The Blue Enchantress

by Marylu Tyndall

  A tall man, whom Nathaniel assumed to be the first mate, barked an order to ease off the foresheet and clear the braces, sending the pirates scampering across deck. He had heard pirate ships were havens of disorder and drunken brawling, but the seacraft he’d seen displayed since he boarded spoke otherwise.

  A group of men emerged from the shadows on Nathaniel’s left, and in the dim lantern light, he made out Kreggs, Hanson, and two pirates.

  One of them, a man Kreggs introduced as Boone, stood at least a foot taller than Nathaniel. His shoulders stretched as wide as a ship’s yard, and he had a head like a cannonball. Jones, the other pirate, seemed but a twig beside Boone, but a jagged rope scar around his neck drew Nathaniel’s gaze.

  “We’ve been telling these men about how you healed Miss Hope,” Kreggs said. “They want to hear more.”

  Elated to discuss the things of God, especially with these pirates, and also to have something to do—anything to do—besides retire below with Hope, Nathaniel felt his exhaustion flee. “I didn’t heal her. God did. But I’d love nothing more than to honor you with the tale.”

  “That’s my cue to retire.” Gavin grinned and disappeared into the darkness, his footsteps fading over the deck. Sorrow overcame Nathaniel at his friend’s lack of interest in God, but turning toward the men whose wide eyes were trained upon him, he began the story of Miss Hope’s healing; then he spoke of other miracles he’d witnessed.

  At least an hour passed in which the pirates listened with rapt attention to everything Nathaniel said, even periodically asking questions. Amazed at their interest in God and heaven and eternity, Nathaniel spoke with conviction and compassion. The more he spoke, the more empowered he felt. He knew God was with him, putting the right words in his mouth and drawing these men to the Truth.

  But one by one, Hanson, Kreggs, and the pirates excused themselves to go below and get some sleep before dawn, leaving Nathaniel with no reason to avoid his bed any longer. He assumed it was past two in the morning, and he needed at least a few hours of sleep in order to stay alert on the morrow.

  Heading down the companionway, he trudged toward his and Hope’s quarters, praying she was asleep. Praying she wouldn’t hear him enter, that he wouldn’t bump into her in the darkness, and that he wouldn’t be forced to listen to her soft, deep breaths throughout the night, knowing that if he did, he wouldn’t find a second’s rest.

  CHAPTER 28

  The door clicked shut. Ever so quietly. Not the hollow thud of a ship’s cabin door, but the deep clunk of oak—the door of Hope’s chamber. She slid her hands over her bed, her fingers gliding over the coverlet of silk she’d not felt since she lived in Portsmouth. Footsteps sounded on the wooden floor. Her breathing halted. Her heart thumped so loudly in her chest it drowned out all other sounds. She opened her eyes, not daring to move, and shifted her gaze across the dark room. Gauzy, cream-colored curtains flung wildly at the open window. Lit by moonlight, they danced ghostlike in the breeze. Across the room, eerie shadows danced along with them.

  One of the shadows moved.

  Hesitant, it stepped toward her bed.

  “Faith? Is that you?” Hope whispered and started to sit up. Who else would be in her chamber at this hour?

  The dark figure darted toward her. Before she could move, a firm hand slammed over her mouth. Another pushed her down onto the bed. The man clutched a fistful of her hair and yanked her head. Pain shot from her neck down her back. She tried to scream, but only a garbled muffle proceeded from her mouth.

  “Not Faith, my dear.” The slick voice spilled brandy-drenched breath over her. A voice that made her blood grow cold. A voice that sent shivers of terror over her. The voice of Lord Villemont.

  ***

  “No! No! Let me go! No, please!”

  Nathaniel shot up in bed. His heart slammed in his chest. He scanned the darkness, trying to remember where he was. The pirate ship.

  Movement beside him. “No! I beg you. Do not!”

  Hope. Someone assaulted Hope! In one leap, Nathaniel was at her side, ready to throttle her attacker, but only empty air surrounded her.

  “No!” She thrashed over the bed and began to sob.

  “Hope.” Nathaniel gripped her arms and shook her gently. “Hope, wake up.”

  Her ragged breathing filled the room. She struggled against his grip and tossed her head back and forth.

