by Jamie Carie
She opened the door to find Captain Colburn and a white-whiskered, rotund gentlemen in a dark blue uniform with elaborate golden epaulettes standing beside him. He whipped off his hat in an elaborate gesture and bowed toward Kendra. She gestured toward the room, liking him instantly. “Good evening, Captain. And you must be Captain Moore, won’t you please come in?”
The cabin seemed small as the two big men entered. As soon as the door was closed, her captain, as she now thought of him to distinguish between the two, made the introductions. “Captain Moore, may I present Lady Kendra Townsend.” Kendra bobbed a small curtsy. “Lady Townsend, this is the captain of an American merchant ship out of Boston.”
“I was so relieved to hear you weren’t pirates,” Kendra teased, allowing Captain Moore to take her hand and plant a big, dry kiss on the back of it. “I’ve heard so many stories of pirate ships while on board the Angelina that I was quite certain I would hear the clashing of swords above my head. Had the furniture not been nailed down, I was contemplating how best to barricade the door. It is fortunate now that I was unable to rearrange the cabin.”
Captain Moore leaned back his head, placed his hands on his hips, and boomed with laughter. He glanced at Captain Colburn with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes, “Pirates! Why, I haven’t seen a pirate ship in years. You haven’t been trying to frighten the young lady, have you, sir?”
Dorian winked. “Well, perhaps a little. She did seem to enjoy the stories.”
“Please, won’t you be seated? I asked the cook to bring tea and it just arrived.”
Captain Moore took a longing look at the bottle of spirits in his hand and then set it aside on the desk. Kendra poured the tea and seated herself across from Dorian.
“Captain Moore, are you returning to Boston or departing from it?” Kendra asked, thinking to start the conversation. Captain Colburn was staring at her from across the table with a small smile tipping up the corners of his mouth, making normal thought a challenge. She frowned at him and locked her attention to the old captain’s face. “I’m off to your city, my lady. London, with a cargo full of grain.” He nodded his head at her. “And you, ma’am? There must be a story behind such a lovely lady as yourself sailing on a cargo ship. Making haste to see America?”
Heat infused her cheeks as Kendra realized she would be asked this question again and again once she arrived on American soil. What was she to say? Her uncle had taken a sudden dislike to her and booted her from her home? Before she had time to think of something, Dorian spoke for her. “Lady Townsend is going to visit her relatives north of Yorktown. Her aunt is doing poorly and Lady Townsend is kind enough to stay with them until she recovers.”
“Oh, sorry to hear that, but very kind of you indeed. I have family near Yorktown. What is your aunt’s name?”
Kendra’s gaze flew to Dorian’s face in a panic. He would know them, and Captain Colburn would have to prevaricate the story. “Franklin and Amelia Rutherford.”
The captain paused, cleared his throat, and took a sip of his tea. “You don’t say.” His gaze flickered to Kendra’s and then away as if uncomfortable.
“Do you know them, sir?”
“I have heard of the Rutherfords, yes, yes, from England. Must be them.” He rubbed his large hands together and glanced back over his shoulder at the bottle on the desk.
A knock sounded at the door, stopping the conversation. Dorian stood, opened it, and took the large tray where steaming dishes resided. He helped the cook, a reed-thin fellow with a toothy grin, set down the food and then nodded for him to leave. Kendra passed out the plates and the silver utensils while Dorian took the covers off the food. Fish in a creamed gravy, salt pork, roasted potatoes, ears of golden corn, and thick slices of buttered bread made up the simple meal. There was a bottle of sherry, which Dorian poured for the captain and himself, and cranberry tarts for dessert.
Conversation turned away from Kendra’s family, to the relief of all, as Captain Moore told his own tales about life at sea. The hour passed in a pleasant way, both of the men growing more comfortable as they enjoyed each other’s company. She looked across the table at her captain and felt a tenderness well up in her heart for him. He was relaxed, smiling and laughing, his tanned hands crossed upon one knee. He had wonderful hands, she thought on a whim. Strong, perfectly formed hands. The thought of them touching her . . . her face, her hair . . . gliding down her back . . .
