The Red Siren

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Can you describe her?”

  “Who?” Landers asked.

  “The Red Siren, you dim-witted sluggard,” Captain Milner shouted over his shoulder then grinned sheepishly at Dajon.

  Milner tapped his finger against his chin. “Aye, she was short.” He gazed to the right again as if trying to remember. “Fat. Aye, quite plump she was. She had red hair, but it seemed more brown than red when she came up close.” He grinned and nodded.

  “Aye, she had an ugly scar that ran ’cross her forehead.” Landers slid a finger above his brow.

  “It weren’t her forehead.” Milner turned and slapped him with his hat.

  “Yes, it was,” Landers hissed through gritted teeth, glancing at Dajon.

  But Dajon cared nothing about the scar. He had heard enough to convince him.

  Faith was not the Red Siren!

  Not only had she been with him yesterday during the pirate attack, but she looked nothing like the person these men described.

  Dajon felt as if he’d just been released from a long imprisonment in a dark dungeon.

  God had answered his prayer.

  Thank You, Lord.

  Dismissing the merchants, he leaped down the quarterdeck ladder then down the companionway to his quarters. After washing his face and donning fresh attire, he took a cockboat to shore and started for the Westcott home. As the sun set beyond the tangled forest that bordered the town, Dajon felt as though daylight was just rising within him.

  He must see Faith. He must apologize to her for his ludicrous suspicions. And he must tell her. . .must express to her something he thought he’d never say, let alone feel for another woman in his life. He must tell her that he loved her.

  h

  Faith eased her fingers over the horse’s soft neck and leaned her forehead against his face. Snorting, the horse pricked his ears toward her.

  “Oh, Seaspray, would that I were a simple horse like you, without a care in the world.” She sighed and reached up to rub the other side of the horse’s neck. Seaspray—named for the steed’s cream-colored coat—had taken Faith back and forth to her ship on many an occasion and was one of the few privy to her dual identity. Somehow it made her feel as though they were best friends.

  Seaspray licked his lips as if agreeing with Faith’s thoughts and then jerked his head back to gaze at her. The gentle glow from a single lantern hanging on a hook filtered over them, and Faith thought she saw a flicker of understanding in the horse’s eyes.

  Unable to sleep, she had crept down to the stables, where she often came to find comfort among the horses. ’Twas where she had come to know Lucas back in Portsmouth. There the stables had become an escape, a place of refuge from the troubles that plagued her home, and she had passed many pleasant hours helping to care for the horses—that was before she found a much better sanctuary upon the sea.

  Grabbing a bristle brush, she began stroking Seaspray’s thick mane, her mind drifting to the merchant ship she planned to plunder tomorrow. Forcing down a nagging twinge of guilt, she allowed a flash of exhilaration to charge through her. The chase, the danger, the mighty sea. She loved it all and couldn’t wait to be on her ship again. Perhaps that was why sleep had eluded her. Or maybe ’twas a certain captain who kept her thoughts and heart ajitter.

  A shuffle sounded behind her in the dirt. She instinctively reached for her sword, but her hand floundered over the soft folds of her nightdress. Gripping the brush with both hands, she spun around, aiming it at the intruder.

  Mr. Waite, one boot crossed over the other, leaned against the stable door frame, a sarcastic grin on his handsome lips. “What are you planning to do with that? Scrub me to death?”

  “If I have to.” She grinned in return but then, realizing her state of undress, dropped the brush and pulled her robe tighter around her.

  Mr. Waite’s gaze soaked her in as if she were a dying man’s last drink. But the look within his blue eyes carried no malice, no lust, nothing to give her pause. Quite the opposite, in fact. It was a look that sent her belly quivering and her pulse racing. His loose umber hair grazed the collar of a fine cambric shirt that was open at the neck. Black velvet breeches rode low upon his hips. It was the first time she had seen him without his uniform, and she swallowed and lowered her lashes, gazing at the dirt floor, lest he see the attraction in her face. “May I help you with something, Mr. Waite?”

