Surrender the Heart (33 page)

“If honesty is what you want, Captain, I have plenty of it.” She dared to take the opportunity to acquaint him with her opinion of the injustices she’d witnessed.

He walked to the stern window and stared out into the black void of night. A spray of twinkling stars beckoned her from the darkness.

At his silence, she continued, “Mr. Bowen did not receive a fair trial today, and you know it. You never gave him a chance to defend himself. And his punishment was far too cruel.”

He swung around. A spray of brandy slid over the lip of his glass. His face scrunched. “What do you know of keeping discipline on a ship this size?”

Marianne stared wide-eyed at him, hoping he wouldn’t charge toward her again.

Facing the stern, he snapped the brandy into his mouth. He attempted to set his glass down, but he missed his desk, and it crashed to the floor in a dozen glittering shards. As if unaware of the mess, he turned to examine his plants, brushing his fingers over their leaves.

A lump formed in Marianne’s throat. The captain was a harsh man to be sure. But at times like these when he was in one of his dark pensive moods and well into his cups, he seemed more like a little boy than a man. A broken, lonely little boy. Grabbing one of her dusting cloths, she knelt by the desk and began to carefully pick up the shattered pieces.

“You are a good woman, Miss Denton. Not much of a steward, if I do say so.” He chuckled. “But kind, quick-witted, completely agreeable. Your tranquil mannerisms and feminine gestures soothe an old man’s soul.”

Marianne halted, stunned by his compliments. She was surprised that they affected her so, for she gulped them in like a starving woman long deprived of food. Unbidden tears burned in her eyes. Blinking them back, she continued picking up the glass pieces, afraid to look up into his face. Afraid to discover he only taunted her.

“You are generous and wise and honest,” he continued. “Qualities difficult to find among ladies these days.”

A tear slid down Marianne’s cheek and landed on a glass shard. She picked it up. The sharp edge caught her finger and sliced her skin. Pain shot into her hand. She dabbed the blood with the cloth and picked up the few remaining pieces. In all his years, her father had never once spoken a word of praise to Marianne. He had not been a cruel father—had never raised his voice at her, had never impugned her character. He had simply not been the type of man who freely offered his approval. So she found it ironic that this man who could be so cruel could also speak so highly of her.

Bundling the cloth around the glass, Marianne wiped her face and stood. She had never known her father’s opinion of her. She had never known whether he was proud of her. And not until this moment did she realize how desperate she was to hear any approbation at all. She set the cloth down on the desk and raised her gaze to the captain.

He smiled and shifted his eyes away uncomfortably, but she sensed no insincerity in his expression.

He leaned on the window ledge and gripped his side. “I don’t feel too well.”

Marianne darted to him just in time to catch him before he fell. His weight nearly pushed her to the floor, but slowly she managed to lead him to his sleeping chamber.

“Perhaps some sleep will make you feel better, Captain.” She eased him onto his mattress.

“Yes, yes. Quite right. I need to sleep.” He plopped his head down on his pillow and lifted a hand to rub his temples.

With difficulty, Marianne managed to swing his massive legs onto the mattress, and then she stared down at the man who, with his eyes closed, looked more like a gentle old grandfather than the captain of a British warship.

Memories assailed her of another time, long ago, and another man. A man very dear to her. As she gazed upon the captain, he slowly transformed into that man—her father, Mr. Henry Denton, home late from a night of drinking and gambling.

Shaking the bad memories away, she removed the captain’s boots one by one, unaware of the tears sliding down her cheeks until one plopped onto her neck. How many nights had she done this same thing for her father? How many nights had Marianne cared for him when her mother had been unwilling? How many nights had Marianne gone out with one of the footmen to drag her father from a tavern and bring him home?

Too many.

Until that last night when he didn’t come home at all. The captain mumbled and patted her hand. “That’s a good girl. A good girl.”

Grabbing the wool blanket, Marianne laid it atop him and tucked it beneath his chin. She batted the moisture from her face. Would she ever stop missing her father? Would she ever forgive him for leaving her?

Resisting the urge to plant a kiss upon the captain’s forehead as she’d done with her father, she turned to leave.

“I should have been a farmer, you know,” he stuttered, his eyes still closed.

Marianne took his hand. Rough, sea-hardened skin scratched her
fingers. His eyelids fluttered and he moaned. A farmer? Yes, she could see him as a farmer. Yet instead of fertile ground to till and tender plants to tend, he plowed His Majesty’s ship through tumultuous seas and raised rebellious boys to be officers. No wonder the man was miserable and half-crazed. He had missed his destiny.

“You still can be a farmer, Captain. You still can.” But her words fell on deaf ears as the captain started to snore. She released his hand and blew out the lanterns in his cabin, then left him to his sleep.

Pushing her sorrow away, she made her way down the passageway. She must find Daniel and give him the news about Antigua.

She didn’t have far to go as she nearly bumped into the young boy when he came barreling down the ladder from the quarterdeck. She ushered him into her room. “I have news to give Noah,” she whispered as she lit a lantern and sat upon her bed.