  “You’re dreaming, Hope. Wake up.” Nathaniel grabbed her face with both hands to quiet her.

  She jerked, gasped, then placed her hands atop his, feeling his fingers.

  “’Tis me. Nathaniel.”

  She flew into his arms and clutched the back of his shirt as if he were her only lifeline. He engulfed her in his embrace, feeling her heart crashing against his chest.

  “Nathaniel.” She uttered a breathless appeal.

  “Yes, ’tis me. You are safe.”

  Laying her head on his shoulder, she wept.

  “Shhh.” He stroked her hair and pressed her closer against him. Sobs racked her body. Whatever she had dreamed must have been terrifying.

  Nathaniel kept a firm hold on her, hoping he could make her feel safe from whatever had frightened her so. She cried for several minutes until finally her whimpers softened, and she released a deep breath. She fingered the sleeve of his shirt. “I thought I was back there again.”

  Nathaniel eased a hand down her back, grateful she was fully clothed. “Where?”

  “Portsmouth.”

  Releasing her, he nudged her back and started to rise.

  She gripped his arm and held on tight.

  He gave her a reassuring look. “I’m going to light the lantern. I’ll be right back.”

  She loosened her grip and slid her hand down his arm as he left, tightening her fingers around his for a moment before he stepped away.

  Swallowing a lump of conflicting emotions, Nathaniel groped through the darkness, finding steel and flint and tinder to light the lantern. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned to face her. She sat on the bed, her hair a wild cluster of golden curls. Wounded, desperate eyes stared back at him. His heart shrank in his chest.

  Something terrible had happened to this woman.

  He approached, kneeling beside her, and took her hand in his.

  Hope ran her fingers over his calluses. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep. I rarely have nightmares anymore.” She looked away and tightened her lips.

  “I’m glad I was here.” The ship creaked, the lap of waves against the hull soothed over him, and he released a deep breath. “What happened in Portsmouth?”

  Her eyes filled with tears, and she lowered her chin. Her hands trembled. “I cannot tell you.”

  Nathaniel brushed a lock of hair from her face. She flinched. “Someone hurt you.”

  Tears spilled down her cheeks, and she squeezed his hand. A shudder ran through her. “My sister’s husband.” Hope’s lips quivered.

  Nathaniel clenched his free fist and felt the muscles in his face tighten. What had this man done to her to cause such agony? Not sure he wanted to know, he remained quiet, nonetheless, allowing her the opportunity to tell him if she needed to.

  “He grabbed my hair.” She released his hand and seized a handful of her hair as if to demonstrate. Anger and terror screamed from her eyes. “I couldn’t move. I couldn’t do anything.” She dropped her hands to her lap and bowed her head.

  Rage tore through Nathaniel, ripping his gut apart. The man had ravished her.

  He wanted to punch something, someone. He wanted to yell. He wanted to pound the bulkhead. Instead, he slid to his knees and took her in his arms.

  “I was seventeen.” She laid her head on his shoulder again and sobbed.

  “I’m so sorry, Hope.” Fury set his muscles on edge. How could this man—and a relation at that—hurt such a precious creature? An innocent girl who trusted him? No wonder she harbored anger toward God. No wonder she behaved the way she did. Another emotion shoved its way to the fo
refront. Shame. Nathaniel had judged Hope severely, without any knowledge of her past.

  He buried his face into her hair, breathing in her sweet scent. Her sobs quieted. One final emotion rose to the surface of Nathaniel’s heart, drowning out all the others.

  Love.

  He loved Hope. He could not help himself. And the thought terrified him.

  Nudging her back, he ran his thumb over her tears. Her crystal blue eyes met his, brimming with pain, desperation, and something else.... Could it be she returned his affections? Or was it just her need for love, her need for attention that he saw in her gaze?

  As if reading his confusion, she looked away, and the loss startled him.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” she said.

  “Why not?” He eased her chin forward.

  She batted the tears from her cheeks, then brushed her hair back as if suddenly worried about her appearance. “I must look a fright.”

  Cupping her chin, he caressed her moist face. She stopped fussing. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” And he meant it. Despite her red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes; her puffy, swollen face; and hair that looked like Medusa’s, she beamed with a beauty that had naught to do with her appearance.

