The Blue Enchantress

by Marylu Tyndall

  Silly, selfish girl. She reminded him of flotsam tossed to and fro upon the sea at the mercy of whatever winds happened to cross her path. How could anyone control such an erratic creature? Why should he care? He sighed. Perhaps God meant for him to help her. But how could he help her without losing himself so deeply in her charms that he would never find his way out?

  Scanning the deck, he examined every dark shadow, finding only barrels, ropes, and a few sailors well into their cups. He nodded to the night watchman and leapt upon the quarterdeck where the helmsman pressed a steady hand upon the wheel. Their eyes met, and in the gleam of the lantern hanging at the mainmast, the man gestured ahead to the foredeck where Nathaniel made out a dark figure standing at the bow of the ship. The shadow of another figure hovered nearby, causing his heart to jump. Was someone harassing Hope?

  He barreled down to the main deck, then jumped up the foredeck ladder and marched toward the bow. But as he approached, the second figure dissipated, leaving Hope standing alone. A night wind lumbered over him, heavy laden with her sobs. Nathaniel halted and rubbed his eyes, aching from lack of sleep. No doubt the reason for the strange apparition.

  He eased beside her.

  She flinched and swiped at her wet face. “What are you doing here?”

  “You left so suddenly. I ... I wanted to make sure you were ... well.”

  She gazed at the dark, churning sea and closed her eyes. Her moist face shimmered in the light of a half moon. “I am quite well, Mr. Mason. Go back to your party.”

  “Who was here with you?”

  “No one. I am alone, as you can see.” Then, turning toward the sea, she offered a sad, forlorn smile. “The water looks so enticing, does it not? I had the strangest urge to throw myself into it a minute ago.” She shook her head as if trying to wake from a nightmare. “I don’t know why.”

  A chill slithered down Nathaniel. He said a quiet prayer of thanks he had arrived when he had.

  The fetid odor from the head pricked his nose. He coughed. “Miss Hope, the stench here is not fitting for a lady. Allow me to escort you back to your cabin.”

  Her red-rimmed eyes teetered over him as if looking for a place to land. “’Tis exactly where I belong, then.”

  The ship rose over a swell, sending a warm, salty spray over them. But instead of cringing like most ladies, Hope spread her arms out as if she wished she could take flight. She stumbled, and Nathaniel readied his hands to catch her, but she caught her balance and stood like a wild bird with wings outstretched enjoying the wind in her feathers.

  “Miss Hope, you shouldn’t be—”

  “There’s something beautiful about the sea, isn’t there? Something almost magical.” She staggered. Nathaniel tossed his arm out behind her, but she clutched the railing again and smiled. And in that smile, beyond the fear, beyond the facade, beyond the pain, beamed an innocent little girl.

  A protective yearning clutched Nathaniel’s throat.

  “Aye, the sea can be soothing at times.” Nathaniel scratched his chin and gazed out over the dark waters. The wind had eased into a light breeze, yet the ship rocked above massive swells that had grown higher since earlier that day. “But I’ve spent enough time upon it to know it carries many hidden dangers, as well.”

  Her frown returned. “I suppose you are correct. Nothing is as good as it seems.”

  “They were wrong to impugn your character, Miss Hope. Many men, even good men, can be quite crude in their assumptions.” Yet even as he said the words, he wondered if something beyond the men’s lewd opinions had caused her present distress.

  “Their crude assumptions were not incorrect, Mr. Mason. As you well know.” Squeezing the remaining tears from her eyes, she drew a shuddering breath and stared down at the white V of foam slicing through the ebony waters.

  “The past is in the past.” Nathaniel uttered the only thing he could think to say, but deep down, he wondered if it were true. His mother’s past, his past, haunted him day and night.

  “You are wrong, Mr. Mason. The past follows us like a dark cloud.” She tugged upon a loose strand of hair at her neck and scanned the black line of the horizon, though her eyes seemed to stare far beyond it.

