by Mary Wine
crew. His own mood darkened with the knowledge that his own countrymen battled to survive.
Looking up he checked the sails. They were full, every inch of canvas being put to use.
But they weren't going fast enough. Frustration built inside him. The expanse of water between the Huntress and the ship looked twice the distance now that he'd spotted the stars and stripes lying across her rail. Conditions on the ship were so desperate, no one had time to raise the fallen flag.
A cheer went up from her crew as the Huntress drew close enough for her colors to be identified.
It was the sound of men looking at redemption. They clung to the rail that was lifted high out of the water in an attempt to use their weight to push the hull level. Warren could hear the frantic chopping sound of an axe being wielded on the broken main mast. He dropped the telescope, no longer needing it. He scanned the length of the ship, identifying the most critical damage. The name of the vessel became readable even from the angle the hull teetered at.
The Golden Dawn.
Rage flared up inside him. It was blinding for a moment, but he forced it down.
"Stand by with boarding ropes!" Warren barked the command, emotion lacing his normally controlled voice. More than one head turned to cast an eye toward him. "She's the Golden Dawn !”
His men surged to the port side of the ship. They carried large hooks attached to thick hemp rope lines. With practiced hands, they swung the heavy hooks in widening circles before letting them fly over the rail. They arched across the space between the two ships and over the higher rail of the Golden Dawn, her crew sliding down the deck to escape being struck.
The hooks caught and his men heaved the lines taut. Warren joined the effort, his arms straining to pull the other ship back from capsizing. It was strength against gravity. The axe continued to hack away, the hollow blows echoing across both ships now. But the Huntress lent her weight to the struggle, keeping the Golden Dawn from leaning too far to recover.
A cheer went up from the Golden Dawn's crew when the main mast fell into the ocean. It took sails and rigging along with it, but the crew had cut them free. Her hull crashed toward the surface of the ocean, sending up a cascade of water. It washed over the men holding the ropes on the Huntress. Both ships rocked violently before restless back into a gentle roll. The lines holding the ships together were pulled tight. Warren boarded his brother's ship in one jump, many of his own crew following. The fire had sizzled out when the ship righted herself. Steam rose from the front of the vessel now.
The scent of smoke still thick. Men coughed on the deck, their eyes red with irritation.
"Capitan Rawlins! Captain Garrick Rawlins!" Warren shouted through the mass of confusion the Golden Dawns deck was. Splintered wood lay on the polished boards. Several men were at the
far rail attempting to pull their comrades up from the sea. Black powder coated every surface, a testimony to the battle the crew had waged to defend themselves.
It had been self-defense, Warren was certain of that. He and his brothers did not take prizes on the open sea. They earned their money from cargo.
"They took the captain and the officers too."
A soot-darkened crewmen reached up to tug on his cap out of habit, but there was nothing left on his head. His hand patted his uncovered hair in confusion while shock numbed his wits.
"Who?" Warren tried to control the volume of his voice, but his anger sent his question out in a bellow.
"Bastard British. Fired on us for no cause, they did." Men cussed around them. Their faces reflecting their fury.
"Thank Christ you came upon us."
But not soon enough...
His jaw clenched, rage burning hotter than the Caribbean sun. Grasping the sailor's vest, Warren shook him.
"Where did they take my brothers?"
"Can't say for sure." The man sputtered. "But they sailed north and they were mighty gleeful.
Taunting us on how they'd taken everything and every man worth stripping off us. They fired the shot that splintered the main mast once they were well away." His face contorted. "Limy bastards every one of them. Hell-bound, black-soul demons!"
Warren looked north. It was a futile effort. The British had crippled the ship in hope of sinking her. It wasn't the first time, but he swore this time they would regret it. They were sailing for their stronghold at Bermuda. The huge fortress was still under construction and they needed men for the gruelling labour. Officers served a duel purpose. They were educated men who could be used to design walls which would hold up under attack. Every man had a breaking point and the British were experts at pushing their prisoners until they broke.
He battled against the urge to give chase immediately. Squashing the impulse took every bit of discipline he owned. But he couldn't leave his brother's crew at the mercy of the sea. One good squall and the Golden Dawn would sink. It would take every man on both ships to keep her
afloat.
But that left his brothers in the hands of the British. Raw fury raged inside him. It burned hot enough to brand him. Vengeance ran through him taking precedence over his sense of fair play.
He didn't care how, didn't care what it took, he would rescue his brothers. Nothing was going to stop him, nor anyone.
Chapter Two
Northfleet, Great Britain 1837
Lorena St. John stared at her stepfather. Her gaze never faltered, nor did her lip quiver. Not even the slightest bit. Geoffrey Godford offered her with a glare that had broken many a man. It sickened her. The man enjoyed his power, delighting in every man who crumpled at his feet.
Determination flared up inside her. Living beneath the man's rule had fired her just like porcelain.
She was beautiful and polished, but hard. There was no fear left in her and she thanked her stepfather for that fact.
