“Aye, miss.” Mr. Weller approached, a frown etched across his forehead. “No need to worry. I wouldn’t let nothing happen t’ you.” He fingered the scar on his neck then tugged his scarf up over it.
The sea licked its greedy tongue against the creaking hull of the ship. Marianne’s head grew light. Drawing Daniel close, she stepped back into the shadows and leaned against the mizzen mast for support.
Mr. Weller’s gaze skittered nervously over the deck. “We must go.”
Blackthorn left his post, crept to the railing, and began tying his rope to the gunwale. Weller and Luke joined him.
Noah’s eyes reached out to her like a lifeline. “Trust me.” He extended his hand.
Marianne swallowed. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to be able to trust someone again. She wanted to get off this ship. But her will was having difficulty forcing her body to comply. She nodded and lifted her hand to take Noah’s outstretched one. . .
. . .when a sinister voice blared over them, tinged with sarcasm. “What have we here?”
Clutching Daniel, Marianne slipped into the shadows toward the stern.
Noah froze, his shoulders slumped. Beyond him, Lieutenant Garrick stood hands on his hips and bestial smirk on his thin lips.
Marianne covered her mouth to suppress a scream. No, Lord. Not this. She pushed Daniel behind her and stepped farther back into the darkness where they would not be seen.
Blackthorn, Weller, and Luke faced their enemy, their faces pale.
Noah slowly turned around. He dropped the raft to the deck with a clunk.
“I’ll have you all court-martialed and put to death for this.” Lieutenant Garrick’s chuckle bubbled over the deck, so at odds with his grim statement. “Were you all to fit on that?” He picked up the raft and examined it. Then setting it on the deck, he stomped it with his boot, breaking it in half.
The crunch and snap of the wood skewered any hope left within Marianne.
“Odious cur,” Weller mumbled.
“What did you say?” Garrick peered around Noah toward the three men at the railing.
“He said you are an odious cur, sir.” Luke grinned, not an ounce of fear on his face.
Garrick’s eyes narrowed, and he started toward Luke. Noah stepped in the way and pushed the man back.
The insolence fled the lieutenant’s face, replaced by fear. “Guards!” His smirk returned but fell when no footsteps answered his call.
Luke barreled forward. As did Blackthorn and Weller.
Garrick drew his sword and leveled it at Noah’s chest. “Not another step or I’ll run him through. Guards!”
A red spot blossomed on Noah’s shirt beneath the point.
Marianne’s stomach collapsed. Daniel gripped her hand from behind. His whispered prayers rose on the wind.
Luke and Blackthorn charged Garrick. Noah ducked and rammed his body into the Lieutenant’s torso. Marianne stopped breathing. Garrick toppled to the deck with a thump. His sword flew into the air, struck the binnacle and toppled to the waist of the ship with a clank. His bicorn landed beside him.
Before the man could recover, Noah, his face a mass of rage, lifted Garrick up by the lapels of his dark coat and slugged him across the jaw.
Garrick stumbled backward, terror screaming from his pointy face. “Guards!”
This time, grumbling sounded from the foredeck. The dark mass of the watchman struggled to his feet and peered in their direction.
“Time to go.” Luke urged.
“It’s certain death now if we don’t.” Blackthorn peered into the darkness. “Come along, son.” Slipping from behind Marianne, Daniel darted toward his father and the two of them started over the railing.
Noah released Garrick and shoved him aside.
“You’ll never get away.” Garrick straightened his coat, his voice quavering. “I’ll have the marines after you in moments.”
“Only if you’re able to tell them where we are.” Noah slammed his fist across the lieutenant’s jaw once again. Garrick’s head snapped backward, and he fell to the deck in a heap.
Noah turned to Marianne. “Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her to the railing. Luke dove into the water. Blackthorn and Daniel clambered down the rope to the black sea below. Weller straddled the bulwarks and gave Marianne one last look of concern before he held his nose and dropped over the side. Splash.
The watchman tumbled down the foredeck ladder and made his way across the main deck.