  “Then start right now to ensure a better past follows you.” Precisely what he intended to do—to remove the stains his mother had left on him, on his life, to pull out from under the shame, the poverty, until the past was so far behind him he could no longer see it, could no longer smell it.

  She snickered. “I wish it were that easy. Perhaps it is, for someone like you.”

  “You know nothing of me.” The wide expanse of molten charcoal horizon broken only by random silver braids seemed to whisper of a dark hunger. He sensed her torment, evidenced by a small sigh, and turned to face her.

  “I know enough.” She tightened her lips. “You are the type of man who rescues foolish girls by selling half of all you own in the world. You’re the type of man who sits outside a lady’s door at night, forfeiting your sleep to protect her after she’s ruined your life.”

  A tear slid down her cheek, and though he tried, Nathaniel could not resist wiping it away with his thumb. Then, easing his fingers down, he caressed her delicate jaw, astonished at the softness of her skin. A shard of desire shot through his belly. It sickened him. Was he so much like his mother he couldn’t resist a simple temptation? He dropped his hand and took a step back. “Any honorable man would have done no less.”

  She gave a little smile. “I am not so sure, Mr. Mason.” Stumbling, she gripped the railing again as a blast of wind struck them—oddly, from the west—freeing more of her curls to wave like ribbons of gold behind her. “I had thought ... I had wanted ... I wanted to know what it felt like to be treated like a respectable lady.” She sniffed. “At least for a time.”

  Nathaniel swallowed against the burning in his throat. He didn’t want to feel sorry for this woman, didn’t want to care. She had brought all her trouble, including the way people treated her, upon herself. So much like his mother. But this woman’s tears seeped into his heart, penetrating the hard crust of his childhood and softening a part of him that longed to take her in his arms—longed to comfort her. “Of what import are their opinions?”

  “Of great import.” She took in a deep breath.

  Nathaniel flinched, realizing the hypocrisy of his question when he himself had sought for years to cast off the shroud of dishonor from his past and emerge into respectful society. “You need no one’s approval save God’s,” he said as much to himself as to Hope.

  Her sad, hollow chuckle was snatched away on the wind. “I fear I lost His approval a long time ago.”

  “Perhaps you lost His approval of your behavior but never His approval of you.” A spark of purpose flickered within Nathaniel. Maybe he had been sent to help this woman, after all.

  She snorted. “Spare me your religious exhortations. I’ve heard them all from my sister Grace.”

  Grunting, Nathaniel crossed his arms over his chest. How could he help someone who refused to be helped? But for now, he must calm her down and get her below before she lost her balance and fell into the sea, or some sailor came across her alone. Anger knotted in his gut at the position she once again had thrust upon him. Perhaps a change of subject would get her mind off her present woes. “Speaking of your sisters, they must be quite worried about you by now. Wasn’t your sister Faith locked in the Watch Tower Dungeon?”

  The ship plunged over a rising crest, showering them once again with warm, salty spray. Tiny beads of water sparkled over her face, neck, and the rising swell of her bosom, drawing his eyes to a place he had avoided glancing at all night. Coughing, he jerked his gaze back to the sea and rubbed the sweat from the back of his neck. The wind died down again. Yet the waves increased. A prickling of unease chittered down Nathaniel’s back.

  “Yes. Faith was awaiting trial,” she finally said.

  “And you left without discovering her fate?” Nathaniel hadn’t intended
his voice to sound so accusing, but he knew the Westcott sisters were close, and he couldn’t imagine one of them leaving another one in danger.

  She waved a hand through the air. “She assured me she would receive a pardon. Besides, Lord Falkland was to set sail, and I had no choice.”

  Nathaniel examined her, wondering if she could be so selfish as to leave with her sister’s fate unknown. Or perhaps she had been so besotted with that buffoon Falkland that she had gone temporarily mad. Most likely a bit of both.

