Charity's Cross

by Marylu Tyndall

  The first mate fired orders to the crew as Elias turned to Ballard. “Keep our bow toward the swells.”

  “Yes, Captain. What of the storm?” Ballard tightened his grip on the wheel.

  “Veer south southeast. Two points before the starboard beam. We’ll sail around her. Besides, ’tis not a large one from the looks of it.”

  The brig turned to starboard, sending sails flapping, and deck canting, and Elias’ gaze landed on Charity once again—hair blowing in the wind, hands gripping the railing, and eyes remaining on the merchantman.

  Odd. Yet when he raised his scope again, the ship veered on the same tack as the Restoration.

  Whoever it was, they were following them.

  ♥♥♥

  The slam of the front door reverberated through the house, the hollow stomp of shoes up the stairway, the drunken bellowing, the curses aimed at an inept staff and equally inept wife. Charity’s lungs turned to ice. Her heart rammed against her ribs, seeking escape. He was home. And he was drunk.

  She sprang to sit in her bed. Furniture formed ominous shadows in the darkness, lit by a milky shaft of moonlight slinking through the windows.

  Tossing off her coverlet, she froze, unsure what to do. Would he come in or would he merely go to his own chamber? Should she hide? Terror numbed her. Her legs wouldn’t move. She listened for the creak of the floor outside her door and waited…waited … trying to still breathing that was so loud, she feared it would give her away.

  The floor in the hallway creaked. Pass by. Please pass by! She closed her eyes to pray, pray for mercy, pray for help! God, please!

  The door swung open. Lord Villemont stumbled in, the very vision of the devil himself, spewing curses on fiery noxious breath and tearing off his coat and vest as he went. “Come here, wife. Perform your duties.”

  Charity laid back on the bed and closed her eyes. God hadn’t answered her prayer. He never answered her prayer. She was all alone.

  The maid was in the garden, hanging out the clothes…

  Harsh hands gripped her shoulders. Brandy-saturated breath drowned her. When down came a blackbird that pecked off her nose…sing a song of sixpence… Slowly, as Villemont grunted like a wild pig above her, she drifted off to a place where normally there was naught but sunshine and bubbling creeks and flower-filled fields—her special hideaway of happy endings.

  But this time there was only darkness and fog. Icy fog. It pierced her nightgown and snaked around her body until she shivered uncontrollably. She hugged herself, touching moisture, drawing her gaze down. Blood stained the bottom half of her nightgown and dripped onto the cold ground. So much blood. No! Help! Someone, help! She dashed forward through the mist, shoving it aside as she went. It only grew thicker and colder, surrounding her like a death shroud.

  She was in hell. That must be it. She darted forward. Her bare foot struck a rock, and she stumbled and fell to the hard dirt. Pain sped through her toes and ankle. Fog parted, the ground shook, and a large oval stone rose from the dirt. Words formed on it. Beloved Cassia. Clutching her stomach, Charity bent over and wept. No! No! No! Other tombstones rose around her. A mound of fresh dirt formed before one of them. Words written by an invisible hand scrolled across the hard stone.

  Lord Herbert Villemont

  Man of God. Man of honor.

  Born Sixteen-hundred eighty-five

  Laid to rest in the Year of our Lord, Seventeen-hundred eighteen

  Murdered by his vicious wife.

  “It was an accident! It was an accident!”

  The dirt shifted, lifted and rose as if pushed from beneath. Charles Villemont’s face formed in the dirt. His mouth opened. “I’ll find you and hang you!”

  Charity leapt from the cot and landed on the floor with a thud. The floor—the deck of a ship. The creak and whine and gush of water confirming it. She remained there, palms on the stained wood, taking deep breaths to calm her thrashing heart. Just a dream. They were coming more frequent now, more terrifying. Would they eventually drive her completely mad and she’d be imprisoned in one of those gruesome asylums?

  Struggling to rise, Charity lit a lantern with a trembling hand. Nay. She would not allow Lord Villemont to have the last word, to finish the torture he started. She’d rather die.