“Lady Townsend, are you quite alright?”
Kendra’s gaze jerked up from the captain’s hands to his eyes, eyes that had turned a shade darker. Heat filled her cheeks and she cleared her throat to make space around the lump so that she could speak. Still, her voice squeaked. “Oh, sorry. Wool-gathering, I suppose.”
That he saw through her lie was obvious by the small smile and knowing mirth in his eyes. “Anything interesting? Perhaps you would like to share it with us?”
“Oh, um. No, that is . . . it was nothing, just silly, flirting, uh, flitting thoughts.” She narrowed her eyes at him, daring him to gainsay her. His slow grin sent a wave of excited nervousness through her stomach. She cast a pleading glance toward Captain Moore for rescue. The good man jumped in to save her by patting his round stomach and announcing he should be on his way. “As much as I would like to stay, I’ll not make it to London on time to meet my contact if I dally here any longer,” he said in a wistful voice.
They all stood and Captain Moore took Kendra’s hand in his big one and gave it another kiss. “A pleasure, my lady. A true pleasure you are.”
“Why thank you, Captain. It has been a very enjoyable evening.”
He leaned in and whispered in her ear, “Be strong now, remember that. America isn’t a place for the faint of heart, but I have a feeling you will do quite well there if you set your mind to it.”
The words made her feel proud somehow. Like he believed in her. “Thank you, Captain. I will remember that.”
After he left, Captain Colburn helped Kendra clear the dishes. They were both silent, but it was a companionable silence, working side-by-side, a brush of Kendra’s skirts against his shoes, a reach for the same plate, both pausing, then one of them backing quickly away. After the tray had been taken away and the last crumb brushed from the floor, they stood facing each other for a long moment.
“Thank you, Kendra. You were wonderful tonight.”
A pleased feeling expanded inside her. She smiled and glanced away. “It was rather fun. I haven’t entertained in so long. I had forgotten what a pleasure it is. Thank you for including me.”
It was absurd really. How good he made her feel. How they both knew he didn’t want to leave but that he must and how they were both prolonging the moment as long as possible, straining toward each other.
“Well”—Dorian bowed his head toward her—“I suppose all good things must come to an end. Good-night.”
Kendra stood rooted to the floor, demanding her feet stay put when all she wanted to do was take a step or two toward him. “Good-night.”
He hesitated, started to turn away and then turned back, taking the necessary steps to stand right in front of her, his face inches away. He reached for her hand, a naughty twinkle in his eyes as he reminded her in a low voice. “You allowed the other captain to kiss you—”
“My hand!” Kendra interrupted.
“As I was saying . . . Captain Moore kissed you . . .here . . .” Dorian took up her hand, raised it to his lips, and closed his eyes. Her heartbeat doubled as he paused, his breath fanning across the back of her hand. Finally, he lowered his lips, her palm turning clammy, and planted the faintest of a soft kiss on her knuckles. She shivered, rooted to the floor. Oh, heavens! I mean God! Whatever am I to do now?
Dorian pulled her hand toward his chest. She could feel his heart pounding against her palm. The loud thudding made it all too real. This man was not playing games with her. If he were, he would not be as affected by her, the evidence too strong and sure under her hand. There was something hap
pening here, something real that quite possibly didn’t happen very often. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
What if they were falling in love?
Chapter Seven
The clang of a bell and the shout of “ship approaching starboard side” caused Dorian to jerk upright from his study of the account book as he stood in his makeshift office on the quarterdeck. Horrace, the man presently on lookout at the fore masthead, sounded the alarm.
John’s booted steps rang out as he climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. “Come quick, Captain. I don’t like the looks of this.” They had to shout to be heard above the unrelenting north westerly wind.
“What kind of ship?”
“Square rigged, large, standing toward us.”
Dorian strode to starboard, raised the spyglass to his eye, and agreed. He could see the huge lugsails, flattened like boards in the stiff wind, coming right for them. “It’s a lugger. One of the fastest ships built. They’re notorious for pirating, better ready the men.”
