Give Me Thine Heart: A Novella

by Andrea Boeshaar

  “And now you avenge your father’s death by turning the tables on the British?”

  “That, and more.” Sam saw compassion in her gaze. “I have my mission.” And, God willing, he’d get to Washington City before the British did.

  “I see.” She stepped toward him, wringing her hands. “Then with British sympathizers in high positions, I will be in danger of being turned over to my uncle.”

  “That won’t happen.”

  “How can you know?” She stared off somewhere beyond him. “I fear Uncle Tyrus will do anything to get my inheritance under his control again. Perhaps he’ll say I’ve lost my senses because I ran off with you.” Her shoulders sagged and her gaze returned to Sam. “So I’ll not find refuge on American soil after all? ”

  “You shall find refuge.”

  A frown settled on her features. “But, the British…”

  “Not all American cities side with the Crown. Quite the opposite. Many of the First Nations, like the Catawba people, side with the Americans also.”

  A shadow fell across her features. “My parents and I loved the tribal people of Uganda. I’m sure I will feel quite at home with your people.”

  Sam lifted a halting hand. He didn’t plan to take Moira with him. After they docked, she was on her own. “After this voyage, you’ll find yourself in either Washington City or Alexandria, and you’ll surely find some position that suits you.”

  “Oh…of course.” Disappointment shone in her eyes. “Pardon my presumption.”

  Sam arched a brow. “You didn’t think that I would deposit you with the Catawba, did you?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know what to think at the moment.”

  “I’ve every confidence you’ll figure out a purpose by the time we reach the United States.” He smiled. “However, we must survive this voyage without giving ourselves away, so there is something we must agree on.” He glanced at the doorway. They needed to take great care lest they be apprehended by sympathizers to the Crown when they docked. It would take no more than an eavesdropping crewman who would sell his own soul, not to mention Sam and Moira, for a coin. “We must make a vow to each other here and now.” He stepped in so that he stood but half an arm’s length away. He felt almost mesmerized by the way she looked up at him as flickering lamplight played across her features.

  “What is this vow we must make?”

  Sam blinked. “Never shall we be untruthful to each other. To others, yes, for the sake of our causes, but to one another, never.”

  “I dislike being untruthful at all.”

  Sam ran his forefinger along her jaw line, bringing it to rest beneath her chin. “So far, you have done a fine job playacting. Which reminds me…” He reached into his tailcoat, glad for the diversion. His thoughts wandered down a most dangerous path just now. Retrieving her money, he took her hand and placed the black velvet bag on her palm. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  She smiled up at Sam and his gaze caught the shiny curves of her mouth and lingered there. Perhaps just one kiss…

  No, no, no! That would not do at all. He’d feel even more responsible for her then.

  “Thank you.”

  Her whispered reply wound its way around Sam’s heart. What the devil was wrong with him?

  She tipped her head. “I can’t help but wonder why you rescued me tonight and didn’t kill me as you initially planned. I’m ever so grateful for it, of course, but I’m nothing. A no one of a female, engaged to a man she loathed the thought of marrying. Surely there are more like me, perhaps more worthy of your benevolence.”

  “Perhaps, but my benevolence found you.” He bestowed on her what he hoped was a charming grin and topped it off with a gallant bow.

  His reward was her smile—a smile that reached her eyes, like when they’d danced.

  “But why, Mr. Samuel Stryker? Tell me.”

  He wasn’t sure he could put his motives into words. “Let’s just say I’m partial to damsels in distress and leave it there, shall we?”

  “As you wish.”

  “Now with those particulars out of the way, I’ll leave you to relax and unpack your valise.” Sam nodded to where it sat atop his sea chest.

  He moved toward the door, intending to find some rum and an over-talkative sailor willing to divulge secrets.

  His best bet was Harney.

  And, of course, he’d have to give a special hello to Rachel.

  “One last question and I’ll not raise the subject again.”

