Give Me Thine Heart: A Novella

by Andrea Boeshaar

  She hesitated.

  “Trust me.”

  She gave it a moment’s thought. “I do trust you, Sam.”

  “Good. I’ll not give you a reason to distrust me, I swear.”

  Anthony floated by on his back as if to encourage her.

  Moira followed Sam’s directions and let herself fall backwards. As promised, Sam held her as the water inched over her until she was submerged to her chin. Water filled her ears. Her breath caught.

  “Relax. I’ve got you,” came Sam’s muffled voice. “Breathe normally.”

  Breathe. She fought against the rising panic. Breathe. She gazed up at the flyaway-blue sky. Suddenly it was Sam’s lapis-colored eyes she saw as he gazed down at her.

  “Cup your hands and make circular motions, but take care not to splash.”

  Moira did as instructed and, oddly, concentrating on the hand movements slowed her breathing.

  “You’re floating!” Anthony’s voice sounded dim, but still infused with excitement. You’re floating, Miss Moira!”

  A moment later she glimpsed Sam, standing beside Anthony. They smiled and waved. No one was holding her. She was on the water by herself.

  I have you in the palm of my hand, Beloved. God’s promise filled her heart. Not a sparrow falls…never be afraid, for you are far more valuable than sparrows.

  A wave splashed over her, but Moira kept floating. Anthony continued to cheer her on. The water cooled her skin beneath the sun’s scorching rays and she began to find floating quite relaxing.

  She startled when Sam popped up from beneath the ocean’s surface. The water seemed to suck her under and she breathed in salt water. Her lungs convulsed. Panic consumed her until a pair of strong hands righted her. Her feet found the sandy ocean bottom, but the coughing continued as she struggled for a breath.

  She heard Sam apologize and reached for him. Her fingertips found the fabric of his wet shirt and she grabbed hold of it, praying he’d help her somehow. As if she’d spoken aloud, he clapped her between the shoulder blades a few times and, at last, she rid her lungs of seawater.

  She sagged against him.

  “I’m sorry, Moira.” He kissed the top of her head. “I meant to surprise you, not drown you.”

  Words escaped her.

  “But you did quite well with your first floating lesson. You floated like a seasoned sailor.”

  “Seasoned sailor?” She grinned in spite of herself and stepped back, although her retort was lost by the crewman rowing toward them with determined strokes and a frown weighing his features.

  “Where’s the captain?” The man pulled up the oars long enough for Sam to reply.

  “What do you suppose is wrong?” Moira turned to Sam, who took her hand and called to Anthony.

  The three of them headed for shore and trudged over the hot sand. When they reached the captain, Rachel, and the crewman, all expressions were glum. Moira shivered as the water dripped from her every pore.

  “A British warship is headed straight for us.” Captain Harney removed his cap and finger-combed his dark hair from off his forehead before slapping his cap back on. “Four hours and she’ll be on top of us.” He glanced around. “We must pack up and get back onboard, posthaste!”

  Chapter Eleven

  “Cap’n!” a crewman called. “They’re sendin’ a light signal.”

  “Can you decipher it, Mr. Simmons?” Harney shielded his eyes and glanced at the lookout.

  “Aye, sir. I’ll do m’ best.”

  A feeling of helplessness engulfed Sam and he clenched his fists. He needed to do something other than stand here like a column of coiled rope. He watched while Harney lifted his spyglass and aimed toward the warship that had trailed the Seahawk all afternoon. Although both ships flew the Union Jack, the frigate obviously suspected something amiss onboard Harney’s vessel.

  As if divining his thoughts, Moira clutched his arm. Sam covered her hand with his. “We don’t know they’re after us.” He meant his words for her ears only. “Could be they learned Harney is taking supplies to the colonies and they intend to stop him.”

  Her silence spoke volumes. She didn’t believe a word he’d just spoken.

  Neither did he.

  “It’s somethin’ ’bout a kidnapping,” Mr. Simmons hollered to the captain as the light continued to blink from the warship, sending the remaining message. “Kidnapping a woman. The Brits think she and her abductor may be aboard the Seahawk and they’re demanding we turn them both over.”

