Fortune's Bride

by French, Judith E.

  “Get below!” Garrett ordered her.

  Caroline’s legs seemed to have lost the power to move. Fierce cries rose above the moan of the wind. Howling like beasts, the hellish crew of the black-painted sloop danced and shook their weapons. For an instant, she wondered if what she was seeing was real or some spectral ship from a waking nightmare. Then she saw a wild-haired fiend on the opposite deck lift a musket to his shoulder. Powder flashed in the black night and a solid lead ball smashed into the mast behind her head.

  A bearded giant ran shrieking to the plunging bow of the attacking boat and whirled a grappling iron around his head. “Look out!” Caroline screamed to Garrett. She watched in horror as the heavy clawed hook spun through the air toward his head.

  To her surprise, Garrett waited until the last possible second, then dodged aside, caught the iron shaft with both hands, and yanked hard on the connecting rope. Gray Beard staggered forward, tried to catch his balance, then was dragged overboard. With a look of stunned fear, he tumbled headfirst into the maelstrom of churning foam between the two boats.

  “Hang on!” Garrett yelled. “They’re going to hit us!”

  Another musket roared, this time from the stern of the Gillian. Caroline twisted around to see Garrett’s friend Noah behind her, frantically reloading his gun.

  “Get down!” Garrett screamed at her.

  She flattened herself on the deck as an icy wave broke over the gunnel. Then the two vessels collided with a grinding crack. Before she could rise to her knees, waves lifted the Gillian, and an expanse of dark water appeared between the boats. As the bow of the sloop dived again, Garrett leaped across the waves onto the pirate boat, with two pistols blazing.

  Pandemonium reigned on the deck of the Gillian. She heard the captain shout an order, someone screamed, and bullets flew like hail between the vessels. Caroline saw a flash of steel as a shadowy form swung a cutlass at Garrett’s chest. He sidestepped the blow and struck the man alongside the head with his empty flintlock.

  Another pirate rushed him, and Caroline lost sight of Garrett in the confusion. Shots were still being fired from both sides. Two men jumped from the deck of the pirate sloop. One landed on his belly on the gunnel; the second disappeared into the sea. One of the Gillian’s crew members rushed forward and slashed the boarder across the face with a boat hook. He fell back, clinging with one hand. The sailor stamped on the marauder’s clawing fingers, and he slipped over the side.

  Then the sailor collapsed, clutching his belly. Caroline began to crawl toward the wounded man when suddenly a half-naked corsair carrying an ax appeared on the bow of the Gillian. The pirate lunged toward her and she scrambled behind the mast.

  The two boats smashed into each other again, and Caroline could feel the shudder run through the Gillian. The man with the ax came relentlessly on. The wet folds of Caroline’s cloak weighted her down, so she shrugged out of the garment and inched back on her hands and knees as her assailant laughed and drove his terrible weapon toward her in a shining arc. Her petticoats entangled her knees. Instinctively, she threw up her arms to protect her face and rolled across the wet deck.

  The ax plunged into the railing, missing her head by inches. The man’s face contorted in glee as he heaved at the handle. Caroline screamed. Just as the raider pulled his weapon free, a familiar dark face loomed up out of the driving rain. Noah raised his musket and fired point-blank. Caroline felt the sting of powder on her cheek as a blackened hole appeared in the center of the ax wielder’s torso. With a groan, the man clutched his chest and toppled over the side.

  “Get Amanda and the boy on deck,” Noah ordered. “The Gillian’s sinking.”

  Caroline’s mouth tasted of ashes. Sinking? The boat was sinking? How could they swim with a baby in these waves? Even the terror or the crazed ax-man’s attack receded under this new threat. She knew that their survival depended on calm, rational reason—but how could anyone maintain reason in this insanity?

  “Move!” Noah commanded her. He swung around to ward off an attack from another pirate, and Caroline crawled on hands and knees toward the cabin. Lying on the deck in front of her was the sprawled body one of the Gillian’s crewmen. She recognized him by his knee-high boots and red trousers. Clutched in his hand was a sailmaker’s knife.

