary, this cabin boasted oil paintings and tapestries on the bulkheads, a lush Turkish carpet on the floor, cupboards nailed to the wall, filled with tins of coffee and tea, books ranging from mathematics to navigation to poetry, along with various bottles, statues, and trinkets. A teakwood trunk guarded the foot of a bunk that was neatly made with a dark purple coverlet. Two lanterns framed the stern windows, their light joining the flickering candles atop the table from which rose five men from their seats as she entered.

  The scent of fish, onions, and potatoes swirled beneath her nose from various bowls and platters already on the table.

  Introductions were made as Elias led her to a chair on the right of his at the head of the table. She’d already met Mr. Ballard, was surprised to see Mr. Nelson from the Enmity, was warmed by the large Negro Josiah’s smile, and was greeted with the lift of a glass by Mr. Evan Gage, a handsome man with light hair and a kind face. A lad no more than fifteen—a Mr. Wilcox—sat to his left and blushed as she acknowledged him.

  Elias took his seat, announced grace, and proceeded to thank God for the food in the most sincere, informal tone she’d ever heard.

  Unnerved by the intimate conversation with God, she accepted Mr. Gage’s offer to pour her some wine.

  “Do tell me, gentlemen, are you all preachers like Mr. Dutton?” She began the conversation as platters of food were passed, though she already knew the answer.

  As she suspected, laughter ensued.

  “Nay, Miss,” Mr. Ballard replied, dipping his head toward Elias. “The Captain is the only holy man on board.”

  Was it her or did she detect a hint of disdain in Mr. Ballard’s voice?

  “There is none holy but God,” Elias offered.

  Amused by the tension between the two men, Charity served herself some sea pie. At least that’s what the men were calling the buttery pastry filled with chunks of fish and vegetables.

  Mr. Gage plucked a soft tack from a platter and gestured toward the large Negro. “However one might assume Josiah is a preacher as well by the way he carries that Bible around as if it could shield him from musket fire.”

  Josiah only smiled and patted his waistcoat. “It may do that one day. But it isn’t the full Bible yet.”

  At her perplexed look, Elias explained, “Josiah is copying the Holy Scriptures word for word onto parchment.”

  First of all, Charity had never eaten a meal with a Negro. Her father never had slaves, nor had Lord Villemont, though she knew of a few acquaintances who had. Still, they would never think to dine with them, slave or not. Secondly, while many of the commoners in England were illiterate, apparently this Negro not only spoke well but could write.

  “Josiah, that seems quite an enormous task. Whatever possessed you to embark upon it?” she asked.

  “To learn, Miss. It’s the best way for me to learn the Scriptures and keep them wit’ me at all times.”

  She stared at him, baffled.

  He finished a spoonful of rice. “The Captain’s Father, Rowan Dutton, rescued me from slavery off a merchant ship.” His voice was as deep and smooth as his smile, and she instantly felt at ease in his presence. “I was only nine at the time. Sailed wit’ the Captain’s father for years before I joined his son.” He smiled at Elias. “Elias taught me to read and write and even promoted me from seaman to first mate.”

  Elias popped a slice of papaya into his mouth. “You deserved it. I’ve never seen anyone work so hard and learn so quickly.” He gripped Josiah’s shoulder, and Charity was surprised at the affection stretching between them. She’d grown up in a world where bloodline and wealth meant everything. Here on the ship—at least under Elias’ rule—neither seemed to matter.

  “And just how does a preacher come to captain a ship?” she asked Elias. “Shouldn’t you be on land saving souls from hell?”

  “Are there no souls to save at sea?” Elias winked at her then bit into a biscuit. Behind him a starry sky dipped in and out of view with each sway of the ship.

  “I’d say we’ve seen plenty of dark souls at sea,” Mr. Ballard offered as he served himself another helping of sea pie.

  “’Tis true,” Elias said. “And more on land. This way I can reach both.” He passed the decanter of wine but didn’t pour any in his glass.

  Mr. Gage happily took it and refilled his.

  Charity sipped her own wine and then bit into her soft tack, thankful it wasn’t the hard biscuit they’d served on board the Enmity. In fact, for shipboard food, everything was delicious. Or mayhap ’twas because she finally had an appetite.

  She turned toward the young lad who had already devoured his plateful of food and was helping himself to seconds. “And what is it you do on board, Mr. Wilcox?”

  “Call me Eddy, Miss. Everyone does. I’m a topman,” he said proudly, giving her a boyish grin. “I furl and unfurl sail on the foretop.”

  “Oh, my. How exciting and dangerous for such a young lad.”

