♦♦♦
Pain drummed a steady beat in Marianne’s head. She willed it away and tried to slip back into the peaceful repose from which she came. But the agony would not abate. In fact, it worsened. A moan escaped her lips. She lifted her hand and dabbed her head. Her fingers touched something moist and sticky that stirred the pain anew.
A deep purring tickled her ears. She opened her eyes to nothing but thick darkness. Confusion scrambled her thoughts. Where was she? Then the creak of wood and oscillating of the floor sent a shock through her. She jolted upright.
Noah’s ship.
Her breath caught in her throat. Something furry leapt into her lap, and she screamed. When she tried to push it off, the creature began purring again. Taking a deep breath, Marianne picked it up and drew it to her chest. “Oh, little one. What happened? How long have we been down here?”
The cat’s only reply was further purring as it nestled in her arms. Marianne clung to it, fighting the ache in her head and the rising panic that she was out to sea. Fear scrambled through her like a wicked imp, pinching every nerve. Lord, I know I haven’t spoken to You in a while, but please don’t let me be out to sea. Please have mercy.
No answer came save the creaking and groaning of the wooden planks and the faint rustle of water against the hull—all of which made her plea dissipate into the stagnant, moldy air. She struggled to rise, still holding the cat. With one hand she felt her way through the maze of barrels toward the thin strip of light marking the bottom of the doorway. Opening the wooden slab, she made her way down the same hallway she had traversed earlier. Her head grew light, and she gripped the wall to steady herself.
Shouting and laughter sounded from above. She took the first ladder toward the clamor and the ever-brightening sunlight filtering downward. Squinting, she climbed the final stairs and emerged to a burst of wind and a spray of salty water. Above her, white sails snapped in the breeze. Sailors sat upon the yards, adjusting them with ropes. Other men stomped across the deck. Those who saw her stopped to stare. She gazed toward the horizon and trembled. All around the ship spanned an enormous gaping mouth full of salivating azure water.
♦♦♦
The sailors, whose normally boisterous voices could always be heard across the deck, grew unusually silent. Ignoring the unease that slithered down his spine, Noah lowered the spyglass and gazed amidships. His heart seized.
A woman in a cream-colored gown with pink trim stood in the center of the deck. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. Had his guilt over the ignoble way he had treated Miss Denton conjured up visions of the woman to taunt him?
“Captain.” Luke’s voice jarred him, and he opened his eyes to a look of grand amusement on his first mate’s face. “I believe you have a guest.”
Noah glanced toward the main deck again, praying his eyes had betrayed him. But no, there, in the middle, stood Miss Denton, frozen as if she were a statue.
Anger simmered in his belly as he stormed toward the quarterdeck ladder and leapt down onto the deck. “Miss Denton, what on earth are you. . . ?”
She faced him, a white cat in her arms, terror screaming from her eyes. A red streak crept down her forehead, seeping from a dark, mat- ted blotch in her hair. She said not a word but looked at him as if he were a ghost. She stumbled, and he dashed to her and grabbed her shoulders. “Miss Denton?”
She looked up at him with wide brown eyes. “I am at sea.” “Yes. I find that fact as astounding as you.”
“But I cannot be at sea.”
Upon closer inspection, the spot of matted hair was a bloody wound. Noah scanned the deck and found his boatswain. “Matthew, call your wife to your quarters, if you please, and have her bring her medical satchel.”
“Aye, sir.” Matthew disappeared down a hatch.
Marianne lifted a hand to her head. The cat leapt from her embrace. “Forgive me, Mr. Brenin, but I do not feel very well.” She fell against him, and he swept her up into his arms.
The sailors began to crowd around. “Who is she, Captain?” Mr.
Weller, Noah’s gunner asked.
“Put me down, this instant,” Miss Denton murmured. “How did she get on board?” another man asked.
“I have no idea.” Noah glanced up at his first mate. A smirk played upon his lips. “Mr. Heaton, you have the helm.”
“Yes, Captain.”
Leaving his curious crew behind, Noah carefully navigated the ladder and headed down the companionway toward Matthew’s quarters. He entered the cabin and laid Miss Denton on the new coverlet that Agnes had just spread on the bed. Matthew stood near the bulkhead, kneading his hat in his hand.
