Liam himself was nowhere to be seen.
I will not look again at Sandpiper and search her decks for him. It will only hurt too much, especially as he’s not likely to even care that I’m here and he sure as hell won’t be looking for me.
“Auntie, will you come and visit us when the baby is due?”
“You know I will, honey. I’ll be there, I promise.”
“And you’ll tell Gertie to feed you better, won’t you? You’re thinner than you were when we were here in June. That worries me.”
That was a ball of nonsense, but Annis laughed in an attempt to dispel the gloom that hung over them all. “I’ll tell her.” She looked up and met Kieran’s gaze. His eyes were dark with pain, and he wore a look of tragedy about him, the sort that Byron and his set in England must cultivate intentionally. The handsome young captain, though, was not so superficial. Something was bothering him. Did he feel guilty about taking Rosalie away so soon after they arrived? Was he missing his dead mother and father so much that he longed to go back to Newburyport to feel close to them again? His were depths that not many people had ever plumbed, Annis guessed.
“And you, young man,” she said with false sternness. “Don’t you go flying out of here in a storm of sail or you’ll have my heart in my throat for worry about you all. It’s windy out here, I don’t want to see you overset before you even clear the harbor.” Rosalie’s husband, caught helpless by a landlubber’s order when he himself was a skilled and seasoned mariner, couldn’t help the sudden smile that broke over his face, and the effect was much the same as that given by the clouds so far above, closing up and opening again to admit sun.
“I’ll keep it slow,” he said, and she saw the sparkle in his eye and suddenly realized that the brief exchange she’d witnessed between him and Liam as they’d looked up at the streaming pendant was likely anticipation of their wild ride as the brisk northwesterly shot them down the harbor like a ball from a cannon.
And then, like the moody, changing clouds above, his grin faded and his visage in all its sadness was there again. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cutter, but we have to go if we’re to make the tide.”
“Yes,” she said, somewhat flustered as she gave her niece a last embrace and set her back, away from herself. “Yes, of course.”
He bowed to her, offered his arm to his wife, and together the young couple, so much in love, so well-suited to each other, walked down the pier to the boat that waited for them in the swells, bouncing like a pony with its girth too tight. The sun retreated back behind the clouds and the day turned dark again and loneliness, bitter and sharp, filled Annis’ heart as she watched the two beloved figures climb down into the boat, the sailors there struggling against the oars as they rowed the captain and his lady back out to his waiting ship.
I will not look.
He didn’t come here to say goodbye, I will not make a fool of myself by looking for him.
She watched the boat making its way toward Sandpiper, gaining speed now as the turning tide gathered momentum and worked in tandem with the wind, the whitecaps now breaking and racing toward the sloop that waited with such impatience for her captain.
Annis’s eyes grew blurry, and the outline of the rowboat, smaller now with distance, became indistinct, a wash of watery color and lines. She stiffened her back and turned and walked back down the pier to her lonely little house in Fells Point and it was only then, with her back shielding her from anyone who might be watching from the sloop, that she reached into her reticule and drew forth the scrap of muslin to blot away the tears that had started as a trickle and now, torn from her eyes by the wind, were racing down her cheeks, unchecked.
* * *
Rain. It started as a slow plop-plop-plopping against the cobblestoned street, a whisper of sound around her and looking down, she saw dark spots appearing on her sleeves. The toes of her boots. The sky darkened, and she heard the rain coming in as a soft swishing roar as it moved closer over the land, and finally beat down with relentless purpose.
She reached her doorstep just in time.
She pushed the door open and stood in the foyer. The deep and abiding stillness all but swallowed her up. Silence echoed around her. She stood there for a long moment listening to the rain outside, her heart aching with sudden anguish. Loneliness. Today was going to be a very bad day indeed, as days of partings usually were. Best to find something to do, someone to visit, somewhere to go. Anything was better than staying here and remembering Liam here just yesterday, seeing him in her mind’s eye standing right here in the foyer, remembering all over again the feel of his shoulder against her own, his hand in hers, his knee beneath her fingertips as they’d sat together outside on the bench where even now, the rain was washing away any trace that he’d ever even been there.
I had hoped, oh, dear God, I had hoped that he would change his mind. That he would take a chance, that he was the one for me. That we could be together....
She remembered his kisses.
The feel of his arms around her.
The tears welled up in her eyes again and this time, she let them fall, unchecked.
Yes, it was going to be a very bad day, indeed. A day to spend in bed with her own misery, if she succumbed to the overwhelming temptation. And why not? Tomorrow, she would face the world again. But today.... Today she just wanted to be alone.
“Gertie?”
Silence.
She untied her turban, pushed her fingers through her hair, and took a deep and steadying breath. Outside, the rain beat harder, filling her with sadness until she thought her heart would break.
“Tea and whiskey,” she murmured to herself, with a sniffle. “And then a day spent in bed.”
“God almighty, I couldn’t agree more.”
The voice was filled with humor, deep and startling in the heavy stillness, and Annis whirled, the turban slipping from her fingers and bouncing off the floor. And there he sat, filling the chair in the little adjoining parlor, his teasing smile all but cleaving his broad and handsome face.