Noah swung over the gunwale then reached back for Marianne. “Hold on to me. I’ll help you down,”
Terror clamped her every muscle, nerve and fiber. “I can’t Noah. There is no raft.”
“I’m a strong swimmer. You can hang onto my back.” His eyes, brimming with concern, pleaded with her. He nodded as if to reinforce his statement. As if that would somehow dissipate all her fears.
She wished with all her heart that it would.
The watchman’s heavy steps sounded on the quarterdeck ladder.
“I can’t.” She stepped back, knowing all too well the hopeless life she chose. But better to be alive and a prisoner than dead at the bottom of the sea. “Go without me.”
Noah’s jaw tightened. “No. Come.” He held out his hand. “Please trust me, Marianne.”
She couldn’t. She couldn’t trust him. Not him, not anyone, not even God. “The captain’s orders are to rendezvous with the HMS Guerriére in the north and find and destroy the USS Constitution.”
“Why are you telling me this now?” Noah huffed. “Come!” He held out his hand.
“It’s too late. The marine will see us.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Go. I’ll divert his attention.”
“Who goes there?” the watchman’s slurred voice shot over them.
Tears burned in her eyes. She stepped back again. “I’m sorry, Noah.”
The watchman’s boots thumped upon the quarterdeck. “What’s this about?”
Pain, desperation screamed from Noah’s eyes. “I’ll come back for you.” He glanced at the guard then below at the water, then back at her. “Do you hear me? I will come back for you.”
But Marianne dared not hope. Promises made were promises broken. She longed to run into his arms, if only to feel his strength surround her one last time. A tear slipped down her cheek.
Then he disappeared over the side.
A splash bellowed hollow and empty.
Swiping her moist cheeks, Marianne turned to face the marine.
“Oh, it’s you, Miss Denton. I thought I heard voices.” He lowered his musket and swayed on his feet.
“My apologies, Mr. Jameson. I couldn’t sleep.” Marianne hoped he didn’t hear the quaver in her voice nor see Lieutenant Garrick’s unconscious form lying in the shadows by the railing.
“Very well.” He swung about and stumbled on his way.
Releasing a sigh of relief, Marianne turned and loosened the rope from the bulwarks. The thick hemp dropped to the bay with a hollow swish. She gripped the railing and peered into the thick darkness. Not a trace of the five men, not a shimmer, splash or flicker marked their passage.
Her legs crumpled like loose ropes and she fell to the deck. They had left her.
Noah had left her.
Chapter 22
Noah dragged his drenched body onto shore and dropped onto the sand. His heart felt as heavy and saturated as his clothes—as empty as his lungs as he gulped to fill them.
He could not shake the look on Marianne’s face right before he dropped into the sea—the look of pure terror and desperation. And it had taken every ounce of his strength to leave her.
But he had no choice.
Or did he? During the long, arduous swim ashore, he’d had plenty of time to replay every painful detail in his mind. Should he have grabbed her and forced her to go? But how could he swim with a hysterical woman clawing at him? Both of them would have drowned. Then there was the problem of the approaching watchman. Marianne had been right. They
wouldn’t have made it very far if he had seen them and alerted the ship. He wondered what had become of Garrick. Had he awoken? He assumed not.
Noah could still hear Marianne’s soft voice as she mollified the watchman’s suspicions. Protecting them. So they could get away.
While they left her behind.
His gut churned. Waves washed over his legs, trying to drag him back into the sea. Which was what he deserved or worse.
Weller crawled up beside him. Followed by Luke and Blackthorn with Daniel clinging to his back. Their heavy breaths sounded like a flock of birds frightened into flight.
Digging his hands into the sand, Noah lifted himself to his knees. No time to rest. They had chosen a spot far away from the lights of town, but that didn’t mean they were safe. “Follow me,” he whispered, struggling to his feet.
Trudging through the sand, he made out a clump of shadowy vegetation in the darkness. His gut roiled. If he had stayed with Marianne, he would have been court-martialed and hanged. What good would he be to her dead? Noah was sure Lieutenant Garrick had not seen her in the shadows. Therefore, she could not be implicated in their escape. She would survive.
She must survive.
