The carefree smile faded, and he took the letter from her. Yes, it was his Da’s beloved, familiar hand. Sudden anguish welled up behind his eyes, and swallowing hard, he began to put the letter back in his pocket. “I . . . I’ll look at it some other time,” he said, turning away to hide the sudden gleam of tears.
“I understand.”
She took his hand, but the letter, like the person himself who had written it, was now a presence there with them, between them, demanding to be heard, unwilling to let itself be forgotten or laid aside for another day.
His hand went back into his pocket.
Emerged with the carefully folded vellum.
“Go ahead,” he finally said, and gave her the letter. She slowly opened it, and a shaft of sunlight came down through the drifting clouds above and made the paper seem to glow in her hand.
My dear and beloved son,
As I write this, it is late in the afternoon and time weighs heavily on my hands, though perhaps, for others, it is passing faster than it should be. By the time you read this, the inevitable events that I foresee happening will have transpired and, because of that, I know that this letter will bring you a sadness that I certainly do not intend for you to feel.
Your mother is dying, Connor. I pen these words from Kestrel’s cabin, a place where she and I spent many a happy moment, a place that brought us together, a place where so much of our early lives transpired. I did not tell you just how ill your mother is, perhaps because I knew you needed every resource at your command to deal with the demands of running a ship, perhaps because I did not want to upset you, but more so, if I am to be truthful, because confessing it in writing or in the spoken word only confirms what I know in my heart to be true, and that has been something I have been unwilling, and unable, to face.
Aside from my beloved children, your mother—along with Kestrel herself—has been the great love of my life, and I will not leave either of them. There is not enough room in the boat for us, but even if there were I would not take that seat, and your mother, I know, would not survive hours out on an open craft, waiting for rescue. I know where she would wish to spend her last moments, and I know where I wish to spend mine. God knows I never wanted to spend eternity confined to a plot in the dirt behind St. Paul’s Church back in Newburyport, and neither, I daresay, did your mother. I am where I want to be, with the two women I loved most in this world, and the three of us are together as, I believe in my heart, we were always meant to be.
Do not grieve for me, my son. I have lived a rich, full, blessed and wonderful life. I have seen and done things that most people only dream about, watched my three beautiful children grow into strong, loving adults that any parent would be proud of, welcomed that greatest treasure of all, grandchildren, into the world and known that through them, a part of me will always remain. I do not welcome death, but nor do I fear it, and never have; I know, with the certainty of my heart, that life goes on in ways that remain forever mysterious to us all.
I am proud of you, Connor. As proud of a son as it’s possible for a father to be. You are so much like I was at your age, and I see you struggling to find acceptance and acclaim while doubting everything that you are. (You should know that had I been the young man I once was, I, too, would have attacked that ship. Stop blaming yourself, as I know you’ve been doing. She would have caught us, anyhow.) Your mother and I have never doubted you, and I know that through your trials, you will become stronger. Keep your beautiful and loving Rhiannon close by your side, and nourish each other with your respective strengths. Comfort each other through life’s sorrows, love each other through all of it. You could not have found a better woman to stand at your side as you walk through your life, and I could not be prouder, and happier, to call her my daughter.
In closing, I leave you with this. When you get back home to Newburyport you will find, in my office at the shipyard, a set of drafts that I drew up for you. They were originally meant to replace Merrimack, but this war won’t go on forever, lad, and I foresee, in this coming new age, American-built ships, Newburyport-built ships, becoming the reigning queens of ocean trade—there will be great fortunes to be had there, and the ship whose design awaits you will be the first of this new breed to ply the seas, ships that are going to be bigger, longer, leaner, and most of all, faster, than anything that has come before. The world is changing, my dear son, and you are on the verge of an exciting new era. Take the drafts, and have Uncle Matt build her for you.
I have no regrets and neither, my beloved son, should you. Live your life to the fullest, as you already know how to do, and leave guilt, self-recrimination, and grief behind you. You have made me proud. You have made me happy. You have given me the greatest blessings that it’s possible for a son to give his father.
I love you.
Until we meet again,
— Dadaí
Rhiannon slowly looked up and handed the letter to her husband, who sat gazing far out over the English countryside, his eyes distant. He took the letter, looked at the words that his father had written, and pressed the paper to his lips for a long, long moment.
And then he folded it, carefully, and slid it back down into his pocket.
“Grandchildren,” he murmured, with a watery smile.
“It’s what they always wanted.”
He stood up, pulling her to her feet, watching the sun play through the high, fluffy clouds as the earth thrust its adoring, seeking face skyward in this yearly ritual, this timeless resurrection of life.
“Guess we’d better go work on giving them some,” Connor said, and hand in hand, the two of them headed steadily back toward the house.
