Swept to Sea

by Heather Manning

  "Father, please, do not make me do this. Do not force me into a marriage with a man who I feel nothing for. I will be stuck in it for the rest of my life, for heaven’s sake! Please, Father." Do not force me into a loveless marriage like you and Mother had…

  As if reading her thought about her parents’ marriage, Eden’s father continued, "I let your mother read you far too many of those foolish fairy-tales when you were young, didn't I, Eden? There is no such thing as true love, and you should know that by now. You will marry this man and live a privileged life just like the life I have provided you with since you were but a babe. You will obey me and not say another word about it.” He slammed his fist down on the table, sending a teacup crashing. “I had enough of your pig-headed objections when you were a little girl. Your spoiled complaints will not be tolerated by any means in my old age. That is the last I am saying on this subject, young lady."

  The last sentence caused Eden to shrink back. Her father, never one to yell or scream, raised his voice with each word and his tone grew harsh. His face was red.

  Eden shook her head, staring intently at a loose thread on her frayed slippers. She knew that some couples had truly found love in real life, however rare it seemed to be among English aristocracy. Arranged marriages were much more prevalent, but Aimee Dawson's parents were in love with each other, and they had found each other against all odds. Aimee’s mother was a Frenchwoman and her father a British lord, and they had married despite the war which had divided their two countries.

  However, Eden kept her rebellious thoughts inside, because she did not want her father to be cross with her again. He was her only family after her mother’s death and her brother’s disappearance.

  Eden sighed as she leaned against her windowsill, forcing the jarring memory aside. Her conversation with her father had caused so much trouble, but she would avoid it all now. She would not have to marry Lord Rutger nor deal with her father's anger.

  But escaping these terrors would cause her to lose her friends. A shiver ran through her, and she tried to push the thought aside. If she ran away she would never see Aimee and Ivy again. She chewed on her bottom lip, stood up, and moved away from the window. The brisk night air seemed to follow her to the other side of the room nonetheless. Since they were at least five years old, they had known each other. Their mothers had been close friends before them. Aimee’s mother had practically taken over the role of Eden’s mother when she had died. Oh, how Eden would miss them all…

  Yet, I must leave.

  Leave her family, leave her friends, and leave everything she had ever known. She did not care about what she would do once she got to the Caribbean. And yet would she be able to find work for herself there? Eden shivered at the thought. Even though she had heard many glorified stories about the Caribbean from her brother, she knew plenty of women had gone to the Caribbean hoping for a new life, but events forced them to become harlots in order to earn enough money to survive. She decided she would die before she did something so demeaning. Perhaps she would have greater luck remaining in England. Then again, maybe she could find Adam over in the colonies. He had adored his younger sister and would no doubt take her in until she could settle on her own feet…

  Yes, she would leave, and hurry, too, for anything was better than marrying Lord Rutger and enduring his beatings her entire life. Eden had suffered enough of them by just becoming the man’s fiancée. She snatched the sapphire necklace Rutger had given her off of her vanity, realizing it could provide money when she began her new life.

  Eden grabbed her valise which contained only an extra set of clothes, a stale crust of bread one of the servants had been about to throw to the dogs, and the few shillings she had been able to gather. Eden positioned her valise on one arm and swung her legs over the edge of her bedroom window sill. She had absconded with a pair of trousers and an oversized shirt from her brother's old bedroom, both of which she was now wearing. The waist of the trousers was cinched in with a rope she had found in the stables to keep them from sliding off, but otherwise her outfit fit just fine. Her hair was stuffed snugly into a bicorn hat.

  How much easier it was to climb down from her bedchamber in nothing but trousers and a shirt rather than cumbersome layers of taffeta. She held back a giggle, remembering a year long ago. Adam had convinced Eden to sneak out of the house with him through her window so they could go outside and play while she was supposed to be taught by her poor, confused governess. Oh, how she missed dear, fun-loving Adam.

