The Blue Enchantress

by Marylu Tyndall

  Or lovers.

  Hope’s heart plummeted. She swallowed and tried to control her breathing, all the while ashamed at her reaction. She should be thrilled to find her friends alive, not burning with jealousy at their close association. Besides, all she sought was Nathaniel’s approval, his admiration. Certainly not his love. She cringed. Was she so desperate for the attention of every man that she would deny these two godly people a happiness they both deserved? She bit her lip. What would a proper lady do in this situation? She would squelch the churning in her stomach and be the perfect picture of grace. Hope had set out to prove she could change, and change she would. Besides, what madness had befuddled her brain? Nathaniel would never grant his affections to a woman like her, for in so doing, he would deny the very essence of what made him a true gentleman.

  Real gentlemen did not consort with women like her.

  Chiding herself, she slogged through the moist sand and came up beside them.

  “Miss Hope.” Nathaniel jumped to his feet, brushing sand from his breeches. His strong jaw twitched as his intense gaze scoured her. A breeze wafted over them, tossing his wavy hair across his forehead and flapping his soiled linen shirt, giving her a peek of his muscular chest.

  Hope’s breath quickened again. She lowered her eyes toward her tattered, filthy dress and the strands of matted hair coiling over her shoulder and longed to sink into the sand beneath her. What a wretched sight she must present. Her state of disrepair compared with Abigail’s beaming beauty forced a renewed surge of jealousy.

  Abigail rose and took Hope’s hands. “I told you we would survive.”

  Swallowing, Hope tried to gain control of her emotions. She greeted her friend with a smile. “Yes, you did. But I believe you said God would save us, not Mr. Mason.” She cast a sarcastic glance his way. “Unless, of course, they are one and the same?” Which would explain Abigail’s attraction to him, but certainly not Hope’s.

  He shifted his bare feet in the sand and cocked his head. “Nowhere close, I assure you, Miss Hope, but God can use the most unlikely people to accomplish His tasks.”

  “You are far too humble, sir, as I am sure Miss Sheldon would agree. No doubt she has been expressing her deepest gratitude to you this morning for saving her.” Hope gave him a caustic smile.

  He narrowed his eyes.

  Abigail released Hope’s hands and brushed a fringe of hair from her forehead. “Indeed. I do find Mr. Mason’s humility refreshing.”

  “Hmm.” Hope laid a finger on her bottom lip. “A worthy quality to be sure. And one that you possess as well, Miss Sheldon. ‘God resisteth the proud, but giveth grace to the humble.’ Is that not correct?” Dash it all, what was wrong with her? Why did her insides feel like they were all tied up in knots?

  Nathaniel folded his arms across his chest. “I am pleased you know your Bible.”

  “I know enough of it. But I am sure Miss Sheldon knows far more than I, don’t you, Miss Sheldon?” Hope raised an inquisitive brow toward Abigail, whose expression had crumpled in confusion.

  Oh fodders. Hope knew she was behaving like a jealous schoolgirl, but the conflicting jumble of emotions swirling within her forbade her to stop. Perhaps she should leave before she made a complete nincompoop of herself.

  “Forgive the interruption. I’m sure you two have much to discuss about God ... redemption ... sacrifice ... or whatever holy matters you people find interesting.” Hope swerved about, but Nathaniel clutched her arm. Instead of the anger she expected to see on his face, a slow smile spread over his lips. She bunched her fists.

  He knows I’m jealous.

  Releasing her, he took a step back. Dark stubble peppered his jaw, making him look dangerous. But it was the warm yearning in his eyes that truly frightened her. “Please don’t leave, Miss Hope. We have much to discuss.”

  Her head began to pound again, and she rubbed her temples. She had set out to behave like a lady and had failed miserably—once again. “Forgive me. I must be tired.”

  “We have all endured a harrowing experience.” Abigail approached Hope, her voice soft and brimming with kindness. So unlike Hope’s sister Grace. Where Grace would have chided Hope for her inappropriate behavior, Abigail showed her naught but mercy.

  Drying salt began to chafe the skin beneath her sleeve, and Hope scratched her arm. She deserved the irritation and far more for her ill-mannered conduct. Visions of the roiling dark waters pulling her down to the ocean depths seized her mind. She trembled. But strong hands had clutched her from a watery grave just in time. She raised her gaze to Nathaniel. “’Twas you who pulled me from the water.”

