The Red Siren

by Marylu Tyndall

  “She lowers her flag, Captain,” Mr. Borland announced with a grin.

  Huzzahs erupted from his crew.

  Dajon nodded in satisfaction.

  “Lower the cockboat, Mr. Borland. Let us pay a visit to the infamous Red Siren. Shall we?” He slapped his friend on the back and stomped down the quarterdeck ladder.

  “Aye, Captain.”

  As the boat thudded against the wet hull of the Red Siren and rope ladders were tossed over the rail, Dajon rose in the wobbly boat and adjusted his navy coat. He squared his shoulders and gazed up at the dark hull of his father’s ship. Pride rippled through him. He had caught the Red Siren. He had done his duty and protected the colonial waters and the citizens of this land from the ravages of this vexatious pirate.

  Thank You, God, for this victory, he silently prayed, hoping that this courageous act would somehow atone for at least one of his past sins.

  Leaping over the bulwarks, Dajon landed with a thud onto the deck, followed quickly by Mr. Borland and ten marines. He scanned the ship, seeing nothing but a crew of scurrilous pirates staring at him, scowls dripping from their faces.

  “Your arms, gentlemen. Toss them in a pile, if you please.” He gestured toward the center of the deck.

  Slowly they complied, each one slogging toward middeck, flinging their weapons onto a growing heap of metal and their curses toward him and his men.

  “Now where, pray tell, is your captain?” Dajon allowed his eyes to travel over the crew, shooting each man down with his imperious gaze. “Has she scurried below decks like the coward she is?”

  A tall, dark man emerged from the shadows beneath the foredeck ladder. “She has no wish to see you, Mr. Waite.” The familiar voice struck Dajon before the face registered in his brain. Even then, it took a minute before Dajon found his breath.

  “Lucas.” Dajon’s jaw hung slack, and for a moment, he thought it would loosen and drop to the deck at his feet. “What in God’s. . . What are you doing here?”

  “Never mind, Lucas.” A feminine voice swirled in the air like a siren’s call, and a woman, dressed in breeches and a white flowing shirt, crossed with baldric and pistols, stepped out from behind Lucas. The floppy hat perched upon her head hid her face, and Dajon’s heart crashed through his ribs at the sight of her.

  She sauntered toward him and pulled out her cutlass.

  Instantly the muskets of all ten marines leveled upon her. She snickered. “Frightened of a woman? Tsk-tsk.” She shook her head. “I would request a new batch of marines if I were you, Captain.”

  A hint of a smile played under the shadow of her hat.

  She handed the hilt end of her sword to Dajon. “With my compliments, Captain.” The scent of lemons joined the salty breeze and spiked him like a dagger. His pulse throbbed in his neck. He tried to move, but his boots felt as though they were bolted to the deck.

  A green and red parrot flew down and landed on the capstan. “Clap ’er in irons. Clap ’er in irons.”

  The lady lifted her chin and slowly raised her gaze to his. A tiny scar in the shape of a quarter moon taunted him from her neck. Beneath the shadow of her hat, eyes the color of mahogany met his with a look of determination—and sorrow.

  Chapter 28

  Faith paced across the floor of her cabin, her boots pounding over the wooden planks like the ominous beat of drums preceding a hanging. She gazed at the thick oak door imprisoning her and knew a marine stood guard just outside.

  What a fool I am.

  Raising a hand to her mouth, she gnawed her nails and stomped toward a case of books on the starboard side of the cabin before swerving and retracing her steps. Sunlight streaming in from the stern window wove a forked trail around her desk and chairs, and she hesitated to step into it, fearing the virtuous light would scorch her wicked pirate skin.

  Mr. Waite had set a perfect trap, and she’d fallen for it like a hungry fish led into a shark’s cave. So greedy, so desperate to reach her goal, she’d ignored the warnings, the churning in her gut, the trepidation that prickled down her spine, even Lucas’s uneasiness.

  And now look where she was. Trapped. Caught.

  Doomed.

  All was lost. Everything she’d worked for. Everything she’d hoped for.