  She laughed, sniffed, and gave him a tiny smile that sent a wave of warmth through him. He didn’t know whether to kiss her and declare his love for her or dash from the cabin and throw himself into the sea, risking the swim to land, rather than face the feelings surging through him.

  O Lord, please tell me what to do.

  ***

  Later that day, when Hope awoke to find Nathaniel gone, memories of the intimate moments they’d spent in the early morning hours came back to haunt her. As well as the memory of what she had shared with him. Shame had kept her below for hours until she could no longer stand the stifling cabin.

  Lifting her skirts, she grabbed the rope and climbed up the companionway ladder. Emerging into the brilliant sun reflecting from the open sea around the ship, she planted her bare feet firmly on the hot deck. A wave of whistles and catcalls assailed her, as well as a few lewd suggestions that almost made her duck back down below. Instead, she raised her chin and made her way to the starboard railing, not daring to glance at the pirates whose eyes she felt boring into her from all directions.

  “Good day to ye, Mrs. Mason.” Captain Poole hailed her from the quarterdeck, where he stood regally by the wheel.

  Nodding in his direction and ignoring the sardonic gleam in his eyes, she continued on her way, bracing herself over the teetering deck as she tried to regain her sea legs. She had searched for Abigail below and smiled as she now saw the young lady making her way toward her from the foredeck, where she had been talking with Gavin. The young sailor winked at Hope before turning to finish tying down a halyard. No doubt Nathaniel was on deck as well, working the ship, but she couldn’t face him—not yet.

  “Good morning, Hope.” Abigail reached her side, a wide smile upon her lips as if she were on a pleasure voyage instead of a pirate ship. She held a tiny brown book against her chest.

  “Good morning.” Hope returned her smile, trying not to picture her in Nathaniel’s embrace on the beach. “How have you fared aboard this ship thus far?” Hope gave a sideways glance and nodded toward the pirates littering the deck.

  “Other than a few untoward comments, they haven’t bothered me.” Abigail gestured toward the quarterdeck, and Hope turned to see Captain Poole’s brooding eyes leveled upon them. “He protects us for some reason.”

  “Hmm. ’Tis you he protects, but let us pray he does not change his mind.” Hope didn’t want to alarm her friend, but Abigail’s false sense of safety frightened Hope. With her nightmare so fresh in her mind, Hope realized if a lady wasn’t safe in her chamber at home, then surely she wasn’t safe aboard a pirate ship—no matter the apparent favor of the captain.

  “Pray? What a grand idea.” Abigail smiled and adjusted the lace bounding from her sleeves. She’d pinned up her chestnut hair into a loose bun, several curls of which dangled over her collar. She opened her Bible. “Captain Poole wishes to speak to me today about God, and I thought to read him this verse. Would you care to listen to it?”

  Although the thought of listening to scripture unnerved her, Hope nodded in agreement as she gazed over the sea. The sun, now high in the sky, ignited the turquoise waves in silver flames that made the scene so beautiful it seemed like a dream.

  “This is the parable of the sower, where Jesus explains how the farmer scatters the seeds along the ground. The seeds represent God’s Word, and the soil represents people. But although they receive God’s Word, not every type of soil produces a crop. The first seed falls on rocky soil, but troubles and trials fall upon the hearer, and the seed never takes root. Now, here’s the type of soil I think most represents Captain Poole.” Abigail’s voice heightened with excitement as she pressed open the Bible and held down the pages against the wind.

  “‘He also that received seed among the thorns is he that heareth the word; and the care of this world, and the deceitfulness of riches, choke the word, and he becometh unfruitful.’”

  She slammed the book shut and looked at Hope with expectation. “Don’t you see? Captain Poole has heard the Word of God, yet the riches of this world have pulled him away.”

  The words set Hope’s mind whirling. She felt a tingling in her toes and shifted her feet across the deck. “Can other things pull someone away?” She tugged a lock of her hair and gave Abigail a questioning look. “Like other desires ... for love, for affection, for attention?”

  “Of course. Riches can be anything someone craves besides God.”

  A gust of wind laden with the smell of fish and sunshine wafted over Hope. She glanced down to watch the waves licking the hull with tongues of bubbling foam. She had heard the gospel at a young age, but nothing had come of it in her life. She hadn’t changed; rather, she had gotten worse. Perhaps she would never become like Abigail.

