“No.” Hope stepped forward. “Leave her be.” Abigail sent an appreciative glance toward her friend, and Hope gripped her hand.
“All I wish is to speak with her, an’ I’ll do it with or without yer permission or that o’ yer husband’s. Only if ye do give me yer blessin’, it may soften me mood when I consider yer offer.”
Over the pirate’s shoulder, Nathaniel saw Abigail nod her consent, though fear sparked in her wide eyes.
“Very well, Captain,” Nathaniel reluctantly agreed.
“There be some sense to ye.” Captain Poole proffered his arm again, and this time, Abigail released Hope and slipped her hand through it.
Nathaniel could do naught but clench his fists and say a prayer as he watched the two saunter away.
***
Abigail drew a breath, trying to quell the quaver in her voice and the tremble in her legs. “If you mean to assault me, Captain, I must warn you, I will put up a fight.”
“Promise?” Captain Poole gave a mischievous chuckle but then patted her hand, still hooked in the crook of his arm. “Ye’ve naught to fear from me.” She caught his gaze from the corner of her eyes—as dark and brooding as any she’d seen. “At least for the time being.” His lips curved slightly as he continued to lead her along the shore.
“What would you like to speak to me about, Captain?” His salacious dalliance unnerved her. She wouldn’t have agreed to this time alone with him, not even to stifle his temper and soften him to the idea of taking them to Kingstown, save for the fitful yearning she’d seen in his eyes. A questioning, a hopeless pleading that nipped at her heart.
A breeze picked up, bringing with it the scent of the sea and a whiff of rum and sweat from the man walking beside her. His boots crunched over the sand as he swerved away from the waves that crept toward them in arcs of restless foam.
After casting a glance over his shoulder, the captain led her to a boulder beneath a shady palm and gestured for her to sit. Abigail spotted Nathaniel standing on shore and was thankful for his careful watch. Not that there would be much he could do to stop this pirate from taking whatever he wanted, especially with his savage crew so close at hand.
The rising sun shot its blazing rays upon the island, and Abigail ran a hand over her moist neck, thankful for the shade and wondering how the pirate tolerated his velvet coat and breeches. Though seemingly undaunted by the heat, his expression bore evidence of a battle raging within his thoughts.
A breeze quivered the fronds of the palm above her until they sounded like the laughter of angels, reminding her that she was never alone. Silently, she thanked the Lord for the good outcome of the duel and for their safety thus far, and prayed for the right words to appease this volatile man beside her.
Captain Poole doffed his plumed hat and tossed it to the sand. His black hair fluttered in the wind over the golden ring in his ear, and she swallowed at the intense look in his dark, flashing eyes. Tall and broad shouldered, he would be a handsome man if not for the lines of cruelty that often marred his face.
Lowering her gaze beneath his perusal, she waited for him to begin.
He shifted his boots. “Yer a missionary.”
Abigail nodded.
“Ye speak of God as if ye know Him.” His tone was not accusatory, nor caustic, but carried a curiosity that both shocked and delighted Abigail.
“He can be known, Captain. He longs to be known.”
He scratched his chin and stared out at the sea. Abigail eyed the pistols stuffed in his baldric and breeches, the cutlass that hung at his side, and she knew this man had killed many men in his life. Never before had she been in the presence of such evil, yet at this moment, she felt no fear.
“I’m wonderin’ if ye would enlighten me with what ye know of Him,” he said without looking at her.
Abigail blinked. “You want to know about God?”
He cast a glance over his shoulder at Nathaniel, then thrust his face into hers. “Aye, as ye heard me say.”
A spark of unease shot through Abigail, but she stiffened her jaw. “What do you wish to know?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, his coat flapping in the breeze behind him, and dug his boots in the sand as if preparing himself for a long discourse. “Start at the beginning.”
CHAPTER 26
Tears burned Hope’s eyes. Perhaps it was Eleanor’s death, perhaps the terror of the duel, or perhaps it was ... one glance toward the beach told her Nathaniel remained at watch like a fierce sentinel over Abigail conversing with Captain Poole nigh twenty yards down the shore. During the past hour, he had not budged from his post, not even when the blazing heat of the sun scorched the sand, not even after everyone else had abandoned him. From time to time, he would pace ferociously as he was prone to do when he was distraught. But now he stood still, his fists planted firmly at his waist.