Miss Denton opened her eyes and moaned.
“Oh my, poor dear.” Agnes darted to her side. “Who is she?”
“My fiancée.” Noah took a step back. “She appears to have hit her head.”
“Don’t you worry, sir, I’ll attend to ’er right away.” Agnes’s cheeks reddened as she handed a pewter basin to her husband. “Fetch me some water, Mr. Hobbs.”
The short, bald man donned his hat and eyed his captain.
Noah nodded his agreement, and the boatswain scurried out the door faster than his stocky frame would seem to allow.
“Noah.” Miss Denton tried to lift herself from the bed but fell back onto the coverlet. “I must return home at once.”
“I’m afraid that will be impossible.”
“I assure you, it is quite possible.” Miss Denton’s breathing grew ragged. “Help me up, please.” She latched onto Agnes’s arm and pulled herself to a sitting position.
Noah huffed his annoyance. “You will lie back down this instant, Miss Denton, and allow Mrs. Hobbs to dress your wound. It is a long voyage and I’ll not have you growing ill on my ship.”
“Voyage?” Her brow wrinkled as if she could not fathom the meaning of the word. Her chest heaved. “I cannot possibly—”
“Inform me if she does not cooperate, Mrs. Hobbs,” Noah interrupted, “and I’ll have her strapped to the bed.” He used his stern captain’s voice in an effort to prevent any further defiance.
Agnes swung a look of reprimand his way, and Miss Denton’s face pinched. “You wouldn’t dare!”
Noah clenched his jaw. “It would be my pleasure.” Then turning, he stomped from the room and closed the door.
♦♦♦
The rotund woman with the cheery face of an angel dabbed a wet cloth on Marianne’s head. Wincing, Marianne gasped at the sting.
“My apologies, dear.” The woman smiled. “But ye’ve got quite a gash on your head and I need t’ clean it.”
Marianne pushed the woman’s hand away and struggled to rise. The white cat, perched at the foot of the bed, opened her sleepy eyes at the interruption. “Oh, there you are, little one. This is all your fault, you know.”
“Seafoam?” The woman chuckled and her chubby cheeks jiggled. “That cat always be gettin’ in some kind o’ trouble.”
Lifting a hand, Marianne rubbed her forehead. “I thank you for your kindness, Mrs. . . .”
“Hobbs, but ye can call me Agnes.” The woman dipped the cloth into a basin filled with water and wrung it out. “Whatever happened to ye, miss?”
Sinking back onto the lumpy mattress, Marianne closed her eyes against the throbbing as Agnes rubbed the cloth over her wound. “I was searching for No—the captain. I suppose I got lost. I heard a cat meowing and went into a room to investigate. The rest is a bit of a blur.”
“Seafoam.” Agnes wagged a finger at the cat. “See the trouble you cause.” Her laughter bubbled through the room, causing Marianne’s nerves to unwind. But only for an instant. For the rush of water against the hull reminded her of where she was.
She gazed curiously at the cheery lady before her. Why would any woman sail the seas of her own volition? “I don’t mean to intrude, but whatever are you doing aboard this ship?”
“Me husband is the ship’s boatswain. And not wantin’ t’ be without him, I signed on as
cook.” She wrung out the bloody cloth in the basin and set it aside. “But I also do laundry and any doctorin’ that needs attendin’ to.” She opened a black satchel and pulled out a bundle of white cloth. “Me, a surgeon.” She chuckled. “The Lord has a sense o’ humor, I’d say.”
The ship careened to the right, and Agnes gripped the bed frame. Marianne guessed her to be around her mother’s age, but any further resemblance stopped there. Where Marianne’s mother was petite, frail, and peaked, this woman’s pink skin, rotund figure, and sparkling green eyes radiated health.
The snap of sails thundered above, followed by the shouts of the crew. Agnes unrolled the white strip of cloth, sliced a portion off with a knife, and gently wrapped it around Marianne’s head.
“Being out at sea doesn’t frighten you?” Marianne asked as Agnes tied the bandage and sat back to examine her work.
