by Jenna Stone
Shipwrecked
By Jenna Stone
“There is never a time or place for true love. It happens accidentally, in a heartbeat, in a single, flashing, throbbing moment.”
~Sarah Dessen
Shipwrecked
Chapter One
Twenty-four was certainly not too young to die; the problem was that Rowan Murray had never intended to die a virgin.
“Lord have mercy….we’re all goin’ tae die!” bellowed the frantic voice of the sailor at the top of the stairs, thin gray hair plastered to his face from the combination of the whipping wind and the frothing, angry sea. He braced himself in the doorway that led below decks to the cargo compartment of the ship and glanced nervously at the crashing waves and then down at the men kept in the dark belly of the ship. The sailor gritted his teeth together, his conscious having temporarily edged out his instinct to survive, and he struggled down the stairs towards the prisoners. “Get ye on deck sae that ye can jump overboard.”
“We bloody can’t move!” Rowan yelled back over the thundering of the sea, “They’ve got us shackled tae the side of the ship. Do ye have keys?”
The ship rolled heavily from side to side in the storm, and buckets of rain gushed down the open stairwell into the cargo hold of the ship. Rowan knew that if they were not unshackled now, they would drown for sure, helpless as the ship was torn apart in the storm.
“Aye, I’ve got the keys. Spose’ it won’t hurt tae let ye have a fightin’ chance,” the man said as he braced himself in the staircase and ambled down into the cargo hold, fumbling with a large iron key ring.
“Him first,” Rowan insisted, pointing his shackled wrists at his younger brother Malcolm.
Rowan noticed the effort that Malcolm was putting into remaining composed despite the perils of their present situation. Caught somewhere between a boy and a man, Malcolm remained awkward and gangly. Rowan thought he looked so young with his shortly cropped black hair and freckled skin. Rowan said a silent prayer of protection for his brother.
Please Lord, let him make it. Give him a chance tae survive.
Malcolm’s eyes were wild with fear as he held his wrists up so that the man could fit the key into his shackles. Water continued to pour into the cargo hold, and the ship creaked and rolled. The thick boards were on the verge of cracking from the surge of the storm.
Their unlikely savior, sun wrinkled skin covered in salt and mouth spouting a continuous stream of filthy words, knit his eyebrows together in concentration against the swaying of the ship as he struggled to fit the key into the lock of Malcolm’s shackles. A satisfying click ensued, popping the iron cuff from the boy’s right wrist. The rolling of the ship made it difficult for the man to fit the key into the cuff binding Malcolm’s left wrist, and he braced himself against the hull, cursing under his breath as he forced the key into the lock. The second shackle released, and Malcolm stepped away from the wall, trying to find his balance as he rubbed his wrists that had been chaffed raw from weeks of restraint.
“Hurry, man! Unlock them!” Malcolm exclaimed, desperate to have his brothers freed so that they might also have a chance at survival.
“You do it!” the man huffed impatiently as he thrust the key ring into Malcolm’s trembling hands and bolted up the stairs. “It’s every man for himself at this point!” the man shouted over his shoulder as he retreated above deck.
“We’ve time yet, don’t panic,” Rowan spoke calmly seeking to reassure his little brother as he raised his shackled wrists.
Malcolm fought to maintain his balance as the ship bucked sharply to the left, and another wave of water crashed down the stairwell. He slipped on the cascade of water and fell to his knees, clinging to the keys for dear life.
“Bloody hell!” he cursed as he righted himself, trying to brace his body against the wall between his brothers.
“Watch yer mouth,” scolded Quinn, wet chestnut hair plastered to his face. “Ye can do this, take yer time, get Rowan first,” he coached, watching his youngest brother fumble with the key ring.
Rowan again held up his wrists and Malcolm forced the key into the shackle binding his left wrist. The lock sprung open and Rowan grabbed the keys with his left hand, and began to unlock his right wrist. The lock was stuck, crusted heavily with a thick layer of rust from many years at sea. Rowan forced the key desperately into the lock, turning it slightly one way and then the other, willing himself not to panic. The key begrudgingly turned against the rust and after a moment of struggling, the lock finally gave way.
