by Stone, Jenna
“I like your spunk, Miss Stanton,” Murdock said appreciatively, never having liked the games that most women played. He preferred the direct approach that men more often took. “I quite believe that your current situation has made you wise beyond your years in the way of dealing with business,” Murdock remarked approvingly as he beheld the lovely young lady standing defensively in the doorway of the shambles of her home. She was absolutely, positively perfect and Murdock was determined to make his proposition take hold.
“Exactly how may I help you, Colonel Murdock?” Anna asked, shifting her weight to one hip as she held Murdock’s appraising gaze. Anna Stanton was not the kind of woman who was easily intimidated.
“I’ll be frank with you, Miss Stanton. I hope that I do not offend your fair notions by doing so,” Murdock said, eyebrows rising again as if in question. “There is a lack of wellborn women folk that are willing to travel to the New World. At present, men fair outnumber womenfolk four to one in the colonies and many of our fine English officers are hard-pressed to find well-bred women to take to wife.”
Murdock paused and looked up at Anna. She stood frozen like a statue in the doorway, considering the words that he had just spoken. It dawned on Murdock that Anna had not invited him inside the house as would have been the courteous manner in which to treat a visitor. Anna Stanton stood like a sentry, guarding the doorway.
The only difference was that she was a much more beautiful than the typical sentry. Anna had striking blonde hair which fell in loose ringlets about her shoulders. Her hazel eyes were bright and clear, resting beneath brows that were knit together in contemplation of his proposal. Her nose was straight and her lips were full. Murdock noticed that she chewed on the corner of her full bottom lip, a habit that he knew she would stop if only she had been aware that she was doing it. Anna Stanton was a rare beauty, destitute or not. Murdock knew that his client would be most pleased, most pleased indeed if he could interest Miss Stanton in the proposal of marriage.
“My client wishes to find a well-bred Englishwoman to take to wife. I know that, despite your present circumstances, you were born and bred into privilege, Miss Stanton. You are exactly the kind of bride that my client is looking for,” Murdock said hopefully, hanging eagerly on Anna’s response.
“And what sort of financial compensation would this marriage entail?” Anna asked directly, chin held high and teeth gritted together. She couldn’t believe that she had been brought to this, contemplating selling herself to save her mother, to save the Stanton family name.
“My client is a Lieutenant in the King’s Army in the New World. He would pay handsomely for a bride of your upbringing. He desires a young lady of your status to help him build a life in America,” Murdock ventured, seeking to bolster Anna’s pride.
“How much?” Anna asked sternly, shifting her weight to her other hip and unknowingly scrunching her eyebrows together into a fierce scowl.
“Enough to fix all of this,” Murdock said as he gestured at the ruin of Stanton Place with a grand sweep of his arm. “Enough to bring Stanton Place back to its former glory.”
Anna thought for a minute, again chewing absentmindedly on the flesh of her lower lip.
“I’ll do it,” Anna whispered, not believing that she had uttered the words out loud. “I’ll do it,” she repeated, this time with a ring of pride in her voice. Anna hoped that her father would be proud of her and then thought twice about the notion.
Suddenly Anna wondered if the Earl of Stanton might just be rolling over in his grave.
Chapter Two
“Stay together!” Rowan thundered against the sheets of rain and salty ocean water that pummeled his face. He brushed back his chestnut hair harshly with his forearm, looking into his brother’s eyes. Malcolm’s eyes were green, like their mother’s. And Quinn’s eyes were a steely gray, filled with anger and resentment.
The storm raged around them as they stood on the deck of the Mary Catherine, clinging to the railing as they prepared to jump into the sea. The ship bucked to the right, preparing for her final descent into the depths of the Atlantic.
Rowan grabbed his younger brother’s arm a little too firmly, causing Malcolm to wince. Fear played openly across the boy’s face. His mouth opened momentarily, as if to formulate a sudden protest against jumping into the ocean. Unable to find words, Malcolm closed his mouth and nodded his head in agreement. Malcolm had always trusted Rowan with his life and knew that now was not the time to revoke that trust.
