Raven Saint (34 page)

“There is nothing like a Caribbean sunset.” His nonchalant tone implied that her presence did not have the same effect on him.

Grace nodded. A wave caressed her feet, tickling her skin and loosening the sand beneath her toes. She dug them into the cool grains, seeking an anchor for her traitorous emotions. “How long do you think it will be before we are rescued?”

He turned to her, a wounded look in his eyes. “Do not fear, we shall not be here long.”

“I would not mind if we were.”

He cocked his head. “Vraiment? At one time you detested my company.”

“Can you blame me?”

“Non.” He chuckled and kicked the sand with his boot, staring at the turquoise waves. “What has changed?”

“I
have changed.”

He faced her. A warm breeze danced around them, fluttering Grace's hair, and Rafe ran his fingers through the strands. “En effet, you have changed. When I met you, you wore these curls so tight upon your head, I thought your skull would crack from the strain.”

Grace laughed. “ 'Tis true.” She studied him, wondering if she should abandon her safe shores and plunge into the deep. “That is not all that has changed.”

“What else?” His tone was cavalier.

Grace bit her lip. “I have seen what a judgmental prude I have been.”

“Oui.”

“You do not have to be so agreeable.” She mocked offense.

He grew sober. Lifting his hand, he slid a finger over her cheek. Grace's pulse raced. “What else has changed, mon petit chou pieuse?” He searched her eyes like a man digging for buried treasure.

“Can you not tell?” She gave him a coy look.

“Hmm, your face has tanned from the sun.”

Grace ground her teeth together. “Not that.” He taunted her.
The rogue!
Grace huffed. She turned to leave, frustration broiling in her stomach.

Rafe grabbed her arm. A mischievous grin lifted his lips. “Peut-être, have your affections changed for me?”

Grace narrowed her eyes at the man's presumptuous arrogance. “I suppose you are accustomed to women declaring their love for you.”

“Oui, a common occurrence.” He shrugged then grew serious. “Mais there is only one woman from whose lips I long to hear it declared.”

Grace's body tingled with joy. She ran her fingers over the black stubble on his jaw. “Then you must know, Rafe Dubois, that I love you.”

His dark eyes sparkled, and he knelt on one knee and took her hand in his. “My sweet prude pieuse, I have loved you since the moment I first saw you.” He placed a kiss on her fingers and smiled. “Will you do me the greatest honor of becoming my wife?”

“Yes!” Grace could hardly contain her joy. She fell into his embrace before he could fully right himself. Stumbling backward, Rafe picked her up and swung her around as their laughter joined the crash of the sea.

When he placed her down on the sand, Grace puckered her lips and closed her eyes.

Nothing but a sharp wind scraped over her mouth. She pried open one eye and peered at Rafe.

He cocked a brow. “You ordered me never to kiss you again, mademoiselle.”

“And of course that's the only one of my orders you obeyed.” Grace huffed.

He licked his lips. “Do I have your permission?”

“You have it, monsieur. Now and forever.”

He gave her that roguish grin that sent her heart aflutter and lowered his lips to hers.

Grace wiggled her toes into the sand and leaned back against Rafe's thick chest. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and his warm breath caressed her skin as he nibbled on her neck. She giggled and snuggled closer to him, amazed at the providence of God. A God who surely had a grand sense of humor. For who would have thought someone as pious and proper as her would be betrothed to a rogue like Rafe? Not only betrothed but enjoying every minute she had spent with him the past two days,

Boom!
A cannon blast thundered.

Grace snapped her gaze to the sea where the puff of gray smoke clung to the red hull of a brig. The ball splashed harmlessly into the waves. A warning shot. Or...

Grace threw a hand to her throat. “I know that ship! That is my sister Faith's ship, the
Red Siren!”

The cockboat crunched against the shore, and Grace could barely restrain herself from dashing into the waves to greet her sisters. Yes,
sisters.
Both Hope and Faith sat among the stern sheets of the tiny craft. Lucas and another sailor leapt over the side, but before they could hoist the boat farther upon the sand, Faith bounded into the water, followed by Captain Waite. Waves crashed over her as she waded toward shore, splashing her brown breeches and white shirt. When she reached dry sand, she rushed toward Grace with a beaming smile upon her face and her red hair flaming behind her. The scent of lemons rose to Grace's nose as she clung to her sister.

“I cannot believe we found you!” Faith stepped back and examined Grace, her nose wrinkling slightly. Behind her a man that looked oddly like Mr. Nathaniel Mason, the shipwright from Charles Towne, carried Hope from the boat and set her upon the sand. Lifting the skirts of her yellow gown, Hope rushed into Grace's arms, sobbing. “Oh, Grace. We were so worried. So very worried.”

“Hope, Faith.” Tears overran Grace's lashes and spilled down her face. “I thought I would never see you again. Oh, thank God for bringing us all together.” Grace hugged her sisters and kissed them repeatedly on the cheeks as they laughed with delight.

Clank. Clink.
The sound of steel on steel rose above the crashing waves.

Grace withdrew from her sisters and glanced up to see Mr. Waite holding his sword, hilt to hilt with Rafe, while Mr. Mason aimed a pistol to her beloved's head.

“No!” Grace dashed to Rafe's side.

“Relatives of yours, mademoiselle?” Rafe's insolent grin never faltered. “Is this how
les anglais
greet one another?”

Mr. Waite narrowed his eyes. “I saw this scoundrel accosting you on shore.”

Grace cleared her throat. “This scoundrel is my betrothed, Mr. Waite, Captain Rafe Dubois.”

Hope gasped and Faith flinched backward as if she'd been struck.

Mr. Waite's blue eyes shifted between Grace and Rafe. Finally he lowered his blade.

Nathaniel, however, kept his pistol aimed. “Then what, pray tell, was he doing?”