The ship lurched to the right, causing Rowan and Malcolm to be thrown hard against the opposite wall of the hull. Water spilled into the hold, and the ship now lay almost completely on its side.
The ship was going under.
Quinn was now suspended up in the air, his shackles hanging from the wall that was now the ceiling.
“Go without me!” Quinn screamed madly at his brothers. “Ye canna save me, but save yerselves!”
“We’re not leaving ye!” Rowan bellowed against the roar of the ocean as he fought to right himself in the water that was quickly filling the hold, fist clenching the precious keys, protecting them from the angry motions of the sinking ship. Watching his brother dangle helplessly above him still shackled to the wall of the ship forced bile to rise in Rowan’s throat. If there was one thing that he hated, it was being helpless.
A wave hit the side of the ship with such force that the timbers of the hull threatened to give way, creaking and splintering with the force of the blow. The ship rocked back into an upright position, a final act of refusal before it would be claimed by the sea.
Rowan rushed towards his brother and scrambled to fit the iron key into the shackle that tied his brother to the ship. His hand shook and his body fought with every muscle fiber to remain anchored to the slippery floor. The lock on the right shackle popped free, and another wave of water rushed down the stairs, knocking the key ring to the floor.
Rowan’s heart sank as he tried in vain to reclaim his grip on the keys, only to watch them slide into the watery depths.
Malcolm came flying though the air from behind his brother, diving towards the keys.
“Got ‘em!” he shouted, triumphantly raising the keys above his head as he staggered towards Quinn, boyish smile lingering proudly on his face.
The ship lurched again and the sound of splintering wood filled the hull. This was it. The ship was doomed now, breaking apart as it succumbed to the pummeling of the relentless waves.
“Leave me!” Quinn shouted, challenging Rowan to disobey him with all of the authority that he could muster. He glared at his younger brother with steely gray eyes. Quinn wanted to die.
“She wouldna want this for ye, brother,” Rowan said, brushing aside the chestnut hair that was plastered to his face aside. “She’d want ye tae fight, tae live,” Rowan said, green eyes intense as he started down his older brother.
“I want tae die, let me go tae be with her,” Quinn sobbed as he slapped away Malcolm’s hand that held the key to his salvation from the shackle. “Go! Save Malcolm!” Quinn ordered, body racked with emotion.
“I’ll bloody knock ye out and jump overboard with ye, but I’m not leavin’ ye here, Quinn!” Devon challenged as he held his brother’s free arm and motioned to Malcolm to unlock his other wrist.
Malcolm struggled to fit the key into the lock, and forced the key to turn, popping open the lock. Rowan jerked Quinn’s arm and motioned towards the stairs, but Quinn stood fast, steely gaze intent on challenging his younger brother. Rowan met his brother’s stare with ferocious intensity, eyebrows knit together over piercing green eyes. Accepting his defeat, Quinn followed his brothers up the stairs and into the mouth of the storm, knowing that if he didn’t Rowan would
knock him out at carry him.
***
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Anna Stanton stood as still as a statue, blonde hair plaited back in a simple braid that rested on the rough fabric of her gray woven dress. She stood straight and tall against the cold flagstones by the window, seeking to mold her body into the ancient stones of her family home. Thin but agile fingers reached out ever so slowly to push aside the heavy damask draperies, ever so slightly. Slowly, cautiously her fingers drew back the fabric as she tilted her head to peek outside.
Bang! Bang! Bang! The sizeable fist of man dressed in full military regalia pounded against the heavy wooden door of Stanton Place. “I know you’re in there!” his voice boomed as he continued to beat on the door. “I’ll be back this afternoon with the magistrate if you do not open the door right this instant!”
Anna let the draperies fall back into place and exhaled slowly, leaning her head back against the cool stones.
