by Chloe Carley
The Secret of Her Guardian Sailor
STAND-ALONE NOVEL
A Christian Historical Romance Novel
by
Chloe Carley
Copyright© 2019 by Chloe Carley
All Rights Reserved.
This book may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form without the written permission of the publisher.
In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document in either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher
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Table of Contents
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The Secret of Her Guardian Sailor
Table of Contents
Let’s connect!
Letter from Chloe Carley
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
A Christian Historical Romance Novel
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Also by Chloe Carley
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Let’s connect!
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Letter from Chloe Carley
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"Once upon a time..."
...my best childhood nights had started with this beautiful phrase!
Ever since I can remember, I loved a good story!
All started thanks to my beloved grandfather! He used to read to my sister and me, stories of mighty princes and horrifying dragons! Even now, sometimes I miss those cold winters in front of the fireplace in my hometown, Texas!
My best stories though were the ones from the Bible! Such is the spiritual connection that a sense of warmth pass through my body every time I hear a biblical story!
My childhood memories were not all roses, but I knew He would always be there for me, my most robust shelter!
Years passed by, and little-Chloe grown up reading all kind of stories! It was no surprise that I had this urge to write my own stories, and share them with the word!
If I have a God's purpose on Earth, I think it is to spread His love and wisdom, through my stories!
Now, it is your time to read my Best Seller Novel “The Secret of Her Guardian Sailor”!
Brightest Blessings,
Chapter One
Noah stood at the edge of the wharf and watched the merchant vessels drift in and out of the docks, the sleek wooden ships cutting through the water like a hot knife through butter. Sails billowed and rigging snapped against the tall masts while the voices of sailors echoed across the morning tide. The men on-board scurried like bilge rats across the decks, scampering up the ropes and darting to action with enviable agility. It required every hand to bring the ships safely into port. Noah knew the strain of it intimately.
He turned to glance up the endless dockland. Liverpool bustled with early morning trade. Fishermen hoisted their catch into barrels whilst waiting buyers loaded them onto carts. Whatever remained sat out in crates, scales glinting in the bright morning sun. Ruddy-cheeked women crouched beside the crates and made quick work of scaling and gutting, selling the dull-eyed fish to the grafters and sailors who strolled by. Noah knew they were fresh enough for now. Come the afternoon, it would be a very different story—the stench of rotting fish would drift over the dock-front in a rancid miasma bringing out all the hiding creatures who sought a taste. He could already see the black glint of rodents eyes peering from under the debris that lay scattered on the wharf.
Beyond the screeching cries of the wharf-side traders, hawking their wares, Noah’s eyes fell upon a warship at the farthest end of the docks. It had come into port a few days ago with the intention of setting off again by the week’s end. Since then, he’d watched sailors in their Navy uniforms and soldiers in their Infantry colors ambling up the gangway and into the belly of the beast. Part of him envied them whilst the other half felt a pinch of shame.
Not too long ago, he had been the one dressed in military garb. He might have found himself on that very ship had he not left the British Navy in a hail of derision. A ship’s carpenter and boat-builder by trade, he had spent several years sailing the world with the merchant side of the British fleet. Usually tucked away below decks, he had never expected to be asked to fight in any capacity. But then war broke out with America and everything changed. Without warning, he was handed two options—join the war effort or find somewhere else to go. The subtext had been clear: Was he a coward or a hero?
Whilst most chose to fight or ship goods to the soldiers over in America, he was part of the minority that chose to stay. A pacifist at heart, he had not been able to muster the validation to set sail for a foreign country with the sole purpose of waging war, nor did he know how to fight. He knew how to build and repair and how to sail a vessel into a safe port, but he didn’t know how to kill a man. At the time, some asked him why he had joined the Navy in the first place if he had never planned to fight. They could not understand that there was more to the Navy than cannons and musket-fire on treacherous seas. Being on the water was his life and the Navy had provided him with means for a time… but he would not be a pawn between the squabbling countries. He refused.
Even so, that refusal continued to plague him. A knot of guilt twisted in his stomach every time he saw a warship on its way to the former colonies, making him wonder if he ought to change his mind. They would accept him, he had no doubt about that. Able-bodied men were wanted up and down the country—anyone willing to fight for Britain’s honor. Still, the thought of breaking his moral code stuck like a fishbone in his throat.