Rafe sheathed his sword and winked at Grace.

“Please lower your pistol, Mr. Mason,” Grace said. “He was doing me no harm, I assure you.” She couldn't help the flush that heated her face.

But Nathaniel would not be appeased. “Isn't this the Frenchman who kidnapped you?”

Grace gave Rafe an adoring look. “Yes.”

Hope laid a hand on her hip. “You do have much to tell us, dear sister.” Her gaze swept to Grace's loose hair. “I see this journey has done you some good.”

Grace clutched her sister's hand. “More good than you know, Hope. I've been praying for you, dear sister. You left with Lord Falkland. We had no idea where to search for you.”

“'Tis a long story,” Hope said. “I have been praying for you as well.”

“You, praying?” Grace blinked.

“Part of that long tale.” Hope's eyes sparkled with more life than Grace remembered ever seeing within them.

“We all have stories to tell.” Faith made her way to Mr. Waite. He put his arm around her.

With a huff of resignation, Mr. Mason stuffed his pistol into his belt and exchanged a loving look with Hope that sent the girl sashaying to his side. “It is fortunate we found you.”

Rafe inched his way beside Grace. “How did you know where we were?”

Captain Waite folded his arms across his chest. “When we stopped in Charles Towne for supplies, we received your post, Miss Grace.”

“And set sail straightaway for Port-de-Paix, but you had already left,” Faith added.

“A local fisherman thought he saw a woman matching your description being brought aboard Captain Dubois's ship.” Mr. Waite gestured toward Rafe. “Then of course we knew from your missive that you were headed to Rio de la Hacha.”

Faith beamed “And here we are.”

Grace shook her head at the providence of God.
Thank You, Lord.

Lucas ambled forward, floppy hat in hand. “Good to see you, Miss Grace.” He nodded her way, his dark hair coiling about his brown face.

“And you, Mr. Lucas,” she replied.

“We have more good news.” Hope almost leapt in the sand. “Along with yours, we also received a post from Father.” She exchanged an excited glance with Faith before facing Grace again. “He is bringing Charity home and in fact, they may already be there now.”

Grace blinked and glanced at Hope. “What of her husband?”

Lowering her gaze, Hope clung to Mr. Mason's arm.

“He is dead.” Faith's tone held no emotion. “Killed in a duel over his entanglement with the wife of an earl.”

“Oh my.” Grace clasped her throat. How oft had she prayed for Charity to be delivered from the beast, but she certainly had not wished him dead. But Charity was coming home! And she would be finally free from the man's abuse. Grace could hardly contain her excitement.
Another praise to You, Lord.
“I shall be so glad to see her!”

Lucas glanced toward the west where the last traces of light fell below the horizon. “The sun sets, mistress.”

“Aye, I don't feel safe this close to the main.” Mr. Waite eyed the sea with caution. “There are Spanish
guardacostas
about.”

But as quickly Grace's joy had risen, a sudden realization struck it down. She gazed up at Rafe. “Surely you wish to return to Port-de-Paix?” It was his home, after all, and he had friends there. Would she have to be separated from him until they could be wed? She could not bear the thought.

As if sensing her fear, he brushed a curl from her cheek and caressed her skin with his thumb. “Oui. I need to get word to Monsieur Thorn that we are rescued. And to make sure his plan worked and that everyone is safe.”

Faith turned to her husband. “I am sure Captain Waite would be willing to make a brief stop there to drop you off, Mr. Dubois, would you not, Captain?”

“Of course.” Mr. Waite tipped his tricorne at Faith. “Anything for my first mate.”

Grace gazed down at the mounds of crystalline sand at her feet and clasped the chain around her neck, seeking anything to cling to besides the sorrow overwhelming her. “How long will you stay there?”

Placing a finger beneath her chin, he lifted her to eyes to his. “You have attempted to escape me twice, mademoiselle, do you think I would allow it again? Non, you will not leave my sight.” He smiled and raised his brows. “Ever.”

Grace thought her heart would burst as Rafe took her hand and placed a gentle kiss upon it. She gazed up at him, tears of joy filling her eyes.

Mr. Waite cleared his throat. “Well, that being the case, I assume we will have no choice but to wait for you until you conclude your business at Port-de-Paix, sir.”

Grace sent Mr. Waite a look of gratitude.

“I thank you, monsieur,” Rafe nodded in his direction.

“Then it is settled,” Faith said.

“And afterward we shall all go home.” Mr. Mason held his arm out for Hope, and the couple turned and made their way to the boat. Mr. Waite and Faith followed.

Home.
The word wrapped around Grace like a warm blanket. A gust of wind dashed over them, filling the air with the aroma of salt and brine and flowers—the scent of the Caribbean. Closing her eyes, Grace thanked God for seeing her through this harrowing journey step by step, for changing her judgmental heart into one of love, and for the incredible man standing before her.

She glanced up at Rafe, his black hair tossed by the breeze. He smiled at her, his sultry dark eyes burning with such love and admiration that her knees began to tremble. Then sweeping her up into his arms, he carried her to the cockboat to begin their new life together. Grace smiled. And what a life it would be, being married to Captain Rafe Dubois.

Image I: Sniffles (aka Spyglass) 1988-2009

Image II: M.L. TYNDALL

MaryLu Tyndall dreamed of pirates and seafaring adventures during her childhood days on Florida's coast. She holds a degree in math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. Her love of history and passion for story drew her to create the Legacy of the King's Pirates series. MaryLu now writes full-time and makes her home with her husband, six children, and four cats on California's coast, where her imagination still surges with the sea. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but expose Christians to their full potential in Christ. For more information on MaryLu and her upcoming releases, please visit her Web site at www.mltyndall.com or her blog at crossandcutlass.blogspot.com.