Surrender the Dawn (13 page)

“Eighteen pounders! Preposterous! On a schooner?” Mr. Crane snorted.

“See for yourself.” Luke shrugged one shoulder and gestured with his head toward the railing.

Stomping toward the spot, Mr. Crane peered over the edge. “You taunt me, sir. There is nothing there.”

Miss Channing’s brow furrowed.

“Of course there is.” Taking a spot beside the buffoon, Luke pointed over the side. “Can’t you see them?”

Mr. Crane leaned on the faulty piece of railing. With an exasperated sigh, he angled the top half of his body over the side.
Crack! Snap!
A chunk of the wood broke from the railing and dropped into the bay.

Mr. Crane’s arms flailed before him. His eyes bulged. He let out a broken shriek as he toppled over and splashed into the dark water below.

  CHAPTER 9  

C
assandra stepped inside the captain’s cabin and took in the masculine furnishings. A sturdy oak desk guarded the stern windows. Charts, a logbook, quill pens, a quadrant, and two lanterns spread across a top that was marred with divots and stains. Rows of books stood at attention on two shelves to the right, a mahogany case filled with weapons lined the opposite wall, and one velvet-upholstered chair stood before the desk. The smell of tar and whale oil and Mr. Heaton filled her nose as he ducked to enter the room behind her. Mr. Abbot followed on his heels, wearing a smirk that had lingered on his lips ever since Mr. Crane had fallen overboard.

And though Cassandra tried to stifle her laughter, another giggle burst from her mouth at the vision of Mr. Crane being pulled from the bay by a fisherman. Afterward, he had simply stood there, dripping like a drowned possum and shaking his fist in the air before he turned and marched away.

“You really should have tossed a rope over for him.” Cassandra turned to face Luke.

A mischievous glint flashed in his blue eyes. “Why? He had overstayed his welcome.”

“You are incorrigible,” she huffed.

“So I am told.”

Mr. Abbot chuckled. “I fear you have made another enemy.”

“A growing list.” Mr. Heaton rubbed his right palm. Pink scars lined the skin, making Cassandra wonder what had happened to cause them.

“The men are asking when we will set sail,” Mr. Abbot said, lingering at the open door. Thunder shook the ship as the
tap tap
of rain pounded on the deck above.

“As soon as it’s dark.” Mr. Heaton stomped toward the shelves as if looking for something then halted and turned back around with a sigh. “I have an errand to run first.”

“What errand? We have all our supplies loaded.” Mr. Abbot tugged on his red neckerchief and glanced at Cassandra. “Shouldn’t we leave while the storm is upon us?”

“I must say good-bye to someone.”

Cassandra’s gaze shot to Mr. Heaton. The way he’d said the words with such affection, it had to be a woman. She knew of his reputation. Of course a man like Mr. Heaton would have a love interest in town, perhaps many. Then why did her insides burn at the thought?

Sitting on the edge of his desk, Mr. Heaton crossed his arms over his chest. “Biron, order the men to repair that railing at once.”

Cassandra flinched. She opened her mouth to ask the elderly man to stay—to not leave her alone with this rake—but he had already slipped into the companionway. The thud of his boots soon faded beneath the caress of the waves against the hull.

She should leave as well. She had seen the entire ship and now the captain’s cabin. There was no reason for her to stay.

Except for the pull of Mr. Heaton’s eyes as he allowed his gaze to wander over her. Not in a bawdy way as his crew had. But as someone staring at an object of great beauty that he could never possess.

No one had ever looked at her that way before. And it made her feel, all at once, like both a princess and a prig. As if she were precious and yet too pretentious to touch. She approached the chair, putting it between herself and Mr. Heaton, and ran her hand along the carved back. “I suppose Mr. Crane deserved the embarrassment. But do forgive him, Mr. Heaton. I fear it is only jealousy that drives his peevish behavior.”

“So, he has some claim on you?”

She pursed her lips, shocked at his bold question. “I don’t see how that’s any business of yours.”

He grinned then gestured for her to sit.

“No, I cannot stay. I should not stay.” She glanced at the door,
thankful Mr. Abbot had left it open.

Standing, Mr. Heaton approached her until only the chair filled the space between them. A space that instantly heated and crackled beneath some unimaginable force. “Do you fear being alone with me, Miss Channing?” A mischievous glint flashed in his eyes.

Thunder growled. Though he towered over her, she did her best to lift her gaze to meet his. “Should I?” Yet she knew the tremble that coursed through her had nothing to do with fear.

The sheen over his eyes softened, and he raised a hand to touch her face. Cassandra leapt back with a gasp.

He frowned. “I am many things, Miss Channing, but I would never hurt a woman. In fact, I am quite fond of women.”

