Surrender the Dawn (18 page)

Luke tossed the stable owner a small pouch of coins and turned to watch the few of his crew who had traveled with them to Baltimore splintering toward the taverns that lined the street. Young Samuel slipped in between two sailors turning left.

“Sam!” Luke called.

The boy halted and turned.

“Isn’t your home in the other direction?” Luke jerked a thumb toward his right and raised his brows.

“Ah yes, you’re right, Cap’n. My mistake.” Sam smiled then turned and darted down the avenue, his chortle bouncing on the wind.

Mr. Keene appeared beside Luke. “You should let the boy do what he wants.”

On Luke’s other side, Biron scratched his whiskers and stared at Luke as if waiting to see how he would answer.

“He’s a good boy.” Luke crossed his arms over his chest. “Smart, skilled, and disciplined. He’s started on a good path in life, why send
him down a wrong one?”

Mr. Keene huffed. “There’s nothing wrong with a man enjoying himself after working hard.” Then settling his red-plumed hat atop his head, he winked and sauntered away.

Biron tugged at his neckerchief and gestured toward Mr. Keene. “I’d watch out for that one, Captain. He’s all charm on the outside but he’s got a temper as fierce as any I’ve seen.”

Luke noted the man’s arrogant swagger before he disappeared into the crowd. Remorse sank like a brick in his belly. “Reminds you of someone, doesn’t he?”

Biron snorted. “I’ll admit, he’s like you in many ways. Yet, not in others. There’s something sinister in his eyes.” Biron poked Luke in the chest. “You’ve got a good heart in there. You just don’t know it yet.”

“The only thing that keeps my heart the slightest bit good is John.” Luke raked a hand through his hair. He gazed over the ships bobbing in the harbor. Nearly the same group of ships that had been there when he’d left nearly three months ago—still landlocked by the British. But one thing had changed. The weather. Though the sun was setting, June’s muggy heat refused to release her hold on the city. Luke stretched his neck to a slight breeze flowing in from the bay, but it was barely enough to cool his skin. The smell of horseflesh, fish, and a hint of honeysuckle drifted past his nose. Baltimore. He was home.

“I’m proud of you for keeping your promise to abstain from rum,” Biron said.

“I may be a gambler, cheat, and drunken sot, but I’m no liar.” Luke grinned but Biron’s face remained stoic as he gazed down the street where carriages, horses, and people on foot headed home for the evening.

Luke studied his first mate and saw the dread in his face, the prospect of going home to an empty house. He knew the man’s wife had died in childbirth some years ago. “If you’d like to come home with me, I’m sure my housekeeper has a savory dinner prepared.”

“No, you go on.” He leaned toward Luke. “I think I’ll go join the crew and keep them out of trouble.”

“A tall order for just one man,” Luke called after him with a laugh, resisting the urge to follow his men to the rum he could now smell on the wind.

Biron turned and pointed to the sky. “I have all the help I need.”

Lud, God again.
Luke started down the street, wincing at the pain
spreading down his legs from the long horse ride. He skirted a group of ladies and tipped his hat in their direction, barely noticing them. Their flirtatious giggles brought his gaze around to see them smiling over their shoulders at him. Facing forward, he kept moving. When had he stopped flirting with every lady he saw?

A vision of a petite lady with burgundy hair and emerald eyes filled his mind. His spirits lifted knowing he’d see her soon. He couldn’t wait to give her her share of the prize money. And watch the mistrust blossom into appreciation on her face. He had more than proven himself to her—and to himself and his crew. Perhaps his success would engender her trust and, dare he hope, a hint of affection? He shook his head, hoping to dislodge such fanciful notions. Miss Channing deserved a far better man than he would ever be.

Darting between two carriages, he crossed the street and stepped onto the cobblestone walkway. The setting sun spread its golden feathers over the treetops in a final farewell for the day. He had hoped to see Miss Channing tonight, but it would be inappropriate to call on her so late without an invitation.

Besides, a stench he could not describe emanated from his clothes. He needed to wash and don fresh attire before he saw her. And he longed to see John and Mrs. Barnes and tell them of his success.

Success.
Luke shifted his shoulders beneath the odd-fitting cloak. Had he truly found something he was good at? A way to redeem his name and help his country?

Even as he mulled over the new sensation, two ladies approached him, children in tow. As soon as they spotted him, they drew their children into their skirts and scurried across the street, as if he would snatch their little girls and turn them into tavern wenches on the spot.

Luke frowned. His mantle of success slipped off one shoulder. Maybe it would never fit at all. Turning, he headed toward his favorite tavern, his lips suddenly parched. It wouldn’t hurt to have one small drink before he headed home. His promise to Miss Channing rose to scold him as it had so many times aboard his ship. But he was on land now. Free to do as he pleased.

Entering the open-aired room, he was greeted by several patrons seated at tables or standing at the serving bar. “Hey, Heaton, where you been?”

“Busy,” he replied as he headed for the bar. Grant, the owner, set
down a glass of rum before Luke, anticipating his request. With a nod of thanks, Luke grabbed it, flipped a coin on the counter, and made his way to one of the open windows. Perching on the ledge, he propped up his boot and gazed outside, ignoring the calls to join various games. The chink of coins and slap of cards beckoned to him from a table in the corner, like the melody of a siren. The same men inhabited each table, each corner, drinking and playing the same games, night after night. Luke took another sip of rum. The pungent liquid warmed his throat and belly as familiar scents of spirits and sweat curled beneath his nose, making him wonder if he’d ever left Baltimore at all. Had he only dreamed of sailing away and capturing a prize? He shifted his back against the hard window frame and patted his waistcoat to ease his harried mind. The thick bulge of dollars reassured him that it had not been a dream. Nevertheless, they pleaded to be freed from his pocket. Yet …

He glanced at a circle of men playing a game of Gleek by the bar. He knew each one of them, and none were good at the game. Not like Luke. If the cards went his way, he could double his fortune and give Miss Channing twice her share.