  Moira gasped.

  The crewman turned to face Harney. “They’re wantin’ to send sailors to board the Seahawk to fetch them.”

  “Mr. Stryker!” Harney swiveled around. “Might you know anything about this…kidnapping?”

  “No, sir.”

  “I went willingly with Sam,” Moira blurted.

  Sam grudgingly gave up a nod. . “That’s the truth, Captain.”

  “I’ll see you both in my quarters. Now!” Before departing below, Harney barked orders to his crew.

  Sam led Moira to the hatch and then down the companionway. At their knock on the captain’s door, Rachel answered and bid them enter.

  Harney followed within a minute. “Stryker, what in the world is going on?”

  He held out his hands. “There’s been no kidnapping.”

  “Kidnapping?” Rachel put her hands on her hips and looked from him to Moira.

  “I was to marry a horrid man, but Sam rescued me.” Moira folded her arm around his. “I went willingly and I left a note for my aunt and uncle, telling them not to worry.”

  “You left a note?” Sam didn’t know that.

  “A brief one.” She stared up into his eyes. “I mentioned no names.”

  Harney groaned. “I trust you have the proper marital papers on you, Sam?”

  “No time for papers, I’m afraid.”

  Moira hid her face against his shoulder, but the challenge in Harney’s eyes worried Sam more than his wrath.

  “I have the perfect solution.” Harney snapped his fingers and grinned. “I’m master and commander of this ship, ordained for funerals and…” He leaned forward on his desk. “And anything else that arises. Like marriages. I’ll wed you both right now and give you the appropriate documents. Rachel can stand as a witness.”

  If Harney expected an objection, Sam would give him none. Obviously his friend called his bluff, most likely suspecting that Sam lied about his relationship with Moira. Which was true. But Sam wasn’t about to turn her over to the British, nor would he turn himself in.

  Would Moira understand?

  He sank his gaze into her smoky eyes. The sun had kissed her skin this afternoon, giving her a golden glow. She gave him a tentative smile. Yes, she knew this officiating was mere playacting. After all, he’d stated on more than one occasion that he’d never marry.

  Then why, of late, did he imagine an emptier life once he and Moira parted? It was rather nice, returning to the cabin at night and listening to her soft and steady breathing as she slept. Yes, he’d heard her cry out during nightmares. She’d admitted to dreams of drowning and of her parents’ deaths. She’d faced much tragedy in her young life and Sam refused to add to it. Rather, he wished to help, thus the floating lesson today, which went a bit awry. Still, she’d experienced mild success and looked no worse for wear.

  “Well, what say you, Sam? Should we get on with it then?”

  “Absolutely. It will solve any issues should the Seahawk be boarded by the British.”

  Harney snorted. “Perish the thought. They’ll hang us both, abuse our women, kill our crew—after they impress the better of them.”

  Moira gasped.

  Rachel hugged herself and shuddered.

  Sam set his palm over Moira’s hand, still wrapped around his elbow. “But we’ll not let that happen, will we, Captain Harney?”

  “By God, I should say not!” The older man looked about. “Everyone ready for the ceremony?” Harney didn’t wait for respo
nses. “Good.” He opened the Bible. “This is God’s word and contains God’s commandments. Do you both swear to keep them?”

  “I swear.”

  “I swear.” Moira’s voice sounded stronger, surer, than he expected.

  “Sam, do you promise to be a good husband and leave your sinful bachelorhood behind?”

  He arched a brow. “That’s not how it goes, Harney.”

  “That’s how it goes on my ship. Now do you promise this young lady or don’t you?”

  “I promise.”

  “Look at your bride when you speak your vows.”

  Sam did as his friend bid him. “I promise.”

  Questions, or perhaps it was doubt, pooled in her gray gaze—and with good reason.

  “Miss Moira, do you promise to leave your maidenhood behind for this rambling, no-account American spy who has undoubtedly clouded your good judgment with his charm and boyish good looks?”

  Rachel laughed softly.

  Sam bristled. “Harney, for pity’s sake!”

  “I promise.” Moira replied as if this affair was a formal one. Her eyes darkened with obvious sincerity. “I, Moira Kingsley, take thee, Samuel Stryker, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee mine heart and pledge thee my troth.”