  She spun on her heel and retraced her steps again, the pounding of her boots over the wooden floor jarring her nerves like a judge’s gavel.

  She froze. Her crew would be imprisoned. They’d be hung. It was all her fault. She wiped the sweat from her neck. What had she done? Lucas had warned her against going on this final raid—had not wanted to go himself. Now he would die because of her foolishness, and he and Molly would never have a chance to share their love.

  Faith clenched her fists and took up her pace again. And her sisters. What would become of them?

  She couldn’t shake the vision of the captain’s face from her mind. He had not known it was her until that moment. She could tell from the horror and pain that shot from his gaze when he saw her, like daggers piercing deep within her heart.

  He’d grabbed her cutlass and tossed it into the sea. The sharp steel formed an arc of spinning light glittering in the sun’s rays as it flew through the air. Then the churning waves of the sea reached up to grab it and pull it below, swallowing it up in darkness.

  The end of her pirate career.

  Then without saying a word, Mr. Waite had ordered his marines to take her below. Although she could hear the rustling of movement above her, she had no idea what he was doing.

  Or thinking.

  Footsteps approached, the door blasted open, and in walked Captain Waite. Faith froze.

  “Leave us,” he ordered the marine who had stepped in after him. Then turning, he slammed the door shut. A blast of salty sea air wafted over her—her last breath of freedom.

  The captain didn’t look at her. Didn’t speak to her. Instead, he stomped to her desk, sifted through her charts and books scattered atop it, then gazed across the room, his eyes skipping over her as if he feared looking at her might infect him with some disease.

  Faith pressed a hand to her chest. She felt as if a grappling hook had clawed her heart in two. He hated her. And how could she blame him?

  He swallowed hard. Tossing his bicorn on the desk, he finally lifted his gaze to hers. “So.” He waved a hand across the room. “You are indeed a pirate. The Red Siren, in fact.” He picked up a stack of maps from the desk and then slapped them back down. “You must be proud of yourself.”

  “No, I—”

  “All this time,” he said through gritted teeth. “While you were fluttering those thick lashes at me and playing the coquette.”

  “I never—”

  He held up a hand, his face a boiling cauldron. “Enough of your lies!” he yelled, and Faith flinched. She’d never seen him so angry before.

  “Teasing me. . .playing me for a fool.” He raked a hand through his hair, loosening a strand from his queue, then stormed toward her—a six-foot-one, two-hundred-pound cannonball fired her way.

  Taking a step back, Faith held his gaze. Halting inches from her face, he rubbed a harsh thumb over her lips, forcing her back, then he jerked his hand from her mouth. “Kissing me. Vixen,” he spat the word and turned from her.

  Faith lowered her gaze, battling the tears burning behind her eyes. A drop of sweat etched a ragged path down her back.

  “And those two men up on deck, Milner and Landers. . .or whoever they are.” He faced her once more, and his fiery gaze incinerated her. “You had them lie to me, play the part of poor plundered merchants.” He gave a derisive snort. “And all the while they were part of your crew. Great guns, woman, have you no shame?”

  Faith opened her mouth to reply, to tell him that no, she had no shame—at least not until recently, not until she had fallen in love with him, not until God had miraculously saved her sister, and not until this moment when the realization flooded her that her continual running away from God had brought naught but disaster in
her life. But Dajon didn’t give her the chance to say any of those things before he began ranting again.

  “Stealing? Thieving and God knows what else.” He pounded his fist on the desk, sending the maps, lantern, pen, and coil of rope quaking. “How many men have you killed, maimed while you plundered their ships?”

  “I have hurt no one.”

  His gaze locked with hers, pain screaming from his blue eyes. And she knew immediately that she had indeed hurt someone—someone very dear to her.

  “What will your father say?” The captain tore off his frock and tossed it into a chair. It slid from the seat and crumpled into a pile on the floor, but he didn’t notice. Instead, he gripped the hilt of his sword and resumed the pacing Faith had ceased.

  “I—” she began.

  “It will ruin him. Do you know that?”