  “Forgive me for startling you.” His boots rustled in the straw as he moved closer. “I looked for you earlier, but Molly said you had retired.”

  “Yes, still a bit of fatigue, I’m afraid.” Faith slid one foot nonchalantly through the dirt, not caring if her silk slipper got soiled. Truthfully, she had heard him come home but found she could not face him—not knowing what she must do on the morrow. Deceive him. Defy him.

  Defeat him.

  Why did the idea of outwitting the Royal Navy suddenly cause such discord within her when it never had before? Daring a glance at him, she knew the answer. It wasn’t the Royal Navy she was battling this time. It was this honorable, courageous, kind man before her. And the thought made her stomach curl in on itself. She averted her gaze, knowing that if she stared too long into those blue eyes filled with affection, she might not be able to go through with her plan.

  But she had to. For her sisters. Especially for Hope. Now more than ever, they were in far more desperate need of the independence that wealth would bring them.

  “Then you must be feeling refreshed after your rest?”

  “Nay, I couldn’t sleep.” She nudged a tuft of hay with her toe.

  “I fear you have infected me with that disease.” His deep chuckle bounced off the wooden walls and landed on her like a warm blanket. Why was he being so cordial? Had Grayson and Strom spoken with him? Had he given up his suspicions of her?

  He leaned against the nearest stall. The tantalizing scent of leather and the sea swirled around her and sent delightful needles down her spine. She took a step away from him.

  “I must admit to something, Miss Westcott. And I hope you shall find it as amusing as I and will not become cross with me.”

  Leaning over, she picked up the brush and set it on a stool. Good heavens, what did he intend to tell her? That he knew who she really was? Surely that would not be in any way amusing. “There is no need, Mr. Waite. I assure you.” She flicked her hand through the air.

  “Oh, but I daresay there is.” He touched her arm. “I owe you a sincere apology.” Sorrow shone from his eyes.

  “There could be nothing you have done that requires it.” Faith gripped the edges of her robe and expelled a nervous breath. Except perhaps the way you make my heart burst and my belly flutter whenever you are near. Except perhaps that I am a pirate and you are a pirate hunter sworn to bring me to justice.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, he turned and took a few steps away from her, his movements lacking the usual confidence she’d come to expect. “’Tis the funniest thing, actually. For quite some time now. . .well, actually for just a few weeks, I. . .” He turned to face her and rubbed the back of his neck then gave her a sheepish look. “I. . .”

  “You what, Mr. Waite?”

  “I thought you might be the Red Siren.” He blurted the words that crackled with both embarrassment and relief.

  The needles of pleasure she’d experienced only a moment ago transformed into jabs of panic. Did he know? Was he testing her?

  He began to laugh, and she joined him, holding her stomach and bending over in feigned hilarity. “Me? A pirate?” she chortled.

  Seaspray tossed his head over the stall and snorted, nodding as if confirming Mr. Waite’s suspicion.

  Throwing a hand to her throat to hide the furious throb in her veins, Faith nudged the horse back into his pen. “You teased me about it once, but I thought it mere sport.”

  “I am ashamed at having ever entertained such a ridiculous notion.” Mr. Waite raked a hand through his hair then approached, taking her hand in his. “I c
ame to beg your forgiveness.”

  “Why, there’s naught to forgive, Mr. Waite.” Faith tugged her hand away and gripped the railing. “You’ve made me laugh, and that is enough.”

  “I do feel quite dreadful about it, really.”

  “You shouldn’t.” Faith snapped her gaze to his, unable to halt the booming tone of her voice.

  Mr. Waite flinched, and she hoped she had not given herself away. But how could she accept his apology when he had done nothing wrong, and she, everything?

  h

  Dajon studied her, trying to make sense of her odd reaction. Unpredictable. It was one of the things he loved about her but also a constant source of frustration. Where he assumed she would have been horrified, even furious at his assumption, she waved it aside as if it were naught but a jest. Her response, in fact, aligned more with guilt than with innocence.

  But no.