  Her features hardened. “Don’t look at me like that. I love my sisters, and I know they love me. I knew Faith would be fine. She always is.” The ship thrust into the next roller, and Hope wobbled and gripped the railing. “I have never fit in with my sisters. Grace is so good that I don’t believe she’s ever had a vile thought in her life, and Faith is so strong, so brave, so much like our father. There’s naught she cannot do if she puts her mind to it.” She sighed. “Then, there’s me.”

  Nathaniel grimaced, growing tired of the woman’s self-pity. “I am sure God has gifted you with your own special talents.” Though he suspected she’d been too preoccupied with carnal pursuits to find them.

  “So I’ve been told.” Releasing the railing, she tilted her head to the side and waved her hands over her voluptuous form, a coy smile upon her lips. “This, apparently, is the only gift I have to offer.”

  The ship jolted, sending Hope stumbling sideways. Nathaniel flung himself in her path, and she fell against him, her warm body molding to his.

  His breath caught in his throat. She lifted her face and giggled. The sweet aroma of wine swirled around him. Her sapphire eyes glowed in the moonlight with an innocent pleading that seemed at odds with her libertine behavior.

  His heart ran a race in his chest. He glanced at her inviting, parted lips and searched frantically for the anger he harbored against her. Where was it when he needed it most? Gathering his resolve, he gripped her arms, nudged her back a step, and cleared his throat. “It is not all you have to offer, Miss Hope.” He tried to speak with firm authority, but his voice, low with passion, belied his statement.

  She dropped her head on his shoulder and nestled closer, obviously as unconvinced by his statement as he was. Her golden hair, blowing in the breeze, tickled his nose and smelled of honey.

  Lord?

  Easing her hands up his arms, she gripped his muscles as if she absorbed strength from them, then she tipped her head up. Her warm breath caressed his chin as she brushed her fingers over the stubble on his jaw. A hot wave crashed over him, and he struggled for a breath of control.

  Then her lips pressed upon his.

  His limbs went numb as he gave in to the sensations roiling through him. She tasted of wine and mango, and he grew hungrier for more of her. How many times back in Charles Towne had his eyes drifted down to her full, moist lips, and how many times had he dreamed of how they would feel against his? Now as they caressed his cheeks, his chin, his head grew light and his senses reeled, and he knew in that one moment he could either lose himself completely or save himself forever.

  Would it be so bad, to take the path his mother had trodden?

  God help me.

  No! He could not, would never. Pushing Hope away, he tried to catch his breath.

  “What is it?” Shock heightened her voice.

  “I cannot do this.” Shame assaulted him at his behavior, his lack of control. Throughout the years, he’d resisted many women’s flirtations, desiring to keep himself pure for his wife, wanting to do things right. But the way this beauty flung about her charms with ease and gave herself away so freely reminded him of exactly where he’d come from. A place to which he had vowed never to return.

  She backed away from him, the simmer of passion fading from her eyes, replaced with sorrow, and then a hard sheen. “You asked what my talents were.”

  “I didn’t ask for a demonstration.” Nathaniel flexed his jaw, his lips still burning from their kiss.

  “I heard no complaints.”

  “Why do you throw yourself at every man you meet?”

  Her expression crumpled. “I don’t want to. I’m trying not to.” She gave him an angry pout and shook her head. “I don’t know.” Her shoulders sank. “I made a vow today to change.”

  “Try not drinking so much wine.”

  She shot him a fiery gaze.

  “And flirting with Mr. Keese. You barely know him.”

  “I’m trying.”

  “Try harder.”

  She bunched her fists. Her mouth tightened. “Well, perhaps you should try not to accost a lady whilst she is all alone in the dark when you knew she had imbibed much wine. ’Tis most improper.” She flung a hand to her breast and smirked. “What did you expect me to do?”

  “I did not accost you. I grabbed you because you were about to fall.” Nathaniel raised a brow. “Next time I shall allow you to tumble to the deck.”

  She stomped her foot and wobbled, but when he reached out to steady her, she snapped her arm away. “Don’t touch me, or I’ll scream and bring the crew swarming to my rescue.”