He still worked out on the open sea as a sailor and a general jack-of-all-trades, but it was not quite as fulfilling as his former life had been. He missed the excitement of sailing toward unknown lands and arriving at exotic ports, rich with vibrant culture and strange sights. India had been his favorite. Truly, he had loved India more than any place he had ever been, but he knew it was unlikely that he would ever return.
A few trade-ships still left for distant horizons, but he could not win a place on one. His name was tarnished.
“Well, well, if it isn’t Noah Sharpleton,” came a which voice disturbed Noah’s tormented reverie. “Here I was thinking you would be halfway across the world by now.”
He turned to see an old friend striding toward him. Benjamin Frodsham stood less than five-foot-two with a barrel chest and a neck as thick as his head. A shock of gray hair stood up in seemingly random tufts while piercing blue eyes took in every detail of their surroundings. He was a curious sight indeed but a welcome one for Noah.
“Benjamin, my good man, I might have thought the same thing about you,” he remarked. “Sadly, I have parted ways with the Navy, but, surely, the admiralty has called upon your services?”
Benjamin snorted. “They do not wish to tar themselves with my brush or so it would seem. I have appealed to their sense and their purse, but they will not hear of using my ships in their fleet. And so, you find me here, selling my vessels to the lowest bidder.” A bitter smile turned up the corners of his thin lips.
Benjamin was infamous in certain circles for bringing in contraband and spiriting stolen goods away from English shores. Nobody had ever caught him and nobody had any proof to pin to him. Still, it appeared that his reputation had preceded him, as far as attaining a military contract was concerned.
“Indeed, I had heard that you were no longer sailing with the British fleet,” Benjamin went on thoughtfully. “You never were one for a fight, dear boy. I remember how you used to throw water over the sailors brawling when you sailed with me.”
“Heard from whom?”
“You know I have my little avenues of information, Noah. I do not ask of your secrets, you should not ask of mine.”
“A fair point,” Noah conceded. “Surely, you have found trade-deals to take you back to India?” The first ship Noah had sailed on had been one of Benjamin’s. Indeed, those first journeys had been the ones to hone his craft and give him a taste of the world. He owed the rotund old man a great deal for that.
“The East India lot have seen to it that my nose has firmly been pushed out of that group,” he replied sourly. “I could not get a proper trade-deal if I sank to my knees and groveled for one.”
“So, what brings you here? Domestic trade?”
“Not quite.” A small glint of mischief flickered across his blue eyes. “A far more exciting endeavor, which is sure to end this dry spell of unemployment.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it would seem that things are looking up somewhat. You see, dear boy, my services have been acquired by a rather wealthy gentleman in America, who wishes to have some secret cargo smuggled into the country,” he began, keeping his voice low. “I find myself in Liverpool with the intention of gathering a trustworthy crew, to take this package across the ocean where it may be reunited with the old man.”
Noah felt suddenly uneasy. “Is that so?”
“Indeed, it is fortunate I happened to bump into you here.” Benjamin flashed a sly grin. “For I am in need of a carpenter and a sprightly fellow who can climb his way to a crow’s nest in five seconds flat.”
Noah pictured himself as a young boy, barely older than thirteen. The lads below had set to counting out the seconds as he had raced up the rigging of Benjamin’s flagship, the Silver Scythe. They’d erupted into cheers and chants as he’d touched the trapdoor of the crow’s nest a moment after they’d shouted out the number five. Back then, it had been one of the proudest moments of his life. A few of his crewmates still spoke about it whenever he happened to cross paths with one. It didn’t happen often, but it was always a nice reminder.
“What are you asking, Benjamin?” Noah said pointedly.
“I’m asking if you’ll join my crew of fellas,” he replied. “What do you say? Decent-sized ship, decent pouch of money in your pocket, easy sailing all the way to America?”
“Are you forgetting that we are at war?”