Cassandra tightened her grip on the handle of her parasol. “So I’ve been told.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “My reputation bothers you.”

“Not in the way you might think.”
No, in every way possible.
Even in ways she dared not admit. “I only care that you keep your focus on privateering.”

“Fortunately for us both, I have the ability to focus on many things at once.”

Indeed Cassandra could see many things in his eyes now—sorrow, admiration, yearning. The realization confounded her and set her heart racing. She glanced at the charts spread across his desk. “In what direction do you intend to sail?”

A strand of his black hair slid over his jaw. Glancing over his shoulder at the desk, he eased it behind his ear. “South along the coast and then across the Caribbean trade routes. That should afford us the best chance of crossing hulls with a British merchantman.”

Beyond the stern windows, lightning flared across the sky as rain splattered the panes, running down in silver streams.

“And when do you expect to return?” she asked.

“As soon as I catch a prize.”

“Soon then, I hope.”

A devilish grin curved his lips. “You will miss me?”

A wave of heat flooded Cassandra. “Don’t be absurd. My interests lie purely in my investment.” She shifted her gaze to the door. “I should be going.”

“I’ll have Mr. Abbot escort you home.”

An odd disappointment settled on Cassandra that Mr. Heaton would not do the honor himself. “It is still light. There is no need.”

“There is for me.”

“Very well.” Cassandra gripped her parasol and made her way to the door. She faced him. “Then I wish you a safe journey, Mr. Heaton.”

A touch of sadness softened his eyes. “Never fear, Miss Channing. I will protect your investment with my life.”

“Why do you have to go?” John’s gray eyes clouded like the storm brewing outside their small house.

Luke drew him near. “Because I must take care of you and Mrs. Barnes.”

“Can’t I go with you this time?” John gazed up at Luke. “You said if you ever fixed your ship, I could come.”

Mrs. Barnes sat in her cushioned rocking chair by the fireplace, sorrow furrowing her brows.

Luke led the boy to the sofa. “Yes, I did. But not on a privateering mission. It’s far too dangerous.”

John hung his head. “Lots of boys my age work on ships.”

The truth of his words stung Luke. Was he being overprotective of his brother? His eyes met Mrs. Barnes’s, seeking her advice, but she continued her knitting with a gentle smile on her lips as if she trusted Luke to make the right decision. He huffed. When had he ever made the right decision?

Grabbing John by the back of the neck, he drew him close and stared at the yellow and red flames spewing and crackling like mad demons in the fireplace. A picture of his mother running toward him formed out of the blaze, her face screaming in terror. She handed him a white bundle—a bundle that contained one-year-old John. “Keep him safe!” she shouted above the roar of the fire. “Keep him safe!” Then the inferno swallowed her up.

That was the last thing she had ever said to him.

No, he couldn’t risk John.

Luke moved to the sofa and John slumped beside him.

Pain spiked through Luke’s right ear. Ignoring it, he gave John his most authoritative look. “Yes, lots of boys your age work on ships, but they don’t go out on privateering missions on their first voyage.” Yet,
perhaps it
was
time to teach John how to sail. To see how he could handle himself on a wobbling ship with his brace. Perhaps, in due time, it would even help strengthen his leg. “I’ll tell you what. I’ll take you out on the ship when I return.”

John lifted his gaze, his eyes sparkling. “When? When will that be?”

“I don’t know. But when I do return, it will be with enough money to pay off our debts and buy us all a proper dinner at Queen’s Tavern.”

John grinned. “Did you hear that, Mrs. Barnes?”

“I did, indeed.” The creak of her rocking chair filled the room, but she didn’t look up from her knitting. Two balls of thread, one black and one white, sat in her lap.

“What are you making, Mrs. Barnes?” Luke asked.

She gave him a knowing smile. “Oh, I know it doesn’t look like much now, but it will be beautiful. You’ll see.”

Beyond the windows, darkness swallowed up the city. Luke knew he needed to go. He glanced at the clock on the mantle—9:13. Stuck on 9:13 for the past sixteen days—ever since the night he’d first met Miss Channing. It was as if that meeting had stopped time, or perhaps it had set into motion some otherworldly clock, starting a sequence of events that would lead to his destiny, as Noah had said.
Destiny,
the name of his ship. Choking down a bitter chuckle, Luke shook his head. What foolishness had consumed his mind? And he hadn’t even had a sip of rum.

Luke stood at the quarter rail, telescope to his eye, scanning the horizon off
Destiny’s
bow. Nothing but the fuzzy blue line dividing sea from sky met his gaze. Lowering his scope, he shielded his eyes against the noon sun and glanced up at the crewman at the crosstrees. “Are you sure, Mr. Kraw?”