  Of course she knew that. Her father’s welfare and especially that of her sisters had been all that consumed her thoughts these past five years.

  “And your sisters? What is to become of them? You thought to protect them, but all you have done is secured their ruin. No decent man will have them now.”

  A burning lump of sorrow stuck in Faith’s throat. A weight as heavy as a thousand cannonballs fell upon Faith, threatening to crush her. She’d only meant to save them, to give them the freedom to choose a decent husband or none at all, but in the end, she had caused just the opposite.

  “Dajon.” She took a step toward him and dared to use his Christian name, but the searing gaze he gave her told her to stay where she was.

  The ship careened over a wave, its wooden hull creaking in protest.

  “I saw no other way. My mother left them in my charge.” A black cloud swallowed up the sunlight beaming into the cabin, only adding to the gloom settling over Faith. “I could not allow what happened to Charity happen to them.”

  “So you took to piracy?” Mr. Waite’s brow wrinkled into folds of disgust, then he gave a cynical shrug. “Of course, a most logical choice for a proper British lady.”

  A spark of anger overtook her remorse. “How else was I to acquire a fortune to secure our future? Pray tell. Enlighten me, Captain.” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “I won’t even inherit my father’s estate. That will go to that foul beast, Lord Villement.”

  Dajon blew out a sigh and stomped to the bookcase.

  “Are you aware that this is my father’s ship? This”—he pounded on the bulkhead—“was my cabin.” He arched a contemptuous brow.

  Faith nodded.

  “Then you knew it was me all along?”

  Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  “From the moment I saw you.” Faith untied the bandanna and tugged it from her head. “You are not a man easy to forget.”

  He snorted. “Do you have any idea what you did to me that day?” His jaw flexed. “Besides stealing my father’s ship and all his cargo?”

  A dark red hue exploded on his cheeks and spread throughout his face. He folded his arms across his chest, his fists tight wads of fury.

  “I was thrown from the family business—disinherited.” His voice was as sharp as the point of a sword. “I spent a year. . .I spent a year doing things I’m not proud of—things that ruined many lives.”

  Faith gulped and wrung her bandanna into a tight cord in her hands. “I’m sorry.”

  He faced her with a sneer. “Now you’re sorry? But not sorry enough to stop pirating these waters when you knew I was responsible for keeping them safe, eh? Not that sorry.”

  “This was to be my last time.”

  “Ah. . .of course.” He grinned. “Well, as it turns out, it will be.”

  Dajon drew his sword and placed it on the desk then leaned back upon the worn oak. “Once again you are determined to shame me.” He crossed one boot over the other.

  “This time the shame is mine, Captain.”

  “Indeed.” His gaze met hers, and she sensed a softening within the piercing blue.

  “What was I to do? What choice did I have?” she said.

  “Perchance, Miss Westcott, to trust God. Did you consider that?”

  “Hardly,” Faith scoffed and eyed the lantern swinging from the wooden beams above her as she tried to rouse her usual fury toward the Almighty. But at the moment, the only anger she felt was toward herself. “Trust God? After my mother died trying to give my father the son he wanted? After my sister found herself imprisoned in a hellish marriage? After my other sister was ravished and ruined? No, sir. I decided God was not handling things very well.”

  “And I see you have done so much better.”

  She lowered her gaze beneath his sardonic glare. The truth of his words began to chisel a trail through her stony resolve. No, she had done a far worse job. Every step she’d taken away from God, everything she had tried to do in her own power had only made things worse. Her relationship with her sisters had suffered due to her absences. And consequently, without proper feminine guidance, Grace kept placing herself in terrible danger and Hope continually threw herself at disreputable men. All while Faith spent her nights scouring the seas, trying to amass a fortune that now seemed suddenly. . .

  Quite worthless.

  She’d hurt her sisters, she’d hurt this honorable man before her, she would ruin her father and their family reputation, and at the end of it all, she would be hanged.

  Her legs began to feel as fluid as the sea beneath the ship, and she shuffled to one of her padded chairs and fell into it, dropping her head into her hands.