Self-loathing rose like bile in his throat. What sort of man left the woman he loved in such a dangerous place? Woman he loved. The truth struck him like the sharp wind that now blasted over him.
Shivering, he batted away the leaves of a nearby tree and plunged into the jungle. The smell of earth and life saturated his nose. If they could make their way to a less inhabited side of the island, stay hidden, and avoid British authorities, Noah hoped to be able to spot the Fortune. He had a feeling Matthew would be searching for them. He knew because that was exactly what Noah would do.
The twigs and leaves of the forest crunched beneath his bare feet, biting into his skin. Noah fisted his hands and tromped through the underbrush, one thought, one purpose driving him forward. Once he got off this island, he would rescue Marianne from that British frigate. Even if he died trying.
♦♦♦
Marianne stared at the deckhead above her bed. Since dawn had broken and dared to force its light upon the callous darkness of her cabin, she had occupied her time counting every divot and scratch in the fine oak. What else could she do? Her body, numb from shock and agony, refused to move from the supine position it had assumed upon her mattress after she’d spilled every last tear onto the coverlet. Nor did she want to move. If she were forced to get up and greet the day, she’d be forced to accept that she was all alone, without a friend, without any help, without hope aboard an enemy frigate. And that reality would surely crush her beneath its massive weight.
“Miss Denton!” the captain’s growl blared down the passageway and screeched beneath her door. Either he wanted his breakfast or he’d discovered her friends’ escape. She supposed she should be frightened that he’d also discovered she’d given rum to the guards, but she could find no fear within the numbness that consumed her. Unless she’d be punished for the offense or hanged, the day loomed before her with endless scrubbing, buffing, polishing, rinsing, and cleaning. Not to mention listening for hours to the captain’s rumblings and bracing herself to endure his rapid shifts from madness to complacency.
As far as Marianne could see, an endless, pointless future extended out before her like a dark tunnel that sped to hell but never quite arrived.
Closing her eyes against the pounding in her head, she struggled to sit. Daniel had told her God had a great purpose for everyone. If this was hers, she wondered if she could politely decline.
“Miss Denton!”
Rising, she ran her fingers through her hair—still damp from the thousand tears she’d shed—and tried to pin it up. Then attempting to press the wrinkles from her skirts, she took a deep breath and gathered the resolve she needed to face her bleak future. God had a destiny for her all right. It just wasn’t a very pleasant or important one.
Opening her door, she headed toward the captain’s cabin. Nodding at the marine guard, she stepped into the Lion’s den.
Where vile curses curled her ears.
“Where have you been, Miss Denton?” Slouching in one of his chairs, the captain lifted a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose. “Lieutenant Garrick has disturbed my sleep with some rather unsettling news.”
Marianne felt the blood race from her heart. She stepped forward and followed the captain’s gaze to see Lieutenant Garrick standing behind the open door.
Instead of the usual smirk on his mouth, a red gash slashed across his swollen bottom lip while a dark purple blotch marred his left jaw and spread upward to cover his bloated cheek.
Marianne suppressed a smile. “What news, Captain?”
Garrick shifted his weight, his eyes fuming. “Do you see that? She smiles.”
“Perhaps she finds amusement in your clownish appearance.” Captain Milford released a long sigh and rubbed his temples. No doubt he suffered from his overindulgence in drink last night. “How ridiculous you appear, sir. A lieutenant in his Majesty’s navy allowing himself to be assaulted by ignorant Americans—and on board a war ship. Absurd!”
Garrick’s chest heaved. His face reddened.
“Captain, allow me to fetch your breakfast,” Marianne offered. “You don’t look well.”
“I don’t feel well either!” Grunting, he inched to the edge of his chair and rose. “Miss Denton, it appears some of the crew escaped last night.”
“Oh?” She forced innocence into her tone despite the angst churning in her gut.
“Lieutenant Garrick believes you were complicit in their plans. . .may have even aided them?” The captain’s stern voice held a hint of disbelief as he ambled to the center of the cabin.
Garrick fumbled with the bicorn in his hand. He glared her way.
“Me?” Marianne swallowed. “That’s absurd. Who escaped?”
