The Red Siren

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Revenge? By the powers, woman, do you think that is what I want?” Dajon gripped her shoulders, fighting the urge to pull her into his arms. Instead, he turned, stomped to the desk, and plucked a feather pen from its holder. Her lemon scent, the heat from her body, and the submissive appeal in her eyes were driving him mad, but he must keep a clear head. He must not allow his sentiment to cloud his judgment.

  Oh God, what am I to do?

  The sunlight disappeared as quickly as if God had blown out a candle, and rain pummeled the deck above like the sound of a thousand boots—boots that marched across his heart, that marched to arrest Faith. He began plucking tiny barbs from the pen. If he turned her in for piracy, she would be hanged. How could he bear it? Yet she seemed repentant, remorseful. If she vowed never to pirate again, what good would come of her death? But oh, the harm that would come of it. Her father ruined, her sisters’ lives destroyed.

  He didn’t know what to do. Help me, Lord. Please.

  Rules and law. They had been his friends for many years. God’s law and man’s rules. He had vowed to follow both. Whenever he strayed from them in the past, he’d hurt others—people he loved—just as Faith had done. Crimes should be punished, or wickedness would become the rule.

  But what of grace? The soft voice, barely an utterance, rose above the pounding rain.

  “Captain Waite,” Faith said from behind him, her voice devoid of life. “Let us get this over with. I cannot bear it another minute.”

  Neither could he.

  Dropping the pen, he spun around and marched toward her with nothing on his mind but to grab her and hide her away where no one would ever find her.

  She flinched at his threatening approach but met his gaze.

  He halted. Great guns, she truly thought he hated her. He snorted, shaking his head.

  “Do what you must do.” She held out her hands so he could bind them.

  He took her hands in his. “Dear lady. . .” Releasing her, he rubbed his eyes. “I can’t believe I’m saying this.” He snapped his gaze back to hers. “But I understand your reasons. You’re clearly mad, but I understand.”

  “Then what has you so vexed?”

  “The position you have forced upon me.”

  “The position, Captain, is to your favor, for you will be hailed a hero for catching the infamous Red Siren.” The breath of a smile that lifted her lips instantly dissipated.

  “I care not about that if it means I must lose you.” There, he had said it. He had said what had been rending his heart in two. He had said the very thing that defied everything he believed in.

  “I don’t understand.” She pressed a hand over the baldric crossing her chest.

  “Take your ship back to wherever you keep it.” Dajon grabbed his sword and sheathed it. “By the way, where do you keep it?”

  A white sheen covered Faith’s rosy face, and she gaped at him as if he were the ghost of Captain Morgan come back to life.

  “Never mind.” He huffed. “I don’t want to know.”

  “You’re not arresting me?” She blinked and seemed to be having trouble finding air around her. “But your men. They saw me.”

  “Mr. Borland may have. But you still had your hat on, remember? I doubt anyone else recognized you.”

  “But if the Admiralty discovers this?”

  “I’ll be court-martialed and executed.”

  “Nay, I won’t take that chance.” Faith flung out her wrists again.

  “You will because I will not see you hang.” Dajon grabbed one of her hands even as he forced back a smile. Not only was the lady truly repentant, but it would seem she returned his affections as well. “Do you understand me?”

  She tugged her hand away. “No, I do not. You will arrest me at once.”

  “I give the orders on this ship now.” He flashed a superior grin. “And I will do no such thing.”

  “Look what I have done to you. Stolen your ship, disgraced your name, caused you so much pain.” Her face was a knot of confusion.

  “Can you be so daft?” He eased a finger over her soft cheek. “You can navigate a ship, play the pirate, ride a horse, fire a pistol, and probably wield that cutlass I tossed into the sea, but you cannot recognize love when you see it.”

  “Love?” She gasped.

  “Yes. ’Twill most likely be the death of me, but I love you, Faith. I cannot help myself.” He cupped her chin and caressed her cheek with his thumb.

  She closed her eyes. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as if she were running from some unknown danger. One tear escaped the fringe of her dark lashes, then she sank into him.