  Eden leaped the final few feet to the ground and glanced around. She paused only to smudge a handful of dirt across her face to disguise her feminine features then sped down the streets to the harbor. Luckily, she knew the way from her stolen days with her brother. He had always dragged her to the docks in the full light of day to look at the ships he was so fascinated with. By the dark of night, the streets looked entirely different and not nearly as friendly and cheerful. The moon illuminated Eden’s path, and the still-bustling docks were infested with grimy sailors who ambled about. Salty, moist air, laden with the smell of fish, hit Eden’s face. Ships — too many to count — bobbed up and down in the harbor like children’s toys in a small pond.

  Which one to choose out of so many? Which one to start her life anew and carry her to the Caribbean?

  A loud guffaw caused her to turn, her heart racing. Men, a rowdy group of pirates by the looks of them, sauntered toward her. A bullet of dread shot through Eden. Could they somehow see past her disguise? Was some of her stubborn hair falling down from its confines in the bicorn hat she wore? Panicking, Eden dove behind a stack of barrels, in case the vile creatures realized she was not a boy. She did not need any unnecessary troubles before she even left London.

  A look behind her told her it was too late. They were heading toward her makeshift hiding place, laughing drunkenly.

  A frigate, her only hope of salvation, loomed tall behind Eden's back. On the hull of the ship, the name Dawn's Mist was painted in black, unfriendly spikes.

  She glanced around the barrels again. The group of filthy sailors was still strolling closer, but they no longer appeared to be looking at her. Maybe they had not noticed she was a woman. Maybe they had not seen her at all. Oh well, this ship behind her had to be as good as any because she had no idea where any of the vessels were sailing anyway. It wasn't like she necessarily had a choice of which ship she was stowing away on.

  Please, God, she prayed, please let this ship be heading toward the Caribbean. If not, some place that will at least be beneficial to me.

  Eden scurried up the gangplank and landed on the wooden deck with a soft thud. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. Stairs on either side of her led up to a higher level of the ship, called the forecastle and quarter deck, if she recalled from her brother correctly. On both sides of the main deck rested stacks of barrels, crates, and coils of thick rope. An old gray-haired sailor lounged on a barrel, chin rested on his chest, and a bottle of rum in his right hand. Besides him, no one else was in sight. She was thankful she had thought to wear boots, for she knew her flimsy silk slippers would no doubt catch on the deck’s many splinters.

  Eden tiptoed across the rough wooden deck. The full, white moon illuminated her path as the vessel wobbled over a wavelet. Stifling a startled cry, Eden stumbled and threw her hand to her mouth. As she recovered her balance, she spotted a set of stairs, or a companionway, leading down below the decks. Down was the only way to head if she did not want to be discovered by the entire crew. If not for the noise it would make, Eden would have laughed ruefully. The shrouds certainly were not the place for her to go. Please, Lord, do not let them find me down here. She silently pleaded with God, hoping He would see past the times when she had not called upon His name first.

  Taking a deep breath, she climbed down the steep set of stairs. These led her to another hallway which led to even more stairs. She passed a door. A crack of light escaped from underneath, and the foul stench of urine and rotten
food emanated from within. Some deep snores met her ears, but she also heard raucous laughter and shouts. How could some of the men be sleeping through noises like that?

  A terrifying thought occurred to her. Had she boarded a pirate ship? No, surely it was common for sailors to get into a simple brawl now and then. She had probably just arrived during one.

  Eden hurried down another flight of rickety stairs into a section of the ship that was dark and eerily quiet compared to the level above. Good. Although it sent a shiver crawling down her spine, dark and quiet were exactly what she needed to avoid being seen or heard. Her reticule dropped out of her hands, sending her coins clattering to the floor. She quickly gathered its contents and took in her surroundings. A wooden hatch in the floor revealed a ladder that did not look particularly sturdy. She gingerly placed her weight on it, calculating where to step and how hard, terrified it would break and send her plummeting into the bowels of the ship. When she decided the rickety ladder was as safe as anything she would find here, she descended down to what must be the deepest level of the ship. The odor of fish and filth assaulted her nose, and she tried to breathe through only her mouth, but to no avail. There had been unpleasant odors everywhere on the ship, but here she literally could taste the foul stench of it. Black, sludgy bilge clawed up to her ankles, dirtying her clunky boots. Everywhere she looked, nothing but thick darkness met her eyes.