He plopped beside her. “Aye, that’s why I was headin’ t’ see you.”

“How did you know?” She eyed him quizzically. He grinned. “Oh, never mind.” She leaned close to him. He smelled of brass polish and gunpowder. “Tell Noah that the captain expects to make port in Antigua in seven days, will you do that?”

His white teeth gleamed in the lantern light. “Yes, Miss Marianne, I will. That’s good news.” He grabbed her hand. “Maybe that is where we are supposed to escape.”

“Perhaps. I don’t know. I don’t see how we can with all these sailors and marines guarding us.”

“That’s okay, miss. God knows, and He can do anything.”

Marianne sighed and brushed Daniel’s hair from his face. She wished more than anything that she possessed his faith. “We shall see.”

“You don’t trust God, do you, Miss Marianne? You don’t trust in His love.” He leaned his head on her shoulder. “Oh, Miss Marianne, you must. You simply must.”

“I’m trying, Daniel.” She swung her arm around him and drew him near. “It’s just so hard when nothing but bad things happen to me.”

“How do you know they’re bad?” He pushed away from her.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “You can’t know what God’s purpose is for the things that have happened until you see the end. It’s like the end of a good story, miss. Everything looks real bad until you get to the last chapter.”

Marianne couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, but inside, the wisdom of his statement jarred her to her core.

“I best be gettin’ back. That Garrick’s been keepin’ a strict eye on me.” With a grin, he slipped out the door, leaving her alone with only the slosh of the sea against the hull for company.

With a huff, she lay back on the bed and tried to calm her nerves. But Daniel’s words kept ringing through the dank air of the cabin, refusing to be drowned out by the sounds of the ship.

“How do you know?”

CHAPTER 17

N
oah leaned his aching back against the hull and propped his elbow on the mess table. With a bit of pork stew and weevil-infested tack in his belly, and the anticipation of a good night’s sleep, he wouldn’t have expected the angst tightening his nerves. Perhaps it was the vision embedded in his mind of Mr. Bowen’s torn flesh and with it, Noah’s increased urgency to escape this British prison.

“How do you fare, Luke?” he asked his first mate who’d been too busy shoveling food into his mouth to talk.

Luke released a heavy sigh and stretched his shoulders. “Better than Mr. Bowen.”

“I’ll say.” Weller grunted from his seat beside Luke.

Next to Noah, Blackthorn stared blankly at the bottom of his mug.

Noah pointed toward Luke’s empty dish. “Apparently this slop transforms into a king’s fare when you haven’t eaten for three days.” He shoved his own half-eaten meal away. His nose wrinkled as the bitter smell rose to join the stench of hundreds of unwashed men.

“Miss Denton brought me some biscuits.” Luke smiled, then winced and dabbed at the purple bruise marring his left cheek.

Noah’s brows shot up. “She did?”

“Yes, her and that lad, Daniel.” Blackthorn raised his gaze from his cup.

“Down in the berth, with all those men?” Noah asked. The woman was a source of constant surprise.

“Yes. In the middle of the night. The marine who guarded me was asleep.” Luke sipped his beer.

Weller grunted and scratched his head, jarring a few strands of his stiff black hair.

Noah gazed over the mess room, trying to make sense of Luke’s words. Sailors hovered over tables, their faces twisted in the dim, flickering lantern light. Shouts, insults, jeers, and chortles shot through the room like grapeshot.

Daniel emerged from the fiendish throng like an angel escaping hell. Blackthorn’s stiff features relaxed at the sight of him. “Where have you been, boy? Had me worried about you again.”

“Sorry.” The boy gave Blackthorn a sheepish grin. “I had to wait for Miss Marianne to leave the captain’s cabin.”

“How is she?” The enthusiasm in Noah’s voice drew the men’s gazes his way.

“She’s well. She has a message for you.” Daniel slid in between Blackthorn and Noah. He grabbed a biscuit from Noah’s plate.

“Well, spill it, boy.” Blackthorn elbowed the lad. “We are all friends here.”

Daniel’s eyes lit up. “Antigua. We’re to anchor in Antigua in seven days.”

The news sang in Noah’s ears like a sweet melody. Hope rose within him. He tousled the boy’s hair. “Good job, lad.”

Blackthorn’s coal black eyes skewered Noah. “You ain’t thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’.”

“Pa, they’re here to rescue us,” Daniel said.

Noah flinched. “Pa?”

Luke’s eyes widened, and Weller lifted his gaze.

Blackthorn huffed and stared back into his mug.

“Sorry, Pa.” Daniel lowered his chin.

“Our secret is out, I suppose.” Blackthorn growled.

Noah glanced between Blackthorn and Daniel and wondered why he hadn’t seen the resemblance before. Same dark hair, same piercing, brown eyes. “Why hide your relationship?”

“So the captain nor Garrick don’t use the boy against me.” Blackthorn scratched the hair springing from the top of his shirt. The lantern flame set his eyes aglow with fury … or was it fear?