  Entwining her within his embrace, Dajon wished he could always keep her safe in his arms, but keeping this woman safe would be like trying to catch the wind in his sails and hold it there forever. Weaving his fingers through her curls, he leaned his head atop hers and released a sigh.

  She gazed up at him, her sparkling eyes shifting between his. The freckles on her nose begged for attention, and he placed a gentle kiss upon them. “Might I say, you look quite ravishing in breeches,” he whispered.

  She moved her lips closer to his. “I’ll wager you say that to all the pirates you catch.”

  Pressing her against him, he captured her mouth with his, feeling her heartache, her will, her pain dissolve into him. Heat seared through him. He yearned for more of this tantalizing woman, more of her heart, more of her soul, more of her body. Releasing her before he gave in to his desire, he caught his breath. Then, noticing the tears streaming down her cheeks, he kissed them away. “Please don’t cry.”

  “Dajon, I can’t allow you to do this.” She shook her head, swiping at her tears and backing away from him. “I will not risk harming another person I love for my own mistakes.”

  “There is no risk. No one need know of this. You never raised your flag and didn’t board the ship. I’ll tell the men we made a mistake. You are merely searching for a lost relative.”

  “But what of Borland? What of the Lady Adeline? Clearly the captain knew what I was about.”

  “Borland is a friend. He will keep silent. And the Lady Adeline is even now on her way to Jamaica.”

  “It is too risky.” She swallowed. Her jaw tightened.

  Dajon gripped her shoulders and gently shook her, hoping to shake loose the sudden fog that had befuddled her brain. “Do you wish to die at the end of a noose? Do you wish to see your sisters miserable, your father ruined?”

  “Of course not.” She pulled away from his grasp. “But neither do I wish to see any harm come to you.” Her eyes flooded with tears again.

  “This is the only way.” Dajon held out his hand. “Faith, please, trust me. I promise all will be well.”

  Taking his hand, she leaned her head on his chest.

  “Very well, I concede. But not for me. I deserve no better than the noose for what I’ve done. But for my sisters and my father.”

  “Good girl.” Dajon brushed his fingers through her hair.

  He held her back from him. “But you must promise me.”

  “Anything.”

  “Promise me you will never pirate again.”

  “Oh, Dajon, I assure you, that is an easy promise to keep.”

  Chapter 29

  Leaping from the cockboat, Borland stomped down the wooden dock, feeling it quake beneath his angry march. Raising the collar of his frock against the rain that blasted across his path, he headed toward his favorite tavern.

  He needed a drink. A good, long, strong drink.

  Anything to squelch the incessant howling in his head. Egad, Miss Westcott was the Red Siren. As soon as he’d heard her voice, as soon as he’d watched her flounce across the deck to Captain Waite, as soon as he’d seen that tiny thread of red hair dancing across her neck, he knew. Yet the captain had the audacity to set her free.

  Borland should be overcome with joy.

  He would not have to do a thing. This woman, this pirate, would be Dajon’s undoing. The event could not
have gone better if Borland had spent years planning it—and even then, he could never have conceived of such a fortuitous outcome.

  Rain stung his cheek. He lowered his chin and folded his arms across his chest before darting across the muddy street. The screech of jarring wheels and the irritated whinny of a horse jolted him from his thoughts.

  “Watch where yer goin’, ye bird-witted laggard,” the driver of the buggy yelled before flicking his reins and continuing onward.

  Thunder roared an angry admonition as Borland plodded forward, the mud clawing at his boots like demons dragging him to the underworld.

  Pulling from their grasp, Borland trudged up the stairs of the Blind Arms alehouse and shook off the eerie feeling that he had somehow escaped a perilous ending.

  A ribald tune floated through the open window upon flickering fingers of candlelight, beckoning him inside. Borland doffed his bicorn and slapped it on his knee, licking his lips as the smell of ale wafted over him.

  “Mr. Borland!” shouted a familiar voice from within the pounding rain.

  Peering through the darkness, Borland made out a fashionable calash as it lumbered through the mud and stopped before the tavern.