“Liam!”
He got to his feet and bowed.
“Not crying over me now, are ye, lass?”
She slashed at her wet cheeks. “What....”
“I know, what am I doing here, right?”
“What are you doing here? Who let you in? Why aren’t you with Kieran and Rosalie, helping them get home? Doesn’t he need you to sail the ship?”
He shrugged, and his merry blue eyes sobered for a moment. “Kieran doesn’t need me,” he said quietly, and coming forward, he took both her hands within his own and held them tight. “He never really did. Took a long time for that to sink in, lass, and I’m a stubborn old fool, but I realized that if I gave you up to keep watch over a grown man who’s proven to me, and to the world, that he’s more than capable of taking care of not only himself but those around him, that the only ones missing out would be you. And me.”
She felt herself starting to crack all down the middle, and she sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and bit down hard on it to contain her emotions.
“I love ye, Annis Cutter. I’ve loved ye since the minute I laid eyes on ye last June, and I’m not going to make the same mistake twice. The mistake of not grabbing hold of what’s right there in front of me and making it mine while there’s still time to do it.” His hands tightened on her own. “I’m not going to throw away a second chance. The youngsters all think I’m old, but I’m not dead, and Kieran had to all but hit me over the head with the truth last night.”
“The truth, being?”
“That it’s never too late.”
“Never to late for what?”
“For love,” he said. And then, getting slowly down on one knee while still holding her hands, he looked up at her, his heart in bright blue eyes she felt she could drown in. “Will ye marry me, Annis Cutter?”
Will I marry you.
She pulled him to his feet, her tears already drying, the weather outside forgotten. “Yes,” sh
e said simply, her heart bursting with joy, and a second later, she was in his arms.
Five minutes later, they were upstairs while the rain beat down outside.
It turned out to be a very good day to stay in bed, after all.
Epilogue
Out in the great expanse of the Chesapeake Bay, where some months earlier the Royal Navy had stormed Baltimore’s fort in a long night of shelling that had ended with dawn, a defiant and tattered flag of stars and stripes, and British retreat, where the wind was strong and steady, where Sandpiper leaped beneath his feet in joyous abandon as the rain swept down on them and passed as quickly as it had come, Captain Kieran Merrick stood on his deck and grinned.
“Think that’s far enough?” Rosalie asked, coming up beside him after helping Stephen to shake a reef out of the main.
“Maybe.”
“I think we should give them a little more time.”
Kieran’s grin was radiant. “Kind of have to, dearest, as we’re not going anywhere but down the bay with this wind. Might as well enjoy it while we can.”
“Aunt Annis won’t like us sailing so fast. She’ll be worried.”
“I seriously doubt she’s looking out the window and worrying about us right now. And if she is, we’ve got more work to do.” He grinned. “A lot more work to do.”
Rosalie leaned against him, turning her face up to receive his kiss, his damp hair whipping across her cheek and tangling against their mouths. “Never knew you had it in you, Kieran. You, of all people!”
He actually blushed, though with the wind against his face she couldn’t be sure. “Well now, as long as I’m still full of surprises, you’ll never get tired of me.”
“I’ll never get tired of you. But seriously, your plan to get them together when the combined efforts of Pepper, Mama and I were going nowhere ... even my tearful display last night didn’t seem to work! But you ... you! I have to give credit where it’s due.” Her smile turned admiring. “Pretending that you had a sudden notion to head back to Newburyport, knowing it would force Liam’s hand ... I’ve never seen him so flustered and confused in all the time I’ve known him! It was just what he needed. Honestly, Kieran, that was brilliant.”
He laughed, something he did a lot these days, and glanced up at the mainmast pendant, still streaming forward in the wind, pointing the way down the bay.
“Well, brilliant or not, I hope they’ll forgive me.”
“They’ll never know.”
“You didn’t tell anyone, did you?”
“Of course not. Not even Pepper. Certainly not Pepper. She couldn’t keep a secret if her life depended on it.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “The less who know, the better.”
“Speaking of Pepper, maybe you can work some more matchmaking magic where she and your cousin Nathan is concerned. Getting the chance to meet him after hearing so much about him is the main reason she’s aboard, you know.”
“Well, that, and because I needed crew.”
“Balderdash. And Nathan, he’s as stubborn as Liam is. We’ll have our work cut out for us, that’s for sure.”
“Just leave it to me,” he said, jokingly, and catching the merriment in his eyes, she laughed. Kieran was good at a lot of things. Getting two people together was proving to be just one more of his many talents.
God, how she loved him.
She pushed her hand under his pea-coat and discreetly stroked the prominence of his hip, watching as his eyes grew hungry and he glanced about to see if any of their scanty crew were watching. “You know, Kieran ... it could be days before this wind turns, otherwise it’s going to be a long, slow tack back up the bay. Maybe we actually should go home for a bit. If we turn around and go back too quickly they might figure it out, and then everything we did—you did— will be wasted. The more time those two have together, the better off they’ll be, I think.”
“Aye, you’re probably right.” The wind strengthened, and Sandpiper burst forward beneath them, joyously racing the waves, racing the wind, racing time itself, her long, up-swept jib-boom pointed due south. Shall we go home, dearest?”
