Surrender the Sea

by Marylu Tyndall

  When he’d seen Garrick’s body crushed against hers—heard his lecherous grunts and lewd comments—all reason, all fear had abandoned Noah. The only thing that mattered was protecting her. He was not sorry. He would do it again. He would take whatever punishment their twisted sense of justice meted out to him.

  Even death.

  Except that would leave Marianne alone with no one to rescue her the next time. Noah grimaced until the muscles in his jaw ached. The hot wind pounded on him, yanking his tangled hair. Above him, the masts creaked under the strain of canvas glutted with the breath of the sea.

  Noah barely heard the captain call the inquiry to order or the master at arms read the charge. Assaulting an officer. Hushed murmurs of fear rose from the crew. They no doubt knew the fate that awaited him.

  “Silence!” the captain shouted. “This is but an inquiry into the charges, Mr. Brenin. If I deem you guilty, you will await a court martial when we reach port. Now, what do you have to say in your behalf?”

  Noah squinted up at him, the captain’s silhouette a dark shifting blotch against the brightness of the noon sun. “I did not strike Lieutenant Garrick, Captain. I merely protected the honor of a lady.”

  Garrick laughed. “I see no lady aboard.”

  The crew chuckled, drawing a fierce “Order!” from the captain who pounded his fist upon the railing.

  “Lieutenant Garrick, what is your side of it?”

  The slimy toad, who stood beside Milford, turned to his captain. “I was conversing with Miss Denton, your steward.”

  “I know she’s my steward, blast you!” The captain fumed, sending the lieutenant back a step.

  Garrick adjusted his coat and continued, “As I said, I was conversing with Miss Denton when Mr. Brenin charged me and knocked me to the deck. There was no cause for it that I could see other than his vicious Yankee temper.”

  The captain eyed Garrick with suspicion. No doubt, the man’s arrogant belligerence had not missed the captain’s notice. “No other cause, you say?”

  Garrick shifted his boots over the deck and took a pompous stance. “Isn’t it obvious, Captain? He’s jealous.”

  Lieutenant Reed, standing to the captain’s left, snorted.

  Noah snapped the hair from his face. “Not jealous, sir, but concerned for the lady.”

  Murmurs sped through the crowd, silenced by one look from Captain Milford.

  “Hmm.” The captain eyed Noah. “Regardless of the cause, you know, sir, I could have you court-martialed and hanged for striking an officer.”

  “Lieutenant Garrick is lying.” Marianne’s bold declaration drew all eyes to her.

  ♦♦♦

  Yet she could not allow such atrocious lies to go unchallenged. Nor could she allow Noah to die for her without at least trying to save him.

  His blue eyes met hers. The fear and admiration within them gave her the courage to continue.

  The captain’s jaw stiffened, and his dark brows drew together as if he couldn’t believe she had the audacity to speak in front of the entire crew. She knew that look. He was about to unleash his mad fury on her and order her below. She took a step toward him. “I beg you, Captain, hear me out. Lieutenant Garrick assaulted me and this man came to my rescue. He did not strike the lieutenant, but merely pulled him from me.” She gazed at Noah and smiled. “To save me, Captain.”

  Noah’s brow furrowed.

  “That is pure rubbish, Captain. I—” Garrick began, but with a lift of the captain’s hand, he was silenced.

  Marianne prayed that reason reigned in the captain’s mind this day instead of laudanum-induced hysteria.

  Captain Milford scanned the assembled crew. “Were there any other witnesses?”

  Midshipmen Jones took an unsteady step forward. He dragged his hat from his head, revealing the smooth face of a young man no older than eighteen. “When I came upon them, Captain.” His voice quavered. “I saw Lieutenant Garrick on the deck and this man”—he pointed toward Noah—“hovering over the lieutenant, his fists clenched as if he’d struck him.”

  Garrick smiled.

  “Thank you, Mr. Jones.” The captain nodded his approval. “Anyone else?”

  One crewman separated from the crowd. “That’s what I saw, Cap’n, except this one, Blackthorn, was holding Mr. Brenin back from striking the lieutenant again.”