Hope had longed to join him, but his aversion to her company had kept her standing at a distance for as long as her ankle and the glaring sun allowed. She, too, was most concerned for Abigail’s safety, but from all observations, it did indeed appear the captain only wished to speak with her, though regarding what subject Hope could only imagine.
She entered the clearing and sank onto the chair. Bending down, she rubbed her ankle and then leaned back, trying to enjoy the respite from the heat. Wrapping her empty arms around herself, she released a sigh. She missed Elise. Mr. Hendrick had taken his daughter into his hut with the major, and Hope wondered how she fared. The poor girl feared her father, but he was her father, after all. Perhaps now that his wife was gone, Mr. Hendrick would become a better parent. Deep down, Hope doubted it.
Leaning forward, she picked up a shell and fingered it. She flipped it over and examined the symmetrical ridges—so patterned, so perfect, so unlike real life. Had God intended His children to be this perfect? Did He intend their lives to follow a specified pattern? If so, perhaps one day they would all end up as beautiful and flawless as this shell.
Gavin bounded into the clearing, his bare chest glistening with sweat. Though his expression was somber, the usual playful spark glimmered in his eyes. “Kreggs and Hanson are digging the grave.” He glanced at Nathaniel out on the beach. “As soon as Abigail is free, we’ll bury Mrs. Hendrick.”
Hope nodded, even as her gut shriveled. She hated funerals. She hated death.
Taking a shell-full of water from the bucket, Gavin poured the liquid over his head, and Hope averted her eyes from his muscled chest. The man presented a constant barrier in her efforts to become a lady. Grabbing his discarded shirt, he dabbed at the moisture on his torso, then thrust his arms into the garment and tossed it over his head.
“Nathaniel must harbor deep affections for Miss Sheldon, wouldn’t you say?” He took a seat on the log beside her chair.
Hope shifted against the uncomfortable twinge of jealousy. “Perhaps he is concerned for her safety.” She longed to believe her own words but deep down doubted they carried any truth.
“We all are concerned, to be sure, but you don’t see any of us standing guard like a sentry. Sink me, he’s ready to slap the captain’s hand should he make a single untoward gesture toward the lady. Nay, seems like the actions of a man quite besotted.” He laughed, and his gaiety stung Hope’s heart.
Shoving her pain behind a wall of rejection, Hope diverted her attention to the man beside her. His easy smile and flirtatious ways swept over her like salve on a wound. “How would you know the actions of a besotted man?” She smiled.
He took her hand in his and planted a kiss upon it. “Allow me to demonstrate.”
An hour later, Nathaniel and Abigail entered the camp, interrupting Hope and Gavin’s playful conversation. Anxious to hear what had occurred between Abigail and the pirate captain, Hope rose. Gavin assisted her, keeping his hand possessively upon her arm.
Nathaniel grunted and shot Hope a look of reproach. “Did we interrupt something?”
“Nay.” Hope tugged her arm from Gavin’s grasp and
inched away from him.
Shaking his head, Nathaniel turned toward Abigail.
Abigail clasped her hands together, her eyes dancing with joy. “The captain has agreed to provide safe passage to Kingstown.”
“Indeed?” Hope could hardly believe her ears. From the pirate’s fluctuating moods and volatile mannerisms, she’d feared their best hope might be that he would simply leave them on the island. “But how?”
“Well, sink me.” Gavin eyed Abigail curiously, a slight grin rising on his lips. “What did you offer the man to make him so agreeable?”
Nathaniel took a firm step toward his friend. “What are you implying?” The sudden flame in his eyes jarred Hope and confirmed her suspicions of his deep affections for Abigail.
Gavin held up his hands. “No disrespect intended. Just wondering.”
Nathaniel gave him a glance of warning, then crossed his arms over his chest and looked at Abigail with pride.