  “Oh, God, forgive me.” Why had she not seen it until now?

  Until it was too late.

  Dread and shame swallowed the last of her pride, the last of her rebellion, but she would not allow her tears to flow. Not for herself. She didn’t deserve them.

  No sound came from Captain Waite. Perhaps he waited for her to spend her sorrow before he locked her in the hold below and escorted her to the Watch House. He was a gentleman, after all. But she had to know one more thing. Taking a deep breath, she sat up and found his gaze scouring over her. “Pray tell, Captain, if God is so loving, if He loves us so much, why did He allow all those horrible things to happen to my family?”

  Dajon shook his head. The tight lines on his face had smoothed, and the gleam had returned to his eyes. “I do not know. The world is a wicked place. People can be very cruel.” A shaft of sunlight broke through the clouds and swirled around him, framing him in sparkling specks of dust.

  Faith gripped the arms of the chair, wanting to rise but unsure if her legs would cooperate. She’d heard this explanation before, but still, it brought her no satisfaction. “But He’s God. He can stop them. He can protect us.”

  “Yes, He can.” Dajon nodded and rubbed his jaw. “But perhaps He has other plans. Maybe He allows things to happen that will lead us in a different direction, or bring us closer to Him, or strengthen our character. We do not know. That is where trust comes in.”

  “Trust?” Faith snickered. “When everything is crumbling down around me?”

  “Aye. That is what trust is. ’Tis easy to trust when all is well.” Dajon shoved the strand of hair behind his ear, gripped the edge of the desk, and leaned toward her, urgency sparking in his gaze. “Trust that His Word is true, Miss Westcott, that He loves you, that He is with you, ‘that all things work together for good to them that love God’ and then see what He can create out of life’s worst calamities.”

  The truth of his words hit Faith like a refreshing wave, but regret and agony soon followed in its wake. “That’s not difficult for someone like you who loves to follow rules.”

  His deep sarcastic chuckle bounced across the room. “Not difficult you say? I fear you do not know me very well.”

  “Still, I do not know if I can simply sit by when tragedy strikes and do nothing when ’tis within my power to change things.”

  Dajon approached and gripped the arms of her chair, staring down at her. “But don’t you see? You have never really had the power to chang
e anything—except to make things worse.”

  Faith gazed up at him. A loose coil of hair grazed his stubbled chin. The smell of lye and leather teased her with the scent of a man she knew now she could never have. She longed to throw herself into his arms, to seek the strength and protection she knew she’d find there. . . if only for a moment before he led her away. A moment she would cherish forever.

  No longer able to bear the look of pity and sorrow in his eyes, she tore her gaze from his. Once admiration had filled them. Affection—perhaps even love.

  Oh God, forgive me.

  The stomping of footsteps sounded from above. They were coming for her.

  She must prepare herself to accept the consequences of her foolish actions—the consequences she deserved.

  h

  Dajon jerked from the chair and took a step back, watching as Faith stared at the wooden planks above her head. Rising, she threw back her shoulders and stepped into a beam of sunlight that set her hair aglow and her skin shimmering.

  Dajon gulped.

  The fear, the rage, the defiance in her eyes had fled, replaced by remorse and defeat.

  “Dajon. . .Mr. Waite.” She raised her chin. Such bravery in the face of such defeat. He’d known navy captains with less fortitude. “I have wronged you greatly. I have wronged my sisters, my father, every-one I care about. I know it means naught to you, but I am truly sorry.” Her auburn eyes glistened, but she kept her tears captive. “I realize now that I blamed God for all the wrongs in my life, instead of believing what I knew deep down to be true of Him.”

  Silently Dajon thanked God for giving him the right words to help her understand, to help her see the truth of what she’d done. Though he hated to see her so distraught, a crest of admiration rose within him at her quick and humble repentance. But what to do with her now? Agony strangled him at the thought of what he knew he must do.

  She let out a small sigh then continued: “I cannot change what I’ve done, but. . .” She swept a hand through the air. “You have your ship back now, and you have caught your pirate. You shall have your revenge for the pain I’ve caused you.”