  The ship pitched over a wave, and Marianne gripped the railing at the head of the ladder. Her chest tightened, but not due to fear of the sea this time. This time, all her fears focused on the future of one man.

  One very special man.

  The wind whipped the flaps of Captain Milford’s coat. “Very well. That will suffice.” He faced Marianne with a true look of regret. “The word of three men against yours, Miss Denton. It is admirable that you speak up for your fiancé, but I’m afraid your testimony is of no account.”

  Marianne’s head grew light. She pressed a hand over her chest to steady her heart. What could she say? What could she do to stop this madness? It was bad enough she’d gotten Noah impressed, but she could never live with herself if she got him killed. “They are lying, Captain, I beg you!” Her voice trembled.

  Her gaze locked upon Lieutenant Reed, his eyes downcast, red hands clasped tight behind his back. The muscles in his jaw bunched and relaxed as though engaged in battle. He had been there last night. Why didn’t he say something?

  “Lieutenant Reed?” she shouted. He turned guilt-ridden eyes to hers.

  “That is enough, Miss Denton!” The captain faced the crew. “Mr. Brenin, you will be confined below until we make port where a proper court martial can be held.” He gave Noah a shrug that fell short of a sympathetic gesture. “Based, however, on this evidence, it’s a surety they will condemn you to death.”

  ♦♦♦

  Death.

  Noah allowed the finality of the word to sink into his gut. If it was his time, he expected it to take an uncomfortable residence there, but instead it shot off the deck and bounced over the bulwarks in rebellion until a gnawing ache formed in his belly.

  Marianne gasped. He glanced at her. Terror screamed from her face and something else. Pity? Sorrow? He couldn’t tell from where he stood. Sweat streamed into his eyes and he shook it away.

  Lieutenant Reed turned to his captain. “Captain, if I may speak. I saw the entire altercation, sir.”

  The captain’s features stiffened. “Odds fish, man, why didn’t you say something before now?” he barked.

  “I had hoped not to speak on behalf of the Americans.” Reed nodded toward Marianne. “However, conscience dictates that the truth be known. It is as Miss Denton describes. Lieutenant Garrick attacked her, and Mr. Brenin came to her rescue. As far as I saw, he did not strike the lieutenant.”

  Noah’s breath returned to him. He saw Marianne grab a hold of the railing as if she might swoon.

  Lieutenant Garrick’s face puffed out like a sail at full wind. “What the devil are you saying, sir? The verdict has already been issued.”

  The captain studied Lieutenant Reed. His gray eyes flashed. “And what of Mr. Blackthorn restraining him?”

  “That is true.” Reed said. “The lieutenant called Miss Denton a foul name, and it appeared as though Mr. Brenin intended to strike him.”

  The ship swooped over a wave as if elevated by the truth. Noah steadied his bare feet on the hot deck, too afraid to hope for a different outcome—any outcome beside the one that placed him in a grave.

  “This is madness.” Garrick gave a nervous chortle.

  “Silence!” Captain Milford faced Noah. “Mr. Brenin. What say you? Was that your intent?”

  Noah raised his shackled hands to wipe the sweat from his brow. Clank. The iron had grown warm in the hot sun and burned his skin. Would the punishment be the same if his intent had been to strike an officer? Would he lose his grip on life once again? Yet he could not lie. “That was my intention, Captain.”

  The captain adjusted his coat and stared out to sea
, weighing Noah’s fate on the scales of his madness. The azure water crashed against the hull as if cheering him on.

  “Very well.” He faced Lieutenant Garrick. “You will restrain your lecherous passions aboard my ship, sir, or, regardless of your connections, it will be you at court martial next time. I will not tolerate such dishonorable conduct under my command.”

  The lieutenant’s face flushed, and his eyes narrowed.

  The captain looked down on Noah. “And you, Mr. Brenin. Strike or attempt to strike an officer again, and you’ll wish for death.” He waved a hand through the air. “Two dozen lashes.”

  Though preferable to swinging from a rope, the words lanced across Noah’s heart as if he’d already suffered the wrenching blows. Vivid images flashed across his mind—images of what one dozen strikes had done to the last man to suffer such a verdict.