“The men from your merchant ship and a few others of my crew.”
Marianne twisted the ring on her finger. “Indeed?” She feigned shortness of breath and clutched a hand to her chest. “They left me.” Yet she didn’t have to feign the pain burning in her heart.
The captain pressed a hand to his side. “Those loathsome rebels! I’ll have them all hanged when I find them!”
Marianne looked down, holding her breath.
“It’s the treasonous wench you should hang, Captain.” Garrick gestured toward her. “She assisted them.”
“Me?” Marianne clutched her throat. “How could I have helped them? I was tucked in my bed all night.” She cringed at the lie, but it couldn’t be helped.
Garrick’s jaw stiffened. “Captain, I implore you. Lock her up at once.”
“Preposterous!” Captain Milford gave an incredulous snort. “She’s but a silly woman and certainly incapable of such treachery. I’ll hear no more of it.” He studied Garrick. “But you!” He crooked a thick finger toward the lieutenant. “Allowing ill-bred Yankees to beat you and then escape beneath your nose. Shame on you, sir!”
Lieutenant Garrick looked as though he would explode. Even his red hair seemed aflame atop his head. “Three against one, Captain.”
“Fully armed, you couldn’t subdue a cow.” The captain huffed. “If it weren’t for the money your father pays me to keep you here—or should I say to keep you away from home—I’d have tossed you back to Portsmouth long ago.”
Marianne blinked at the news, amazed that such arrangements were made. However, it did offer an explanation as to why the captain tolerated a rogue like Lieutenant Garrick.
Garrick’s eyes simmered. “But I am here, Captain. And you do accept the payment.”
“Do not test me, sir.” Captain Milford seethed. “Or I may find the extra coins have lost their luster.”
A moment of silence passed between them before the captain waved a hand in dismissal. “Send in the watchmen who were on deck last night. Drunk on duty. I’ll have them all flogged!”
Marianne’s stomach curd
led. Flogged? Because of her. Because she’d tempted them with rum. Maybe she should confess—tell the captain it was her fault. Perhaps he’d lessen their punishment.
Or perhaps he’d have her flogged right alongside them. Or worse. Perhaps he’d realize her complicity in the escape and have her hanged. She bit her lip. Lord, please do not let him punish those men.
Grinding his teeth together, Mr. Garrick turned to leave, then stopped. “What of the deserters, Captain?”
“I have no time to search for them now.” Swerving about, the captain stared out the stern windows where the first rays of the sun seemed to hesitate, cowering, outside the panes. “We must get underway. As soon as the supplies arrive, prepare the ship to sail. I’ll be on deck shortly. And you, Miss Denton, bring me my blasted tea and biscuit!”
Lieutenant Garrick donned his hat and knuckled a salute before he stormed from the room. Marianne followed him out and shut the door before she realized her error. Halfway down the passageway, the lieutenant turned on her. His eyes boiled like lava. “I know you helped them,” he spat out through his swollen lips.
Marianne cleared the tremble from her voice. “You know no such thing, Mr. Garrick.”
He snorted and a sultry grin formed on his lips. “Your fiancé left you, eh? No one around to stand up for you anymore.” He ran a finger over her cheek and she stepped back.
“I’ll find proof that you helped your friends’ escape and when I do, you’ll have to choose between me and the noose.”
Marianne shuddered. The noose would win. But she dared not anger him further by telling him so.
With a coarse chuckle, he turned and marched away.
Marianne released the breath that had stuck in her throat. Her future looked bleak. Bleak indeed.
From her position at the stern, Marianne gazed at the island of Antigua as it faded to gray in the distance. Somewhere on that island were Noah, Luke and the others. At least she hoped they had made it safely to shore.
And weren’t locked in some horrid British prison.
A shiver coursed through her, and she gripped her belly. Daniel’s sweet face filled her mind, and she chided herself for thinking only of her own poor predicament. Thank God he and his father were finally off this ship. And Weller and Luke. And of course Noah. He had been brutalized aboard this ship because of her. Now he was free. For that she was grateful.
Surrender the Sea Page 26