“Yes,” she said, smiling up at his handsome, beloved face, the clouds racing the sky above him. “Let’s go home.”
the end
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Keep reading for a special sneak peak from CAPTAIN OF MY HEART, the first book in the Heroes Of The Sea series!
About the Author:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Danelle Harmon has written eighteen critically acclaimed and award-winning books, with many being published all over the world and translated into numerous languages. She and her family make their home in New England with numerous animals including five dogs, an Egyptian Arabian horse, and a flock of pet chickens. Danelle enjoys reading, spending time with family, friends and her pets, and sailing her 19th century reproduction Melonseed skiff, Kestrel II. She welcomes email from her readers and can be reached at [email protected] or through any of the means listed below:
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And now, for a special excerpt from the first book in Danelle Harmon’s bestselling HEROES OF THE SEA series!
CAPTAIN OF MY HEART
by Danelle Harmon
Prologue
July 1775
Unwilling spectators to yet another whipping, a trio of pigtailed seamen in blue jackets and striped ticken trousers stood by the rail of His Majesty’s Ship Halcyon. Their attention was not on poor Dalby, strung up to the gratings with his stooped back already blistering in the merciless sun. It was not on Captain Richard Crichton, tapping his foot in impatience as he waited for the boatswain’s mate to begin the punishment.
It was on the barge that had set out from the big seventy-four-gun flagship Dauntless.
“He’s coming,” said one, in a low, reverent whisper. “I knew he would.”
“We all knew. Our Brendan would never let us down.”
“Aye, just because he’s been promoted to flag captain doesn’t mean he’s forgotten us.”
They stared at the barge, watching as it cut its way through gentle swells that danced and glittered in the summer sunlight. Then Crichton turned, saw it, and paled. Swearing, he barked out a string of commands. Marines were hastily mustered. Officers in blue and white coats scrambled to receive the esteemed visitor. Uniforms were straightened, pipes shrilled. And then the barge was alongside, bumping against the frigate’s hull as its crew tossed their oars.
As usual, the flag captain had arrived unexpectedly—and with his usual disregard for the fanfare the Royal Navy insisted upon giving him.
Crichton was furious.
“Boat ahoy!”
“Halcyon!” roared the flag captain’s coxswain, Liam Doherty, a strapping, blue-eyed Irishman with a beam-to-beam grin and a shock of spice-colored curls. “Stand by t’ receive Cap’n Merrick!”
Orders were passed. The bosuns’ pipes pierced the air.
“Imagine,” whispered one of the seamen, “troublin’ himself with the likes of us. Ye don’t really think that’s why he’s here, do ye, John? ’Cause of us?”
“Oh, aye. No doubt about that,” the first seaman said. He gazed at the purple hills that rimmed Boston Harbor. “We all signed that appeal to Sir Geoffrey to do something about Crichton, didn’t we? The vice-admiral’s got a good heart, and a wise head on his shoulders, picking our own Brendan Merrick to be the new flag captain. Just think of how easy things were when Captain Merrick commanded this ship—he never once had a man punished, not once
, mind ye! And he’s not going to like how bad things’ve gotten here.”
“Bad? By the saints, poor ol’ Dalby’s the second man Crichton’s strung up to the gratin’s for punishment this mornin’ alone, and that ain’t countin’ the three from yesterday!”
“There were four from yesterday, Zach, not three....”
At the rail, smart, red-coated marines snapped to attention. A final drum rolled on the wind. The pipes quieted, the seamen held their breaths, the tension built. They heard him coming up the ladder. They saw his gold-laced hat appear in the entry port. And then he was there, resplendent and handsome, the sunlight glinting with blinding intensity off his epaulets and picking out every gold button on a coat as blue as the sea that rolled behind him. Doffing his hat to the quarterdeck with a solemnity befitting the gesture, he turned, met their gazes—and grinned, for he had last walked among them as their captain, and he knew every one of the 150-man crew by name.
“Mr. Burke! Ce’n chaoi bhfuil tú? You’re looking a wee bit on the sorry side this morn! Been in your cups again, laddie?” They all had the same thought. Promotion hadn’t changed him a bit; he was still the same man he had been when he’d been their captain, not above using the old Gaeilge when addressing an Irishman, not above caring about the welfare of everyone on the ship. “And Mr. Howes! You keeping your hands off my little sister? Where is the lassie, anyhow? Faith! A half mile through spray and wave in that damnable barge and the least that Eveleen could do is come topside to greet me, eh?”
Still grinning, he winked at one of the drummers, a pale, scrawny little tyke who blushed and bobbed and dropped his drumstick under the attention. Captain Brendan Jay Merrick merely laughed, picked it up, and handed it back to him, oblivious to the way the boy clutched it to his chest as though it had been blessed. He was nothing like Crichton, the men thought with a mixture of pride and bittersweet relief, nor those who’d held the coveted post of flag captain before him—dour-faced, cautious men who’d reeked of protocol and the stuffiness so inherent in those of their station.
Never Too Late For Love (Heroes Of The Sea Book 9) Page 8