“I cannot say for sure.” Abigail sauntered to the bucket of water and knelt to draw herself a drink. “We spoke about God.”
Hope sank back down to her chair, battling a plethora of emotions, shock and jealousy among them.
“God? You spoke of God? With the pirate?” Gavin scratched his whiskers and chuckled.
Hope glanced toward the pirate camp and spotted the captain waving his cutlass in the air and spouting a slur of curses. “Difficult to believe, indeed.”
“I can hardly believe it myself.” Abigail stood and brought her long hair over her shoulder in a tumble of silken chestnut. Her hazel eyes swept toward Nathaniel. “I will tell you more later, Nathaniel.” She smiled, their gazes locking in understanding.
Hope picked up the shell again, wishing her life would flow along the same perfect pattern. But it wasn’t the same shell. This one was chipped and one of the ridges had gone askew. Just like her. Smiling, she slipped it into her pocket.
“But he wishes to hear more about God,” Abigail continued, “so I convinced him to take our party to Kingstown with the promise of further discussions.” She clapped her hands together as if to seal the deal.
Gavin shook his head, his expression a mask of confusion. “Do you suppose ’tis a trick, a pretense for his otherwise lecherous intentions?”
Abigail shrugged. “The thought occurred to me as well.” Her brow furrowed. “But I think not. I saw sincerity in his eyes. He seems to have a genuine awe for God and a fear to harm anyone who knows Him.”
“Whatever it takes, I suppose.” Gavin snorted. “But I would not have guessed such an interest to be found in our Captain Poole if you’d paid me a chest full of gold.”
Nathaniel chuckled. “A miracle of God.”
“A miracle, indeed,” Abigail said, and they exchanged another intimate glance.
Shaking off the rueful weight that had settled on her shoulders, Hope stood again. “Well, I, for one, shall be glad to finally get off this island.” Her sharp gaze unavoidably landed on Nathaniel. “And be on my way home.” He did not glance her way. Instead, he stood with the regal authority of a prince, his hair fluttering in the breeze, his eyes flitting about the camp, toward the hut, Gavin, Abigail, anywhere but on Hope.
“We must prepare,” Abigail said. “The captain wishes to set sail at midnight.”
“Why not wait until morning?” Hope’s nerves tensed as she thought about boarding a pirate ship.
“We sail with the high tide, no doubt,” Gavin said.
Hope lowered her chin. “But we must bury Mrs. Hendrick.”
Abigail approached her and took her hand. “And so we shall.”
After the dismal funeral, Hope and Abigail convinced Mr. Hendrick to allow them to take Elise back to their hut. They lay down with her, longing to console the devastated child and perhaps allow her some rest before their journey at midnight.
***
“What an incredible turn of events. I am beyond astonishment.” Nathaniel scratched his head and stared out upon the ebony waves.
Abigail chuckled. “I can’t imagine what my face must have looked like when he first asked me. I’m surprised I didn’t scare him off.”
Her eyes sparkled in the moonlight, and Nathaniel thanked God for providing him someone with whom he could discuss spiritual matters. Since he’d left Charles Towne, he’d missed his nightly chats with Reverend Halloway. “And after all you told him, he still wishes to hear more?”
“Yes. Apparently he has a Bible on board but has been hesitant to even touch it.” Abigail stretched her legs out and crossed them at the ankle. “I suspect some miracle happened to him, or perhaps he saw something that convinced him of God’s mighty power.”
“God does work in mysterious ways.” Nathaniel rubbed the back of his neck. “For He has sent us a pirate who fears Him.” He laughed but then sobered when he saw a shiver run through Abigail.
“I have to admit, I was rather frightened of him at first.” She swallowed. “Something in his eyes—a look I have seen once before.”
Fear tightened her expression, giving Nathaniel pause. Through all their terrifying circumstances, Abigail had always been the epitome of courage. He longed to inquire what type of look she referred to and where she’d seen it before, but he dared not pry. “I have noticed the way he looks at you. He fancies you.” Nathaniel rubbed his burning side and stared at the dark horizon, lit up by occasional sparks of lightning.