Lord, please keep him safe. Rowan chanted the words over and over in his mind, sending one last prayer for his little brother’s safety heavenward.
“On the count of three, we jump,” Rowan ordered, glancing at Quinn long enough to shoot him a challenging glare, daring him not to follow.
“One….Two…Three!” Rowan exclaimed, still holding Malcolm’s arm as the Murray brothers jumped into the hostile waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
Malcolm surfaced first, thankful to find that Rowan still had a hold of his left arm. He was trying to be grown up and stoic about this adventure, but the truth was that he was bloody scared out of his right mind.
Rowan broke the surface of the water and was surprised that it was warmer than he had expected. He scanned the water for Quinn and reached out to grab his older brother’s shirt as he broke the surface sputtering sea water. Rowan pulled Quinn towards them and thanked God that they had remained together after jumping into the sea.
“Malcolm!” shouted Quinn above the thundering noise of the waves. “Try tae conserve yer strength. I ken that ye can swim, as we all can, but we might be in the water for awhile.”
“Alright,” nodded Malcolm, eyes bulging from the terror of being adrift in the massive ocean at the mercy of a raging storm. At only seventeen years of age, this was far more adventure than Malcolm had bargained for.
Malcolm’s eyes scanned the water around him. It was dark and foreboding. The swelling and crashing of the angry waves made the muscles of his stomach clench. Malcolm could hear people screaming as the Mary Catherine was torn apart by the raging storm. He closed his eyes, seeking to shut out their desperate screams. Malcolm fisted a hand into Rowan’s shirt, finding comfort in his brother’s strength. Surely, Rowan would not let him die.
“We’re going tae make it!” Rowan yelled over the deafening waves in an effort to calm his little brother. He squeezed Malcolm’s arm in reassurance, having seen the fear that had rooted in Malcolm’s eyes. “We need tae stay together if we can. Let’s move away from the ship in case she makes an undertow when she goes down!” he called above the roaring of the swelling waves.
Rowan began to swim away from the sinking ship, fighting against the surge of the storm. Malcolm and Quinn followed behind him, struggling to remain together amidst the choppy waves.
“Is that part of the mast?” Malcolm screamed as he pointed at an object bobbing up and down in the waves. His eyes burned from the salty water and he rubbed at them harshly, straining to see through the rushing water. “I see something floating over there.”
“Aye, it might be,” Rowan said. “It’s no far. It would do tae have something tae hold ontae,” he said as they changed course and swam towards the floating object.
Malcolm was the first to reach the large piece of water-logged wood, which indeed turned out to be part of the ship’s broken mast. He wrapped his arms protectively around the sizeable mast and gave his legs a rest, relaxing slightly against the cold, slippery wood.
“Good find, Malcolm,” Quinn praised as he also latched onto the mast. His chest heaved from the exertion of fighting the crashing waves.
“This should help us get tae shore,” Rowan said approvingly as he wrapped an arm over the stout piece of floating wood. His legs burned from the struggle of swimming against the waves still fully clothed. His boots felt like lead weights intent on pulling him down to the dark depths of the ocean. Rowan had thought of taking them off, but had decided to struggle onward with his boots intact
. Boots would be a valuable possession if they made it to dry land.
The sound of screaming drew Rowan’s attention back to the sinking ship. The Mary Catherine was now lying helplessly on her side, taking in water quickly with each passing wave that pummeled her hull. The unfortunate souls that could not swim clung to the sides and the railings of the vessel, screaming frantically for help, mercy or any miraculous form of salvation. A giant wave swelled behind the ship and crashed over the top of her, wrenching the last passengers from the ship and casting them to their deaths in the ocean.
“Lord have mercy on them,” whispered Quinn under his breath. Part of him still wished that he had gone down with the ship. He said a silent prayer, closing his eyes as he held onto the bobbing mast.
