by Lorri Dudley
The panicked screams of the crew and passengers permeated the deck like a gale of wind. In the chaos, the crew bumped into one another. A couple of drunken sailors sprawled on the deck snorted and tipped back the last of their bottles while the halfway-sober men clambered to their posts on unsteady feet.
Colin’s face paled whiter than the sails. “The ship is sinking, and the captain and crew are as drunk as wheelbarrows.” His fingers dug into Bradlee’s forearm. “We’re going to die.”
“No, we’re not. Look.” He pointed to the dark shape on the horizon and speckled lights. “We’re in sight of land. We can always swim for it.”
“It could be ten miles away.”
“Try to be positive.”
“Fine.” Colin stared at the melee ensuing on deck. “I’m positive we’re going to die.”
Bradlee looped the strap of his satchel over his head and shoulder. “Stay here.
I’ll be right back.” He raced below deck to gather their belongings from the cabin. He couldn’t afford to leave behind another one of his journals. They were his only hope of graduating, and he was not about to let them sink.
The ship groaned and tilted toward the port side. Bradlee grabbed the rail to keep from missing the stairwell. Men spilled out of the crew’s quarters, pouring onto the deck. Bradlee pressed against the wall to squeeze by the outflow of people.
“We’re taking on water, captain!” a sailor yelled.
Sure enough, below deck, an inch already filled the hold. The stamping of running feet splashed through the large puddle. Bradlee pushed through the narrow passage. Men brushed against him, knocking him back a few steps. He reached his cabin door and slid into the room as the ship tilted further.
Hurry!
He grabbed his journals from his bunk and a few spare clothes from the dresser and stuffed it all into his knapsack. He felt under his mattress for his meager change purse, but came up empty. As he flipped up the bedding, a piercing whine followed by a loud crack split the air. Bradlee slipped on the wet floor and whacked his head on the hanging oil lamp. He grunted and grasped the writing desk for support. His textbook on agricultural studies glared at him—a reminder of his father’s expectations.
Confound it.
He disregarded the book and climbed uphill out of his cabin. Fewer men filled the passage now. The ocean trickled in through the cracks and seams like the Grecian fountains he’d seen in on the Continent. The water now sloshed halfway up his boots. He turned the corner and mounted the stairs leading above deck.
“Help!”
He froze.
“Someone, please,” a brittle male voice said. “I don’t want ta drown.”
It sounded from the galley. Bradlee turned. The elderly cook clung to the pot rack on the far side of the splintered deck, unable to pull his weight up the steep incline.
Feet pounded above deck, and flashes of people passed by the opening of the hold, but no one stopped for the man’s cries.
“Help!”
Bradlee picked his way over the cracked boards. The wood scraped against his boots and breeches. He grabbed hold of a beam and leaned over as far as he could. “Give me your hand.”
The man stretched but couldn’t reach.
Bradlee scanned the area for a rope or something to grab hold. Rations and utensils lay strewn about the floor, but nothing useful for aiding the trapped cook. Bradlee blew air past his lips. A loud groan echoed through the empty hold. The gap between them widened.
“Colin!” Bradlee yelled up the stairs.
No response.
His hand rested on the strap of his bag. He glanced down. It might work.
He unlooped his knapsack from around his head and shoulder and dangled the strap down to the man.
An inch short.
“Colin! Get down here this minute!”
After a long pause, Colin’s face peered into the stairwell. “You told me to stay put.”
“Since when do you heed me? Get down here. I need you.”
He glanced back toward the upper deck. “We’ll lose our place in the lifeboat.”
“Dash it all. We’ll be fine. Get over here.”
Colin clamored down the stairs, grumbling under his breath.
Bradlee fashioned the strap of his bag around the beam. “Get a good grip and lean me out.” Bradlee locked arms with Colin and swung over the splintered boards. Beneath the rift, crated cargo floated in the ship’s hold. “Take my hand.”
The cook clutched Bradlee’s outstretched palm.
“Hold fast.” Sweat broke out across Bradlee’s forehead. He strained with all his might and heaved the man over the divide. The cook didn’t waste time thanking him, merely dashed up the steps. Colin handed Bradlee his satchel, and they followed in the man’s wake.
“I’d heard being a hero was a thankless job,” Colin hissed in Bradlee’s direction.
His companion’s aptitude for sarcasm didn’t change even in a crisis.