  “He’s also my apprentice,” Gage said, glancing at Eddy fondly. “I’m the surgeon aboard the Restoration.”

  Part of Charity was glad to know there was a doctor aboard. Another part wondered what type of surgeon he could be as he poured himself yet another glass of wine.

  “He’s the smartest lad I ever met.” Gage slapped the boy on the back, causing him to blush. “He’ll make a fine ship’s surgeon someday.”

  The boy gazed up at Mr. Gage with the affection of a son to a father, and Charity couldn’t help but smile.

  The ever-present rush of water against the hull, coupled with the groan of wood, provided the music for their evening meal as plates, bowls, and candlesticks inched back and forth over the table in a dance as formal as any ball.

  Still, an odd chill scraped over Charity. Not the first time that night, she looked up to find Mr. Nelson’s eyes locked upon her, assessing, appraising, she couldn’t be sure. “Mr. Nelson. I remember you from the Enmity. How did you come to be on Mr. Dutton's ship?”

  He quickly averted his gaze. “As ye know, Miss, the Enmity were badly damaged, an’ I needed the work.”

  “And Mr. Dutton was kind enough to take you on, of course.” She hated the admiration rising within her for the man who seemed to go out of his way to help others.

  “And you, Miss Westcott?” Mr. Gage grabbed his glass and sat back in the chair, a teasing grin on his face. “What brings you on board our fair brig?”

  He knew very well what, or rather who, had brought her on board. Obviously he’d consumed too much wine. Either way, she should thank him for the reminder, for it instantly doused her rising esteem for Elias. “I was kidnapped, as you all know.”

  Not one of them expressed an ounce of shame or indignation. In fact, they all chuckled. Even Mr. Ballard, who’d earlier seemed sympathetic to her plight.

  Josiah helped himself to more sweet potatoes.

  Furious, Charity addressed the Negro. “Have you not transcribed that part of the Scriptures which say that stealing someone against their will is wrong?”

  Josiah shrugged. “If the captain kidnapped you, he did it for your good.”

  Mr. Gage loosened his cravat. “Before you were kidnapped by our illustrious captain”—he raised his glass toward Elias and smiled—“what brought you to the Caribbean, Miss Westcott?”

  “I’m on my way home to Charles Towne, Carolina.”

  “Ah, Charles Towne, I know it well. Charming little post.”

  “I’ve never been. I do hope it is somewhat civilized.”

  Mr. Gage offered no comment as he twirled a finger around the rim of his glass, seemingly mesmerized with the liquor within.

  “Far more civilized than Ki
ngston,” Elias said with a grin.

  Mr. Ballard lit a cheroot from a candle and took a puff. “But why travel alone, Miss Westcott? ’Tis not only dangerous but unseemly for a lady.”

  “My companion and I were separated.”

  Elias’ brows shot up. “Indeed? Run off by the man chasing you, no doubt?”

  She glared at him, noting the playful spark in his eyes. “No doubt. However—” she lifted a hand just as Gage seemed ready to ask another question. “I don’t wish to discuss it.”

  The men took the hint and went on to talk about ships, weather, crew members not doing their jobs, rigging that needed repairing and other topics which bored Charity. It gave her a chance, however, to enjoy her food and steal glances at Elias as he spoke with his men, authoritatively, confidently, yet with a camaraderie she’d not seen in a man of authority.

  Wine was passed and Charity poured a tiny bit more into her cup, while Elias refused it yet again. She huffed to herself. No doubt ’twas a sin for such a pious man to drink. Although that had never stopped her husband.

  Mr. Gage, however, helped himself to yet another glass. His fourth? She’d lost count.

  “Confound it all! ’Tis a shame there hasn't been any good wars of late,” Gage slurred as he slammed his glass on the table, startling Charity. “Most unfortunate to be sailing under one of the best privateers ever to grace these waters and have no way to use his skills.”

  “What do you need with a fortune, Gage?” Mr. Ballard chuckled. “To line other men’s pockets at gaming tables?”

  “You forget yourself, Ballard,” Gage stuttered out with an angry glare.

  The young lad tossed down his fork. “Mr. Gage don’t need no money anyway. His father is a wealthy man.”

  “Ah, yes.” Ballard puffed on his cheroot. “We all know your father procured your commission in the Royal Navy to sober you up and make a man of you.”

  “And what, pray tell, will aid you in that regard?” Gage retorted.

  Nelson chuckled, along with the lad.

  “Now, now, gentlemen,” Elias said. “There’s a lady present.”

  Nelson let out a belch and rubbed his belly. “Word is, Cap’n Dutton, ye won a fair amount of prizes when ye had papers to attack Spanish ships.”