  Not only did he have the testimony of the two merchants, but he’d sent some of his crew into town to verify their story. And, indeed, tales of the Red Siren attacking a small merchant ship just off Charles Towne were circulating around the city’s taverns.

  Flinging her red curls over her shoulder, she brushed her hands over the horse’s face, her gaze turned from his. When he’d first seen Faith standing there so serenely, whispering to the steed, her white robe shimmering in a halo of light and her hair a cascade of glittering red, he could have remained where he was and watched her all night. And when she’d turned to face him, threatening him with the brush, he’d longed to take her in his arms. And now that the wall of suspicion had been toppled between them, he must tell her how he felt.

  “There is something else.”

  She raised her eyes to his.

  “It may seem untoward, even improper, after confessing my rather ludicrous and disparaging suspicions, but I. . .”

  Should he tell her? Hadn’t he sworn off women after what had happened with Marianne? Hadn’t he vowed to God never to put himself in a position to bring harm to another by his own foolish passions?

  Why did You bring this precious lady to me, Lord? Why have You allowed me to feel such overwhelming affection for her?

  “Yes, Mr. Waite?” The freckles on Faith’s nose clumped together under a pert wrinkle.

  Dajon brushed the back of his hand over her cheek, relishing the silky feel of her skin and the way she instantly closed her eyes. Perhaps he had learned. Perhaps by God’s grace, Dajon had changed. Perhaps God had deemed him ready again.

  “Surely you have no doubt as to my intentions, Miss Westcott.”

  Her lips parted, and she released a tiny sigh as he continued caressing her cheek.

  “If your father were here, I would speak to him, but alas. . .”

  Her eyes popped open as if she’d just been awakened from a dream. “What would you need to discuss with my father that you cannot discuss with me?”

  “Surely you know.” Placing a finger beneath her chin, Dajon raised her gaze to his. Her auburn eyes shone with a moist luster that bristled with desire, admiration, and something else. Was it fear? Frustration? He knew she feared depending on any man, but surely she could see that he was different.

  “It would be my honor if you’d allow me to—”

  “Please say no more.” She tore her gaze away and clasped her robe.

  “Court you, Miss Westcott.” He stepped closer until there was but a breath between them. “I confess, though I have discovered you are no pirate, you have quite plundered my heart as if you were.”

  “Please.” She jerked away. “You do not know what you are saying.”

  “On the contrary, it is the only thing I seem sure about of late.” Dajon wiped the moisture from his brow, confused once again by her reaction.

  A battle seemed to rage within Faith’s eyes. One second they sparkled with affection and admiration; the next they stabbed him with defiance and determination. Her jaw tightened, and she swallowed. Dajon had realized that her distrust of men might give her pause when he declared his affections, but he hadn’t expected such resistance.

  “It can never be,” she said sharply and turned to leave.

  He grabbed her arm, unwilling to see her go, unwilling to give in to the agony clawing at his heart.

  “Release me.” She struggled against his grip.

  “Tell me you feel nothing for me, and I will.”

  She bent her knee as if to kick him, but this time he saw it coming and pressed himself firmly against her.

  Dajon grasped her face in his hands and pressed his lips against hers. He hadn’t planned to kiss her. He had simply wanted to calm her down, simply wanted her to stay, but when she instantly melted into him, he claimed her mouth as his own and kissed her with all the passion that had been building up in him since the day he met her.

  When he released her, they stood in silence, their heavy breaths mingling in the air between them.

  “I have my answer then,” Dajon said, placing a kiss on her forehead.

  With a horrified gasp, Faith ripped herself from his arms and fled into the night.

  Chapter 27

  Perched high upon the foreyard, Faith clung to the mast with one hand and a halyard with the other. She thrust her face into the wind, allowing it to blast away her doubts, her fears, and, in particular, her thoughts of Mr. Waite. Curling her bare toes around the yardarm, she spotted Lucas nigh eighty feet below, giving orders to the crew, looking more like a speck of dirt tossed by the wind than a commanding first mate. She loved it up here among the topsails. If she closed her eyes, she could imagine herself a bird, soaring over the vast ocean, unfettered, unhindered—free at last.