  With his hand on the doorknob, he cast a backwards glance, waiting.

  “How many damsels have you rescued thus far?”

  He smirked. “Only one, my fair daisy. Only one.”

  Chapter Seven

  After two days at sea, the nausea finally left Moira. What’s more, she finally seemed to find her sea legs, although from time to time she still teetered like a drunken man. Tonight, however, the ship seemed to barely sway, and the promise of a gulp of fresh air lured her from her cramped quarters.

  She made her way down the companionway, hearing men singing some jolly tune in the cabin next to hers. Reaching the stairs, she clung to the railing and climbed to the upper deck. As soon as her nose hit the night air, she breathed in deeply of its salty freshness. How stuffy the cabin had become!

  Stuffy…and lonely.

  Odd, life’s latest turn of events. Before meeting Mr. Samuel Stryker, Moira had spent the majority of her time alone. While her parents were alive, they were her best friends as together they did God’s work and ministered to various peoples. She didn’t need others.

  But then she met Sam on the night of her engagement party, and he loomed larger than life. Indeed, she had felt like a damsel in distress, and he was her knight in shining armor. But after they set sail, it seemed he had vanished. She’d only caught glimpses of him when he came and went in the mornings. Once he’d muttered something about a woman named Rachel. Could it be she occupied Sam’s time?

  ’Twas none of her business whether she did or didn’t.

  Moira stepped out onto what she assumed was the main deck. Only a few lanterns lighted the starboard side. However, a full moon lit up even the darkest corners. Making her way to the side of the ship, she tested the railing and deemed it secure. Then she stared at God’s handiwork. The moon loomed large, and Moira felt that if she reached out she could touch it where God had hung it in the sky. How gorgeous was its reflection upon the black, glassy sea. With her hands holding tightly to the railing, a smile twitched her lips. Were she an artist, such a vision would fill her canvas, and it would be a prized piece, indeed.

  “You have ventured from the cabin, I see.”

  The voice gave Moira a start. Hands clamped firmly on her shoulders as if to keep her from falling overboard, although she maintained her death grip on the rough, wood railing. Recognition dawned.

  “Mr. Stryker.”

  “Sam,” he whispered close to her ear.

  Moira inched away. Did he not have his time full with charming Rachel?

  “I take it you’re feeling better.”

  She nodded. A slight breeze stirred the loose strands of her hair. She’d long since given up hope of keeping it fastened with pins and had settled for one long braid that rested between her shoulder blades.

  “Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

  “It is.” She watched him, studying him, actually, as he leaned his forearms on the railing. If possible he’d grown more handsome since their voyage began. His hair was tied into a queue, although some shorter stands escaped the black band at his nape. He wore no tailcoat or overcoat and the arms of his white shirt billowed like sails as the light breeze caught the material.

  “The calm sea is a nice reprieve after the rough ride of the last few days.”

  “Indeed.”

  He turned and regarded her with a crooked grin. “You weren’t the only one retching.”

  “You too?”

  He nodded.

  “And how did Rache
l fare?” Moira instantly regretted the challenging note in her tone. “I-I mean, it’s nice to know there are other females onboard, but I hope she wasn’t as sick as I.”

  “She’s just fine. In her element, I’d say.” Sam snorted a laugh. “I believe Rachel is as good a sailor as Harney.”

  “The captain?”

  “Yes. And Rachel is anxious to meet you. She’s been yearning for female companionship.”

  Moira forced a smile, although a sourness rose up and lodged in her chest. Why on earth would she want to meet such a woman as Rachel?

  Worse, why did she feel jealous?

  She shook off the notion. “Have you gotten any sleep since we left England?” she asked him.

  “Here and there.”

  In Rachel’s bunk? Moira pressed her lips together before such a question escaped. ’Twas no business of hers where the man slept.

  “You bolted the cabin door.” Sam’s voice stole her attention. “I couldn’t get in, and I knew you weren’t feeling well, so I didn’t want to wake you.”