  His half-cocked, sensuous smile set Hope’s stomach aflutter.

  Further memories of the night surfaced: the dash into the shelter of the forest, Mrs. Hendrick’s screams, the pelting rain. “And you who...” Held me all night against the raging wind and rain. His eyes locked upon hers, and something burned within their depths—desire? No. She was quite familiar with that look. This was something far deeper. Heat stormed up her neck and face, shocking her. She hadn’t blushed in years—had thought she was far beyond blushing like an innocent schoolgirl. She turned aside and met Abigail’s cat-like grin as the young woman shifted her gaze between her and Nathaniel.

  “Who what?” Abigail asked.

  “Never mind.” Backing up, Hope lowered herself onto a huge boulder and dabbed the perspiration from her brow. Though the sun sat merely a handbreadth above the horizon, its searing rays had already begun to cook the tiny island. “Where are we?”

  Nathaniel peered into the distance. “From my last calculation, one of the many small islands near Puerto Rico.”

  Leaves thrashed, and Major Paine and Mr. Hendrick emerged from the web of green.

  “Here, here, Mr. Mason.” Mr. Hendrick’s red hair gleamed like fire in the sunlight. “We have survived your hurricane, it would seem.”

  Nathaniel nodded. “’Twas not my hurricane, but yes, God has been gracious to us.”

  Major Paine straightened his wrinkled red waistcoat. Blotches of mud stained his white breeches, and his boots squished as he walked. The periwig that normally sat atop his head was nowhere to be seen. In its stead, long, stringy brown hair flayed in a chaotic display about his shoulders. A sword hung at his side. He scanned the horizon. “Humph. Well now, look at the mess you’ve gotten us into.”

  Hope shook her head, stunned by the man’s attitude.

  “Would you prefer to have remained on the brig, Major?” Nathaniel’s playful tone carried a hint of challenge.

  “Aye, I would have.” He ran his fingers through his hair, attempting to form some style out of the wayward strands. “No doubt she’s made anchor at Kingstown by now.”

  Nathaniel frowned as he scanned the shoreline that stretched to the north and ended in a jumble of rocks.

  Shielding her eyes from the sun, Hope followed his gaze to the debris scattered across the beach: buckets, wooden planks, sailcloth, barrels—the same barrels, from the looks of them, that Nathaniel had bound together on board the merchantman.

  Nathaniel released a heavy sigh. “I fear you are mistaken, Major.”

  Mr. Keese burst onto the beach and marched over to them, rubbing his eyes and spraying sand into the air with his bare feet. Stains and rips marred his tan breeches, and his wrinkled shirt hung loosely about his hips. Seemingly undismayed by his tousled appearance, he winked at Hope and took a stance beside Nathaniel.

  Ignoring him, Mr. Hendrick turned toward Nathaniel. “What do you mean, sir?”

  “I mean ’tis plain the brig sank.” Nathaniel spoke calmly over the distant crash of waves.

  “Egad, I do not believe it.” Mr. Hendrick and the major stared at him aghast.

  “The sea has spit up the evidence, as you can see.” Nathaniel waved a hand toward the debris.

  The two men peered down the shoreline. Mr. Hendrick fingered his beard while Major Paine stooped to pick up a chunk of wood. Flipping it over, he examined
it then tossed it down. “This could be any ship.”

  “Those barrels”—Nathaniel pointed to a group of casks shifting atop the incoming waves—“are the same ones I tied together on the brig before we left.”

  Mr. Hendrick snorted. “They could have been swept overboard.”

  “Aye, I suppose, but the sailcloth, the planking, the shattered remains of crates tell another tale.” Nathaniel gestured to the debris. “All from a ship sailing close to this island during the storm.”

  “Poor Mr. Russell.” Hope’s chest tightened as the realization of his words sank in. “And the captain and all those men.”

  Abigail sat down beside her and squeezed her hand.

  “Not like we didn’t warn them.” Mr. Keese gazed out to sea.

  “So, there will be no ship returning for us.” Mr. Hendrick planted his hands on his waist and gave an incredulous huff.

  “Not anytime soon.” Nathaniel shook his head.