— the end —
Author’s Note
Though Lord Of The Sea was written in 2013, it actually had its origins many years before when, as a young woman, I headed over to nearby Newburyport during my lunch break to see the “tall ship” that was visiting. Aside from that grand old lady USS Constitution in Boston, I had never seen a “tall ship” before, and I was unprepared for the visual impact of driving into the waterside parking lot and seeing, rising above the trees with her pennants flying from their highest reaches, two tall, sharply raked masts. Though the ship herself wasn’t all that big, these proud, distinctive masts towered over our little city, and the name of the ship to whom they belonged was Pride of Baltimore.
Pride was a faithfully replicated Baltimore privateer, built in 1977 to celebrate Maryland’s maritime heritage and to act as a goodwill ambassador for the city of Baltimore. Sailing to many ports around the world, the sleek black topsail schooner captured the hearts of all who saw her. Sadly, just a year or two after she took our collective breath away here in Newburyport, the magnificent Pride was lost at sea to a freak squall in the Caribbean, taking her captain, three crewmembers and her two cats with her. Her loss brought unmeasurable grief and pain to all who loved and admired the “wild black mare” for she was arguably the most beautiful ship in the world, and while eventually Baltimore pulled from the ashes of its grief a replacement ship which was christened Pride of Baltimore II, there would never be another like her.
A few short years after Pride’s tragic loss, I found myself under contract with Avon Books and committed to writing a second seafaring romance (Captain Of My Heart) to follow up my bestselling debut book, Pirate In My Arms. I knew I wanted the book to be set in my hometown city of Newburyport, knew that it would feature a unique and magnificent ship, and knew that it would be my memories of Pride of Baltimore that would step up to fill the role. Pride was Kestrel. Or maybe Kestrel was Pride. In any case they were, with very slight modifications, pretty much the same ship, and though Kestrel was a New England-built schooner of 1778 (and I confess to taking certain anachronistic liberties with her), she was never anything but what she actually was and what I always meant her to be: a Baltimore privateer.
Those who know the story of Pride’s unforgettable nine years and her tragic and untimely loss will recognize many similariti
es between her story and Kestrel’s—similarities that go far beyond the simple things like identical specifications of depth, draft, beam and hull length, and pet names that their respective captains had for each ship. These similarities are deliberate and intentional, and are my way of paying homage to a ship I only knew for a short time, but which left me with a lifetime of awe and admiration, and dare I say, love.
I hope I’ve done her justice.
— Danelle Harmon,
near Newburyport, Massachusetts
December 21, 2013
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Danelle Harmon has written twelve critically acclaimed and award-winning books, with many being published all over the world. A Massachusetts native, she has lived in Great Britain, though these days she and her English husband make their home in New England with their daughter Emma and numerous animals including three dogs, an Egyptian Arabian horse, and a flock of pet chickens. Danelle enjoys reading, spending time with family, friends and her animals, and sailing her Melonseed skiff, Kestrel II. She welcomes email from her readers and can be reached at [email protected] or through any of the means listed below:
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READ BELOW FOR MORE BOOKS FROM DANELLE HARMON, including a special sneak-peak from her # 1 Kindle Store download, THE WILD ONE!
The Kestrel Books include, in order:
Captain Of My Heart (Captain Brendan Merrick and Mira Ashton)
My Lady Pirate (Sir Graham Falconer and Maeve Merrick)
Wicked At Heart (the Marquess of Morninghall and Gwyneth Evans Simms)
Lord Of The Sea (Connor Merrick and Rhiannon Evans)
(see below for more information)
Discover more titles from Danelle Harmon’s popular and bestselling
HEROES OF THE SEA SERIES:
MASTER OF MY DREAMS
(Heroes of the Sea Series, Book # 1)
The emotional and unforgettable story of a tough Royal Navy captain and the beautiful Irish stowaway who teaches him how to love once again.
(Featuring Captain Christian Lord and Deirdre O’ Devir, parents of Delmore Lord and Colin Lord)
An Amazon KINDLE Top Ten Bestselling Historical Romance!
An Amazon KINDLE #1 Bestseller (Sea Adventures)!
###
CAPTAIN OF MY HEART
(Heroes Of The Sea Series, Book # 2)
Thrilling romantic adventures abound on board the 1778 Yankee privateer schooner Kestrel, captained by dashing Irishman Brendan Merrick — who meets his match in the outrageous shipbuilder’s daughter, Mira Ashton!
An Amazon KINDLE Top Ten Bestselling Historical Romance!
An Amazon KINDLE #1 Bestseller in Sea Adventures!
# 8 on the New York Times Bestseller list as part of FOUR IRRESISTIBLE ROGUES!
# 11 on the USA TODAY Bestseller list as part of FOUR IRRESISTIBLE ROGUES!
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MY LADY PIRATE
(Heroes Of The Sea Series, Book # 3)
The sexy, swashbuckling tale of Pirate Queen of the Caribbean Maeve Merrick, and the powerful English hero who is determined to win her heart at all costs.