They chased the cook up the stairs. Bedlam had erupted on the top deck as men pushed and shoved to claim a spot in the few remaining dinghies.
“Stay close.” Bradlee pried away from the crowd and found a spot near the rail. A warm breeze flapped the loose sails. He sucked in a deep breath and blew it out past his lips. Stars twinkled brightly in the night sky and stood in stark contrast against the pandemonium that surrounded him on deck. The moon reflected off the water, shimmering in the rise and fall of the waves. Lights shone in the distance, a beacon of hope. “That must be one of the Leeward Islands. I knew we had to be close.”
Bradlee searched the deck. “Here.” He grabbed a small barrel full of rum and opened the stint. The golden liquid spilled over the wooden boards, wafting the scent of spiced vanilla through the air.
“What do you plan to do?” Colin snorted. “Toast to our demise?”
Bradlee ignored him. “Use this or anything else you can find to help you float.”
The stream lessened, and Colin closed the stint. “Can’t hurt to save some. After all this, I might need it.”
“If we have to jump…” Bradlee gripped Colin’s shirt near the collar and locked gazes. “Swim as fast and far as you can away from the ship. The suction might pull us under.”
Colin nodded, and they both turned toward the rail. The sea seemed calm compared to the mayhem on board. One dinghy rowed toward land with slow, steady strokes.
“You realize this is your fault.” Colin didn’t look in his direction.
“My fault?” Bradlee’s mouth dropped open. “You can’t blame me for the captain dipping too deep and running the ship aground.”
“It’s your spirit of adventure that keeps getting us into these messes. Before this, I lived a peaceful life as a humble Servitor at Oxford.”
“You hated serving the professors and students. You complained about dull discussions regarding the crop rotation of turnips. I saved you from boredom.”
“Indeed, and you have excelled to an extreme. There is no time to be bored when you’re caught in the middle of a Spanish bar fight, dodging Indian arrows, or clinging to a sinking ship.”
Off the starboard side, a dinghy heavy with passengers tipped and plummeted its occupants into the black water below. The zip of the line hissed as it flew through the winch, and the rowboat toppled after them. Another loud groan reverberated the boards beneath their feet.
“Grab ahold—” Bradlee’s boots slid as half of the ship upon which they stood pitched forward, dipping its bow into the ocean.
He gripped a metal cleat bolted into the decking. His satchel dangled in the air and bumped against his side. Colin clung to a rail post with one hand and the rum barrel with the other. Below them, men splashed in the water, stirring up white foam at the bow. Grown men screamed like children as the dark water swallowed them whole. Others grabbed barrels or masts as lifelines.
The sight made the confident words he’d uttered earlier seem foolish. This couldn’t be the end. What about his fam
ily? Would they remember him only as their foolhardy son?
God, get me through this. I promise I’ll go back and take my final exam—even if it kills me. I need to redeem myself in my father’s eyes before I die.
Bradlee adjusted his grip to ease the ache in his fingers. His strength waned. He couldn’t keep hold much longer.
Colin released the rum barrel to grasp the rail with both hands. It rolled down the steep slope of the deck, splashed into the water, and submerged. A second later, it bobbed in the waves.
A blood-curdling scream howled above the wails of the drowning men. A man frantically slapped the waves. His scream muffled into a gurgle. A moment later, he disappeared.
An eerie hush fell over the water.
And then someone else shouted, “Shark!”
Hannah Rose Barrington ducked out her bedroom window into the humid night air. Her Uncle Reuben’s rantings pounded her ears. Miss Albina Kroft’s screeching fury followed. Hannah cringed. The bickering between her uncle and his frequent guest had, as of late, exploded in full-out battles. Their tension permeated the house, easily spilling under Hannah’s door and stirring her sleep.
She inhaled the salty air and the sweet smell of molasses drifting on the light breeze from the neighbor’s boiling houses. Her feet knew the path down to the beach by heart. Small crabs raised their pinchers but posed no real threat. They darted into their holes before she passed by.
She crawled up onto her favorite spot, her uncle’s overturned rowboat, careful not to obtain splinters from the weathered underside. Flakes of peeling paint poked at her skin as she tucked her skirt under her feet. The warm night hadn’t allowed the sand to cool completely from the scorching heat of the day. The ocean breeze played with her hair, and the rhythmic breaking of waves washed the day’s tension away.
