Copyright
ISBN 1-59310-609-2
Copyright © 2005 by Lena Nelson Dooley. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
Prologue
Late spring, 1805
A closed coach pulled by four black horses bumped over the cobblestone streets of Barcelona, Spain, on its way to the docks. Angelina de la Fuente Delgado clutched the padded seat, trying not to tumble to the floor. She couldn’t understand how her abuela could remain serenely stationary in the coach. Grandmother sat with her back so straight, Angelina wondered why she didn’t bounce off the seat when the vehicle hit a bump.
The musical sound of the Spanish her grandparents spoke filled the air inside the coach. While Angelina was in Spain, she had spoken only Spanish. When she lived in Florida, she had learned English and other languages so she could help her father in the mercantile. The one language she hadn’t had a chance to learn was French.
Although it had been over a year since she arrived in Spain to spend time with her grandparents and receive more education, it seemed like only yesterday. This might be the last time Angelina would see her relatives. She reached up and pressed her lips to her grandfather’s wrinkled cheek.
“Nieta.” Abuelo Delgado, who was sitting on Angelina’s side of the carriage, took his granddaughter’s hand. Angelina turned her attention to him, and he stared intently into her eyes. “We will miss you.”
The words sliced through the air and pierced her heart. She knew she reminded him of her mother—the mother she barely remembered. Angelina had been only six years old when her mother died of a terrible fever. She was buried beside the tall palm trees that surrounded the back of their house in St. Augustine, in Spanish Florida. She never had a chance to return to her beloved Spain.
Angelina loved her grandfather’s regal bearing. He was a distant cousin of Charles IV, King of Spain. With his snow-white hair and erect posture, he looked like a ruler himself.
Angelina wondered what would happen when she returned to her father. America was so different from Spain, and rules that were rigidly followed in the old country were often ignored in the new. Angelina felt as though she were caught in a strange place suspended somewhere between the two cultures.
She leaned closer to her grandfather’s side and whispered, “I will miss you, too.” It was hard to get the words past the lump in her throat, and she had to blink to keep tears from spilling down her cheeks.
Abuelo Delgado nodded toward his wife. She opened her maletín and pulled a midnight blue velvet pouch from the handbag. The older woman caressed its softness. Finally, Abuela passed the pouch across the coach to her husband.
Doña Elena Vargas Villanueva, Angelina’s duenna and aunt, watched with as much interest as Angelina did. Until that moment, Tía Elena, her companion and governess, had been looking out the window as if she were disinterested in what went on inside the vehicle.
Abuelo Delgado pulled the drawstring and spread the bag open, revealing three smaller velvet pouches. He opened the largest one and removed a necklace. “I gave this to your mother on her eighteenth birthday. Since you will turn eighteen next month, I want you to have it.”
Seven graduated rubies in an intricate gold setting flashed in the sunlight that poured through the window. Abuelo placed the piece of jewelry in Angelina’s lap. She was surprised at how much it weighed. She fingered the links of the chain and watched bloodred fire shoot from the jewels.
Abuelo picked up the second pouch. It contained earrings that matched the necklace. The third bag held a ring. “We want you to have these.”
She recognized the jewelry. She had often admired it when she gazed at the portrait of her mother that hung in the sala of the house where she and her father lived in St. Augustine. When her parents moved to the New World, the painting was one of the items they took with them.
When the young couple had gone to Spanish Florida to expand the shipping business and establish a mercantil, her mother left most of her personal belongings in Spain with her parents. She had planned to return for them. That never happened. Trunks, secured to the roof of the coach and in the luggage boot at the back, held all of her mother’s things—all except this jewelry.
Abuela Delgado removed a handkerchief from her maletín and dabbed the tears from her eyes. “We will probably never see you again, mi ángel.”
Angelina carefully put the pieces of jewelry back into the velvet pouches. Then she placed them in her maletín before the coach stopped beside her father’s ship, bound for Florida.
Angelina took a deep breath. She was sad about leaving her grandparents, but for some reason, she also felt as if something momentous loomed on her horizon. Something that would change her life forever.
One
Three weeks later
Brian O’Doule hurriedly climbed the rigging of the Estrella Angelina—or Angelina Star. He loved the feel of the wind blowing through his hair before he reached the crow’s nest. He had worked as a sailor on various ships, traveling around much of the known world. By the time he landed in St. Augustine, in Spanish Florida, he had tired of his lack of roots and accepted a job at Señor Fuente’s company. When his employer asked him to sail to Spain and accompany his daughter and her aunt back home, Brian jumped at the chance to get out of the mercantile and back on the open sea.
Though Brian was not really part of the crew, the captain often allowed him to take a turn as a lookout in the crow’s nest. He had the afternoon watch today. The weather had been much colder when they left Spain, but as they moved southwest across the Atlantic Ocean, the air grew warmer. The wind tasted salty and fresh at the same time.