Winner of Romantic Times Magazine’s Reviewers Choice Certificate of Excellence!
Winner of Romantic Times K.I.S.S. Hero Award!
An Amazon KINDLE Bestseller!
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TAKEN BY STORM
(Heroes Of The Sea Series, Book # 4)
Disgraced naval hero Colin Lord wants only to pursue his new career as a London veterinarian and put his tragic past behind him. But when fugitive heiress Lady Ariadne St. Aubyn convinces him to help get her prized racehorse to Norfolk before every reward hunter in England can catch her, Colin finds himself swept up into an adventure he could never have imagined. A treat for animal lovers everywhere!
An Amazon KINDLE Regency Bestseller!
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WICKED AT HEART
(Heroes Of The Sea Series, Book # 5)
A Beauty-and-the-Beast tale of love and redemption between the dark and brooding Marquess of Morninghall and Lady Gwyneth Evans Simms, the woman who is determined to heal his tortured heart.
Winner of a Romantic Times Magazine K.I.S.S. Hero Award!
Nominated for Romantic Times Magazine’s K.I.S.S. Hero of the Year!
An Amazon KINDLE Bestseller in Historical Romance!
###
THE ADMIRAL’S HEART
A sweet and sexy short story/novella about second chances, with appearances by Captain Brendan Jay Merrick, Captain Christian Lord, and the de Montforte Brothers!
An Amazon KINDLE bestseller in Short Stories!
An Amazon KINDLE bestseller in Anthologies!
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DE MONTFORTE BROTHERS SERIES:
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the de Montforte brothers will take your breath away."
Meet the dashing and aristocratic De Montforte Brothers by Danelle Harmon:
THE WILD ONE (try it free on Kindle!) - read on for a special sneak peek
THE BELOVED ONE
THE DEFIANT ONE
THE WICKED ONE
~~~~
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THE WILD ONE
By Danelle Harmon
Book 1 of the De Montforte Brothers Series
~~~~
Prologue
Newman House, 18 April, 1775
My dear brother, Lucien,
It has just gone dark and as I pen these words to you, an air of rising tension hangs above this troubled town. Tonight, several regiments — including mine, the King's Own — have been ordered by General Gage, commander in chief of our forces here in Boston, out to Concord to seize and destroy a significant store of arms and munitions that the rebels have secreted there. Due to the clandestine nature of this assignment, I have ordered my batman, Billingshurst, to withhold the posting of this letter until the morrow, when the mission will have been completed and secrecy will no longer be of concern.
Although it is my most ardent hope that no blood will be shed on either side during this endeavour, I find that my heart, in these final moments before I must leave, is restless and uneasy. It is not for myself that I am afraid, but another. As you know from my previous letters home, I have met a young woman here with whom I have become attached in a warm friendship. I suspect you do not approve of my becoming so enamoured of a storekeeper's daughter, but things are different in this place, and when a fellow is three thousand miles away from home, love makes a far more desirable companion than loneliness. My dear Miss Paige has made me happy, Lucien, and earlier tonight, she accepted my plea for her hand in marriage; I beg you to understand, and forgive, for I know that someday when you meet her, you will love her as I do.
My brother, I have but one thing to ask of you, and knowing that you will see to my wishes is the only thing that calms my troubled soul during these last few moments before we depart. If anything should happen to me — tonight, tomorrow, or at any time whilst I am here in Boston — I beg of you to find it in your heart to show charity and kindness to my angel, my Juliet, for she means the world to me. I know you will take care of her if ever I cannot. Do this for me and I shall be happy, Lucien.
I must close now, as the others are gathered downstairs in the parlour, and we ar
e all ready to move. May God bless and keep you, my dear brother, and Gareth, Andrew, and sweet Nerissa, too.
Charles
Sometime during the last hour, it had begun to grow dark.
Lucien de Montforte turned the letter over in his hands, his gaze shuttered, his mind far away as he stared out the window over the downs that stood like sentinels against the fading twilight. A breath of pink still glowed in the western sky, but it would soon be gone. He hated this time of night, this still and lonely hour just after sunset when old ghosts were near, and distant memories welled up in the heart with the poignant nearness of yesterday, close enough to see yet always too elusive to touch.
But the letter was real. Too real.
He ran a thumb over the heavy vellum, the bold, elegant script that had been so distinctive of Charles's style — both on paper, in thought, and on the field — still looking as fresh as if it had been written yesterday, not last April. His own name was there on the front: To His Grace the Duke of Blackheath, Blackheath Castle, nr. Ravenscombe, Berkshire, England.
They were probably the last words Charles had ever written.
Carefully, he folded the letter along creases that had become fragile and well-worn. The blob of red wax with which his brother had sealed the letter came together at the edges like a wound that had never healed, and try as he might to avoid seeing them, his gaze caught the words that someone, probably Billingshurst, had written on the back....
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