No. He turned away. He could not risk it. He had worked too hard these past few months to risk it. With a sigh, he gazed out upon the street and sipped his rum as a breeze wafted over him, cooling his skin and stirring a loose strand of hair over his cheek.

Across the way, a man emerged from the alleyway beside a brick warehouse, dragging a young girl behind him.

“Let me go! Let me go!”

Luke could barely make out her scream above the fiddle music and the chatter of the men in the tavern.

The man stopped, shouted something at her, and then continued to drag her to a horse tied to a post at the edge of the street.

“Help!”

Perhaps just an unruly child and her father. Yet something pinched Luke’s gut. He scanned the surroundings. Though people stared at the altercation, no one made a move to help.

Slamming the rum to the back of his throat, Luke cursed his obnoxious conscience, slid down the other side of the window onto the porch, and charged across the street. He grabbed the man’s arm and spun him around. “What are you doing?”

The man, who was taller than Luke’s six-foot-one frame, gazed at
him as if he were not worthy of an answer. “Taking my daughter to her mama.”

“I’m not your daughter!” Light hair the color of wheat tumbled over the girl’s shoulders in disarray while green eyes fired his way. She tugged from the man’s grasp and stumbled backward. “He’s trying to steal me.” Tears slid down her cheeks.

The man spat to the side. “Don’t listen to her. She’s misbehaving.” He leaned down to grab the girl again. “Now be gone. This is no business of yours.”

The girl kicked the man’s shin. He moaned. Tightening his grip on her, he dragged her past Luke, pushing him aside.

Luke grimaced. “I’m making it my business.” He drew his sword and pricked the man’s back with the tip.

Halting, he slowly faced Luke, rage thundering across his face.

Leveling the blade at the ogre’s chest, Luke gestured toward the girl. “Prove she’s your daughter and I’ll leave you be.”

“I don’t have to prove nothin’ t’ you.” The man’s narrowed eyes fired.

A crowd began to form around them. Men poked their heads out of the windows of the tavern. The music stopped.

The sun absconded with the remaining light, leaving them in shadows.

Luke pressed the tip of his cutlass into the man’s chest. A speck of blood blossomed on his stained shirt. “Apparently you do.”

“Very well. Have it your way.” The ogre released the girl and shoved her aside. She tumbled to the ground in a flurry of lace. He raised his hands in surrender, but his eyes held no compliance. Then leaping backward, he reached inside his coat and pulled out a pistol.

Before he could cock and fire it, Luke barreled forward and knocked it from his hand with the hilt of his sword.

Yelping, the man grabbed his wrist. The shock on his face exploded into fury.

Out of nowhere a rock flew and struck the man’s head. A trickle of blood spilled down his cheek. He scoured the surroundings with his maddening gaze, his fierce eyes locking upon the girl. He started for her, but Luke thrust his sword in between them, halting him.

Murmurs spread through the crowd. A man yelled, “Finish him off,” from the tavern.

Finally, the ogre grunted, spit to the side, speared Luke with a look of fury, and then dashed away.

Luke turned to find the little girl holding another large rock—at least large for her tiny hands. She dropped it and ran to him, hugging his leg. “Thank you, mister.”

Peeling her from his breeches, Luke knelt and examined her from head to toe. Aside from stains and tears in her gown, she appeared unharmed. “Are you all right?”

She nodded. Her lip trembled as if she was trying to keep from crying. The crowd dispersed behind them. The fiddle resumed its off-key ditty.

“What are you doing out here alone?” Luke asked.

“I was trying to find Dr. Wilson’s house.” She rubbed her eyes.

“By yourself?”

“Yes, my sister is very sick and Mother and Cassie aren’t doing anything.” She brought her lips into a pout. “I know I’ve been to his house before. But I got lost.”

Something in her green eyes and the sassy tilt of her mouth struck a familiar chord. Luke stepped back to study her. “How long have you been wandering around the city alone?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. But my stomach’s making lots of noise.”

“Mine too.” Luke chuckled. He’d grown tired of shipboard food after the first week and had been looking forward to Mrs. Barnes’s cooking again. He glanced down the street, but the villain had disappeared. “Did you know that man?”

The girl shivered. “No. He grabbed me and told me he and his wife were moving far away to the frontier and they needed a daughter.”

Luke hugged her. “It’s all right now. Tell me where you live and I’ll take you home. How does that sound?”

Wiping her eyes with the back of her hands, she nodded. Luke rose to his feet and took her by the hand. “My name is Luke. What is yours?”

“Darlene, Darlene Channing.”

  CHAPTER 13  

C
assandra dragged her feet up the stairs to her house, numbness overtaking them with each step. How had they lost her? Disappeared without a trace? It seemed impossible to even consider. Taking her arm, Mr. Dayle assisted her up the final step. “We’ll look for her first thing in the morning, Miss Channing. Never fear. I’m sure she’s somewhere safe.”

But where?
Halting on the porch, Cassandra turned and gazed over the fading colors of the flower garden, the dirt street before their house, and the city beyond. Buildings of all shapes and sizes wove a haphazard pattern down to the bay where ships rocked limp and useless in the dark waters. Night, like a shadowy bear, hovered over Baltimore, waiting to pounce.