  Hope eyed the belligerent men. Why weren’t they thankful to be alive? They should be grateful to Nathaniel for his quick thinking. She released a puff of shame. Yet had she been grateful when she had first encountered Nathaniel that morning?

  Major Paine’s face reddened. “What shall we do? We can’t stay here.” He glanced across the beach in disgust, then strolled over to where Hope and Abigail sat. “The ladies will not survive in this wilderness.” He swatted a mosquito that landed on his arm.

  Hope doubted the major would fare too well either.

  “I know a bit about living under these conditions.” Nathaniel eyed the major. “We will make the women comfortable, seek food and water, and wait until a ship sails by.”

  “Balderdash. That could take months.” Major Paine placed a hand on Hope’s shoulder as if staking his claim. “We must get the women off this savage place as soon as possible.”

  Hope squirmed from beneath his touch and shifted closer to Abigail. Didn’t the man realize he would be at the bottom of the sea if not for Nathaniel?

  Abigail squeezed her hand as if sensing Hope’s unease. Her expression glowed with peace even amidst the squabbling. How could she sit there and allow these men to behave so ungraciously toward Nathaniel, especially in light of her obvious affection for him? Perchance that was how ladies were supposed to behave—quiet, demure, submissive. Hope sighed. Would she ever be able to comport herself in such a manner?

  Nathaniel leveled a hard gaze upon the major. “And how do you propose to get us off this island?”

  “We shall build a raft.” He wagged a hand as if he could conjure one from thin air.

  Mrs. Hendrick stumbled onto the beach, Elise beside her. Two sailors followed in her wake. She held a hand to her forehead. Her elegant coiffure had collapsed into a chaotic jumble like the vines she emerged from. Her lips were as white as her face, save for dark blotches beneath her eyes. Abigail dashed toward her and took her arm, leading her to the boulder beside Hope.

  The two sailors stretched, glanced out to sea, then joined the group behind Mr. Hendrick.

  Mrs. Hendrick shifted as far away from Hope as the rock would allow even as Elise climbed into Hope’s lap. Planting a kiss on the girl’s cheek, Hope snuggled against her, enjoying her warm, soft feel before Mrs. Hendrick would inevitable pull her away. But the woman heaved a sigh of exhausted resignation and looked the other way.

  Giving his wife a cursory glance, Mr. Hendrick pulled a pocket watch attached to a chain from his waistcoat and snapped it open. Water dripped from it onto the sand, and he slammed it shut with a frown. “Yes, I daresay, a raft is the way to go, Major. It cannot be too far to Puerto Rico.”

  “You will never make it.” Nathaniel said with the kind of authority that comes from deep within a man and not bestowed on him by others. “In case you haven’t noticed, ’tis the season for storms. And this island lacks the materials to build a craft sturdy enough to withstand another squall.”

  “But you claim to be a shipbuilder, sir. Do you not?” Mr. Hendrick dropped the watch back into his pocket. “Surely you can construct a suitable raft. Besides, we may not encounter another storm for months.”

  “Are you willing to risk your life and the lives of these women on pure conjecture, sir?” Nathaniel swatted at a bug hovering by his head and released a grunt of frustration as if he wished he could do the same with Mr. Hendrick. “Nay, our best chance is to make ourselves comfortable until a ship arrives, seeking fresh water and fruit. I know this island. It is one of the few blessed with an abundance of both and is well known among the local sailors.”

  Hope eyed Mr. Hendrick and the major. Their expressions stiffened in unyielding arrogance. Blood throbbed in her aching head. “Even if you build a raft, and even if you make it to Puerto Rico, isn’t that island in the hands of the Spanish?” She eased a lock of Elise’s red hair behind her ear as all eyes shot to her.

  Seagulls squawked overhead as if laughing at the ridiculous altercation below.

  Nathaniel’s brows rose, and Mr. Keese crossed his arms over his chest and grinned.

  “My dear lady.” Mr. Hendrick shifted his mulish jaw and laid a finger upon his chin, reminding Hope of a common gesture of Lord Falkland’s. Why had she not noticed before its demeaning intent? “I have sailed these seas for a decade. And not to impugn Mr. Mason’s knowledge, but I am quite capable of getting us safely off this island.” He chuckled. “And since when do we cower before a few inept Spaniards, eh, Major?”

  “Quite right.” The major thrust out his narrow chin. “Enough of this nonsense. I am the highest authority here, and I say we build a raft.”