  A footman, with coat dripping and hair plastered to his face, jumped down from the driver’s bench, placed a box step in the mud, and held an umbrella aloft as Sir Wilhelm Carteret emerged from the enclosed carriage. He stepped uneasily onto the box then dashed beneath the porch as if the rain would somehow melt him.

  “Sir Wilhelm.” Borland nodded, annoyed at the delay to his evening’s drink. “What may I do for you, sir?”

  Sir Wilhelm’s lips flattened into a haughty line as he clutched Borland’s arm and dragged him to the side. “Why have I not heard of Mr. Waite’s arrest?” Sniffing, he raised a hand to his nose. “Mrs. Gladstone refuses to see me.”

  Borland ripped from his grasp. “You haven’t heard then?” He snorted. “Mr. Waite didn’t take the lovely Mrs. Gladstone up on her offer, as I informed you he would not.”

  Sir Wilhelm growled. “That matters not. The brother should have caught them in an embrace, and her word would seal the captain’s doom.”

  Borland drew a shaky breath of the rain-spiced air and tried to quell the searing fury in his belly. “Nay, I fear the lady was so smitten with the chivalrous Mr. Waite that she reneged on our agreement and hailed him her rescuing knight.” Borland waved a hand through the air in a royal gesture.

  “Gads! I cannot believe it.” Sir Wilhelm turned and gripped the railing then snapped his hands from the soggy wood. “This is inconceivable.” He swung about, his white periwig slightly askew.

  “Aye, and her husband trumpets the captain’s praises all about town, even offered him a reward.” The vision of Mr. Gladstone all but bowing down to worship Dajon etched green trenches of jealousy in Borland’s mind.

  Captain Waite’s never-ending good fortune.

  Sir Wilhelm gritted his teeth. “I must get the blasted man out of the way! Surely you know of some other way—anything that will ruin him.” He pounded the air with his fist, lace flopping at his wrist.

  Yes, Borland did indeed know of a way to ruin Mr. Waite. He longed to tell Sir Carteret. The juicy news perched on the tip of his tongue and heralded its call so loudly Borland was sure Sir Wilhelm would hear it. But he snapped his mouth shut. He could not do it.

  Not yet.

  Dajon would not only be ruined. He would be executed.

  Borland felt like Satan himself holding the cursed apple. But if he offered the vile fruit to Sir Wilhelm, ’twould be the great Captain Waite who would fall—not only fall but die as well—and while Borland longed to take back from Dajon what was rightfully his, he was not ready to cause the death of his longtime friend.

  He slid a finger over his moist mustache and gave Sir Wilhelm a look of defeat. “No, I told you. Captain Waite is perfect.”

  Sir Wilhelm sneered and waved a hand in dismissal. “Not as perfect as you think. There is another way.” His thin lips spread in an insidious grin. “I received some very interesting news from London today.” He patted his waistcoat pocket and turned to leave.

  “News of Dajon?”

  “Of his past,” he shot over his shoulder.

  “Enough to discredit his naval service? Or more?”

  Sir Wilhelm swung about. “Nay, but enough to discredit him with Miss Westcott.” Carteret flicked his eyebrows then climbed into his carriage.

  Borland’s shoulders sank. If Sir Wilhelm only knew the weapon Borland held, he would no doubt pay handsomely for its possession. Then not only would they both be rid of the infuriating Captain Waite, but Borland would be a wealthy man, as well as the commander of the HMS Enforcer. How could any man pass up such an opportunity? Besides, it was his duty to report Dajon to the Admiralty. If he didn’t and didn’t do it quickly, then he, too, would face a court-martial for withholding the information.

  But to inform Sir Wilhelm would mean a certain death sentence for Dajon. And Borland needed to exhaust every other means to discredit his commander before he resorted to such dire measures.

  The footman snapped the reins, and the calash lumbered down the street. Borland watched until darkness enveloped the retreating coach before he ducked into the tavern.