“Damn collectors,” she whispered into the silence of the foyer, hanging her head in defeat.
This is not how my life was supposed to have turned out.
Straightening her spine, Anna reluctantly left her hiding place and walked briskly towards the heavy wooden door. She unlatched the bolt and slid the heavy guard bar out of the way, then pulled with all of her might to swing the massive door open. The hinges creaked loudly, needing oiled desperately. Anna grumbled to herself, hating to watch her once beautiful home fall into a state of disrepair. The downward spiral of her mother’s health and her family’s financial ruin were almost more than she could bear. Almost.
Forcing her chin up and squaring her shoulders for battle, Anna smiled as she opened the door.
“May I help you, Sir?” she asked sweetly, smiling slightly in an effort to hide her annoyance as she greeted the bill collector standing in the doorway.
“Indeed I am hoping that you may be able to,” said the man, bedecked in a red velvet jacket heavy with medals and military honors that buttoned at the waist, said single button straining to cover a rather large pot belly.
His pale blue eyes looked inquisitively at Anna, causing her to glance away, suddenly uncomfortable as she felt a flush rise up across her face. His face was punctuated with an awkward mustache, waxed at the ends in a manner to make it curl up unnaturally.
“Are you Miss Stanton?” the man inquired, seeming to already know the answer as he toyed with the golden chain of his pocket watch. The tedium of exchanging forced niceties played openly across his face.
“Yes, Sir,” Anna said, regaining her composure as he spoke her name.
Anna felt a sudden pang of longing for the wait staff that had been let go more than a year ago. No well born lady should be answering the door like a common butler. Despite her financial ruin, Anna still held an air of pride and tradition close to her heart when the Stanton name was spoken.
“Murdock’s the name, Colonel Meriwether Murdock. Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said, smiling stoutly beneath the awkward mustache as he extended his hand towards Anna. She extended her own out of habit, years of training made this motion automatic, and found her fingers quickly enveloped in Colonel Murdock’s complete with a kiss on the top of her knuckles. His mustached felt surprisingly scratchy on her skin, causing her to jerk back unexpectedly from his touch.
“How exactly can I help you, Colonel Murdock?” Anna said tersely, unconsciously wiping the back of her hand on the fabric of her skirt.
“I’ve a proposition for you, Ms. Stanton. I understand that your family has come across, shall we say… difficult times?” Murdock said coolly, testing the waters with his question. His pale blue eyes watched Anna for a reaction, yet her face was like stone as she listened.
Colonel Murdock knew of her family’s financial ruin, he knew that her father had squandered generations of riches on gambling debts and mistresses, leaving Anna and her Mother nearly destitute. His sources had enlightened him to the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Norman Stanton’s only daughter was proud, headstrong and determined to save her family’s name.
She was perfect from her fine boned figure to her golden hair; in fact, she was just what he needed. The excitement of finally seeing Anna Stanton with his own eyes after passing weeks making the inquiries that had led him to her door was enough to cause butterflies of giddy excitement to flutter in Murdock’s stomach.
“If you are here to collect on my Father’s debts, you know damn well that there is nothing left to collect!” Anna said sternly, suddenly angered by this vile man, the next in a long stream of similar individuals that she had been burdened with dealing with since her father’s untimely death.
“Let’s not beat around the bush, Anna. What if I offered you a solution? A solution that would fix all of this…” Murdock offered, eyebrows arched in enticement as he looked past Anna and into the shambles of her formerly well furnished, prestigious home.
Anna was suddenly self conscious as she watched Murdock’s eyes scan the bare flagstone walls and the empty foyer of Stanton Place. Her pride stung as she remembered the luxurious tapestries that had hung on the walls of Stanton Place and the imported furniture that had filled its rooms.