It was the only thing she was grateful to him for.
Her stepfather narrowed his eyes, when she failed to curtsy immediately. She would, but not instantly. He had only earned her disgust. She respected every servant from the carriage driver to the cook more than she did her stepfather. He worked her as hard as any servant receiving pay under his roof, dictating a strict schedule for her and her sisters.
He claimed it prevented them from becoming spoilt. Her prim dress, yet another dictate, made to keep her modest and chaste. Solid gray wool without a hint of trim, the garment wore as well as any staff livery. The only finery under Godford's roof was reserved for the master himself, and he did not spare any expense when it came to his comforts.
"You try my patience, as usual."
His voice was full of his rising ire, a thing she knew well the cost of. Bending her knees, she ducked her chin in a perfectly executed curtsy. Maybe it was immature of her, but pressing
against his limits amused her. She was not disrespectful, simply not the first to lavish him with polished manners.
"You sent for me, sir?"
"You know full well I did, madam."
Lorena ignored the alarm trying to sneak past her composure. Her stepfather sent notes to her and her sisters with his instructions. Being summoned into the master's presence never resulted in anything she enjoyed.
"Forgive me for making you wait. It took the maid time to find me in the back closet."
"I write your schedule, madam. I was fully aware of what duty you were about." He stiffened and looked down the length of his nose at her. "It seems I have at the very least been successful in teaching you some measure of obedience to my will on how my house shall function."
Lorena didn't answer. He was baiting her, needling her with his commanding words, to see if she would snap back at him. When she held her tongue he grunted, his expression tightening with a rare hint of satisfaction.
"In spite of your lack of respect for me, I have taken it upon myself to arrange a suitable match for you."
Her poise deserted her. Her eyes widened and the color drained from her face. The approval that had so unexpectedly
appeared in his eyes vanished. Struggling against her rising horror, Lorena regained her calm expression.
"I have deliberated many hours over the decision to do so." He raked her with a critical look. "I certainly can not have you displaying improper behavior which will soil the reputation of this family. Still, it would be rather uncivilized of me to keep you a spinster even if the blame was completely yours."
Words sprang into her mind that her mother would haunt her for even knowing. Lorena held
them back, not wanting to please the arrogant bastard by showing him any hint of emotion. She refused to care what he thought of her.
"How thoughtful of you." Her voice emerged smooth and low, pleasing her greatly. Even Godford's eyes flickered with a tiny hint of admiration once more.
"Indeed it was, now wasn't it? So good to see you can recognize how fortunate you are to have me looking after your affairs." He paused.
She was in a corner with prison bars in front of her at the altar. Her inheritance might already have been legally transferred to whoever Godford had chosen as her groom.
"I am not certain I am ready to marry."
He frowned at her, a flush appearing above his collar. Godford expected his word to be obeyed instantly and without question. No exceptions. Many a staff member had found themselves put out for daring to disagree with the master.
"You are twenty-three years old, madam. I have hesitated in arranging a match for you in the hope that maturity might correct the stubborn streak you have so clearly inherited from your lowborn father." He paused to draw in a deep breath. "Your mother was much better than he deserved, but clearly she had the fault of poor judgment for wedding a mongrel. Another trait you seem to have inherited." His eyes flashed with reprimand. "You allow your emotions to lead you."
He shook his head. "Yet I have invested great effort in securing a man who is willing to take you as his wife. If you shame me by refusing, you shall take yourself out of my house this very moment. Make no mistake, I shall not suffer your attitude for a single hour. Nor shall I allow you to infect your sisters with your rebellious nature."
His threats punctured her heart. A mocking gleam entered her stepfather's eyes.
"I trust your attitude is becoming more agreeable? Or shall I have my butler show you to the door?"
It wasn't really a question. Her stepfather was like a judge pronouncing sentence. She actually considered the option of walking away from his controlling grip. While freedom beckoned, the harsh world beyond the front door was no place to go without deep consideration. No house
would hire a maid without a reference. That left the factories with their toxic working conditions.
She had seen the women who worked at the match-making factory. Within two years their teeth fell out from the harsh compounds they handled. The china factories promised lung ailments.
The best she might hope for was to work a sewing machine, but those positions were only for the fastest workers, when age took the speed from her fingers, she'd be cast out in favor of a younger woman.
"I am content."
"Obedience, madam!" Her stepfather slapped a hand against his thigh. "That is what you have always fallen short of achieving. I require discipline under my roof and obedience from my late wife's children. Why do you never listen on Sunday mornings when the parson is lecturing upon that topic?"
He stopped, his breathing agitated. It was a small thing but when it came to her stepfather, the little emotional outburst was glaring. Godford pressed his lips together, attempting to regain his complete composure. Drawing another deep breath, he shook his head.
