Bookish Musings, Banter & More
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About the Author:
Best-selling author of The Legacy of the Kingâ€™s Pirates series, MaryLu Tyndall writes full time and makes her home with her husband, six children, and four cats on Californiaâ€™s coast. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but expose Christians to their full potential in Christ. (ISBN#9781602601567, 318pp, $10.97)
But he who received the seed on stony places, this is he who hears the word and immediately receives it with joy; yet he has no root in himself, but endures only for a while. For when tribulation or persecution arises because of the word, immediately he stumbles.
Matthew 13: 20-21
August 1713, English Channel off Portsmouth, England
This was Dajon Waiteâ€™s last chance. If he didnâ€™t sail his fatherâ€™s merchant ship and the cargo she held safely into harbor, his future would be tossed to the wind. With his head held high, he marched across the deck of the Lady Em and gazed over the choppy seas of the channel, expecting at any minute to see the lights of Portsmouth pierce the gray shroud of dusk. Another hour and his mission would be completed with success. It had taken two years before his father had trusted him to captain the most prized vessel in his merchant fleet, the Lady Emâ€”named after Dajonâ€™s mother, Emilyâ€”especially on a journey that had taken him past hostile France and Spain and then far into the pirate-infested waters off the African coast.
Fisting his hands on his hips, Dajon puffed out his chest and drew a deep breath of salty air and musky earthâ€”the smell of home. Returning with a shipload of ivory, gold, and pepper from the Gold Coast, Dajon could almost see the beaming approval on his fatherâ€™s sea-weathered face. Finally Dajon would prove himself an equal to his older brother, Theodoreâ€”obedient, perfect Theodoreâ€”who never let his father down. Dajon, however, had been labeled naught but capricious and unruly, the son who possessed neither the courage for command nor the brains for business.
Fog rolled in from the sea, obscuring the sunset into a dull blend of muted colors as it stole the remaining light of what had been a glorious day. Bowing his head, Dajon thanked God for His blessing and protection on the voyage.
â€œA sail, a sail!â€ a coarse voice blared from above.
Plucking the spyglass from his belt, Dajon held it to his eye. â€œWhere away, Mules?â€
â€œDirectly off our lee, Captain.â€
Dajon swerved the glass to the port and adjusted it as Cudney, his first mate, halted beside him.
â€œShe seems to be foundering, Captain,â€ Mules shouted.
Through the glass, the dark outline of a ship came into focus, the whites of her sails stark against the encroaching night. Gray smoke spiraled up from her quarterdeck as sailors scrambled across her in a frenzy. The British flag flapped a harried plea from her mainmast.
â€œHard to larboard,â€ he yelled aft, lowering the glass. â€œHead straight for her, Mr. Nelson.â€
â€œStraight for her, sir.â€
â€œBegginâ€™ your pardon, Captain.â€ Cudney gave him a sideways glance. â€œBut didnâ€™t your father give explicit orders never to approach an unknown vessel?â€
â€œMy father is not the captain of this ship, and Iâ€™ll thank you to obey my orders without question.â€ Dajon stiffened his lips, tired of having his decisions challenged. True, he had failed on two of his fatherâ€™s prior venturesâ€”one to the West Indies where a hurricane sunk his ship, and the other where he ran aground on the shoals off Portugal. Neither had been his fault. But this time, things would be different. Perhaps his father would even promote Dajon to head overseer of his affairs.
With a nod, Cudney turned. â€œMr. Blake, Mr. Gibes, prepare to luff, if you please.â€ His bellowing voice echoed over the decks, sending the men up the shrouds.
â€œWho is she?â€ Cudney held out his hand for the glass.
â€œA merchant ship, perhaps.â€ Dajon handed him the telescope then gripped the railing as the Lady Em veered to larboard, sending a spray of seawater over her decks. â€œBut sheâ€™s British, and sheâ€™s in trouble.â€
The ship lumbered over the agitated waves. Dajon watched Cudney as he steadied the glass on his eye and his boots on the sodden deck. Heâ€™d been a good first mate and a trusted friend. A low whistle spilled from his mouth as he twisted the glass for a better look.
â€œPray tell, Mr. Cudney, what has caught your eye, one of those new shipâ€™s wheels youâ€™ve been coveting?â€
â€œNay, Captain. But something nearly as beautifulâ€”a lady.â€
Dajon snatched the glass back as the Lady Em climbed a rising swell and then tromped down the other side. Sails snapped in the rising wind above him. Bracing his boots on the deck, he focused the glass on the merchant ship. A woman clung to the foremast, terror distorting her lovely features. She raised a delicate hand to her forehead as if she were going to faint. Red curls fluttered in the wind behind her. Heat flooded Dajon despite the chill of the channel. Lowering the glass, he tapped it into the palm of his hand, loathing himself for his shameless reaction. Hadnâ€™t his weakness for the female gender already caused enough pain?