  Marianne cried out, and he wondered in his clouded mind whether she shrieked out of horror for his punishment or whether she truly cared for him.

  The crew doffed their hats as Captain Milford opened the Articles of War and read the rules regarding Noah’s infraction. But he heard none of it.

  His mind was numb. Muted sounds of the crew tossing curses his way, of the hatch grating being lashed to the deck, the snap of sails, the thunder of the men’s footsteps as they assembled to witness his shame—everything blurred before him. His feet dragged over the deck as they led him to the grating. Splinters pierced his skin. The bosun tore off Noah’s shirt. The searing sun struck his bare skin as they removed his irons and bound his hands above his head.

  Noah’s last thought was of Marianne. He hoped she’d gone below. He hoped the captain would not punish her for speaking out on his behalf.

  The pounding of drums sounded.

  He closed his eyes.

  He heard the cat-o’-nine being pulled from the bosun’s mate’s bag.

  Crack

  Raw pain seared across his back, simmering deep into his flesh.

  Snap

  A thousand hot knives ripped his flesh.

  Thwack

  He dug his forehead into the iron grating and ground his teeth together.

  Blood dripped on the deck by his feet.

  Crack

  Sharp bits of the metal cut into his face. His head grew light.

  And darkness welcomed him.

  ♦♦♦

  Holding a lantern out before her and clutching a bundle to her chest, Marianne crept down the dark passageway. The sway of the ship knocked her against the bulkhead, but she quickly righted herself and continued. Tying the bundle to her belt, she gripped the railing and descended the narrow steps of one of the ship’s ladders. Long since faded, the laughter and shouting of the crew had been replaced with snores, grunts, and the ever-present creak of the ship—a sound Marianne had come to believe was nothing but an ominous warning that the hull was about to break apart.

  Ignoring that terrifying thought, she descended another level. Rats scattered before her sphere of light, the pitter-patter of their feet echoing through the ship. Swallowing, she shoved aside her fear of the crew, the rats, the sea, knowing she must attend to Noah. She halted at the bottom of the ladder and lifted her lantern. Darkness filled every crack and crevice. Remembering the directions Daniel had given her, she turned left.

  Hopefully toward the sickbay where Noah lay recovering.

  Apparently his wounds had been so devastating, the surgeon decided to keep him overnight instead of allowing him to return to his hammock.

  Rounding a corner, she entered an open space. Wooden bed frames, holding stuffed mattresses, hung from the deckhead and swayed with each movement of the ship. Glass covered cabinets containing bottles of all shapes and sizes stood against the far bulkhead. Medical instruments, including what looked to be a saw and a hatchet, hung from hooks on the opposite wall.

  Gathering her courage, she stepped forward. The light from her lantern landed on a man’s bare back, ripped and torn like a hunk of meat at the butcher’s shop. Noah. She gasped. Her stomach lurched.

  She dashed to the wooden table.

  His eyes popped open, and he whispered, “Hello, Miss Denton. I hope you’ll forgive me for not getting up.”

  Half-laughing, half-crying, she pulled up a chair beside him and sat down. Setting the lantern atop another table, she took his hand in hers. The metallic smell of blood filled her nose.

  His brows lifted then lowered when he saw her tears. “Not to worry, Marianne. The surgeon says I’ll be good as new in a few days.” Half his face was flattened against the table, making his words slur.

  “Noah, I’m so sorry.” Marianne could not hold back the tears. “What can I do to help you?” She gripped his arm and shook it in her fury.

  He winced. “You can stop doing that for one thing.”

  “Forgive me.” She released his hand. “I’ve made a mess of things.”

  “It wasn’t your fault that bedeviled rake attacked you.”

  “No, but it is my fault we are all on this ship in the first place.” And you stood up for me—protected me. Why? She longed to ask him, but the look in his blue eyes captivated her. Myriad emotions crossed over them: frustration, pain and one that sent her heart fluttering—regard.

  “Why are you here?” he asked.

  “Oh.” Marianne untied the bundle and opened it on her lap. “I have brought bandages and aloe for your wounds.”

