Surrender the Dawn

by Marylu Tyndall

  The first man shook his head and scowled, yet he made no move. Instead Cassandra detected fear, dare she say respect emanating from him.

  The other man grunted and swayed back and forth like one of the ships in the bay.

  Luke waved them off. “Begone with you. There’s no fun to be had here.”

  Turning, the two men shuffled away, passing the bottle between them as if to console themselves on their defeat.

  Mr. Heaton faced her, stared at her for a moment, then proffered his elbow. “Now, will you allow me to escort you home?”

  “You didn’t leave me.” Cassandra gaped at him, stunned.

  “That is never my desire.”

  The wind drifted through loose strands of his hair, and for a moment the moonlight offered her a glimpse of something in his eyes that caused her breath to seize. She slid her hand in the crook of his elbow, and he led her forward. “Those men.” She glanced over her shoulder to see them join a mob loitering in front of the tavern. “They offered you no resistance.”

  “They know me.” He kept his face forward, his voice deep and resonant.

  “In other words, they’ve seen you use a sword.” Her praise brought no reaction. “Such depraved company you keep, Mr. Heaton.”

  “As you have informed me.” He should be mad at her for her foolish behavior. He should be angry at her insults. But instead, a hint of humor spiked his voice.

  An awkward silence surrounded them as they turned down Charles Street. Another shot echoed in the distance, followed by baleful laughter, yet Cassandra found no fear within her. As long as she was with Mr. Heaton. The thudding of his boots accompanied the whistle of the wind and the bells of the night watchmen in a whirlwind of emotions that reeled around her like the dust spinning on the street.

  Mr. Heaton was a scoundrel, yet she always felt at ease on his arm.

  A dark cloud abandoned the moon, showering them in silver light.

  He was a drunk, yet he had never behaved improperly in her presence.

  They turned down Eutaw Street, lined with quaint homes and decorative flower gardens. The smell of wild bergamot and fresh apple pie drifted over her nose.

  He was a gambler, yet she trusted him with her investment.

  Turning down the path in front of her house, Mr. Heaton stopped at the bottom of the porch stairs. Cassandra stepped up on the first tread and spun to face him. She was nearly level in height with him—nearly. The lantern light sparkled in his eyes as he placed a boot atop the step and released her arm.

  He was a womanizer; then why did she feel her heart yearning for his affection?

  He turned to leave.

  “Thank you once again for your rescue, Mr. Heaton.”

  He faced her. A sad grin hovered over his lips. “My pleasure.”

  “So, you’ll be leaving tomorrow?” She longed to keep him here. And hated herself for it.

  “Riding out to the ship first thing in the morning.”

  “How long will you be?” Cassandra asked then realized the absurdity of the question. She laughed. “Of course you don’t know that.”

  He gave her a quizzical look. “Will you miss me?”

  “Don’t be absurd.” Cringing at the dishonest twang in her voice, she stared off toward the bay. “I’m simply anxious for you to catch another prize.”

  “Ah.” He scratched the stubble on his chin and gave her one of his beguiling grins. “Of course.”

  Cassandra tapped her foot. “Oh, bother, Mr. Heaton. You can wipe that grin off your face. Not every woman in town pines for your affections.”

  “No.” The sorrow in his voice nearly broke through the shield she’d erected around her heart. “Not every woman.”

  What was she doing? Allowing this rake to charm his way into her graces. Steeling herself against his further attempts, Cassandra pursed her lips. “Mr. Crane informed me of your ignoble activities.”

  “Which ones?” He jerked the hair from his face and chuckled. Moonlight drifted over a scar on his right earlobe.

  “You may make sport of it all you wish, Mr. Heaton, but I hardly consider gambling, drinking, and fighting suitable pursuits for a successful privateer, much less a gentleman.”

  “Well, Miss Channing, you knew what you were getting when you hired me.” One brow cocked, he gave her a pointed gaze. “Besides, I’m hurting no one.” His eyes lowered to her lips. He swallowed.

  Heat swirled in her belly. “I am not so sure, Mr. Heaton.”

  “Why are you so interested in what I do at night, Miss Channing? Care to join me?”