  “I locked the door…” Guilt stabbed at her. “Oh, Sam, I’m truly sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He turned and leaned his backside against the railing, crossed his booted ankles, then folded his arms. “I found an empty hammock in the steerage and met the passengers sailing with us.”

  “Oh?”

  “All of them will be departing when we reach Portugal.”

  “Portugal?” Moira turned to face him. “But I thought we were headed to America.”

  “We are, but to throw off British officials, Harney logged his destination as Portugal. From there we will set a course due west for America.”

  “I see.” Moira didn’t much care where the captain chose to dock as long as her escape was complete. “I’m sorry for locking you out of your cabin, Sam.”

  “Again, no harm done.” He flashed a charming smile. “As I said, I found an empty hammock.”

  Moira’s envy vanished, and it seemed so petty an emotion. She forced a pleasant expression. “I look forward to meeting Rachel.”

  Sam inclined his head and splashes of moonlight danced off his golden brown hair. “You’ll like her. She’s as adventurous as you are.”

  “You see me as adventurous?”

  “Oh, no, not a bit.” Sam’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “You ran away with a stranger to escape marrying a man you loathe, you claimed your inheritance, leaving your dishonest uncle without the means to which he’s become accustomed this last half year, and you boarded a ship for a foreign land.”

  A giggle escaped her. “And I’m not a bit sorry either.”

  Sam chuckled. “Well, just in case you do have a tweak of conscience, I have every confidence that Mr. Golsby hoarded some funds for your uncle and himself.”

  “No doubt.” Moira assumed so, and it did soothe her somewhat. She didn’t want to harm her aunt and uncle, but had Uncle Tyrus not wasted her funds—and his own as well—he wouldn’t find himself in a financial pinch.

  “Thank you, Mr. Stryker. I’m grateful for all you’ve done for me.”

  “Sam,” he growled.

  “Thank you, Sam.” She leaned close to him. “You’re a fine coconspirator.”

  “Such compliments. You’ll have me blushing.”

  Moira hurled a glance toward the starry sky. Blushing, indeed!

  A long pause ensued and only the rhythmical sounds of water lapping against the ship reached Moira’s ears. Above, metal chinked and clanked with each slight roll of the ship on the sea’s calm current.

  “There they are!” A deep male voice splintered the night. “The newlyweds.”

  Moira turned to see the captain heading their way. His back was devoid of its dark-blue tailcoat and, like Sam, he wore only his shirt tucked into dark breeches. Black boots covered his lower legs and feet.

  “Glad you’re feeling better, Mrs. Stryker.” He came to a halt several feet away.

  “I feel much better, thank you, sir.”

  “Good.” He rubbed his palms together and looked from Moira to Sam. “Then I insist you both take breakfast with my wife and me in the morning.” His gaze bounced back to Moira. Her empty stomach grumbled, reminding her she’d had little to eat the last forty-eight hours.

  “What say you, my darling?” Sam stretched his arm across her shoulders.

  Why did it feel so natural to lean into his embrace? Even the smell of him, all spice, and fresh air, seemed so familiar.

  “I would like nothing more.” After a smile at Sam, she inclined her head politely. “Thank you, Captain.”

  “My pleasure.” He bent slightly at the waist. “Until tomorrow morning then.”

  “We’ll be there,” Sam promised.

  Moira wondered when he would remove his arm. They were playacting, after all.

  But he didn’t. “Allow me to escort you back to our cabin.”

  “Thank you.” She’d cleaned it as best she could after being sick for a couple of days, and a cabin boy named Anthony had been ever so caring, bringing her biscuits, water, and even hot tea. He had cleaned the chamber pot and mopped the floor, and Moira had never met a nicer boy.

  They reached the cabin and Moira entered. She glanced behind her, but Sam hadn’t followed.

  “I’ll be along later, so leave the door unlocked.”

  “I will…but where are you going?”