  “You will make a good missionary.”

  “Really?” Abigail smiled. “I wonder.”

  “You have opened my eyes to many things.” Hope hugged herself against a sudden chill. “My sister Grace is as zealous in her faith as you are.” Hope sighed. “Yet she is so judgmental, always pointing out others’ faults.”

  Abigail smiled. “I’m sure she means well.”

  “I know she loves me. You would like her. She spends much of her time traveling into dangerous places to feed the poor and Indians.”

  “Very noble, indeed.” Abigail nodded her approval.

  “Yet she takes no care for her safety. I fear for her life.” Hope thought of the countless times Grace had gone missing for hours, returning muddied and exhausted from some long mission of mercy.

  “You must pray for her.” Abigail squeezed her arm, and Hope gazed out to sea, not wanting to inform Abigail that God often ignored her prayers.

  The ship bucked over a roller, and Hope gripped the railing as a spray of seawater showered over them. They both laughed and brushed droplets from their gowns.

  Hope pointed toward Abigail’s dress, a lovely shade of green trimmed in creamy lace. “’Tis beautiful.”

  “Thank you.” Abigail nodded. “And yours as well. That shade of blue matches your eyes.”

  “Truth be told, it feels wonderful to be in fresh clothes devoid of scratching sand and biting fleas.” Hope risked a glance at the pirate captain, but he had disappeared from the quarterdeck. She patted her sleeve, where she’d tucked the chipped seashell she’d found on the island. Somehow she couldn’t seem to part with it. “I wonder where Captain Poole got these gowns.”

  “I don’t want to know.” Abigail shook her head, then leaned toward Hope. “How did you manage last night”—a tiny smile lifted one corner of her mouth—“with Nathaniel?”

  Hope studied her friend. Shouldn’t she be envious of Hope for being forced to share lodging with Nathaniel? Yet not a flicker of jealousy marred her comely fac
e. Of course not. Not Abigail.

  “We managed well enough.” Hope had no intention of sharing the intimacy that had occurred between them because of her nightmare, especially not with Abigail. But what did it matter? For despite his care for her last night, Nathaniel no doubt still found her unworthy. Most likely even more so now that he knew the truth of her past. He might even believe she had encouraged Lord Villemont’s assault, as most people had accused her of doing.

  He probably wanted nothing more to do with her.

  Which was why he had left the cabin so early. Which was also why he hadn’t greeted her thus far this morning. “You need not fear, Abigail. There is naught between us.”

  “Fear? My heavens. I fear only that there is naught between you.” She chuckled, drawing Hope’s confused gaze.

  “But you ... but you and Nathaniel.” Hope studied her friend. “I saw you on the beach in his embrace.”

  Abigail’s eyebrows rose, and a gleam of understanding flittered across her eyes. “Oh my, you thought—” She laughed. “You thought—oh my, nay, he was only consoling me.”

  Hope could not help the quick jaunt her heart took in her chest. “Then you don’t have affections for him?”

  Abigail shook her head. “Not in the manner you mean, nay. I think of him as a brother, and I am sure he feels the same way about me.” She laid a hand on Hope’s arm. “You poor dear. All this time under such a misconception.” She patted her hand. “I assure you, Nathaniel Mason, whether he admits it or not, is quite besotted with you. Although,” she added, “I can’t say he was all too happy when he spied you kissing Gavin.”

  Hope huffed and gazed down at the churning water. “It was a mistake.”

  “I’ve never seen Nathaniel so distraught.”

  Shame taunted her again even as Nathaniel’s deep voice soothed over her from behind. She glanced over her shoulder, and he came into view, talking with a pirate at the larboard quarter. Wearing a white cotton shirt and clean brown breeches that fit him too perfectly, he made her heart leap at the sight of him.

  Hope swerved back around. “He could never love me.” Hot wind blasted over her, loosening her curls. No matter how hard she had tried to pin them up this morning, no matter how hard she always tried to pin them up and make herself presentable, something always came along to tear them down. Just like her efforts to become a lady. “I cannot behave like a proper lady, no matter how hard I try. My flighty emotions get the best of me, and I cannot seem to control them.”