The screams gradually died off as the last passengers succumbed to their watery graves. The Murray brothers watched silently as the Mary Catherine was struck by a final wave and drug beneath the surface of the water. The sea continued to churn. It was as if the Mary Catherine had never existed. In an instant, the ship was completely gone, falling towards its resting place at the bottom of the Atlantic.
Rowan heard a woman screaming behind them and he turned towards the noise. He loosened his grip on the mast and tried to peer over the waves, looking for the source of the voice.
“Help!” sputtered a terror ridden female voice amongst the waves. “Get off of me! You’re pulling me under!”
“She’s over there!” Malcolm yelled as he spotted the young woman fighting to stay afloat in the treacherous waves.
Rowan looked over his shoulder in the direction that Malcolm was pointing. About twenty strokes from the safety of the mast, Rowan saw a man clawing at a young woman, trying to climb atop her and keep himself out of the water. She fought him ferociously, sputtering and kicking as he pushed her beneath the water.
Enraged by the man’s cowardice, Rowan cast a quick glance towards his brothers.
“I’m going tae help her. Stay here,” he ordered as he pushed away from the mast and swam towards the couple.
“Rowan! Ye canna save everyone!” Malcolm cried out over the waves, not wanting to see his brother die in an act of heroism.
Rowan ignored his brother’s protests and kicked against the waves. His skilled arms carried him deftly through the water, making up for the heavy weight of his boots.
The couple was not far away but it was difficult to reach them due to the rising and cresting of the swelling waves. Rowan battled the waves, swimming with such intensity that his arms burned with exertion. He heard the woman cry out and he looked up to see her still thrashing against the man. The man pushed her under water again as he tried to crawl on top of her. Rowan kicked harder, ignoring the burning exhaustion of his quadriceps as cleared the distance between them.
He had to get to her soon or she would surely drown. Despite the burning of his muscles, Rowan put his face in the water and swam with all of his power. His eyes stung from the salt water, but in a few swift strokes, he was upon the couple.
“Get off of her, ye bastard!” Rowan yelled as he pushed the middle aged man away from the young woman. The man was wild with fear, clawing and grabbing at the woman’s dress, sputtering as he inhaled the salty ocean water. Treading water with his legs, Rowan ripped the woman’s dress from the grips of the frantic man, trying to free her so that she could swim. The man caught her wrist and pulled her beneath the water, again trying to climb atop her so that he could keep afloat.
Rowan growled low in his throat.
Enough was enough.
Rowan pulled back his fist and punched the man square in the jaw.
“Leave her be!” Rowan commanded as he pulled the woman away, clasping her against his chest. He kicked powerfully with his legs to put distance between them and the desperate man. His chest heaved from the exertion of his swim. Rowan leaned onto his back and pulled the woman against his chest, wrapping his right arm under her right armpit and across her breasts, tethering her to him as he swam away. His muscles surged with pain as he fought to support two people in the angry waves of the Atlantic.
“It’s alright. I’ve got ye,” Rowan whispered against the salty skin of the woman’s cheek. He stopped swimming for a moment, allowing his body to float on the surface of the ocean. He needed to rest, to regain his strength, or they would both drown. They bobbed up with the swell of a wave. A sob racked the woman’s body and she relaxed against Rowan’s muscled chest as he treaded water, allowing her head to fall against his shoulder in exhaustion.
“Thank you,” she said simply. “He was going to pull me under, and I was so scared.”
Rowan immediately noticed the distinct ring of an English accent in her voice, and he gritted his teeth in response. He had more than one reason to hate the English.
“Can ye swim, lass?” Rowan asked. Terror coursed through him as he searched the waves for his brothers. His heart stilled when he spotted them, still clinging to the mast, not far off in the distance. He began to swim again, pulling the woman through the waves toward his brothers. The waves were dying down as the worst of the storm had now passed. Rowan looked up towards the sky, noting that the clouds were beginning to dissipate. It seemed that the storm would move on as quickly as it had come.
“Not very well. I can keep myself afloat, but my dress keeps getting tangled up,” she said, brushing her hair back from her face.
“Well, we need tae get ye out of it then,” Rowan said matter-of-factly.