It’s unsafe for a lone woman to be wandering the island at night. Lady Clark, the reverend’s wife, warned after Hannah had mentioned slipping out in the evenings to escape her guardian’s quarrels.
Hannah glanced over her shoulder at the house. The silhouette of Uncle Reuben tossing back the last of the rum in his glass showed in the lighted window.
She released a sigh and turned back to the tranquil ocean. Was it evil to find comfort in something that had taken everything from her? Twelve years next month. That’s how long it had been since the sea stole her parents. She swallowed against the lump that still formed in her throat. Her hand moved to her chest and fumbled for the gold ring that lay hidden under her gown—her father’s ring.
An unsettling sound drifted across the waves, raising the fine hair on the back of her neck.
A ship sailed into the harbor, its white sails illuminated by the moonlight. It was not an uncommon sight, but most ships came in on a different angle to avoid the coral reefs. Distant cheers split the air. The crew must be having a boisterous night, or perhaps they were celebrating reaching their destination.
Strange. It didn’t appear to be moving.
She rose onto her knees and squinted at the black outline of the ship. It seemed to bend in half. She blinked to clear her vision, but the masts continued to tip in opposite directions.
Her heart stilled, and her veins turned to ice.
Merciful heavens.
The ship was breaking in half. Those weren’t cheers. They were screams.
She scrambled down to the sand and pressed her hands against her ears to block the sound. Bile rose into her throat, strangling out her breath as she was drawn back to her six-year-old self, the night she’d run away from her nursemaid as the squall hit. The sailboat her parents had navigated toward the Isle of St. Kitts had been much smaller than the ship now fighting its battle. Her parents’ skiff had sank fast, faster than any fishing boats could get there.
She had stood on the shore, screaming for her mama and papa, while they drowned.
Hannah pivoted back toward the house. Should she run into town and sound an alarm? By the time she got there it could be too late. What of her uncle? Would he be sober enough? Not likely. He’d probably pass out on the side of the road, or worse if he rowed out. He’d likely drown.
Hannah plunged her fingers into the sand, grasped the edge of the rowboat, and heaved it over. With a strength she didn’t seem capable of on her own, she dragged the dingy to the ocean’s edge.
This time, she wouldn’t be helpless.
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Get The Sugar Baron’s Ring at your favorite retailer!
Get all the books in the Leeward Islands Series
Book 1: The Duke’s Refuge
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Book 2: The Merchant’s Yield
Book 3: The Sugar Baron’s Ring
Book 4: The Captain’s Quest
About the Author
Lorri Dudley has been a finalist in numerous writing contests and has a master's degree in Psychology. She lives in Ashland, Massachusetts with her husband and three teenage sons, where writing romance allows her an escape from her testosterone filled household.
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Connect with Lorri at http://LorriDudley.com
Acknowledgments
I thank God for the joy of writing and the opportunity to understand His love on a deeper level through story.
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I’m so grateful for my loving husband and three boys who don’t think I’m crazy when I laugh or cry in front of my computer. I’m especially fortunate to have such great parents who’ve been so supportive of my writing. My mom is the sweetest woman I know, and she doesn’t worry when I write about an overbearing mother figure, and my dad proudly reads my romance novels.
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Special thanks to Misty Beller, I’m going to call you the Dream-maker, thank you for making mine come true. I’m so blessed to get to work with such a wonderful and fun publisher. I don’t know how you do all that you do. And to the Wild Heart Books team, thank you for designing a great cover and for your tremendous editing and marketing wisdom.
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Erin Taylor-Young, thank you for drawing out the emotion within my characters and forcing me to dig deeper. You made the story shine in a way I could never have without your suggestions and encouragement. Robin Patchen, my amazing editor and friend, I’m so fortunate to have you to hone my writing and me in the process, and Robyn Hook, my critique partner, you are a tremendous blessing. Also, big hugs and kisses to my beta readers, Kristin, Shannon, and Michelle. Your excitement invigorates me.
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I have been (and continue to be) blessed by all the people who have supported me in my writing, especially my blog readers and launch team. I’m humbled by the outpouring of love and appreciative of their encouragement and excitement. Many thanks to my church family, my small group friends who’ve kept me going, and Pastor and Stacy—you’ve had such an impact on my life. Keep fighting for God’s Kingdom. I’m appreciative of my amazing family, my brother who has passed my books out to book clubs, my aunts who’ve approached librarians, and cousins who’ve been so supportive.
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May God bless you all abundantly.
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