  Gritting her teeth, Caroline pried the knife from the man’s stiffening fingers. She could hear Amanda’s screams and little Jeremy’s cries below. She saw the captain of the Gillian raise a musket and fire toward the enemy vessel, but she couldn’t tell whether he hit anyone. Another wave broke over the side, drenching her dress.

  Without thinking, she sat up and cut the ties of her bodice; slicing away her gown and petticoats. Then, clad only in a shift and corset, she crawled on toward the cabin. Something burned her hand, and she snatched it back and looked at it in disbelief. She was icy cold. What could burn her on this frozen deck?

  Then she realized that the mainsail was in flames and pieces of fiery sailcloth were raining down on the open deck. “Son of a bitch,” she swore. She was past being afraid, She was mad. “Son of a poxed bitch!” she shouted.

  Everything around her seemed to be happening in slow motion. She wasn’t sure how long they’d been under attack. She wasn’t sure she could trust her own eyes. She didn’t know if Garrett was still alive, or if she was a widow once more. The thought was too awful to dwell on, so she let it drift away like the bloody foam washing off the deck. She didn’t know if the sloop was going to float until she could reach Amanda. All that was real was the baby’s shrill crying. She had to get to her sister and

  Jeremy. No matter what—she had to . . . And the crawl that should have taken her only a minute or two seemed to last forever.

  Finally, when her hand closed on the cabin hatch railing, she saw the broad back of a bald-headed man and a upraised saber. The pirate reached down and dragged Amanda up by the hair.

  Her sister screamed in fear, and Caroline drove the sailmaker’s knife into the back of the big man’s neck. The saber fell from his hands as he clutched his throat and threw himself backward. Amanda snatched up the sword and slashed him across the belly. Blood gushed from his wounds, and she shut her eyes and turned her head away.

  Caroline clambered around his thrashing body to the cabin hatch. “Come on,” she said. “Get Jeremy! The boat’s sinking!”

  The pirate rose up howling and grabbed blindly at Amanda’s skirts. She screamed. Caroline struck him again across the chest with the saber. Amanda pulled free and the two women clambered into the cabin, slammed the hatch, and rolled a keg in front of it.

  “We can’t stay here,” Caroline said frantically. “The boat’s sinking. We have to get on deck.”

  The pirate’s fist slammed against the hatchway and Jeremy howled in fright. Overhead, the gunfire had slowed to scattered explosions.

  Amanda clutched the wailing child against her breast. “Shhh, shhh,” she implored him.

  “Is he hurt? Are you?” Caroline demanded. Cold water sloshed around her ankles. With each wave, she could feel the unnatural roll of the sloop.

  “No. No.” Amanda soothed her son. “Hush, baby. It’s all right.” She stared at Caroline in the flickering yellow light of the single whale oil lamp. “Your clothes . . .” she began. Her beautiful eyes were huge in her frightened face.

  Caroline looked down at her blood-spattered shift and the sticky saber she still clutched in her hand. “Take off your petticoats,” she said, ignoring the gory sight of her torn clothing. “You can’t swim in your skirts. They’ll pull you down.”

  “I . . . I can’t swim,” Amanda answered with a sob. “You know I can’t swim. Papa always said I had a lead bottom.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and fell on Jeremy’s crown of dark curls. “What will I do with Jeremy?” she asked. “He’s only eight months old. And the water’s so cold . . . so cold. He’s just a baby, Caroline. He can’t die like this.”

  “He won’t drown,” Caroline insisted. “We won’t let him.
We’ll find a keg—something that will float.”

  “But the cold . . .”

  The hatchway shuddered under the pirate’s fist.

  “Stay behind me,” Caroline said. “We can’t stay down here and drown like rats. We’re going up on deck, if we have to cut his head off to do it.”

  “Wait,” Amanda said. Quickly, she wrapped the protesting child in a blanket and slipped him into a canvas sea bag. “This is waterproof,” she said. “It will keep out some of the water.”

  Jeremy howled and kicked. “Maa-maa-maa-ma!”

  A crash outside the hatch made Caroline’s heart leap in her throat. She raised the heavy cutlass and stepped in front of Amanda and Jeremy. She was shaking with cold, her teeth were chattering, and she could barely stand in the low cabin.

  “Is your husband dead?” Amanda asked.