  Panic forced her gaze down to her chemise. No blood. Pressing a hand on her rounded belly, she breathed a heavy sigh. “You are safe, precious one.” A tear slid down her cheek. Wiping it away, she glanced out the porthole. Still dark. Hugging herself, she leaned against the bulkhead, unable to stop her body from shaking. She needed air. She needed to get out of this tiny cabin where memories seemed free to torment her.

  Quickly dressing, she made her way above to stand at the railing. One sailor manned the wheel, while two others stood watch. None of them paid her any mind. Good. Gusts of salty wind blasted over her as the ship rose and plunged over inky swell after inky swell—unusually large swells which forced her to keep a tight grip on the rail and her shoes firm on the deck. A quarter moon frowned down at her, casting diamonds upon the black sea…out of her reach…always out of her reach, taunting her with light and happiness that would never be hers.

  Was Charles still following them? Darkness denied her the answer. Mayhap ’twas seeing his ship that had caused her nightmare. She’d recognized those unique orange sails from the tour he’d given her and Lord Villemont of the vessel just after their wedding. Charles was always investing in one thing or another, and the merchantman had been one of his new enterprises.

  But if it really was him and Elias was in his employ, why hadn’t he hailed him? Why hadn’t he brought the Restoration to a halt and allowed Charles to board? It made no sense. Mayhap she’d been wrong. But what other motive could he have for his kindness?

  A curse drifted down from above, and she peered up into the few sails that were unfurled in the heavy winds. Wait. Someone was up there. She spotted the outline of a man moving among the shadows. A cloud parted and a blink of moonlight shone on the main topmast. Nelson. At least it looked like Nelson. But what was he doing in the yards by himself at night? The fore-watchman must have heard him too, for he glanced aloft, but a cloud stole the light and Nelson was gone.

  Returning her gaze to the sea, Charity braced herself as another blast of wind tossed her unbound hair behind her.

  “Good evening, Miss Westcott.” The voice was soft, so as not to startle, but with the characteristic depth and strength of Elias.

  Vapors, but she wasn’t quite ready to face him yet.

  His hand appeared on the railing beside hers. Twice the size of hers and all blistered and rough.

  “What brings you above at such an hour?” he asked.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  “Another nightmare?”

  A spear of moonlight revealed the cut of his strong jaw and his lips…those lips…

  She looked away.

  He leaned on the railing and smiled. “You had them when we were married.”

  She laughed. It felt good. “Don’t allow the crew to hear you, or ’twill seal the ruin of my already dubious reputation.”

  “Yet if we were married, there’d be no need for worry.”

  Shock buzzed through her. Was he asking for her hand? “Yet, we are not married, Sir.” She snapped her gaze to his, but it landed on his lips again. Vapors!

  He must have noticed, for he grew serious and glanced out to sea. “Please forgive me for taking advantage of you the other night. If you’ll allow a personal admission, I have a weakness for beautiful women.”

  She huffed. “The curse of most men, I would think.”

  “Indeed, but my weakness came at a great cost to me and my family.”

  “This illusive past of yours, Captain? I cannot imagine it.”

  “That pleases me, for I am a new man now. Thank God, He is in the business of not only forgiveness but restoration.”

  Ah, of course…the name of his ship.

  Charity frowned. Perhaps God re
stored others. Just not her. “Yet this new man kissed me without an understanding.” She teased.

  “I didn’t say I was perfect.” His grin lowered. “You are a chaste lady under my protection, and I took advantage of you.”

  Chaste? She held back laughter even as she wondered at his sincerity. Yet naught but honesty shone from his expression as he stared out to sea, the wind whipping his hair behind him, his shoulders stiff, jaw tight as if he bore the burdens of the world. The man baffled her. Was he friend or foe?

  “Something concerns you, Captain?”

  “Yes, my sister’s welfare.”

  The ship bucked, and she gripped the railing tighter. “That trouble you spoke of with the family business.”

  “’Tis much more than that. But we shall be there soon.”