Brian took the telescoping spyglass from his pocket and extended it. He carefully scanned the empty horizon in all four directions. When he pulled the instrument from his eye, his attention moved to the deck below. From way up here, the sailors looked like ants scurrying around the ship.
On the aft deck, an extra sail had been hung on a rope that was strung from post to post like a canvas tent. It sheltered Angelina and her aunt, when they were out on deck, from the prying eyes of the sailors. Brian noticed a movement on the other side of the sail. He put the spyglass back against his eye and trained it on the deck.
He had a clear view of Angelina and her duenna. That woman kept a close watch on Angelina, and Brian had not been able to get very near her. Angelina. His Angelina. . .he wished.
When Brian had watched the ladies board the ship, he’d been captivated by the beautiful young woman with coal black hair and eyes that sparkled like the sapphires Señor Fuente sold in the store. Long black lashes surrounded those blue eyes. Angelina’s lips were as red as the apples that were sometimes for sale in the mercantile. A becoming blush stained her cheeks. If only. . . But Brian knew it was no use to dream. He was not the kind of man Señor Fuente would consider allowing his daughter to marry.
Brian enjoyed this opportunity to study Angelina without anyone knowing it. He watched her walk to the railing and turn her face to the wind. Her waist-long hair furled behind her like a flag in the breeze. Occasionally, a few wisps blew into her face, a
nd she reached up with her delicate hand to push them back. The graceful movement sent a pain to his heart. Why was he torturing himself this way?
❧
Angelina had noticed Brian O’Doule as soon as they boarded the ship. She quickly realized that her father had sent him to escort her and her aunt home. Why had he done that? Did Papá still think of her as a child? She and Tía Elena were women. They did not need a caretaker.
Angelina had been twelve years old when the Irishman came to work for her father. Back then she had daydreams of a prince coming to the New World and carrying her off to Spain. At first sight, Brian looked just like the prince she had always dreamed about. His wavy black hair curled over the collar of his shirt, and his blue eyes were the same color as hers. They would make a striking couple.
Her dream shattered the first time she heard him speak with that unmistakable Irish brogue. All the Irish people she’d met in the store were fair-skinned with red or blondish red hair. She had never heard of an Irishman with black hair and a dark complexion. He could have passed for a Spaniard if he never spoke.
Angelina rested her back against the rail, using both hands to keep her hair from blowing in her face. The strong wind made her feel free. While they were on the ship, she didn’t bother dressing her hair in an elaborate style as she usually did on land. Tía Elena fussed at her, telling her that a lady should always look her best. But that was too much trouble. Besides, the wind would quickly pull it out of its style.
Tía Elena sat on a bench attached to the deck, working on her embroidery. The ship jerked so often, Angelina didn’t understand how she could do that without pricking her finger. She studied her aunt intently. Of course, she didn’t want to do the handwork herself. She found it boring to sit still and concentrate on something so intricate. Before long, she turned back toward the white-capped waves.
As the water undulated under the influence of the wind, its color constantly changed from a deep greenish gray to a light bluish green, with every shade in between. She would love to find a length of silk that mirrored those colors. What a lovely gown that would make.
❧
Brian slowly scanned the horizon. Nothing but ocean for miles and miles. He tilted the spyglass up and watched a seagull dip and soar in the sky. Perhaps they were nearer to Florida than he realized. He scanned the horizon again, trying to spot the first darkness against the water that would materialize into land as they approached. No matter how long he looked, there was nothing to see.
Finally, he turned the glass back toward the aft deck. Angelina stretched her arms above her head as she leaned on the railing. Her dress pulled tight against her body. Brian shook his head and pulled the spyglass away from the enticing picture. He didn’t need to entertain such thoughts. In his first years as a sailor, he’d been friends with the wrong kind of men. He’d done a lot of things—and thought many thoughts—that he was ashamed of now.
When he had settled in St. Augustine, he started attending a church. At first, it was because he had no friends in town. But after the pastor introduced him to Jesus, Brian’s life changed.
God had forgiven him. But a man had to be vigilant to keep from stumbling. Temptations were always around, and he didn’t want to fall back into his old way of life. Living with Jesus brought pleasures he’d never imagined. The joy of worship and praise. The understanding of how much God loved him—so much that He sent Jesus to die for all those terrible sins he’d committed.
He glanced down once again. Angelina sat beside her companion. She tossed her head, then pushed her abundant curls behind her shoulder. After talking to her friend for a while, Angelina walked back to the railing. She must really like the ocean to spend that much time looking at it. Of course, there wasn’t anything else to see out here. That is, unless she would look up at him. He didn’t think she even knew who he was. He was just one of her father’s employees, and there were many of them.
Brian had no idea how long he spent studying the girl, indulging in daydreams that could never come true, before he heard a dreadful shout.
“Pirates!” First one sailor, then another took up the call.