Yet clearly the vessel was in trouble.
â€œWe shall come along side her,â€ Dajon ordered.
Cudney glared at the ship. â€œSomething is not right. I can feel it in my gut.â€
â€œNonsense. Where is your chivalry?â€ Dajon smiled grimly at his friend, ignoring the hair bristling on the back of his own neck.
Cudneyâ€™s dark eyes shot to Dajon. â€œBut your fatherâ€”â€
â€œEnough!â€ Dajon snapped. â€œMy father did not intend for me to allow a lady to drown. Besides, pirates would not dare sail so close to Englandâ€”especially to Portsmouth, where so many of His Majestyâ€™s warships are anchored.â€ Dajon glanced back at the foundering ship, now only half a knot off their bow. Smoke poured from her waist, curling like a snake into the dark sky. Left to burn, the fire would sink her within an hour. â€œSurely you do not suspect a woman of piracy?â€
Cudney cocked one brow. â€œBegging your pardon, Captain, but I have seen stranger things on these seas.â€
Faith Louise Westcott flung her red curls behind her and held a quivering hand to her breast, nausea rising in her throat at her idiotic display. How did women feign such weakness without losing the contents of their stomachs?
â€œThey â€™ave taken the bait, mistress.â€ A sinister chuckle filled the breeze.
â€œOh, thank heavens.â€ Faith released the mast. Planting a hand on her hip, she gave Lucas a mischievous grin. â€œWell, what are you waiting for? Ready the men.â€
â€œAye, aye.â€ The bulky first mate winked, and then scuttled across the deck, his bald head gleaming in the light from the lantern hanging on the mainmast.
After checking the pistol stuffed in the sash of her gown and the one strapped to her calf, Faith sauntered to the railing to get a better look at her latest victim, a sleek, two-masted brigantine. The orange, white, and blue of the Dutch flag fluttered from her mizzen. A very nice prize indeed. One that would bring her even closer to winning the private war she wagedâ€”a war for the survival of her and her sisters.
The oncoming ship sat low in the water, its hold no doubt packed with valuable cargo. Faith grinned. With this ship and the one she had plundered earlier, loaded with precious spices and silks, she was well on her way to amassing the fortune that would provide for her independence and that of her sistersâ€”at least the two of them that were left unfettered by matrimony.
She allowed her thoughts to drift for a moment to Charity, the oldest. Last year their father had forced her into a union with Lord Villement, a vile, perverse man who had oppressed and mistreated her beyond what a woman should endure. Faith feared for her sisterâ€™s safety and prayed for God to deliver Charity, but to no avail.
Then, of course, there was the incident with Hope, their younger sister.
That was when Faith had stopped praying.
She would rather die than see her two younger sisters fettered to abusive men, and the only way to avoid that fate was to shield them with their own fortune. Cringing, she stifled the fury bubbling in her stomach. She mustnâ€™t think of it now. She had a ship to plunder, and this was as much for Charity as it was for any of them.
The bowsprit of the brigantine bowed in obedience to her as it plunged over the white-capped swells. Gazing into the hazy mist, Faith longed to get a peek at the ninnies who had been so easily duped by her ruse but dared not raise the spyglass to her eye. Women didnâ€™t know how to use such contraptions, after all.
Putting on her most flirtatious smile, she waved at her prey, beckoning the fools onward, then she scanned the deck as her crew rushed to their stations. Aboard her ship, she was in control; she was master of her life, her futureâ€”here and nowhere else. And oh how she loved it!
Lucasâ€™s large frame appeared beside her. â€œThe rest of the men be waitinâ€™ yer command below hatches, mistress.â€ He smacked his oversized lips together in a sound Faith had become accustomed to before a battle. Nodding, she scanned her ship. Wilson manned the helm, Grayson and Lambert hovered over the fire, pretending to put it out, and Kane and Mac clambered up the ratlines in a pretense of terror. She spotted Morgan pacing the special perch Faith had nailed into the mainmast just for him. She whistled and the red macaw halted, bobbed his head up and down, and squawked, â€œMan the guns, man the guns!â€
Faith chuckled. She had purchased the bird from a trader off Morocco and named him after Captain Henry Morgan, the greatest pirate of all time. The feisty parrot had been a fine addition to her crew.
Bates, her master gunner, hobbled to her side, wringing his thick hands together in anticipation. â€œCan I just fire one shot at â€™em, Capâ€™n? The guns grow cold from lack of use.â€ His expression twisted into a pout that reminded her of Hope, her younger sister. â€œI wonâ€™t hurt â€™em none, ye have me word.â€
â€œI cannot take that chance, Bates. You know the rules,â€ Faith said as the gunnerâ€™s soot-blackened face fell in disappointment. â€œNo one gets hurt, or we abandon the prize. But I promise we shall test the guns soon enough.â€
With a grunt, Bates wobbled away and disappeared below.