"Enough. I have been kinder than your behavior warrants. Your intended groom is a man with good connections and position, an officer in the royal navy." Her stepfather turned and went back to his desk. It was a huge, ornately carved one with legs formed into lion claws. His study was richly decorated with gifts from the captains who sailed around the globe on the ships made by the St. John builders. He took a moment to toss the tails of his frock coat back so he did not sit upon them. Lorena was left standing on the bare wooden floorboards because she had learned the first time she set foot into the study to keep her toes well away from the intricate oriental carpet the desk rested on. That was for her stepfather's shoes alone. The master of the house did not share his luxuries.
"I suggest you recall that Commissioner Mordaunt shall send me reports on how pleased he is with you. He needs a wife from a good family who will not complain about the climate where he is posted but remember that being there ensures a good career for him." Geoffrey shot her a stern look across the polished marble-topped desk. "The entire family shall benefit from a solid union between you both. You shall set sail for Bermuda tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" She couldn't keep the question from slipping past her lips.
"You prefer to board the ship tonight?"
Her stepfather's brows were raised in challenge. "I thought you would like to say farewell to your sisters in person. However, it is not necessary." And clearly he would enjoy punishing her by denying it.
"Yes, I would like that, thank you." Her words might be meek but her thoughts were as sharp as broken glass. She meant those words like a curse, no matter what they sounded like.
Bermuda...
Australia would have been better. The tropical island was nothing more than a prison camp. The climate was reported to be like the breath of hell and tropical diseases flourished in the humid conditions. Horror threatened to choke her. A future in such a place was devoid of anything she might consider bright.
Lorena gathered her courage and forced her horror down where it could not control her. She
would not give Godford the satisfaction of seeing her distress. Turning around, she quit the study without a single tap echoing up from her heels. Another skill perfected in response to one of Geoffrey's notes. He had set out to train them as strictly as a military academy, and now she understood the reason why.
She stood today, a carefully groomed bitch, perfect for Godford to dangle in front of men cut from the same cloth as he was. Men who wanted good breeding in their wives and no demands
of luxury. She'd seen men such as that sitting in the side pews at church, making comments to one another about the ladies. Critiquing them with narrow stares.
Godford thought she daydreamed in church? Hardly. Every Sunday morning she soaked up the
vision of her neighbors. Other girls like her who looked so foreign. They wore jewellery and soft India cotton dresses in the warm summer months. Their eyes sparkled when they greeted their friends before the sermon began. To be sure, Lorena was always attentive while sitting
in the pew. She soaked up the carefree expressions, allowing the sight to take her back to when her father had presided over a house that was loving and warm.
Her sisters and she kept a fragment of that flame burning among them. Above stairs and behind a door braced with a sturdy chair, they talked about silly things while reading books and fashion circulars secretly given to them by the younger maids. Godford thought himself so clever making them work in the kitchens, but they took small sweets from the kind cook to savour while they indulged in the family harmony that their early years had been full of. It might be smaller, but she still had a family.
And tonight was her last with them. Sweet Bethany and sharp-witted Amelia.
Tears clouded Lorena's vision, pain slashing deep. It cut through the layers of toughened shell around her emotions. She froze at the base of the stairs, one hand gently stroking the banister.
How many times had she touched it? So many memories flooded her; there was no way to hold
them all back. Soft, silent tears glided down her cheeks. Lorena gripped the banister in an effort to hold on to the home she loved so dearly. It had been her father's greatest gift to their mother, something he'd provided for them out of love. A home better than the one he'd grown up in.
Godford sneered on her common-born father, but Lorena was proud
of her sire. Her sisters were here too, the two most important things in the entire world to her. No one else touched her heart.
The awful truth was she had no true friends. With a soft snarl, she wiped the tears from her face.
Crying was useless. Even worse, it was something Geoffrey might use against her. The man was a genius when it came to extortion. He was the modern businessman. He hired farmers who
moved to the city looking for a more stable income. What they found was dark and
crowded working conditions. They lived in thin-walled dormitories, whole families in a single room. Children began earning wages at five years old, but it was barely enough to put food in their bellies.
While Geoffrey Godford wore a silk cravat with ivory cufflinks every day. He had taken her
father's shipbuilding assets and grown an empire by squeezing every drop of revenue out of
everyone around him. He was ruthless in his pursuit of what he craved.
And now that fate was hers to share. She didn't doubt her marriage would bring something to Godford that he coveted. Still it was a poor choice to embark on such a life-changing voyage thinking the worst of her future groom. She must take her own advice and think of something positive.
It was not going to prove a simple task but she was strong and full of spirit after all. She felt a sense of satisfaction move through her because she enjoyed turning Godford's words into a
compliment.
Lorena gained the second floor and laughed at herself. It cleared the tightness from her throat, easing the burning salt tears from her eyes. The second floor was her haven, a place her
stepfather almost never appeared. He'd set about building a second wing onto the house and
moved into it before his second wedding anniversary. He claimed to not be able to stomach the sound of children.
She and her sisters had rejoiced. Even now, she smiled as she considered how much her
stepfather might despise their joy. He was such a pompous man. Lorena truly believed the man fancied himself superior to them all.