  She wanted to ask more, but he kept staring into the darkness. “Do you seek the ship that followed us today?”

  He looked at her curiously. “Nay. However, you seemed overly interested in it earlier. Does it concern you?”

  Perhaps ’twas the strong wind singing through the rigging, the concert of rushing water and creaking wood, that created an enchanted atmosphere that made her want to tell him, to confide in this man who seemed to have the answers for everything.

  “I fear ’tis my fiancé’s brother.” She gauged his response, waiting for guilt to line his face.

  But, instead, he seemed shocked. “Bah! The man would travel so far, at such danger and cost? What does he hope to accomplish? He can’t drag you back to England against your will. He can’t force you to marry his brother. It makes no sense.”

  “You don’t know him. His family is powerful. They are worth a fortune and bear a title as well. And a mere admiral’s daughter has brought irreparable shame to their name. So, yes, he can very well kidnap me and bring me home. Kidnapping me was quite easy for you, was it not?”

  He frowned. “I was trying to protect you.”

  “As he is trying to protect his family.”

  The ship galloped over a wave. He pressed a hand to her back to steady her as a salty mist showered over them. “Be that as it may, it seems a bit extreme. What does he plan to do with you back in England?”

  She thought to move from beneath his touch, but the strength and comfort radiating over her back kept her in place. “No doubt convince me of my error. Purchase my devotion with trinkets and baubles.”

  “And can your devotion be bought?”

  At one time, long ago, her answer would have been yes. Now, she was not so foolish. “Nay. I care not for such things.”

  This seemed to please him immensely. “What a brave lady you are, Miss Westcott. Yet one thing still confuses me. Why did you not run to the protection of your ward? Or your family before they left?”

  Charity bit her lip, chastising herself for opening the door to this conversation. “Things grew worse after my family left.” That much was true. “And my ward, my Aunt Bernice, being in her dotage and possessing little wealth and no placement in society, couldn’t protect me against such a well-positioned family and their threats.” It would have been true, if she had an Aunt Bernice.

  “Threats?” Elias rubbed the back of his neck. “Over a broken engagement? I’ve never heard of such a perverted obsession.”

  Charity groaned inwardly. What to do…what to do…to get herself out of this tangled web of lies? She raised her chin. “Engagements, as you know, Sir, are taken quite seriously, almost as binding as a marriage itself.”

  “Indeed. But people do break them on occasion. ’Tis not worthy of being hunted like a criminal.”

  “As I said, you don’t know my fiancé’s family.” The ship rose over a wave, and Charity took the opportunity to release the railing and stumble backward in hopes of diverting the conversation.

  Elias caught her in his arms. “I’m sorry this happened to you, Miss Westcott.”

  She knew from his tone he meant it. His eyes met hers as he gently placed her hands back on the railing, covering them with his own. And she found she couldn’t look away from the care burning within them. Wind tossed hair into his face, and he snapped it away. “Until I deliver you safely to your father, I hope you’ll consider me your protector.”

  Overcome with an emotion she’d rather not name, she faced the sea. “’Tis hardly proper, Captain. I’m already risking enough of my reputation. Besides—”

  “I know, I know, you don’t want my protection. Another thing I lo—admire about you. Your independence.”

  Charity could have sworn he’d almost said loved. But that couldn’t be. Nor did she want it to be. No! No! No! Charity, don’t be stupid. Don’t fall for another man’s lies.

  No matter how handsome and kind and honorable he seemed. No matter that he made her feel safe—something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  But it was all a delusion.

  Her plan to be friendly with Elias appeared to be backfiring, allowing traitorous feelings to form that were anything but good for her safety. And her sanity.

  Wind struck them, swishing past her ears so loud, she couldn’t hear anything. The ship leapt in the air, then dropped, and Elias gripped her elbow and leaned toward her.

  “Never fear, Miss Westcott. ’Tis but a small storm. On our present course, it will pass us by.”

  But it didn’t pass them by. Nor was it small. More than once during the night, Charity was nearly tossed from her cot as wind and wave pounded against the hull and thunder shook the ship.