  Sam sent Harney a good-natured smirk. “That’s how it goes.” But one glimpse at Moira and Sam knew she’d meant every word.

  Annoyance dropped like an anchor inside of him. He shifted from one foot to another. Didn’t she understand that this was a mock ceremony? A farce, as untrue as their fibs. Once on U. S. soil Sam planned to have this marriage, as it were, annulled.

  “Very well,” Harney growled. “I now pronounce you husband and wife.” He seated himself at his desk and fished a paper from a drawer.

  “Aren’t you going to say I can kiss my bride?” Sam couldn’t help the jab.

  “Go ahead. Kiss her.”

  Sam ignored Moira’s wide-eyed gaze and cupped her face. With the utmost deliberation, he brushed his lips against hers. She didn’t withdraw, but leaned into him, and Sam deepened their kiss. She smelled like a fresh ocean breeze. His senses tumbled into a whirlpool of desire as he trailed kisses along her smooth jaw line…

  “All right, you two, time to make this marriage official.”

  Harney’s voice broke the spell, although Moira looked a bit dazed, causing Sam to grin.

  Harney scratched his name across the bottom of the document then turned it over to Sam, who did likewise. Moira neatly penned her name next and Rachel made her mark, verifying that she’d witnessed the occasion. Harney recorded the marriage in his captain’s log then slammed the volume closed. “Now to take care of a certain British warship.”

  Rachel snagged Moira’s arm. “Perhaps you’d stay and help me tend to Brother Tobias. He’s quite ill, the poor man.”

  “Yes, of course.” Moira turned to Sam with arched eyebrows.

  He gave a nod before following Harney aloft. A flurry of activity greeted them.

  “Cap’n, the Brits are insisting on sending a few men to board the Seahawk now,” Mr. Jamison, the first mate announced. “How shall we reply?”

  “Tell them to send their first mate and an officer. We’ll give them our usual welcome.”

  “The usual welcome, lads,” Jamison shouted and the instruction was repeated on down through the ranks.

  “Harney, you can’t be serious.” Sam stepped in beside the captain, a man he considered to be a friend—more friend than foe, anyway. “You said yourself that the Brits will hang us.”

  “Do not question my judgment, Mr. Stryker. This is my ship and I’m in command.”

  “Yes, sir.” Sam couldn’t keep the sarcasm from his voice. He clenched his jaw, searching his mind for a solution of his own. He looked toward the beach where they’d spent an enjoyable few hours and supposed he could swim for it. The island, however, appeared abandoned like his mission would have to be, should he either be caught or become a castaway.

  He thought on it some more. He’d learned survival skills from his mother’s people, the Catawba, but what of Moira? He could hardly ask her to jump ship with him.

  “Why don’t you trust your captain, Stryker, instead of standing there plotting against him?”

  Sam put his hands on his hips. “You’re accusing me of mutiny?”

  “I’m accusing you of distrusting your friends.” Harney lifted his chin and met Sam’s stare. “Relax, Stryker. I’ve got this situation handled. Trust me.”

  “All right. You’ve never given me reason to distrust you…yet.”

  Half of Harney’s mouth curved upward, part sneer and part grin. “You will be expected to take up arms against the British if it should come to that…which it won’t.”

  “Understood.”

  “Boat’s in the water, Cap’n,” the lookout called. “Two men aboard.”

  Harney retrieved his spyglass, looked, then handed it to Sam. “Recognize either man?”

  Sam peered at the two, one ensconced in blue and the other in an infamous red jacket. A second later, Joseph Nettles’s arrogant face came into focus.

  “I know one of them. The redcoat. He’s the man from whom Moira is trying to escape.” Sam relayed all pertinent information.

  “After her inheritance, is he?” Harney chuckled. “Aye, men will go far if money is involved. Just how far, is the question.”

  “He’s followed her this far.”

  “Hmm…and how fortunate for you that you’ve wed a wealthy young lady.”

  “Moira’s money holds no interest for me.”

  “Until you lose your first card game.” Harney snorted, looking amused.