  “Of course not! I’m sure you have no need of me with all your trollops to entertain you.”

  Propping his hand on the post, he drew close until she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. “If I were a more astute man, I’d say you were jealous.”

  Cassandra’s heart took up an erratic beat. Lowering her chin, she gathered her resolve to put this man in his place. Then squaring her shoulders, she met his gaze and opened her mouth to give him a tongue lashing. “That’s ridicu—”

  His lips met hers. Firm, yet gentle. He caressed her mouth ever so briefly like the most delicate flutter of butterfly wings. Then he withdrew, hovering over her, breathing hard. Cassandra’s mind swirled. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t breathe. She just wanted more of him. She inched forward until her lips touched his again. Her feet tingled. The world spun around her. He took control and deepened the kiss, cupping her jaw in his hand and caressing her cheek with his thumb. She drew in the scent of him, never wanting to forget this moment. He tasted of spice and salt.

  The trollop barged into her dreamlike state. The one Mr. Crane had described in such detail. Her blond curls, sweet blue eyes, and buxom figure draped over Mr. Heaton.

  No! The small part that remained of Cassandra’s rational mind screamed. She would not be one of his many conquests. She would not attach her affections to this man, only to be abandoned.

  She shoved Mr. Heaton back. Her chest heaved. “How dare you?” Then raising her hand, she slapped him across the cheek.

  CHAPTER 19

  Pain lanced across Luke’s face. He rubbed his cheek and stared at Cassandra. The woman was indeed an enigma. One minute returning his kiss with surprising intensity and the next, striking his cheek. He would never have made such advances if he’d not seen desire in her eyes. Not to mention an ardor that made his heart soar with hope. Hope that a woman like Cassandra found anything worthy of admiration in a man like him. Then, the way her moist lips shimmered in the moonlight, her puffs of warm breath, inviting him, luring him for a taste. He’d been unable to resist her. And, ah, sweet reward. He hadn’t expected so passionate a response. Heat seared through his body while a pleasurable fog had invaded his mind.

  What he had expected came later—a slap. A worthy punishment for so great a prize.

  And now a mixture of horror and ecstasy battled in her eyes as she stood there, red faced with her infernal shoe tapping on the stairs.

  He’d never seen a woman so lovely.

  Luke rubbed his jaw again. “What, pray tell, was that for?”

  “For trying to take liberties with me.”

  “Trying?” Luke chuckled. “I believe I succeeded. And as for the liberties, they were freely given.”

  “How dare you!” She lifted her hand again to strike him. He caught it in midair. “Ah, ah, ah, only one slap allowed per kiss.” Caressing her hand, he lifted it to his mouth, but she snagged it from his grasp.

  “Is everything a joke to you, sir?”

  “Not everything.” He smiled.

  She let out an exasperated sigh and took a step away from him. “This is a business arrangement, Mr. Heaton, and you are nothing but a business partner. I insist you conduct yourself as such in my presence.”

  Luke could feel the heat coming from her flushed skin. Her chest rose and fell like the bow of a ship upon stormy seas.

  “If you’re certain that is what you wish.” He dipped his head
with an unavoidable grin.

  “If I’m …” She flattened her lips and tore her gaze from him. “Of course I’m certain, you buffoon.”

  The quiver of desire in her voice belied her statement. Luke offered no response. He simply gazed at her as the moonlight caressed her in sparkling waves. He didn’t know how long he’d be gone, and he never wanted to forget how beautiful she was, nor how deeply affected she seemed to be by his kiss.

  “Good evening, Mr. Heaton.” She met his gaze then turned and opened the door. The voices of children and bark of a dog floated from inside. Halting, she spoke without turning. “Godspeed to you, sir. Have a safe journey.”

  “Good evening, Miss Channing.”

  Then, stepping into the foyer, she closed the door behind her.

  “This is madness, Luke. I beg you to reconsider.” The squeak of Mrs. Barnes’s rocking chair increased in tempo.

  “I promised John, and I won’t go back on my word.” Tired of the conversation, Luke set his mug of coffee down on the table and leaned forward with elbows on his knees. Mrs. Barnes’s fingers flew, her needles jumping up and down like handles on a bilge pump. He studied the web of black and white threads coming together in a deranged mass. “What is that you’re making again?” he asked, mainly to change the subject.