“All men to their stations!” John shouted above the combined roar of gale and activity. The crew recognized the threat, readied their weapons, and scurried to their respective posts. They had been drilled for this event.
The crew’s excited tension matched the rapid pumping in his own veins. With the Angelina barely a year old this crew was yet green, but Dorian knew he had prepared them as best he could. This might be the test which would prove their mettle.
Turning to John, Dorian commanded, “Tell Lady Townsend to lock herself in the cabin and not open the door for anyone save you or me. Warn her that this might be the pirate fight she’s been asking for.” It had been two days since their dinner with Captain Moore, two days of stormy weather that had kept him occupied with the ship, without a chance to see her.
John nodded, face grim as he turned to obey.
As the ship came closer into view Dorian saw an ominous sight. A huge, sleek vessel with scores of men on deck, some stood at the rail, shouting and waving their arms above their heads, others were occupied with sails and rigging bringing the great beast ever closer to them. A soft curse escaped Dorian, still peering through his spyglass. The sixth sense Dorian had cultivated from years of experience told him what he was watching was different. These were not the ordinary pirates he had confronted in the past. There was no stealth in their manner, nor cunning, only a show of reckless confidence, giving away any element of surprise. They appeared well-organized despite their bold frenzy, turning into the headwind to fight perpendicular to the Angelina. He took a deep breath of determination. God have mercy.
The Angelina was well armed with thirty-nine guns: long eighteen-pounders on the main deck, and thirty-two-pound carronades on the quarterdeck and forecastle. The men awaited their opponent’s first move, a mixture of fear and fight on their faces. As expected a fiery blast came forward, flying straight above the bow of the ship, demanding that the Angelina stop.
The men cheered for the pirate ship’s bad shot and fired back with their ready cannons. Grapeshot peppered the pirate ship’s midsection but did not seem to penetrate and do the damage expected. As they drifted closer still, their various guns came into range. Smoke and the smell of gunpowder made Dorian’s eyes burn, and the shots of the enemy cannons splintered the wood of the deck like bombs going off. Shards and needle-sharp splinters flew through the air to imbed themselves in his men and rip through the sails, leaving little more than white, flapping tatters attached to the masts.
Suddenly, the ship shuddered and a loud groaning sounded with a sharp crack. Dorian spun around, his heart sinking in dread as a main mast snapped in half and fell across the quarterdeck with a horrible crash. Grapeshot peppered the deck with more splintering wood as the pirate ship came within shouting distance. God help us. Dorian ducked for cover, all the while shouting orders to his men. The pirate ship was within boarding distance.
Dorian knew the pirates would not want to sink them yet, wanting to keep their precious loot from sinking into the depths of the Atlantic, which gave them a little more time to try and disable the pirate ship. While the pirates abandoned the heavy artillery in favor of muskets to continue the attack, Dorian had no such reservations, ordering his men to reload and fire the cannons. After several attempts the crew cheered as the bow of the lugger caught fire.
Dorian only had time for a quick assessment of his men before the lugger moved alongside the Angelina to board. A few of the men had been hit and Dorian’s stomach quivered in anger and fear. He was responsible to keep his men alive, to keep them safe. There must be more he could do. Dorian stood on the quarterdeck, watching with a sense of helpless frustration as the lugger moved along the Angelina’s side.
“Stand ready, men! To arms! To arms!” Dorian and John shouted the phrase as the men reached for their muskets, blunderbuss, pistols, and swords. The thwack of boarding hooks sank into the wood of the Angelina’s side, marring her beauty all the more. Minutes later pirates leapt over the railing, whooping and wild, with boarding axes swinging and all sorts of firing weapons. Dorian’s men leapt into the fray and a moment of pride filled him at their courage. Dear God, give us courage and strength, his whole being cried out the silent prayer.