  “You are most fortunate, Morgan,” she said to the red and green macaw balancing on the backstay beside her.

  “Gentlemen of fortune, we are, we are,” he squawked, making her smile.

  Off the larboard side, the rising arc of a brilliant sun poked over the dark line of the horizon. Exhaling a puff of gold, maroon, and copper upon the dark waters, it set the waves aglow with the breath of dawn. She smiled at the matchless beauty of creation. Nothing but wind and sparkling waves as far as her eye could see.

  She was home.

  Then why did she feel so unsettled?

  It was that blasted Mr. Waite. He confused her. He frustrated her.

  He delighted her.

  She brushed her fingers over her lips. Why had she given in to his kiss? Yet stopping it would have been akin to stopping a cannon from firing after the powder had already been lit. Even now with the chill morning wind swirling about her, her body warmed at the thought. But her passion quickly drowned beneath a wave of guilt. There he had stood declaring her innocent of piracy and announcing his affections for her, and all the while she was about to plunder a ship she had learned about only through him.

  But this would be her last time. And though a sudden mourning came over her at the death of her adventurous life upon the sea, she knew the risks were far too high to continue. But then, maybe then she could entertain thoughts of a possible courtship with Captain Waite. Possible, yes. The thought surprised her. Though she had sworn never to depend upon a man, never to marry, this man, this Captain Dajon Waite, might just be a man worth altering her plans for.

  Climbing down the ratlines with ease, Faith dropped to the wooden planks below and then marched across the main deck of the Red Siren, allowing her bare toes to caress the moist wood as she went. She adjusted her baldric about her chest and leaped up the quarterdeck ladder—something she could never do without the freedom breeches afforded her. Planting her feet firmly on the hard deck, she gave a quick nod to Wilson at the helm before facing the ship’s bow as it rose and plunged through the choppy sea.

  Morgan soon followed, alighting upon his usual perch on the mainmast.

  Taking the ladder in one leap, Lucas positioned himself beside her and scratched his thick dark hair. “And where are we to be expecting to find this treasure ship, Cap’n?”

  Faith tugged on
the black bandanna she’d tied atop her head and tried to ignore the lack of fervor normally present in Lucas’s voice. “Since Mr. Borland let it slip that they were only to protect her from St. Helena Sound onward, I expect the Lady Adeline to arrive off Port Royal sometime this morning.” She cast him a sly grin. “We should pass her any minute.”

  “And what’s to ensure that Captain Waite won’t be passin’ our way as well?”

  Faith glanced at her first mate, but he kept his gaze upon the sea. “He would have no reason to come this far south.”

  Lucas huffed and gripped the railing.

  “What is it, Lucas?”

  “Seems to me yer takin’ a big risk.” He scratched his head. “Mr. Waite is no fool.”

  “Aye, I’ll grant you that. But he has no further reason to suspect me. Any information Borland disclosed would be considered safe within my feeble feminine mind.” She chuckled, but Lucas did not join her. In fact, he rubbed his leathery skin and shook his head.

  “Our plan worked, Lucas. You should be pleased.”

  “’Tis not that.”

  “What, then? Where is your usual zeal, your excitement? We are about to give chase and plunder some unsuspecting merchant.” Faith gripped the hilt of her cutlass.

  “Seems to have lost its allure as of late, Cap’n.” Lucas’s jaw flinched, and he gazed down at the crew ambling over the deck. “Seems almost wrong to be stealin’ so.”

  “ ‘We plunder and pillage and pilfer and prey.’ ” Morgan repeated a pirate’s ballad from his perch, only increasing Faith’s rising shame.

  She felt as if the ship had been struck by a twenty-pounder and was taking on water. Lucas had always been so strong, her stalwart first mate, her faithful partner. Side by side, they had plundered the seas, amassed a fortune, defeated foes. “Please do not tell me you have suddenly grown a conscience.” She could not keep the irritation from her voice nor the increasing weight of loss from her soul.