  Caroline didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about what had happened to Garrett after he’d leaped onto the pirate boat. About what must have happened to him . . . A bottomless abyss opened before her.

  No! She pushed back the awful wave of pain. Jeremy and Amanda were all she could think of. Cold reason told her she couldn’t take an infant into that black sea. And she couldn’t swim and hold up her sister and the baby.

  “Did you see Garrett fall?” Amanda demanded. “Noah?”

  “No. They’re both alive,” Caroline answered. They must be—they had to be. “Garrett jumped—” She broke off, suddenly realizing that the deck of the Gillian had grown quiet. The gunfire had ceased; no ring of steel or cries of pain rose above the splash of water and the driving cadence of freezing rain.

  We should take our own lives before we let them capture us, Caroline thought. Wasn’t that what Wesley always said? A woman was better dead than seized by pirates.

  Jeremy hiccupped and sniffed loudly inside the seabag.

  Caroline’s stomach turned over. What was she supposed to do? Kill her sister and her sister’s child with a sword? The thought was so awful that she almost threw the bloody weapon away. “They won’t take us without a fight,” she whispered hoarsely. And the words seemed to give her courage.

  “Caroline. Caroline, are you down there?”

  Garrett’s words rang dear and sweet in her ears. Was it he, or was she hearing what she wanted to hear so badly?

  “Caroline!”

  “Garrett?” she answered.

  “Open the hatch.”

  “Are they gone?” She bent and dropped the terrible sword in the rising water at her feet. “Are they really gone?” She looked at her hands. They were bloodstained and filthy. Numbly, she rinsed them and wiped them dry on her shift.

  “They’re all dead, Caroline. It’s safe to come out.”

  Cautiously, she pushed open the hatchway. “How can it be safe if we’re sinking?” she asked. She wanted to throw her arms around him. She wanted to tell him how glad she was that he was alive. Instead, she stared at him in numb disbelief.

  “Come up, quickly,” he ordered, extending a hand.

  She glanced back at Amanda. “Come on,” she urged. “Give me Jeremy.”

  “I’ll carry him,” her sister replied. “No one carries him but me.”

  Garrett’s strong lean fingers closed around hers. “We have only a few minutes,” he said. “Quick, now. We’re going to the other boat.” He passed her on to Noah and reached for Amanda.

  Caroline caught sight of Noah’s brother Eli holding his arm cradled against his chest. His head was bleeding and one eye was swollen shut.

  “I’ll grab a few things from the cabin,” Noah said when the women were both on deck.

  “Be careful,” Garrett warned. He looked down at Caroline and realized she was half-naked. He took hold of her arm and pulled her close as black, killing rage swept through his body. “Are you hurt?” he whispered hoarsely. “Did they—”

  “No.” Her upturned face was dirty but unmarked. Her eyes shone as though lit with inner fires. “I thought we’d have to swim,” she said gamely. “I took off my gown and petticoats because I couldn’t swim with—”

  “God forbid we swim on a night like this,” he replied in a rough tone. Relief that she’d not been raped was so great that it shook him to the bone. He wanted to crush her against him, to cover her body from every man’s sight, even Noah’s. Filled with an overwhelming urge to protect this woman of his, he stripped off his coat and wrapped it around her shivering form. So fierce was the primeval drumming in his blood that he knew that if there were any survivors among the wreckers, he would have slain them with his bare hands.

  “We’re going to the wreckers’ boat,” he said. “We’ve lashed the two vessels together long enough to get us safe aboard—God willing.” He put an arm around her shoulders and led her toward the starboard side. “Their sloop has been fitted with an iron bowsprit for ramming. It’s the devil’s sh—outhouse of a boat, but stout enough to get us ashore.”

  “The pirates deliberately rammed the Gillian?” Caroline said. “How could they rob us if—”

  “Not pirates, wreckers,” Garrett corrected her. “They know these waters . . . the sandbars, the channels. They disable vessels with their iron beak, murder the crew and passengers, and rob the boat before it goes down.”

  “There are none still on the sloop, are there?” she asked. One of the Gillian’s sailors came forward shyly with her cloak, and she donned it gratefully.