  Should she soil her clothes and sit in the murky bilge? She could sit atop one of the many wooden crates lining one side of the huge room. But what if some brave person ventured all the way down here? Not that it was likely someone would go down to this horrible-smelling hold. What sane person without fear for their life would want to?

  She decided against the risk of discovery and crept behind some of the crates, braving the slimy substance that covered most of the floor. The dark shadows seemed to swallow her completely, and the chill seeped far into her bones. What she would not give to have a lantern.

  ****

  "Weigh anchor, gentlemen! Unfurl all topsails and topgallants!" Caspian shouted, striding across his forecastle deck. Yelling emanated from amidships. He cocked his head, listening to what was going on. It sounded like two men arguing. What was his aggravating crew up to now?

  The afternoon sun bore down on him, causing a droplet of sweat to slide down his back underneath his shirt. He brushed from his face some strands of hair that had escaped the tie at the back of his head. A jarring shout drifted up to where Caspian stood, causing him to scan his ship. He spotted two of his sailors brawling on the deck. His other crew members circled them, shouting and placing bets. The money-hungry men seemed to love every chance they had to gamble.

  "Smithy, Kelton, stop that violent nonsense immediately, or I will keelhaul the both of you and hang your carcasses from the yardarm!" Caspian charged down the steps and plucked Kelton from atop Smithy. "Now, men, who started this?" His crew grumbled at the sudden end to the fistfight and their potential loss from the wagers.

  "He insulted the character of me wife, Cap'n! I had t’ defend ‘er honor! What else was I t’ do?" Smithy shouted, pointing at Kelton, who glowered at him from across the deck. Caspian easily believed Smithy’s testament. Kelton, his master rigger, had a record of such indiscretions. The young man never seemed to know when to hold his foul tongue.

  "Mr. Thompson, take Mr. Kelton to the brig, if you please. The pup needs to learn some restraint. I will not tolerate brawls on my ship," Caspian commanded, shaking his head.

  "Aye, Captain." Gage grabbed the man by the arms and began to haul him off.

  Kelton scowled and struggled against Gage. "But-" Luckily, Gage had the advantage of greater strength and jerked the man’s arms behind him.

  "Two days without food or water should teach Mr. Kelton not to insult Mr. Smithy's wife again—“ Caspian’s order was interrupted by Kelton grumbling under his breath "—unless, good sir, you wish to protest further. Yes, I do believe the sharks would enjoy a fresh meal."

  Kelton shook his head, jaw and fists clenched in defiance. But he said nothing. He knew who his captain was.

  Caspian took a deep breath of the cool, moist sea air and watched his first mate drag the young man away. That insolent whelp would cause a lot of trouble on his ship if Caspian did not prevent it. Kelton had already caused more trouble than he was worth, but Caspian needed him for this voyage. It was too late to hire another man now. However, Caspian planned to dismiss him of his duties once they reached Port Royal and hopefully not have to deal with the constant headache the young man gave him. He did not need to be given any more trouble. No, he would not let anything get in the way of success on this voyage. He would persevere for Isabelle’s memory.

  ****

  Gage Thompson clasped a lantern in one hand as he dragged the struggling Kelton down the ladder to the hold. He shook the young man by the collar of his grimy, once-ruffled-and-crisp white shirt. The man seemed to have always dressed like a dandy, but he had failed to maintain his appearance.

  The warm, dank air of the hold assaulted him as he descended into the ship’s depths and had Gage not grown accustomed to the stench over his years at sea, he would have gagged.

  "If you refuse to cooperate, I promise you, I will not hesitate to run you through with my sword," Gage threatened, fingering the hilt of the cutlass at his side.