  Nathaniel pressed a hand on his side as if a sudden ache had arisen. “You may be the second in command of the Leeward Islands, Major, but you hold no power here. By all means, build your raft, but my first priority is our survival and the protection of these ladies.”

  The major’s face turned a deep shade of maroon. His mouth opened and shut as if he were unable to respond.

  Mr. Hendrick came to his aid. “Surely the ladies would be better cared for under the authority of a man who is used to commanding and making wise decisions.”

  “And where would we find such a man?” Mr. Keese grinned and scratched his whiskers.

  “Enough of your impudence, sir.” The major found his voice and gripped the hilt of his sword. “I issue the orders here, and I’ll have you and your friend gagged and tied to a tree if you do not comply. Mr. Hendrick is correct. The ladies should be under our protection, not that of common sailors. It is our duty as gentlemen.” He placed his hand once again on Hope’s shoulder, slid it down to her elbow, and attempted to tug her from her seat.

  Handing Elise to her mother, Hope jumped to her feet and jerked from the major’s grasp. “Mr. Mason saved all of our lives last night!” A swarm of shocked gazes landed on her. “And I, for one, intend to place my trust in him.” She licked her dry lips and felt the major’s appraisal slithering over her.

  Nathaniel’s eyes widened.

  The major sauntered over to stand beside Mr. Hendrick. “Ah yes, I forgot about your arrangement with Mr. Mason. Not worked off the full price he paid for you yet? Is that it?” He snickered.

  Nathaniel released a massive sigh and shook his head as if resigning himself to an action he detested. “And you, sir, have insulted Miss Hope yet again. Something I told you at dinner I would not tolerate.”

  He had? Hope blinked. She had run from the captain’s cabin too fast to hear such a chivalrous defense.

  The major rubbed his thumb over the silver hilt of his sword. Nathaniel and Mr. Keese were unarmed.

  The two sailors stood a few yards away, watching the altercation with amusement.

  Hope’s throat went dry. Perspiration slid down her back.

  Nathaniel took a bold step toward the major. He narrowed his eyes. “Apologize to Miss Hope at once.”

  The major shifted his glance from side to side as if he would retreat, but then he threw back his shoulders, drew his sword, and le
veled the tip beneath Nathaniel’s chin.

  CHAPTER 14

  Unflinching, Nathaniel eyed the pompous man. The tip of the major’s sword pierced the skin beneath Nathaniel’s chin, sending a trickle of blood down his neck. Nathaniel had dealt with this type of man before—a man bent on gaining power no matter the cost.

  Behind him Hope gasped, and at his side Mr. Keese made a move toward them, but Nathaniel lifted a hand to ward him off. There was no sense in anyone else getting hurt.

  “I shall give you one chance to lower your blade and apologize to Miss Hope, Major.” Nathaniel spoke slowly through his teeth so as not to disturb the sharp point digging into his chin, making sure, however, his tone carried the threat he intended. Though he assumed the major had been trained in swordsmanship, Nathaniel doubted the man would make the same assumption of a poor merchantman.

  The major’s dark eyes widened as a flicker of uncertainty, perhaps fear, flickered across them. His sword trembled, its tip scraping Nathaniel’s skin, confirming his suspicions—the man was a coward.

  Major Paine thrust out his pointed chin. “And I shall give you one more chance to submit to my authority.” A burst of wind sent the gold fringe of his epaulet flapping against his shoulder, mocking the severity of his challenge.

  Mr. Hendrick moved to stand behind the major, a supercilious grin upon his face.

  “As you wish.” Nathaniel snapped his gaze to the sea, feigning a look of surprise. The major flinched and glanced in the same direction, and in a lightning-quick move, Nathaniel struck the major’s blade with his forearm and shoved it aside. Major Paine stumbled backward, and Nathaniel grabbed a fistful of sand and flung it into his eyes.

  The major roared a foul curse, slammed his eyes shut, and began waving his sword out before him. Dodging the riotous swipes, Nathaniel darted to the major’s side and snatched the weapon from his hand with ease.

  The major ground his fists against his eyelids, growling like a wounded bear, then bent over, hands on his knees, and spit a string of obscenities onto the sand. “My eyes. My eyes. You’ve ruined my eyes.”