It wasn’t that she had particularly loved any of these fine things, in fact it wasn’t that at all. Anna knew that she could live quite happily without any of the paintings, tapestries or hand carved furniture that had adorned the Stanton Place of her youth. The problem was that her Mother had needed these things. As each of her prized possessions were sold at auction or carried away by eager neighbors, Anna had watched a little more of the life drain out of her dear Mother. The ruin of Stanton Place was killing Claire Stanton, piece by piece.
“Have you ever thought of traveling to the New World, Miss Stanton?” Murdock asked his loaded question, eyes shimmering with anticipation.
“Let’s not beat around the bush, Colonel Murdock,” Anna said sternly, parlaying Murdock with his own words. She was quickly growing annoyed with Murdock’s vague questions, and her annoyance was evident as she folded her arms across her chest and took a defensive stance in the doorway.
“I like your spunk, Miss Stanton,” Murdock said appreciatively, never having liked the games that most women played. He preferred the direct approach that men more often took. “I quite believe that your current situation has made you wise beyond your years in the way of dealing with business,” Murdock remarked approvingly as he beheld the lovely young lady standing defensively in the doorway of the shambles of her home. She was absolutely, positively perfect, and Murdock was determined to make this proposition take hold.
“Lay it on me, Murdock,” Anna said, shifting her weight to one hip as she held Murdock’s appraising gaze. Anna Stanton was not the kind of woman who was easily intimidated.
“I’ll be frank with you, Miss Stanton, and I hope that I do not offend your fair notions by doing so,” he said, eyebrows rising again as if in question. “There is a lack of well born women folk that are willing to travel to the New World. At present, men fair out number womenfolk four to one in the colonies and many of our fine English Officers are hard pressed to find well bred women to take to wife.”
Murdock paused, looking up at Anna who was standing like a statue in the doorway, considering the words that he had just spoken. It donned on him that she had not invited him inside the house, and that she stood like a sentry, guarding the doorway. The only difference was that she was a much more beautiful than the typical sentry. She had striking blonde hair and her hazel eyes were bright and clear, resting beneath brows that were knitted together in contemplation of his proposal. Her nose was straight and her lips were full. Murdock noticed that she chewed on the corner of her full bottom lip, a habit that he knew that she would stop if only she had been aware that she was doing it. Anna Stanton was a rare beauty, poor or not. Murdock knew that his client would be most pleased, most pleased indeed if he could interest Miss Stanton in the proposal of marriage.
“My client wishes to fin
d a well bred English Lady to take to wife. I know that despite your present circumstances that you were born and bred into privilege, Miss Stanton. You are exactly the kind of Lady that my client is looking for.” Murdock said hopefully, hanging eagerly on Anna’s response.
“And what sort of financial compensation would this marriage entail?” Anna asked directly, chin held high and teeth gritted together. She couldn’t believe that she had been brought to this; contemplating selling herself to save her Mother, to save the Stanton Family name.
“My client is an Officer in the King’s Army in the New World. He would pay handsomely for a bride of your upbringing, of your status,” Murdock ventured, seeking to bolster Anna’s pride.
“How much?” Anna asked sternly, shifting her weight to her other hip and unknowingly scrunching her eyebrows together into a fierce scowl.
“Enough to fix all of this, enough to bring Stanton Place back to its former glory.”
Anna thought for a minute, again chewing absentmindedly on the flesh of her lower lip.
“I’ll do it,” she whispered, not believing that she had uttered the words out loud. “I’ll do it,” she repeated, this time with a ring of pride in her voice. She hoped that her father would be proud of her, and had the sudden image the Earl of Stanton might just be rolling over in his grave.
Chapter Two
“Stay together!” Rowan thundered against the sheets of rain and ocean water that pummeled his face as he looked into his brother’s eyes. He knew that staying together was their only chance at survival. The storm raged around them, and the Mary Catherine bucked to the right, preparing for her final descent into the depths of the Atlantic.
Rowan grabbed his younger brother’s arm a little too firmly, causing Malcolm to wince. Fear played openly across the boy’s face, and the trust that shown in his eyes when he looked up at Rowan caused Rowan’s heart to clench.