  He hesitated. For a moment, he wondered if the foolhardy lad would be crazy enough to fight him.

  Unarmed, Kelton chose wisely and cooperated. Gage unlocked the bars of the cell and shoved the young man into it. He slammed the door shut behind him and quickly locked it. Kelton leaned back against the far wall lazily, avoiding any eye contact.

  Typical, defiant Kelton.

  Gage rolled his eyes and chose to ignore him as well.

  A faint moan sounded from the opposite side of the ship.

  Gage jerked his gaze in the direction of the noise, scanning the cluttered area with suspicious eyes.

  “Hey, what was that?” Kelton asked. “Do you have someone else down here already? Captain Archer truly is a tyrant, isn’t he?” He continued spouting useless questions and comments.

  Gage chose to ignore the man while he listened intently for a few more seconds, then, convinced he had not imagined hearing something, headed over to a pile of boxes to search for the intruder. Could it have been a rat? No, he shook his head, no rats sound like that. No kind of rat at all. Anxious to discover the culprit, he pushed one of the large crates aside and uncovered a small, pale hand lying motionless on the wooden floorboards.

  He lifted another crate aside and swung the lantern high above the area. The bright light shone upon a boy. No, it was not a boy at all. It was a young woman dressed in baggy trousers, taking on the guise of a boy. But she was far too pretty to be anything close to the male gender. Could they have a stowaway on their hands? A female stowaway? Surely that was a rare discovery. Her long umber hair spiraled down her back and around her shoulders until finally resting on the slimy bilge below her. A bicorn hat perched on the top of her head. Why in the world was a beautiful young woman down here in the hold? How could she have gotten here? She stirred in her sleep, moaning, reaching forward with an open palm.

  Gage shot back.

  Without a single look behind him, he sped up the ladder and companionway to report his bizarre finding to the captain. He had no idea what the man would make of it, but he was anxious to find out.

  Chapter Three

  Caspian opened the heavy book that had taken residence on his desk the last few years yet had not been touched once. The first few pages were covered in ink, the names of deceased family members Caspian had never met. He flipped the page. There it was. The one name that meant everything was scrawled in Caspian’s own shaky handwriting. Isabelle Wright Archer. Death. August fifth, in the year of our Lord, sixteen ninety-one.

  Slamming the Bible shut, Caspian sank down onto the leather armchair positioned before the porthole and adjacent to his bed. He inh
aled the strong scent of the leather, closed his eyes, and willed the gnawing headache away.

  With an unplanned late start in the morning and Kelton’s insolence in the afternoon, it had been a most trying day. The glass cabinet in the left of the room, lined with port and rum, beckoned to him, tempting him with a reprieve from a stressful day. He had not drunk to drown his sorrows since before Reed was born. But on days like today, the thought held a lot of appeal.

  Caspian stood and reached out, his hand pausing at the handle of the cabinet. He jerked his arm away and moved to the opposite side of the cabin.

  Isabelle had always hated it when he drank. She had told him only weak men turned to the vile brews in times of trouble. And he supposed she had spoken the truth.

  His cabin door suddenly burst open, and a mop of sandy blond curls bounced into the room.

  "Father, Father, guess what I found!" Reed exclaimed—no, screamed—, skipping over to him, a charming grin on his little face.

  Caspian let out a heavy breath. He was not in any mood for his son's incessant cheerfulness. How could the boy be so happy when he had tragically lost his own mother?

  Yes, that had happened nearly five years ago. The child had been only a few months old at the time, but it still must be hard for the boy to not know his own mother. Egad, Caspian had certainly missed the dear woman enough for the both of them.

  What must Isabelle think of him now, dragging their only child across the Caribbean onboard a pirate ship! Caspian laughed ruefully. What a wonderful father he had turned out to be. Hopefully once they arrived in Port Royal, he would make Isabelle proud.

  "What did you find, child?" Caspian leaned forward, his elbows planted on his knees.

  Grinning at Caspian, the boy held up a long silver chain that boasted a round, blue sapphire.