  Ceasing her knitting, she glanced down at her creation. “A masterpiece,” she announced with assurance. But her brief smile faded into a frown, and she laid her knitting aside. “He’s far too young, Luke, and you know it.” Her pleading tone reached out to strangle Luke’s conviction.

  Swimming eyes met his above the glimmer of her spectacles. He pulled his gaze and stared at the cold soot lining the fireplace. “He’s as old, if not older, than most boys who go to sea. Besides, with his new brace, he’s walking better.”

  “But on a heaving ship? When you could be attacked? When you probably will attack other ships?” Mrs. Barnes grabbed her cup of tea. Her hands trembled, and the amber liquid sloshed over the sides. She set it down on the saucer with a clank and folded her shriveled hands in her lap.

  Luke shot to his feet and took up a pace across the sitting room. He rubbed his jaw where Miss Channing had slapped him earlier that evening. Though the memory brought a smile to his lips, he couldn’t help but feel as though he were being slapped all over again by Mrs. Barnes’s lack of confidence in him. But what else did he expect? Save for his one success at sea last month, Luke had been a failure at everything else.

  But he had outsailed a frigate. He had dodged cannon blasts. He had taken a prize. Never once had his crew been in any serious danger. Despite her age, Destiny was a swift and agile bird. And Luke a good captain. Surely he had proven that.

  “I could not bear to lose him,” Mrs. Barnes said.

  “And you think I could?”

  “No, of course not. But your parents put him in your charge. I beg you to not make such a rash decision.”

  Trailing a hand through his hair, Luke faced her. “I have thought long and hard about this, Mrs. Barnes. He is ten. Brace or not, we cannot coddle him forever. He must be allowed to face life with all its dangers and heartaches. How else is he to grow up and become a man? How else is he to learn a trade so he can take care of himself someday?”

  She opened her mouth to object but Luke raised a hand. “He is going.”

  A tremble crossed her shoulders. Chastising himself for being so harsh, Luke knelt before her and took her hands in his. “I’ll keep him on a long line tied to one of the masts, so there’ll be no chance of him falling overboard. When we overtake a prize, I’ll send him below. He’ll be fine.” He kissed her bony fingers.

  “I promise you, I’ll bring him home safe.”

  Luke planted his boots firmly on the quarterdeck as Destiny rose over yet another swell then plunged down into the murky sea. Waves crashed over the bow, spraying the air with foamy salt and sending a waterfall over the deck. A giggle sounded, and Luke’s gaze shot to his brother on the main deck. He was talking with Mr. Ward, the gunner. Feet spread apart, John stumbled only slightly before he righted himself then held out his hands and dipped a bow at Mr. Ward’s hearty applause.

  Despite his apparent sturdiness, Luke was still glad the boy was tied to the mast with a rope long enough to allow him access to the entire deck. Aside from his initial bout of seasickness, the lad had more than adapted to life aboard the ship during the long weeks at sea. With his positive outlook, cheerful disposition, and strong work ethic, the crew took an immediate liking to John. But it was the odd relationship that had developed between him and the ornery gunner that surprised Luke the most.

  Biron crossed the quarterdeck and halted beside Luke. “Courses and mains raised, Cap’n, and the horizon is clear.”

  Luke shielded his eyes from the setting sun as a hot gust of wind punched him. They’d been running under courses for days now. No need to unfurl the stays and topsails until they gave chase. Or, God forbid, were chased. Either way, they’d not spotted a ship in a week, which was why Luke had ordered Destiny on a south-by-southeast course to intercept West Indies trade routes.

  Biron chuckled. “Ward’s taking a liking to the boy.”

  “Odd. Yes.”

  “I wonder if he’s the best influence on the lad?” Biron quirked a brow of reprimand at Luke.

  “Knowing my brother, it’s him who’ll be influencing old Ward for the better. Perhaps, the old codger will even stop his swearing and drinking.”

  “Perhaps you will join him.” Biron’s voice was etched with sarcasm.