Her face scrunched. “Afraid? Nay. I love the sea. Was born on a ship in the Caribbean.” She stuffed her wiry red hair streaked with gray back underneath her mobcap and took Marianne’s hand in hers. “Now don’t be afraid. Cap’n Brenin be a good cap’n. But you best be stayin’ put for a while. You don’t want t’ find yourself strapped t’ the bed.” She grinned, revealing two missing teeth on her bottom row.
“Surely he wasn’t serious.”
Agnes’s brow lifted along with her shoulders. “One thing I know ’bout the cap’n. He’s not a man given t’ jokin’.” She coiled the remaining bandage back into a ball and stuffed it in her satchel. “Truth be told, I don’t know what’s got into ’im. He’s usually a perfect gentleman. I ain’t never seen him behave so unmannerly towards a lady.”
“I have.” Marianne pushed aside the resurging memories of his cruelty as a child. “Perhaps he wears a mask of civility for the benefit of his friends.”
“Naw. Mr. Hobbs and I have sailed wit’ him for five years. He be a good man, you’ll see. An’ he’ll make a fine husband.” Her cheeks reddened.
Marianne had her doubts about that as well, but she thought better than to voice them. Obviously Noah had fooled this woman into believing he was something he was not.
Agnes patted Marianne’s hand. “Now get some rest. I’ll check on you later.” Then standing, she ambled from the room.
Rest? Marianne closed her eyes, trying to drown out the rustle of the sea against the hull and the sound of the wind thrumming in the sails. How could she rest when all that stood between her and a watery grave were a few planks of wood?
Seafoam rose, stretched her legs, and sauntered to lie beside Marianne. Turning on her side, Marianne caressed the cat’s soft fur. “I thought cats were afraid of water.”
Purring rose to Marianne’s ears as Seafoam nestled against her. “Well, if you can be brave, little one, then so can I.” Marianne winced at the throbbing in her head even as her eyelids grew heavy.
The room began to spin, and she slowly drifted into a chaotic slumber filled with nightmares.
Marianne and her mother and sister were without a boat in the middle of the ocean, thrashing their arms through the foamy waves to keep afloat. A small vessel approached. Marianne’s father and Noah sat within it, rowing toward some unknown destination. Pleading desperately for help, Marianne called out to them as they passed. But neither man looked her way. She continued to scream and splash to get their attention. But both men kept their faces forward and their hands to the oars. Soon, they slipped away and faded into the horizon, leaving Marianne and her family to drown.
♦♦♦
Noah picked up the lantern and set it beside the chart spread across his desk. Using his divider, protractor, gunner’s scale, and Mr. Grainger’s best weather prediction, Noah had plotted their fastest route to South Hampton. With clear skies and God’s good favor, they’d make port in four weeks. After they reached South Hampton and off-loaded their cargo, Noah had arranged to transport silks and fine china to Nevis in the Caribbean, where he expected the wealthy colonists would pay handsomely for the extravagances lacking in the new world. Then at Nevis, he would fill his hold with coffee and sugar to sell in Baltimore. All in all, he hoped to make a year’s wages with this one voyage.
Perhaps then his father would see him as a more-than-qualified merchantman. Perhaps then, that gleam of approval Noah longed to see would appear in his father’s eyes. Dare he even hope for an added spark of forgiveness? Reaching into his waistcoat pocket, Noah with- drew a handkerchief—his brother’s handkerchief. He unfolded it and laid it across the palm of his hand giving it the reverence of a holy object. To him, it was holy. He traced the deep maroon stains that marred its center and then fingered the lace at the edges. His eyes grew moist. “I’m sorry, Jacob.” He stared at it for a moment then gently folded it into a tiny square and slipped it back inside his waistcoat.
Clearing his throat, he forced back all emotion then laid down the scale and walked to a cabinet built into the bulkhead. Opening the door, he grabbed a bottle of port and poured himself a glass, then wove around his desk and gazed out the stern window. A half moon lingered over the horizon. The ebony sea seemed to be reaching up toward it, trying to grab hold of some of its crystalline light for itself.
Noah released a sigh. Everything was going well, everything save one tiny detail.
