Surrender the Dawn (35 page)

The ship canted over a swell. Bracing his boots on the deck, Luke ground his teeth together and reached for his sword by instinct. Of course, it wasn’t there. Nor was his pistol. He and his men standing behind him had been searched before they’d boarded the frigate. Even if his entire crew were armed, what could twenty men do against hundreds? Thunder charged through the broiling, gray sky that hung low enough to touch. A vile wind whipped across the deck, stinging Luke’s nose with the scent of brine and rain.

“Very good, Mr. Garrison,” Captain Raynor said. “Pay the man his due.”

The purser tossed a bag of coins to Luke. He caught it and turned his attention to the captain. “I demand to see my brother.”

“Demand, is it now?” The man chuckled and glanced at his lieutenants, who joined him in laughter. Lightning flashed, casting a silver glow over his maniacal expression and transforming the gray and black streaks of his hair into eerie shades of blue.

“I am, Captain, or I’ll bring one of our navy’s warships to our next meeting.” Luke knew his threat was empty. The American Navy would never risk a ship to rescue the brother of a traitor.

“The American Navy, you say?” Captain Raynor grinned. “Last I heard you had less than ten frigates and a couple of sloops against our hundreds of warships.” He shook his head. “Ah, you Americans. Entertaining at best. At the least, full of impotent threats and boasts. But alas, you may see the lad if you wish.” He turned and said something to one of the midshipmen standing behind him and the man dropped below, returning in moments with John.

The instant the boy saw Luke, he broke into a huge smile that helped settle Luke’s taut nerves. The man released him, and John dashed toward his brother, barreling into his embrace. Luke swallowed him up, wishing he’d never have to let go. After a moment, however, John pushed back as if embarrassed at the affectionate exchange. He glanced over Luke’s
shoulder. “Mr. Abbot, Mr. Keene, Mr. Ward.”

“Hi there, lad,” Mr. Ward said. “How are you faring?”

“I’m well.” His gaze returned to Luke. “They make me work hard, but they feed me too.”

Luke knelt and slipped his hand into his pocket for the foolscap. “How is your brace holding up?”

The boy nodded. “Good.” He eyed Luke for a moment and cocked his head. “Don’t worry about me. God is here with me.”

Luke huffed. If God was here, He would have freed his brother already. But he would let the lad have his fantasy if it brought him comfort. Luke’s eyes dropped to the blisters on his brother’s hands and his torn trousers. He gripped the boy’s shoulders. He felt bonier than before, and Luke wondered if he’d lost weight. “I’m going to get you out of here,” he whispered. Sliding the note to the inside of his palm, Luke eased his hands to John’s waist. “Do what the note says. I’ll be waiting.” He shoved it inside John’s trousers.

John’s eyes nodded but he said nothing. Good boy. So brave.

“Enough!” The captain’s voice ricocheted over the deck. Two marines grabbed John and drew him back before Luke could embrace him once more.

Rising, Luke branded the captain with a fiery gaze. What he wouldn’t give to challenge the man to a duel right now. Just the two of them. To the death, for John’s freedom. Rain started to fall, bouncing on the deck in large drops as if heaven itself were sad at the proceedings below.

Plop plop plop,
like the beating of a war drum. The frigate heaved over the agitated sea. Salty spray lashed across Luke’s face. He shook it away.

“We shall see you in a fortnight, Captain Heaton.” Raynor dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Escort these men from the ship, if you please, Mr. Leonard.”

John cast Luke one final glance before the sailor shoved him down the companionway ladder. Jerking from the marine’s grasp, Luke followed his men over the bulwarks, down the rope, and onto the deck of
Destiny.

Thunder bellowed as the lines tying the two ships together were released and the hulls slipped apart.

“Do you think it’ll work, Captain?” Biron said from beside him.

“It has to. I can think of no other way to get him off that ship.” Luke shook the rain from his hair then slicked back the wet strands. “Let’s be on our way, Biron.”

“Aye, Captain.” Biron turned and shot a string of orders across the ship. “Stand by to make sail! Lay aloft, topmen! Man the halyards and sheets!”