  At dawn, a crewman tossed her ropes and ordered her to tie herself to her cot. But, instead, she went above, wanting to determine the extent of the storm for herself and hoping beyond hope they’d lost Charles among the waves.

  But upon seeing the massive foam-crested swells curling above the ship, the black cauldron of swirling clouds, and white-hot forks of lightning scouring the sky, she realized she might lose more than Charles.

  She might lose her life.

  Chapter 16

  Elias’ mind and heart were still reeling from his pleasant conversation with Charity when Josiah nudged him from his semi-sleep haze. “Cap’n, the storm worsen, and we can’t raise storm and stunsails. You’re needed above.”

  That’s when Elias noticed it wasn’t just his mind that was reeling, but the entire brig as well. “Confound it all!” He sprang from his bed. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Water dripped from Josiah’s floppy hat as he shoved it on his head and darted off.

  Elias all but leapt into his breeches, flung a shirt over his head, and donned his oil-slicked coat. Grabbing a rope from his trunk, he lifted a quick prayer for safety, then marched down the companionway, halting at Miss Westcott’s cabin with the intent of ordering her to tie herself to her cot. But when he swung open the door, she was gone.

  Of course.

  He found the brave woman above decks, gripping the capstan, with Josiah hovering over her.

  Wind punched Elias. He stumbled to the side as the brig yawed to port. Rain flung pellets at him from dark skies, stinging his skin. Bracing on the slanted deck, he charged toward Charity.

  “Get below, Miss Westcott. That’s an order!”

  Josiah wiped water from his eyes. “I been tellin’ her the same thing, but she won’t move.”

  Clinging to the capstan, her knuckles white, strands of saturated hair flailing about her face, she gazed up at him with terror-streaked eyes. He desperately wanted to take her in his arms, reassure her all would be well. But he hadn’t time for her defiance.

  “Hank, Ross!” He shouted to two passing sailors. “Take the woman below and tie her to her cot!” Then spinning on his heels, Elias made for the quarterdeck, Josiah on his heels, thankful the wind drowned out the woman’s protests.

  Thunder exploded, shaking the brig, and Elias glanced aloft. “Report!” he shouted at Josiah over the din of the storm. “Wait. Why are the topgallants still up and the yards and masts on the fore? By all that is holy, what have you been doing?” He retreat
ed across the main deck toward Nelson, who stared up at the sails as if he were seeing a ghost.

  “Nelson, haul in foretopsails, lower topgallant yards, strike the mast! Up stunsail! Now!”

  Josiah appeared beside him. “Somethin’s wrong wit’ the foretop rigging, Cap’n. We lost control of the foresails and yards.”

  “Wrong? What the devil do you mean, wrong?”

  A wave crashed over them, nearly sweeping Elias off his feet. Water cascaded off Nelson’s hat and coat, but he remained staring aloft. For the love of … Elias followed his gaze to men precariously balancing on yards and in shrouds.

  “Gedding is up there inspectin’ it now,” Josiah shouted over the wind.

  Thunder roared again, and the brig pitched to starboard, thrusting the port railing toward the sky. All three men lost their footing in a mad rush of seawater, tumbling uncontrollably over the deck. Elias dragged his hands over the sodden wood, seeking anything to grab onto. Seawater flooded his mouth. Lightning flickered gray over the morbid scene. And just when he thought he’d be swept out to sea, the brig leveled. Reaching up, he grabbed the railing and hauled himself to stand, breath heaving, and water dripping from his clothes. A quick account of the deck revealed Josiah and Nelson were still on board.

  Despite nearly being tossed into the raging sea, the storm wasn’t the worst he’d encountered. Far from it. If he could raise and lower the appropriate sails, the Restoration would be able to lie to and survive the storm without being sent too far off course. But without control over the foresails, the brig could broach and capsize.

  “Nelson!” He shouted for the bosun, and this time the rain-soaked man looked his way. “Lower main topgallant and topsail.”

  “Mr. Ballard,” he shouted up to the helm. “Hold her four points to the wind!”