Rap rap rap.
“Enter.” Noah expected Luke with the watch report, but instead of the thud of heavy boots, the swish of silk sounded. He spun around.
“Thank you, Mr. Boone.” Miss Denton nodded toward the purser as the sailor’s eyes met Noah’s uncomfortably before he scrambled down the corridor.
“Such a narrow hallway.” She gestured behind her. “How do you endure such cramped quarters?”
“The hallway is called a companionway, Miss Denton.”
She nodded and swept the cabin with her gaze. “So this is where your chamber is located.” She approached Noah’s desk, leaving the door ajar.
“My cabin, yes.”
“Ah yes, I knew that.” A dark red stain marred the white bandage swaddling her head, marking the position of her wound. Brown curls dangled on top of the cloth and crawled from beneath it as if they refused to be restrained. The ship bucked. Her eyes widened as she flung out her arms to keep her balance. Curves rounded the folds of her silk gown that glistened in the candlelight.
Shaking off a sudden wave of heat, Noah averted his gaze. “I believe I told you to rest.” He circled his desk, fighting back his annoyance at her presence, and poured himself a glass of port.
“I did.” She glanced across his cabin again, only this time her eyes seemed to soak in every detail before they returned to him. “All day, as a matter of fact, Mr. Brenin.”
“I am called Captain aboard my ship, Miss Denton.”
“Very well, I will call you whatever you want as long as you return me to Baltimore as soon as possible.” The lift of her chin and smug look on her face brought him back fifteen years to a time when she was naught but a spoiled girl flaunting her wealth before a poor merchant’s son.
“You are in no position to order me about any longer, Miss Denton. . .or should I say princess?” Noah grinned and sipped his port. The sweet wine slid down his throat, warming him.
Her eyes narrowed for an instant, but then she waved her hand through the air. “You may call me princess if you wish, waif.”
The word struck him with the same shameful twinge it had when he was a boy.
Her golden-brown eyes snapped his way. “You did naught but tease me as a child.”
“And you did naught but belittle me.” Noah leaned back on the top of his desk and crossed his boots at the angle.
She bit her lip and began twisting a ring on her right hand.
The look of fear on her face softened the bitter memories of their youth, and Noah released a sigh. “Perhaps we should set aside our childish ways.”
“Would that you had decided to do so before you abandoned me in Baltimore.” Her sharp tone stabbed him.
“I had no choice
. Business before pleasure, you know.”
“Pleasure, humph.” Marianne leveled a stern gaze upon him. “You looked as if you’d prefer the town stockade to attending your own engagement party.”
Noah finished his port and set the glass down. How could he deny it?
A shadow passed over her face, and she looked away. Noah groaned inwardly. He did not wish to hurt her. In fact, it took all his strength to stop from explaining his boorish behavior. Yet perhaps his reasons would hurt her even more. No, the idea to break off the engagement must be hers and hers alone—to spare her reputation, and perhaps her heart.
But what to do with her now? The thought of being forced to endure her company for months made his stomach curdle. Yet perhaps he could use this time to his advantage. Noah ran a hand over the back of his neck and watched her as she struggled to maintain eye con- tact with him, despite the trembling in her bottom lip. Yes, he would have plenty of time to convince her that he was the obnoxious cad she believed him to be and that life with him would be unbearable.
“Your silence confirms my suspicions.” She pressed a hand over her throat and sank into one of his high-backed chairs. “Let us be honest with each other, Noah.” She sighed. “You have no intention of marrying me, do you?”
♦♦♦
Marianne awaited his answer, but instead he smiled. “You always were rather forthright, Miss Denton.”
“While you were never so.” She glanced across the cabin again, a much larger room than she would have expected. Yet everything within it—from the three high-backed Chippendale chairs circling a mahogany desk, to the oversized chest with a heavy iron lock, to the fitted racks that held volumes of books and brass trinkets, and finally to the two swords, a pistol, an hourglass, a map, and various instruments that lined his desk—everything was masculine, and well ordered, just like its master.
Her stomach knotted. He had not answered her question. Yet, how could she force this man to marry her when the very thought of it made her own skin crawl?
Surrender the Sea Page 4