Sam approached. “Where should I point her, Cap’n?”

“West, as if we’re sailing back to Baltimore.” Luke winked.

The boy saluted and raced up on the quarterdeck to take the wheel.

As Biron’s and Mr. Keene’s orders filled the air, Luke heard his crew scrambling over the deck. He heard their grunts as they leapt into the shrouds to raise sail, their moans as they hauled on lines. And within minutes
Destiny
’s canvas caught the wind in a thundering snap and sped on her way over the rising swells of the sea.

A burst of salty wind struck Luke as he watched the frigate fade behind a curtain of rain.

Biron appeared by his side. “He’s a brave lad, I’ll give him that. If he reads the note and can slip away during the night watch as you told him, he should have no trouble making it over the side.”

“Unless they’re keeping him locked up below at night.” Mr. Ward approached the railing.

Luke shook his head. “They didn’t keep me in irons, why would they keep a boy?”

“Will he jump, though? That’s the question.” Mr. Keene joined them.

“He’ll jump,” Luke said. “He’s my brother.” Shielding his eyes from the rain, he glanced up. “It will be dark in an hour. And with this weather, most of the night watch will be hunched under their coats. Maybe God is looking out for us tonight, after all.”

“He’s always looking out for you,” Biron said. “You heard your brother.”

“Ah, it’s best to count on wit, might, and money, Mr. Abbot,” Mr. Keene said. “Those are the things that will never let you down.”

Yet Luke wished above all else that there
was
a God to whom he could appeal tonight—that there was an almighty, all-powerful God who could swoop down and close the eyes of the British watch so Luke and his crew could rescue John.

As his men dispersed to their duties, Luke stood at the starboard railing, gazing at the turbulent, dark sea. Lightning etched a white fork across the clouds. When he was sure no one was looking his way, Luke bowed his head. On the off chance there
was
a God, Luke uttered a silent appeal for His help—for John’s sake, not Luke’s.

But instead of the peace Biron so often spoke of, heavy rain pelted Luke as if God spat on him in reply.

Seven hours later, Luke knew his appeal had fallen on deaf ears. After darkness had transformed the sea into liquid onyx and hidden them from their enemy,
Destiny
had crept to within a half mile of the HMS
Audacious
’s larboard quarter. The frigate had furled all sail, drifting through the darkness under top gallants alone on a southern tack. Luke leveled his scope at the quarterdeck, desperately seeking a glimpse of his brother crawling over the side. A jolly boat rocked alongside
Destiny,
manned by four of Luke’s crew, ready to pluck the boy from the water.

The note had told John to jump over the side at that exact spot between one and two in the morning. Luke’s eyes strained from the intense focus he had maintained for over an hour. Now, at ten minutes past two, and with still no sign of his brother, Luke’s hopes began to sink beneath the murky waters.

“We should be going, Captain.” Biron’s voice was heavy with sorrow yet held a tenderness not often heard from the man. “They’ll spot us if we linger here much longer.”

“He could still come.” Luke gripped the railing, not wanting to let go. Not wanting to give up. He could not allow his brother to be enslaved for one more minute, not allow himself to be a traitor to his country one more time. His knuckles ached as he peered into the darkness, searching for the one thing his heart yearned to see. But all that met his gaze was the shadowy outline of the frigate’s hull, lit by the fluttering glow of a lantern mounted at her stern.

Biron tugged at his neckerchief. “You told him not to come after two in the morning. He’s a good lad. He’ll obey you.”

“I guess he couldn’t get away,” Sam added.

Luke sighed, knowing they were right. If his brother had the opportunity to come above deck, he would have. “Raise topsails, Mr. Keene, and move us out of sight of this dastardly ship. Then head back to Baltimore at first light, Sam.” Back to a town of patriots ravaged by British troops on all sides. Back to being a traitor to everyone he knew and everything he believed in. Back to Mrs. Barnes, once again without his brother. Back to Miss Channing.

If she ever discovered his traitorous activities, she would have nothing to do with him. And he wouldn’t blame her in the least.