  “Aloe?” He rose on his forearms, his face contorted in agony.

  “It’s from the captain’s plants. I stole a leaf. It’s for healing of the skin.” She tried not to stare at the firm muscles rounding in his arms.

  “Stole? Confound it, woman. He’s not a man to trifle with.”

  “I can handle him.”

  Noah released a heavy sigh. The harshness in his gaze faded. “You came down here to attend to my wounds?”

  Marianne smiled. “As I have said. Now lie back down and be still.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He chuckled then winced as he lowered himself to the wooden table.

  Marianne spread the milky gel over a strip of cloth and gently laid it across his back. She pressed lightly.

  He groaned.

  “My apologies.” Marianne studied his wounds, searching for the best place to apply the aloe next. The cat had done its work. Streaks of red, torn flesh crisscrossed Noah’s back as if he’d encountered a very angry bear with very large claws. She pressed a hand to her stomach at the sight as bile rose in her throat.

  “How does it look?”

  “Not bad.”

  “Liar.”

  She chuckled.

  “Did you watch?” he asked.

  “No.” Marianne shook her head. As soon as the flogging had begun, she’d slipped below. “I am a coward.” She spread aloe on another strip of cloth and laid it on his back.

  “You are anything but a coward.” He winced. “I am glad you didn’t witness it.”

  She finished laying aloe-covered cloths over the worst areas then plopped to the chair. Tears spilled from her eyes.

  He reached out a finger and lifted her chin. “Don’t cry, Marianne. It will be all right.”

  He used her Christian name. Twice now. The sound of it on his lips sang like a sweet melody in her ears. “You risked your life to protect me.” She swallowed. “Why?”

  “I couldn’t stand by and watch you get ravished, could I?”

  Was there no other reason? “Other men would have.”

  She brushed a strand of hair from his face. But not him. Not Noah. He’d proven himself to be an honorable man of integrity and courage, even, dare she say, kindness. Not at all like the little boy she remembered.

  The ship swayed, groaning and creaking. Lantern light flickered across his prominent chin, strong jaw and blue eyes—sharp despite the pain he must be feeling.

  “Oh, Noah, we are all trapped in this living hell. I fear for you and Mr. Heaton and Mr. Weller and young Daniel.”

  He wiped a tear from he
r cheek and allowed his thumb to linger there. “Never fear. We shall escape.”

  “But how?” She leaned in to his hand and found comfort in its warmth and strength. Memories of their kiss sent her pulse racing. Would she ever feel his lips on hers again? What was she doing? She jerked away from his touch. Fanciful, romantic hopes were not for women like her.

  “When we make anchor at Antigua,” he answered. “I will figure something out.”

  She couldn’t imagine what plan would succeed with so many officers always watching them, but she smiled nonetheless. Hope would make Noah recover sooner. Hope was what had kept her mother from giving up and dying.

  “Don’t worry, princess.” He reached up and caressed her cheek. “I will get you off this ship.”

  Princess. Yet the gentle tone in which he offered this spurious title in no way resembled the sarcasm of his youth. Marianne’s thoughts jumbled as he brushed the back of his hand over her skin. His masculine scent filled the air between them. And all she wanted was for that moment to never end. For if and when they escaped, she would lose him. Lose him to his merchant business, lose him to Priscilla.

  She looked down under his intense perusal. Blood stains spread across the deck, reminding her that life didn’t always end up well. Perhaps she should tell Noah the truth about her fortune. Perhaps she should get it over with before she’d lost so much of her heart, she would never reclaim it. “I must confess something.”

  “Yes?” He ran a thumb over her chin.

  “My mother and I have not been completely forthright regarding our engagement.”

  ♦♦♦

  Noah could not imagine to what Marianne was referring, nor did he care at the moment. All that concerned him was the look of complete admiration and care beaming from those rich brown eyes.

  When had the shrew transformed into an angel? Despite the pain lancing across his back, his heart filled with an affection for her he hadn’t thought possible. He could not seem to stop caressing her cheek. So soft. So moist with tears—tears for him.