  He needed that drink now more than ever.

  h

  A daring ray of sunlight peeked through a crack in the heavy curtains hanging in Faith’s chamber. Pushing aside her coverlet, she slid from her bed and darted to the window. She’d hardly slept at all and had lain in bed the last hour waiting for the sun to rise. Grabbing the curtains, she flung them aside, allowing the morning sun to wash over her, cleanse her, warm her. It was a new day.

  A new life.

  A tingling sensation radiated from her heart, bringing with it such peace and love as she had not known before. It was the presence of God. She knew because she had felt Him all night long as she spoke to Him from her bed.

  “Oh Lord, I have been so foolish. But You never left me.”

  Moisture filled her eyes, and she closed them as she knelt on the wooden floor and bowed before the holiness, the power, and the love of a God who, even though she had given up on Him, had never given up on her. Tears spilled down her cheeks, plopping onto the floorboards below like sparkling diamonds. She released a tiny chuckle. These tears of joy, tears of submission, were far more beautiful than the worldly jewels she had sought to obtain.

  Though she still could not understand the reason behind all her family’s tragedies, somehow now deep within her, she knew. She knew God was in control, and His love for them, His desire for their best, had prompted all that had occurred.

  “I thank You, Lord. I thank You for saving me from the noose, though that is surely what I deserve—and far worse. I thank You for saving Hope and for keeping all of us safe in Your arms.”

  Rising, she pulled on her robe, opened a drawer of her dressing chest, and began flinging out petticoats, ribbons, frilly caps, and scarves onto the floor. It had to be here.

  Then she saw it hidden among the folds of a chemise. Her Bible.

  Grabbing it, she hopped onto her bed and opened it, tracing her fingers over the holy pages. How long had it been since she’d read it? Six, seven years? Even then, it had not made much sense to her. Yet oddly, she had kept it safely tucked away all this time. She flipped a few pages, and her eyes landed on a scripture in Psalms: “Though I walk in the midst of trouble, thou wilt revive me: thou shalt stretch forth thine hand against the wrath of mine enemies, and thy right hand shall save me. The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me: thy mercy, O LORD, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands.”

  Yes, God had revived her, had preserved her life. Not only hers but her sisters’ lives as well—even in the midst of terrible trouble.

  But not your mother’s life. The subtle whisper slithered into her mind even as a chill overtook her.

  Faith bit her lip. True, her mother had died, but perhaps
taking her home was a form of saving her. Perhaps physical death was not the most important thing God desired to save them from. Besides, her mother was the most pious woman Faith had ever known. Surely she did not lament the glorious place where she now resided.

  And God hadn’t said her family would encounter no trouble, only that He would save them through it. Glancing down at the verse again, Faith locked her gaze upon the phrase “The LORD will perfect that which concerneth me.” God had a purpose for her, a plan, a reason for everything that happened. But she had stopped trusting Him. Stopped believing that He cared. And sailed off on her own course.

  She gently closed the book. “Oh Father, help me to trust You no matter what calamities may befall me or my family.”

  Her thoughts sped to her mother again, and renewed sorrow burned behind her eyes. Yet despite the pain, God had worked everything to the good. He had brought her Dajon.

  Dajon. Thoughts of him bubbled within her like new wine. Honorable, God-fearing, kind, strong, brave—a million adjectives swept across her mind, each one proclaiming his virtues. Not only was he all those things, but he respected women as well—a rarity among the cads she and her sisters had encountered of late. And he was honest. He would never deceive her, never hurt her, never hurt anyone. She hadn’t known men like him existed. If she had, perhaps she wouldn’t have been so opposed to marriage. Surprise sent her head spinning. Surprise that the thought of marriage had even occurred to her, let alone made every inch of her shiver with joy.

  Perhaps Dajon was the answer to her problems. A God-sent answer. A union with him would provide the protection and support she needed—they all needed—giving her time to find proper suitors for her sisters. Not to mention that she would no longer be obliged to marry Sir Wilhelm when her father returned.

  Yet she knew the price Dajon had paid to release her. The cost of going against everything he believed in: truth and duty and obedience. Not to mention the risk he took with his own life.