“Cassandra, dear. Mr. Crane asked you a question.” Her mother’s shrill
voice snapped Cassandra from her musings.

Musings about Mr. Heaton. A topic that seemed to occupy much of her thoughts of late. Wondering how he fared out at sea, wondering if he caught another prize, wondering if he was well, wondering if he thought of her as much as she thought of him.

“Oh, do forgive me, Mr. Crane. I fear my mind was elsewhere.” Picking up her glass, she sipped the cool mint tea then set it down and glanced at the man across the dining table. She’d had a week’s reprieve from enduring his company—a peaceful, glorious week. Well, if she didn’t count the ongoing antics of Darlene and Hannah. But, at her mother’s invitation, Mr. Crane had joined them once again for supper.

He dabbed the serviette over his lips. “I asked you—
yet again
—if you would honor me by allowing me to escort you to the Fountain Inn Ball?”

Cassandra dropped her fork onto the plate with a loud
clank.
“I had no idea the ball was so fast upon us.”

“Cassandra, whatever is wrong with you?” Her mother’s forehead wrinkled.

“Nothing.” Nothing except the man sitting across from her. Everything else was going well. They had paid this month’s mortgage, had food for a month, and had given the servants their back pay. Her mother had even purchased a new hat. But Luke had only just set out to sea last week. Would he catch a prize and return before her money ran out? Cassandra tried to settle her agitated nerves. Whimpering, followed by the scrape of claws on glass drew Cassandra’s gaze to poor Dexter, banished to the back garden while Mr. Crane was visiting.

At the sight of the dog, Mr. Crane’s nose wrinkled. His impatient gaze shot to Cassandra. “Your answer, miss?”

Thankfully, Miss Thain entered the dining room and began clearing plates, providing the diversion Cassandra needed to avoid answering the question, as she wondered how she would tell Mr. Crane that she had already accepted Mr. Heaton’s invitation to the Fountain Inn Ball. Regardless of her feelings about the newspaper man, she didn’t wish to wound Mr. Crane’s pride. Nor his heart. Nor crush her mother’s expectations. But lately it seemed, she did nothing but disappoint everyone around her. Especially herself.

Never making eye contact, Miss Thain swept through the room, gathering up utensils and platters, finally ending with Mr. Crane’s half-full plate of boiled wild geese, fried potatoes, and baked beets from the
garden. The fact that it neither resembled nor tasted like any of those things was no longer a shock to Cassandra.

“Thank you, Miss Thain,” she said as the woman darted from the room, plates stacked up her arms.

“Now that you can afford a good cook, perhaps you should hire one?” Mr. Crane leaned back in his chair and cocked one brow.

Cassandra’s jaw tightened.

“Though where you obtained additional funds is beyond me,” he said. Cassandra’s mother fluttered her napkin about her face. “Dreadful, simply dreadful business the way our money was stolen. And without your help those few days afterward, we would have starved.”

Mr. Crane returned her smile with a forced one of his own before he faced Cassandra. “A distant, wealthy relative die and leave you a fortune?”

“I fail to see how that is any of your affair, Mr. Crane.” Cassandra thought she saw a flicker of turmoil cross his eyes before he swept them away.

“Wealthy relative die?” Her mother laughed nervously. “Wouldn’t that be a turn of fortune?”

Cassandra gave her mother a pointed gaze, reminding her that she’d instructed her not to say anything about where the additional money had come from.

Her mother coughed and set her serviette on the table. “Shall we have coffee in the parlor?”

Mr. Crane extended his chin. “As I said, I’m more than happy to provide whatever you need, Miss Channing.”

“And as I have said, you are too kind, sir.” Cassandra stood as a playful scream sounded from above stairs, followed by giggling, the stomp of tiny footsteps, and Mrs. Northrop’s harsh voice.

“Oh dear.” Cassandra’s mother rose. “I had hoped Mrs. Northrop would have gotten the girls abed by now.”

Frowning his disapproval, Mr. Crane stood and proffered his arm to Cassandra’s mother, leading her down the hall to the parlor.

Cassandra dipped her head in the kitchen door to ask Miss Thain to bring coffee before she followed them.