  Luke chose to ignore it as the ship crested another wave. Bracing his feet on the moist deck, he breathed in the fresh, salty air. He loved the sea. There was freedom here upon the waves. Freedom and power. For the first time in his life, he felt in control of his own destiny.

  Gripping the quarter railing, Luke glanced up at the sails, their white bellies bloated with wind. Mr. Keene stood on the main top, directing the sailors adjusting canvas, lace flapping at his cuffs and collar. His humor was vastly improved from the last voyage. As were several of the sailors. No doubt due to the bottles of rum locked in a crate belowdecks, and the money that still lined their pockets. Bottles Luke had brought aboard, despite Miss Channing’s insistence to the contrary, but only on the condition that Luke would dispense the alcohol at his discretion. Which so far had only been two ounces in a cup of lemon water twice a day to each sailor. This seemed to appease the men, but it made Luke’s vow to abstain while sailing all the more difficult. He licked his lips. His taut nerves and empty belly yearned for a sip. Just one sip.

  Still he had kept to his word. Thus far.

  Sam cleared his throat from behind them. “She still feels a bit sluggish, Cap’n.”

  Luke shrugged off the ill feeling that accompanied Sam’s words. He’d already sent Mr. Sanders down twice to check on the hold, and both times the purser had reported nothing amiss. Perhaps it was just Sam’s inexperience with such a small ship. “Just keep her south-by-southeast, Sam.” Luke squinted at the sun sinking below the horizon as a breeze, bearing a reprieve from the day’s scorching heat, cooled the sweat on his neck.

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.”

  John hobbled up on the quarterdeck with the agility of an experienced seaman.

  “When can I take off this silly rope?” He made a face of disgust as the wind tousled his hair.

  “When I say you can,” Luke replied.

  “But I’m steady on my feet now. The sailors make fun of me with this leash on!”

  Biron chuckled. “Don’t listen to them, boy. One day you’ll be their captain and we’ll see who’s laughing then.”

  John’s face brightened. “You really think so, Mr. Abbot?”

  “That I do.”

  “You have the makings of a great sailor, John. A natural talent”—Luke raised a brow—“but you must still obey your captain.”

  John saluted. “Aye, sir.”

  “Sail ho!” The voice brayed from the tops, jerking L
uke to attention.

  John gripped the railing and scanned the horizon.

  “Where away?” Luke shouted, lifting the scope to his eye.

  “Two points off our starboard beam!” The shout ricocheted off the deck as Luke spun the glass in that direction. Excited chatter rose from the assembling crew.

  Billowing sails, stark against the murky sky, came into view.

  “Is she a merchantman, Luke? I mean Captain Luke.” John’s voice brimmed with enthusiasm.

  “Hold steady there, lad,” Biron interjected. “It won’t matter if she is. We haven’t enough daylight left to take her.”

  “Ah …” John’s shoulders lowered.

  Luke could relate. Patience had never been one of Luke’s finest virtues either. If he possessed any virtues at all. Though he knew privateers could be out for months before seeing any action, the quicker he caught a prize or two, the quicker he could return to Baltimore to see Miss Channing. The quicker he could add another success to outweigh his list of failures. And the quicker he could prove to Mrs. Barnes that he was fully capable of taking care of John at sea.

  Several minutes passed as the ship came sharper into view. Waves slapped against the hull. Sails flapped thunderously as his crew awaited orders. Luke studied her armament and the shape of her hull just as a shout from above confirmed his assessment.

  “She’s a Royal Navy frigate!”

  John’s eyes widened. “A frigate!” He begged for the glass, nearly plucking it from Luke’s hand, then raised it to his eye, looking ever so much like he’d been born to captain a ship. Luke smiled. If Mrs. Barnes could see the boy now, all her worries would blow away in the wind.

  Biron tugged at his red neckerchief, his gray brows colliding. “Should we run?”

  Luke shook his head as the sun bade its farewell with bands of orange and maroon. “No sense. It will be dark soon.” He turned to Sam, manning the wheel with as much seriousness as he had no doubt done in the navy. “Keep her steady, Sam.”

  John’s oohs and aahs filled the air as he examined the ship through the scope. But soon darkness stole it from their view, and he handed the glass back to Luke.