Returning her gaze to her unsuspecting prey, Faith inhaled a breath of the crisp air. Smoke bit her throat and nose, but she stifled a cough as the thrill of her impending victory charged through her, setting every nerve aflame. The merchant ship was nigh upon them. She could already make out the worried expressions upon the crewâ€™s faces as they charged to her rescue.
This is for you, Charity, and for you, Mother.
Heavy fog blanketed the two ships in gray that darkened with each passing minute. Faith tugged her shawl tighter against her body, both to ward off the chill and to hide the pistol in her sash. A vision of her motherâ€™s pale face formed in the fog before her, blood marring the sheets on the birthing bed where she lay.
Take care of your sisters, Faith.
A burst of wind chilled Faithâ€™s moist cheeks. A tear splattered onto the deck by her shoes before she brushed the rest from her face. â€œI will, Mother. I promise.â€
â€œAhoy there!â€ A booming voice shattered her memories.
She raised her hand in greeting toward the brigantine as it heaved ten yards off their starboard beam. â€œAhoy, kind sir. Thank God you have arrived in time,â€ she yelled back, sending the sailors scurrying across the deck. Soon, they lowered a cockboat, filled it with men, and shoved off.
A twinge of guilt poked at Faithâ€™s resolve. These men had come to her aid with kind intentions. She swallowed hard, trying to drown her nagging conscience. They were naught but rich merchants, she told herself, and she, merely a Robin Hood of the seas, taking from the rich to feed the poor. She had exhausted all legal means of acquiring the money she needed, and present society offered her no other choice.
The boat thumped against her hull, and she nodded at Kane and Mac, who had jumped down from the shrouds and tossed the rope ladder over the side.
â€œPermission to come aboard?â€ The man who appeared to be the captain shouted toward Lucas as he swung his legs over the bulwarks, but his eyes were upon Faith.
By all means. Faith shoved a floppy fishermanâ€™s hat atop her head, obscuring her features from his view, and smiled sweetly.
â€œAye, I beg ye, be quick about it afore our ship burns to a cinder,â€ the massive bald man beckoned to Dajon.
Dajon hesitated. He knew he should obey his fatherâ€™s instructions, he knew he shouldnâ€™t risk the hoard of goods in his hold, he knew he should pay heed to the foreboding of dread that now sank like a anchor in his stomach, but all he could see was the admiring smile of the red-haired beauty, and he led his men over the bulwarks.
After directing them to assist in putting out the fire, he marched toward the dark, bald man and bowed.
â€œCaptain Dajon Waite at your service.â€
When his gaze drifted to the lady, she slunk into the shadows by the foremast, her features lost beneath the cover of her hat. Odd. Somehow he had envisioned a much warmer reception. At the very least, some display of feminine appreciation.
â€œGive â€™em no quarter! Give â€™em no quarter!â€ a shrill voice shrieked, drawing Dajonâ€™s attention behind him to a large red parrot perched on a peg jutting from the mainmast.
A pinprick of fear stabbed him.
â€œCaptain,â€ one of his crew called from the quarterdeck. â€œThe ship ainâ€™t on fire. Itâ€™s just a barrel with flaming rubbish inside it!â€
The anchor that had sunk in Dajonâ€™s stomach dropped into his boots with an ominous clank.
He spun back around, hoping for an explanation, but all he received was a sinister grin on the bald manâ€™s mouth.
Tentacles of alarm seized Dajon, sucking away his confidence, his reason, his pride. Surely he could not have been this daft. He glanced back at the Lady Em, bobbing in the sea beside themâ€”the pride of his fatherâ€™s fleet.
â€œTo battle, men!â€ The woman roared in a voice belying her genderâ€”a voice that pummeled Dajonâ€™s heart to dust.
Dozens of armed pirates spat from the hatches onto the deck. Brandishing weapons, they hurtled toward his startled crew. One by one, his men dropped their buckets to the wooden planks with hollow thuds and slowly raised their hands. Their anxious gazes shot to Dajon, seeking his command. The pirates chortled. Dajonâ€™s fear exploded into a searing rage. They were surrounded.
The woman drew a pistol from her sash. Dajon could barely make out the tilted lift of her lips. He wiped the sweat from his brow and prayed to God that he would wake up from this nightmare.
â€œI thank you, Captain, for your chivalrous rescue.â€ The woman pointed her pistol at him and cocked it with a snap. â€œBut I believe Iâ€™ll be taking over your ship.â€
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