Abigail sniffed and raised a hand to her nose. When her eyes met his, they glistened with tears.
“What is it? Have I upset you?”
“Nay. I fear the pirate’s attentions have resurrected a bad memory, ’tis all.” She gave a little smile and brushed the hair from her face.
Nathaniel eased an arm around her shoulders and drew her close. “May I?”
She nodded and leaned her head against him. “Forgive me, Nathaniel. ’Tis been quite a difficult day.”
“I am concerned for your safety,” he said. “You play a dangerous game with a dangerous man.”
“There is no other way. Besides, how could I deny a man’s true interest in God?”
“I will do all I can to protect you.” Nathaniel squeezed her, knowing she wouldn’t misread it as anything other than brotherly comfort.
“And Hope. You will protect Hope?”
He nodded, but he did not wish to think of Hope right now. Mainly because he’d done naught but think of her the entire day, wondering what to do about his rising affections for her, wondering if God were not keeping them kindled for a reason.
***
Hope shot up from her bed of leaves and tossed a hand to her chest, where the wild beat of her heart pounded against her palm. A dream. It was only a dream. As she searched her mind for the remembrance of it, it escaped her like a mist before the sun. As her eyes grew accustomed to the pitch-black night, she glanced down and saw Elise curled up beside her, her puffs of deep sleep echoing throughout the hut. A dark void loomed on her other side, where Abigail had retired. Where had she gone? Hope had not heard her leave.
Thud, thud, thud sounded outside the hut, no doubt what had woken her so suddenly. Her heart squeezed. Some animal? Or worse, a pirate, besotted with rum, seeking a companion. And she had no idea where Nathaniel or Gavin were. Slowly rising so as not to make a noise, she inched toward the flap and peered behind it.
A dark form sitting by the fire came into view. Gavin. Easing the cloth aside, she emerged from the hut. He turned to face her, a grin alighting upon his lips. “Forgive me, Hope. I didn’t mean to wake you.” He held a thick stick in his hand.
“What are you doing?” A breeze swirled around her, and Hope wrapped her arms across her chest.
“I couldn’t sleep.” He sighed. “I didn’t realize I was making noise.” He dropped the stick, an eager look in his eyes, and Hope grew worried that, once again, she found herself alone with this man who made her feel beautiful and cherished and desired. But was it really love he felt for her? Or just a shadow of the real thing—an impost
er drawn by her beauty and not by who she truly was on the inside? For no matter how wonderful that type of attention felt, Hope knew it would not be enough for her anymore. Not after Nathaniel.
“Did you see where Abigail went?”
He cocked his head toward the beach. “About an hour ago.”
“Alone? With all these pirates on the island?” Hope bit her lip.
“She seems to handle herself well enough with the mongrels.” Gavin shrugged, his voice nonchalant.
“What do you have against her?”
“Abigail? Nothing. I have naught in common with the woman, ’tis all, and besides, she is married to her God.”
Hope sighed. As was Nathaniel. Why couldn’t she accept that fact as easily as Gavin had?
Clutching her skirts, she stepped over a log, then headed out of the camp. Regardless of Gavin’s lack of concern, Hope must ensure Abigail’s safety. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a brisk wind laden with rain ruffled her long hair.
“I’ll go with you.” Gavin gave a frustrated huff and hurried to join her.
Cool sand eased between her toes as the gentle crash of waves washed over her agitation. But it quickly returned when her thoughts drifted to the funeral. A most dreary affair, especially for Miss Elise. The poor child had stood beside her father in abject despondency, and not once had he offered her an ounce of comfort. Her swollen red eyes had kept shifting from her mother’s wrapped body laid gently in the earth, to Hope, as if somehow Hope could raise her mother from the dead. Hope would have given anything at that moment to possess that kind of power—the kind of power of which Nathaniel’s God boasted. But where had He been when Eleanor had cried out in pain? When Eleanor had died?
Nathaniel had spoken over Eleanor’s grave, sweet words that gave her life and her death meaning and that spoke of a resurrection to glory someday. But Hope had a hard time swallowing any of the placating soliloquy, though a part of her longed to believe it more than anything.
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