A cold chill skittered down his spine, paralyzing him for a moment. Brian looked down. The sailors all pointed in the same direction. Brian swung around and saw a ship flying the black pirate flag much too close for comfort. He didn’t even need the spyglass to see it. He retracted the instrument with a snap and shoved it into his pocket. Then he scrambled over the side of the crow’s nest and descended the rigging like one of the monkeys he had seen in a South American jungle. Once he almost lost his footing in the swaying ropes. It would have served him right if he plunged to his death on the deck below, but he couldn’t die now. He had to find a way to protect Angelina and her aunt.
How could he have been such an idiot? Every sailor knew how important it was to continually watch the horizon to keep the ship safe. It didn’t matter that there hadn’t been anything there for weeks. Nothing should have distracted him from his assignment.
Pain that felt the size of a large boulder settled in his midsection, making it difficult to breathe. He had failed in his responsibility. He should have seen the ship on the far horizon. That might have given them time to outrun it, especially if they were close to land.
The pirates gained on them at an alarming rate. The ship rode high in the water, so Brian knew it must not have as heavy a load as the merchant vessel. Alarm filled him as the sleek schooner sliced through the waves, headed straight toward the Estrella Angelina.
❧
When the cry of “Pirates” rang out, Angelina and Tía Elena snatched up their belongings and hurried into their tiny cabin. They bolted the door and stood with their backs against it to catch their breath. Angelina’s lungs ached with each fearful gasp of air.
“Angelina.” Tía Elena shivered. “We must prepare for the worst.” She hurried to her trunk and threw open the lid, then pulled a petticoat from it. “Here. Put this on.”
After helping Angelina into the garment, she donned a similar one. “There are several special pockets in each of these. Put your jewelry into yours and button the pockets. I will put the money into mine. If we are lucky, we will be able to keep them hidden. If not. . .”
Angelina didn’t want to think about what pirates might do with women. She didn’t realize she had spoken the question aloud until she heard Tía Elena gasp. The two ladies looked into each other’s wild eyes.
Tía Elena started praying for protection. Angelina didn’t know anything else to do, so she joined her.
Elena opened her eyes, her expression determined. “We must trust God to protect us. That is the only way we can come out of this alive and unhurt. He is our only hope.”
Angelina nodded. A verse played in her thoughts, one that Bridgett Lawson, their cook in Florida, often quoted. “ ‘O my God, I trust in thee: let me not be ashamed, let not mine enemies triumph over me.’ ” She quoted the verse, then repeated it. The third time she said it, Tía Elena joined her. Both women continued to chant, “Oh God, I trust in thee. Let not mine enemies triumph over me.”
They were still repeating the words when the door of their cabin splintered open.
Two
Angelina tried to drown out the sounds of the mayhem outside the cabin by raising her voice in frantic supplication to God. But her words could not overcome the horrendous explosion of heavy wood splintering when the door gave way to the assault. Her body quivered as she whirled to look at the broken portal. A shriek of alarm escaped her lips as her gaze encountered the fierce giant filling the void where the door had been securely latched before he broke it down. Behind him the rumble of battle brought harsh cries and the thunder of clashing metal into the small cabin.
The man stood in the doorway, his gaze raking the space. His eyes widened when he spied Angelina and her aunt. Then an indefinable expression settled on his features, softening them a little. Angelina didn’t want to guess what that meant, but at least he didn
’t look so fierce. She stepped between the man and her frightened aunt, who huddled close to Angelina’s back.
“Dear God in heaven.” Her aunt’s whispered words sounded close to Angelina’s ear. “Preserve us in our time of trouble. Protect us from danger.”
The man continued to stand with his hands on his hips—a tower of hard muscles covered in black-and-white clothing, dripping with gold chains and medallions, a long sword swinging at his side. The boots on his wide-stanced feet sported jeweled buckles, and hoops hung from both of his ears. The pirate smiled, revealing a glimpse of gold among his stained teeth. Once again, Angelina shuddered, and though it didn’t seem possible, her aunt moved even closer to her.
The man’s deep voice filled the room with rolling words that reverberated off the close walls. Angelina couldn’t understand the words. They sounded French. She wished Brian O’Doule were here with them. She had heard him converse with the French sailors on her father’s ships. Although the tone of the pirate’s voice didn’t sound menacing, the indecipherable words frightened her. He continued to speak, never taking his eyes off Angelina.
“Etienne.” A blond young man, who peered from behind the giant, spoke. “What are you going to do with these women?”
At least this man spoke English.
“You aren’t going to make them walk the plank with the sailors, are you?”
Angelina wondered what happened when a person walked the plank. She assumed that if they couldn’t swim, they would drown. She was glad her father had taught her to swim when she was very small. Then again, that ability might not help her in these circumstances. Where would she go out here in the vast ocean?
The captain glanced at the young man. “No, Walter,” he said in English laced with a heavy French accent. “We will take the pretty ladies with us. I will not hurt them. I have plans for the young one.”
Everything inside Angelina began to quake, but she tried not to show it. She didn’t want the man to know how much his words affected her.
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