Benjamin shrugged. “A war that has naught to do with us or the task at hand. All we’re doing is sailing precious cargo to one particular spot. If we give the fleets a wide berth, we’ll be there and back before the year is out. Besides, I have it on good authority that the location is, as yet, untouched by the fighting. Nobody will even notice us.”
Noah narrowed his eyes at his old friend. “Sounds like a dangerous game to me.”
“What else do you have planned? I heard you were struggling.”
“Not struggling, per se. I get enough jobs to pay my way.”
“Come now, Noah, we both know you need more than a couple of days on a tiny wee fishing boat to satisfy your adventurous spirit,” he coaxed. “I’m offering good pay and a proper ship. Carpentry duties aside, you can even be first-mate if you fancy? I know you’ve the talent for it. Always had a knack for the ocean and her ways, you have.”
Noah glanced back up the wharf towards the warship that bobbed on the still water. “Can I have a day to think it over?”
Benjamin grinned. “You can have half of one. I’ll meet you in the Red Lion at four. If you don’t show, I’ll assume you aren’t interested.”
“Well then, I guess I’ll see you there,” Noah murmured. “Or not as the case may be.”
Benjamin laughed heartily and clapped Noah on the back. “I think we both know you’ll be there, lad. You’d be out of your mind not to snap up an opportunity like this.” He gestured towards a gaggle of fishing boats that were clustered nearby. “Well, unless you’ve decided you like the scent of rotting fish, that is. I leave it in your hands, Noah. Fish guts or foreign shores—your choice.”
Noah watched his old friend leave before turning back to the water. He shoved his hands into his pockets and stared at a sleek merchant vessel sailing away towards the horizon. He closed his eyes and imagined the sound of it cutting through the waves, the burst of spray against the bowsprit. He heard the flap of sails and the shouts of the crew, everyone looking toward their destination. Surely, he had to take this chance? Another one might not come around again for a long time. Saltwater ran in his veins and he was tired of the same old ports and coastlines. He was ready to see the world again. After all, it was like Benjamin had said—he’d be out of his mind not to say yes.
Chapter Two
“Your luggage has all been stowed away in the carriage, Miss Faulks. The driver has asked when you plan to depart?” the maid, Beth, said shyly. She lingered in the doorway to Rachel’s bedchamber awaiting a response that took its time in coming.
“Why must everyone be so intent on rushing me?” she snapped in reply. “I shall depart when I am good and ready and thus far, I am not.”
“Shall I tell the driver that, Miss Faulks?”
Rachel shot the maid a curt glance. “Well, I am not going to do it, am I?”
“No, Miss Faulks, of course not.” Beth hurried away without another word.
Huffing out a sigh of discomfort, Rachel stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror. Her dark hair was curled and had been wrangled into a fashionable style that sat at the back of her head. A black ribbon had also been tied across the flat of her scalp, but she remained unconvinced about the color choice. Black seemed much too gloomy and she knew it would only dampen her spirits. Still, the rest of her ribbons had been packed away in her luggage. It would have to be black or nothing, though she supposed her bonnet would cover most of it.
“You should not speak so harshly to the staff, dear Rachel,” her dearest friend, Emily, chided from the window-seat. She was a pretty, blond thing with a tendency toward blunt honesty. It was a refreshing attribute that Rachel admired. “I fear you may have half the household quaking in terror by the time you actually depart.”
Rachel held her head in her hands. “I know, Emily. I did not mean to be so sharp with the poor girl. It is my wracked nerves—I rather think they are getting the better of me.” She straightened up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “When she returns, I shall
apologize for my behavior toward her and ask her to pass on the message to those under my employ.”
“Your father’s employ,” Emily corrected.
Rachel chuckled tightly. “Either way, they shall undoubtedly be glad to see me gone from this house.”
“You must not be so dismissive of their affections, Rachel. They have grown fond of you over the years, I am sure. Not to mention the fact that your departure shall signal the termination of their employ. I very much doubt they wish you to go.”
“Perhaps you are right,” Rachel murmured. “It’s just that… nobody seems to understand the strain that I am under in preparing for this voyage. I feel so very alone in all of this.” Emily herself had been particularly unsympathetic about the whole thing. From the blank expression she wore on her face, at that very moment, Rachel supposed that ambivalence was not about to change.