  “I’m glad you think so highly of me…friend.”

  Harney stepped closer to Sam. “My wife is a good woman and she is quite fond of your wife. Rachel says she’s sweet and all goodness. A missionary’s daughter who has experienced her share of heartbreak.”

  “All true.”

  Harney’s gaze darkened. “We’d hate to see her get hurt.”

  So that was it. Sam bit down hard, till the muscles in his jaw ached. “Moira knows what she’s gotten herself into.”

  Harney puffed out his lower lip, shrugged, then looked through his spyglass again. “Well, we’ve got a fine welcome in store for your wife’s pursuant.” A grin at Sam, and then Harney bellowed to his men. “Ready the welcome, lads!”

  “Aye, Captain!” came the returns from sailors on deck and up on the ratlines. It made for an odd male chorus, followed by a flurry of activity. Sails dropped and caught the wind.

  “What’s the ‘usual welcome’?”

  “It’s a trick my men and I enjoy playing on hostile sailors, like the Brits.” Harney glanced over his shoulder at Sam. “We act like we’re waiting for them to board, see? But before they reach us, we pull up anchor…well, just pay attention and you’ll understand soon enough.” He trained his spyglass on the Brits in the rowboat.

  “Now, Cap’n?” Jamison asked.

  “Not yet. Easy, let them get a little closer. Closer…”

  Sam could make out Nettles’s identity without the spyglass now.

  Harney suddenly made the call and the sailors pulled up the anchor. The Seahawk began to move toward the front of the warship to avoid cannon fire. The men in the narrow boat obviously realized a trick had been played and began rowing vigorously back toward the warship amid Nettles’s shouts. A cannon fired, whizzing over the heads of the men in the rowboat. The lead ball dropped into the water with a heavy splash.

  Then Nettles did the unthinkable. He stood up in the rowboat. Sam straightened. Even he, unskilled in the way of ships and navigations, knew not to stand in a rowboat unless boarding a larger ship. It put a man in danger of tumbling overboard.

  Nettles shook his fist at the Seahawk and shouted obscenities. Th
e long, narrow boat seesawed in the choppy water. Moments later, as Sam predicted, a wave toppled Nettles into the ocean, giving Harney and his crew a good laugh and earning well-deserved mockery.

  A moment later, Harney returned to shouting orders. His first mate, Jamison, repeated them and the shouting went on down the ranks.

  “Doesn’t look like that soldier is surfacing, Cap’n,” a sailor shouted from high on the rigging.

  Sam moved to the starboard side and peered across the distance. The sailor in the rowboat circled the area, peering into the deep. Only moments later, thrashing a good ways off caught Sam’s attention.

  “There!” He pointed toward the west. “There he is.”

  Harney squinted into the sun. “Sure enough.” He trained his spyglass on the bobbing redcoat. “The current is strong and pulling him farther out to sea. Doesn’t appear the man can swim. Doubtful that a fellow crewman will reach him in time.”

  Sam turned away. While he couldn’t rightly say he was sorry to see Nettles drown. The man was a scoundrel at best and, no doubt, harbored evil plans for Moira, had he caught her. He’d scarred a serving wench for mere fun. Imagine what he might do with his sword if his wrath had gotten the better of him?

  Even so, he took no joy in watching a man die.

  Inhaling deeply, Sam looked back and Nettles sank beneath the water again and this time, he didn’t resurface.

  Sam met Harney’s gaze.

  “Your wife will not have to worry about that man again, Mr. Stryker.”

  “’Twill be a relief, to be sure.”

  Sails clapped above and gave in to the wind. The Seahawk picked up speed. The warship would be late in its pursuit, having to wait for the lone sailor to re-board.

  Sam released a long sigh. They were safe…at least for now.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I have news.”

  Moira glanced up from the herbs she soaked according to Rachel’s instructions. By God’s grace, these herbs would ease Brother Tobias’s fever. “What news would that be?”

  Sam leaned against the opening of the galley and folded his arms across his broad chest. The sun had tanned his face and his exposed forearms today, as he’d rolled his shirt’s sleeves to his elbows. He most certainly made for a pleasant eyeful. “Major Nettles has drowned.”