  Nathaniel laughed. “And what would they rescue you from?”

  “From taking advantage of my distress and wine-befuddled senses.”

  “Despite the wine, I believe you knew exactly what you were doing.” He narrowed his eyes. “An art you have perfected over the years, no doubt. But I do not intend to be your next victim.”

  “Victim! Pah. Go back to your lady, Miss Sheldon. You two are perfect for one another.”

  Miss Sheldon? Ah, the lady was jealous. The realization delighted him far more than it should have. “Perhaps, but that is none of your affair.”

  The ship lunged, sending white foam over the bow and onto Hope’s shoes. She tossed her arms out to her sides to keep her balance.

  “The seas roughen. I’ll escort you back to your cabin.” Nathaniel held out a hand.

  “I don’t need your help. Leave me be.” Swinging around, she stomped back to the rail.

  Any final drops of desire spilled from him onto the deck like the foam now bubbling around his boots, laughing at him—laughing at the control it had over him. Reason returned, and with it, anger at her defiance. “In your condition, you’ll most likely fall overboard, and I don’t feel like a swim tonight.”

  “Then leave me be and let me drown.” She waved a hand behind her.

  “You are a spoiled brat.”

  “And you are a pretentious brute.”

  The ship bucked again. Hope lost her balance and tumbled backward. Nathaniel reached out for her at first but then jerked his hands back. She thumped to the deck, her skirts billowing out around her, and began to sob.

  With a huff, Nathaniel hoisted her in his arms. She writhed against him, shoving and punching him as Nathaniel took the foredeck ladder and then the companionway ladder below. Finally she slumped against his shoulder and released a quiet sigh.

  Lord, why have You put this lady in my life?

  She was the type of woman he abhorred. And he had done the exact thing she needed least of all. He’d given into her advance out of purely physical desire—like every other man in her life. How could he have done such a thing? When he had strived to maintain godly self-control his whole life, strived to eradicate any licentious tendencies inbred within him. But he knew one thing. Hope needed help, she needed healing—she needed God. And he was the last person to give her any of those things.

  Lord, take away my anger and my desire for this woman and send her someone who can lead her to You.

  Yes, he must keep his distance from the tantalizing Hope and return her to her home as soon as possible. And that’s just what he intended to do.

  “Here we are.” He set her down at the door to the forecabin. “Promise me you’ll stay in your cabin.” He peered down at her.

  “Forgive me, Mr. Mason.” She hiccupped. “It would seem I am a source of constant trouble for you.” Raising a hand to her forehead, she rubbed it. “
I don’t feel too well.”

  “Then I suggest you go to bed.”

  “I really am not well.” She wobbled, and her face blanched.

  Clutching her arms, Nathaniel steadied her.

  Hope’s eyes widened. She flung a hand to her mouth then bent double and lost the contents of her stomach all over his boots.

  CHAPTER 8

  Hope drew in a deep breath of salty air, rubbed her throbbing temples, and closed her eyes for a moment against the mad rush of frothy water dashing against the hull of the brig. The gurgle and slap of the sea agitated the churning in her stomach, and she pressed a hand over the complaining organ. Above the crisp horizon, dark, wispy clouds hung like vultures ready to devour what was left of a clear morning. A multitude of sounds crashed over her: the snap of the sails, the sharp twang of rope, the creaks and groans of the brig, and the commands of the officers ordering the seamen to their tasks.

  And she wished everything and everyone would simply stop ... making ... noise.

  Adding to her affliction was the shame of the prior evening: the insults and looks of derision from the other passengers at dinner, her overindulgence of wine, and her encounter with Nathaniel—most of which she could not remember.

  But she remembered enough.

  Had she really lost her dinner upon his boots? She cringed and stared down at the choppy water. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to toss herself into the sea, after all. Better that than to face Nathaniel after her drunken theatrics. And their kiss. She brushed her fingers over her lips, still tingling with the memory. Some lady she was. Throwing herself at the man like a common hussy. When she’d vowed to change. To be different—better.