  Garrett wanted to kiss her. Most well-born women would have been screaming their heads off after such an ordeal. Instead, she was standing here in the rain in a tattered shift asking questions a man might ask. “They’re all in hell,” he assured her. “Put your arms around my neck. I’ll carry you across.”

  “I’m heavier than I look,” she began. “I can—”

  “We’ve no time to argue,” he said. “Noah, help Amanda.”

  “The baby,” Caroline said. “Jeremy’s in the bag.”

  Garrett took the canvas sack from Amanda’s arms. “I’ll bring him over for you,” he said.

  “No!” Amanda tried to hold on to her child, but Noah grabbed her arms from behind.

  Garrett jumped to the deck of the wreckers’ boat with the infant, handed him to the Gillian’s captain, and came back for Caroline. Meanwhile, Noah and Amanda had made the dangerous crossing.

  “I can do it myself,” Caroline said, balancing on the slippery deck. Garrett swept her—still arguing—into his arms and leaped with her to the comparative safety of the raider’s sloop.

  The women huddled together with the crying baby as the men cut loose the sinking Gillian.

  Garrett looked at the sloop’s skipper. “Where to now?”

  “Ashore,” the weary man replied, watching the last sluggish rolling of his floundering boat. “Whatever waits for us there sure as hell can’t be any worse than what we’ve just fought our way out of.”

  Wet and exhausted, the small party of survivors ran the sloop aground on a lonely beach. The captain and two crew members of the Gillian had survived, all three with minor wounds. Noah’s brother Eli had lost a great deal of blood but was still able to walk. Noah had escaped without a scratch, as had Garrett and the two women.

  Because of the bad weather and the danger to the infant, Garrett decided to keep moving until they found shelter and fuel to make a fire. An hour’s forced march took them to a dirt lane, and a half hour after that, they were settled in a farmer’s kitchen before a glowing hearth.

  “A pity honest folk can’t travel the waterways without bein’ set upon by thieves and murderers,” the thin-faced farmer said. “You’re welcome to spend the rest of the night here. In the mornin’ I kin take ye to the nearest town in my wagon. My missus can find a pallet fer your lady, but them nigras will have to sleep in the barn. I don’t keep no nigras myself. Never could stand the stench of them.”

  It was the last statement the man made before Noah seized him by the back of his nightshirt and tossed him out the kitchen door and into a brimming mud puddl
e. Garrett dropped the bar on the door, and Amanda wrapped Jeremy’s blanket around both of them, proceeding to nurse the sleepy baby.

  “What have ye done to William?” the farmer’s wife cried.

  “If your barn is so comfortable, madame,” Garrett said, “your husband can sleep there himself.”

  “Ye can’t do that!” she protested. “Ye can’t come into my house and throw my husband out of his own kitchen on Christmas Eve because of these nigras.”

  “Hush,” Caroline warned. “Another word, and you shall join him.”

  “I’ll have the law on all of ye,” the goodwife protested. “We’re loyal English folk and—”

  “Unlock the door, Mr. Faulkner,” Caroline said. “This lady wishes to spend Christmas with her husband.”

  “No! No! I’ll be still,” the woman cried.

  Garrett dug deep into his pocket and produced a silver crown. “Peace, madame,” he said. “It’s all we require. That, and a hot meal. If it’s not too much trouble?” He raised one eyebrow quizzically and smiled at her.

  “Whatever you want,” she replied. “Anything.” She hurried to a pie cupboard and began to pull out plates of bread, cheese, and cold sliced ham.

  Garrett looked around the meager cottage wryly. Christmas Eve, was it? He’d forgotten the date . . . If only the farmer’s wife could give him what he really wanted—a quiet spot, alone, with Caroline in his arms—it wasn’t likely to be found here. “We mean you no harm,” he reassured the woman. “Food for us all.” He tossed the woman the coin and she tucked it inside her bodice.

  He laid his pistol on the table and replaced the wet powder with dry. “A merry Christmas to you, wife.”

  “And to you,” she replied. “And to all of you.” She smiled at Noah. “You saved my life on the ship. I’ll not forget.”

  He nodded. “’Twas nothing, miss.”

  “Without you and the others, we would all be at the bottom of the ocean.” Amanda glanced at the tired men who huddled near the fire. “I thank every one of you for my baby’s sake.”