“My dress?” the woman asked flabbergasted, her body tensing against Rowan’s chest.
“Well, if ye canna swim with it on, ye need tae get out of it,” Rowan said, this seeming to be a perfectly logical solution in his mind. He righted his body in the water and used his free arm and legs to keep both of their heads above the waves.
“But I’ve only got a shift on underneath my dress!” she exclaimed, clearly unnerved by Rowan’s suggestion.
“It seems tae me that if ye have the choice between drowning or stripping down tae yer shift, the more logical choice would be tae get rid of yer dress,” Rowan barked, vowing that he would never understand women. Here they were, shipwrecked in the ocean and he was arguing with a woman over the proprieties of removing her dress so that she would not drown.
“Will you look at me?” she asked, still tense against Rowan’s chest. Her eyes shifted from Rowan’s to cast down upon the waves that lapped at her neck.
“No, I willna look at ye. I promise tae be most respectable,” Rowan grumbled, as he rolled his eyes heavenward and gritted his teeth together. His legs were stinging from exhaustion as he propelled them back towards the safety of the mast and his brothers. His boots felt like iron weights and with each kick the aching in Rowan’s muscles intensified. The woman’s silly notions were making Rowan begin to regret his heroic act.
Then he realized that his right arm was in quite a precarious position, right between her lovely breasts, pulling her lithe body close against his as he swam. Mayhap he would steal a peek at her when she took off the dress.
“Alright, will you please unlace the back of my dress?” she asked, relenting to Rowan’s reasoning. She leaned away from his chest to bear her laces to him. Waves splashed at her face as she struggled to remain afloat in the water.
Rowan stopped swimming and treaded water, struggling to rip out the laces from the back of her gown as the salt water splattered his face. He tore the laces free then felt the bodice of her gown give way. Seeking to help her out of the confines of the dress, he pulled the sleeve down her arm and jerked it roughly when it seemed to catch on something.
“My bracelet!” she screamed, flailing frantically in the water. “Oh my God, is it caught in the sleeve?” she asked frantically, hands searching the fabric of the soaked gown. “You lost it!” she said angrily as the wave crested, causing them both to rise with its gentle swell. Her were eyes piercing Rowan like daggers. “It was all I had left of them!”
“It’s gone lass. I’m sorry, the
sleeve was caught and I just pulled it…” Rowan trailed off, feeling guilty that the loss of this bracelet had upset her so much.
The woman reached out to grasp his shoulders again, suddenly overtaken with panic as the water had placed distance between them. Rowan helped her slip out of the skirt of her gown, sputtering when she accidentally splashed salt water in his face.
When her legs were free of the confining skirt, she began to kick them in an effort to tread water. Still her hands clung around Rowan’s shoulders, and it was only then that Rowan realized how beautiful the young lady actually was. Her blonde hair was unbound and hung loosely about her face, curling slightly from the sea water. A smattering of freckles dusted her nose and her large hazel eyes were rimmed with thick black lashes. She clung to him trustingly with her hazel eyes focused intently on his.
“That bracelet was all that I had left of my family,” she seethed, eyebrows now knit together in anger, “And you lost it!” she said accusingly, her voice wringing with anger. She used her hands to push off from Rowan’s chest and began to swim away. The crest of a rather large wave dumped on top of her and she coughed, scrambling to regain control of the situation and keep her head above water.
Rowan swam after her fluidly, glancing over his shoulder at his brothers to make sure that they were still safe. Rowan was now less than ten strokes away from the safety of the mast, but his iron clad conscience had forced him to swim after the daft young woman. He had known her for only a matter or moments and yet their brief acquaintance had exasperated him.
Catching her handily, Rowan grabbed her about her middle and pulled her up close to his body. Rowan was a competent swimmer and he fought off her protests easily.
“Stop fighting me or ye’ll drown!” Rowan yelled at her as she thrashed against the water. “I can tell that yer no a strong swimmer. Let me help ye,” he offered as she struggled, pushing against him.