The booming of muskets gave way to the clashing of cutlasses which appeared as a silvery light in the dying light of the sun. The night echoed with groans of men falling to their death. Dorian no longer had time to assess the losses on board his ship, he was much too busy forcing down one hellion after another. He could feel his muscles shudder and ache from the weight of his sword.
There were so many of them.
Suddenly Dorian was rushed by a huge opponent. He had long scraggly black hair, the top of his head wrapped in a piece of brightly colored cloth. A golden ring swung from one ear, and a long, black beard, thinly braided in the middle, hid most of his face except for the evil glint of his eyes.
Dorian dodged the powerful swing of the curved cutlass while trying to push the man closer to the edge of the deck. Their blades made wide arcs accented by loud clangs as they met and held. The man was strong. Quite possibly too strong to hold off. Trickles of sweat ran down the center of Dorian’s back. His chest heaved with exertion and his muscled arms strained to their limit.
Dorian barely felt the pirate’s blade slice his forward thigh, but soon felt the effect as his leg gave a little beneath his weight. Desperate not to show his weakness, he gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts. Taking fortifying breaths, he forced his foe closer and closer to the railing. A grin widened upon Dorian’s face when he saw a glimmer of uncertainty enter his opponent’s eyes. Confidence gave Dorian a new burst of strength. His thrusts became harder, more accurate. One step forward, then two more, he gradually pushed the man toward the edge. As the pirate’s back brushed the rail Dorian bit out, “You’ll not win this day.” With one final push of the mighty steel he twisted the blade around and used the dagger in his other hand to plunge it into the pirate’s chest. A look of surprise gripped the man’s face and then he was pushed overboard into a watery grave.
Dorian had no time to revel in his victory, for when he turned around he was confronted with another opponent. Blades clashed for several more agonizing minutes, until a shrill whistle stopped the pirates mid-swing. It was amazing to see. Each pirate disengaged himself from battle and fled for the pirate ship. With amazing speed the ship turned and, before Dorian could gather his men to fire much upon them, they had sailed out of range. It wasn’t long before they were just a dot on the horizon.
Dorian turned to survey the damage. His men! God, what had happened? He strode over to the surgeon who was busy attending the injured. Blood smeared the white boards of the deck and coated their boots. He stood above a bloody body of a man that the surgeon, McCally, was working on. Dorian didn’t at first recognize the man as the wounds to his head were so profuse.
“It’s Sam Edwards, Captain.” The surgeon gave a sad shake of his head. “He’s not going
to make it, I’m afraid.”
Sorrow filled his chest as he saw that it was indeed his quartermaster, Sam Edwards. Kneeling down beside the man’s body he lifted his limp, bloody hand in a tight grasp and promised, “They’ll pay for this, Sam. I’ll find out who they were and they’ll pay.”
The dead were being prepared for their sea-burial when one of the men strode up to Dorian and called out in a tight voice, “Sir, the most valuable of the cargo is gone. Silks, teas, the spices, and even furniture.”
Turning back to the bodies strewn across the deck, Dorian clenched his eyes shut. The cargo was gone. How had the enemy seized it while fighting a battle with his men? No wonder they had stopped fighting at the sound of that shrill whistle. It was a signal. A signal that the cargo was aboard their ship and they could abandon the fight. Dorian’s hands clenched into fists on either side of his legs, the one cut burning with pain and dripping blood. These weren’t ordinary pirates. They were too skilled at their operation and they had known the Angelina too well. Whoever ran this operation was a mastermind at thieving, and Dorian was determined to find out who it was.
And then there was Kendra. If the pirates had reached the cargo deep in the hold, had they found her too? She could have been spirited away to the pirate ship while he was fighting and he wouldn’t even know. His heart leaping at the thought, he ignored his injury, turned, and ran to the steps leading down to the cabins.
The door was still shut and locked. A good sign. He banged on the door with all his strength. “Kendra, it’s me. Open up!”
No answer. No sound came from the room.
In rising panic, Dorian backed up, ran toward the door, and plowed his shoulder into the wood, causing it to crack and splinter. “Kendra!” He yelled through the hole. “It’s okay. Open the door.”