  “I never turn in without visiting Rachel while I’m on board. I cannot pass up her, eh, midnight treats.”

  Moira whirled around and faced the wall so Sam wouldn’t see the anger she felt. She clenched her jaw so hard her back teeth began to ache. The door closed, leaving her feeling oddly empty, jealous and angry—emotions she’d never dealt with before. No one before Sam had ever made her feel special in that certain way a lady longs to feel. Moira had seen it plenty of times, romance blooming between a man and young lady.

  Oh, of course, she knew God loved her—but He had to. He’d created her, after all. And Papa and Mum…they’d loved her too. In all her eighteen years, she’d been satisfied with that love—parental love. Heavenly love.

  Why, then, did she suddenly want more?

  Sam opened the cabin door and crept inside. He set the lamp he carried down on the tiny writing desk and stared at the sight which greeted him. Moira lying on a pallet on the floor while the bunk sat empty, although its covers had been turned down.

  He shook his head. It would never do.

  He crept forward and hunkered down beside Moira. The steady rise and fall of her chest indicated that she slept. Gathering her in his arms, he stood and made his way to the bunk. She awakened as he set her onto the bed.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Moving you to the bunk where you belong.”

  “But you should have the bunk.” Sleepiness caused her to slur a few words.

  The topic, however, was not up for negotiation. “Goodnight, Moira.” He got to his feet and began unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Sam, please…”

  He glanced over his shoulder.

  “I’ve been praying, and I clearly saw how selfish I’ve been.”

  Sam frowned and placed his hands on his hips. “Selfish, how so?”

  “I’ve been behaving as if this was my cabin, not yours. I locked you out and forced you to sleep in less favorable conditions.”

  “Moira, stop.” He raised a hand, palm side out. “It was a mistake on your part, that’s all.” He continued undressing. “I’d wager you don’t have a selfish bone in your body.”

  “Oh, but I do. I even felt like…well…where you’re concerned…”

  “What about me?” Sam pulled off his muslin shirt, changing it for a clean one. When nothing more came from Moira, he faced her. “Well?”

  “Never mind.”

  Sam sat on top of his sea chest and tugged off his boots. “For your information, and despite my five and twenty years, my mother would switch me if she learned I’d allowed a lady to sleep on the floor whi
le I took a padded bunk.”

  The remark earned him a soft giggle. Sam grinned as images of his mother’s stern face flashed in his mind. Suddenly he longed to see her again. He missed her and his brother Asher.

  But for his duty, he’d return home.

  He shook off the nostalgia and pulled off his socks.

  “Good night, Sam Stryker.”

  “Good night, my darling daisy.”

  He pushed up off the sea chest and made his way to the pallet. He knelt and rearranged the blankets so that instead of running the width of the cabin, his bedding ran the length. He gathered the extra blanket and packed it beneath his head. A moan of relief escaped him. How good it felt to stretch out on a hard surface and without his boots.

  He closed his eyes and fell asleep listening to Moira’s soft, sweet snores.

  Chapter Eight

  Humming. He heard humming. He knew the tune, had sung the hymn. The words scampered through his mind.

  Awake, my soul, and with the sun

  Thy daily stage of duty run;

  Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise,

  To pay thy morning sacrifice.

  Sam opened one eye and saw Moira brushing her long, blond hair. It waved like strands of gold silk and hung to her narrow hips. Both eyes opened now, he watched, mesmerized, as she neatly divided her locks into three parts and began to braid each section. Her long, slender fingers worked expertly and, once she’d knotted each section, she took the three long pieces and braided them. The result was a fat braid which she knotted at her nape.

  Standing from where she’d been sitting on his sea chest, she began to sing softly while retrieving a brown garment and several pieces of frippery from her valise. Her soprano had a soothing effect on Sam and he let his eyelids flutter close. He heard the rustling of clothing as Moira dressed and, though he longed to peek, he determined to give her a semblance of privacy.