Northern Lights Trilogy (90 page)

Elsa watched the pieces on the board, then laughed aloud as the solution presented itself to her like a horse emerging from a foggy field. Slowly, delicately, she reached out and moved her queen into the corner. “You seem to ‘see’ much, Mason, but you do not understand any of it. Checkmate.”

Mason’s rook was now wedged in front of his king, and two dark pawns stood at attention next to the rook. The king sat pinned behind his own men. Elsa’s queen gazed down the long empty corridor of space between them. There was no move to block. All of Mason’s key pieces were out of range. The king could move one space in either direction, but it would not be enough.

Mason let go of her hair and went around to the other side of the board. “Impossible,” he muttered, staring at his side of the board. Just then, the door opened behind him, and Mason glanced over his shoulder. “I told you we were not to be disturbed—”

Elsa gasped as Karl and three others slid into the room, pistols drawn. Karl! He was here! How on earth had he managed to get on board unnoticed? He motioned for her to rise as he glanced over the board and smiled.

He stared right into Mason’s eyes. “I think she’s won.”

On shaking legs, Elsa rose and went to him. He moved in front of her as the others searched the rest of the captain’s suite. They came back, indicating they were alone.

“You realize, of course, Martensen, that this is a declaration of war.”

“You’ll be the first casualty,” Karl said. “Go ahead, Dutton. Declare it. It will be a pleasure to place a bullet between your eyes.”

“And call my men to their posts with that shot? I think not. Your only hope is to swim for shore and hope we do not pursue you. You will meet a painful death, I assure you.” He looked over Karl’s shoulder at Elsa. “And Captain Ramstad, there will be no more games. You will be mine.”

Karl nudged her farther behind him. “Be quiet, Dutton. Your threats are no longer a concern to us. We will leave your ship now, and you will drown as the Emperor’s cannon blow your ship to pieces.” Karl nodded at his men. “Tie him up.”

Just then, a shot was fired. It was merely seconds after that that the group inside the cabin could hear an alarm sounding. “Get in that room!” Karl yelled at Mason, nodding toward the dining room. “Go!” He turned to Elsa. “Get out of here. Get rid of those skirts, dive into the water, and swim with all you have in you!” Two of the men took her arms and hustled her out of the cabin.

“Karl—”

“Go!”

They were just outside when Elsa heard another shot, this time from inside Mason’s cabin. Had Karl shot Mason? Or had the pirate secured his own weapon and killed Karl? “Karl!” she yelled, but the men pushed her onward, past the fellows who were barricading the doors from belowdecks. More shots were fired, blowing holes in the deck and narrowly missing Karl’s men above. Only thoughts of Eve and Kristian kept her from resisting her escorts and returning to Mason’s cabin. Grim-faced, and without a thought of modesty, Elsa reached for her knife and cut away the cloth from her legs so that she might not drown.

She reached for the two men at her side, guarding her. “I will go. I will go if you will go see to Captain Martensen. You have done your duty. Please be sure that the captain fares as well as I.”

One nodded and she looked to the other. As soon as she secured his silent promise as well, she climbed the rail and dove off, never feeling freer than she did as her hands and head met the cold water. Beside her, others dove in as well. Not knowing where she should head to, she followed the others blindly, hoping it wouldn’t be far. Even with the skirts cut away, her outfit was not meant for such an exercise. The bodice was tight, and her corset chafed. She paused for a moment to look back.

Chaos reigned on deck. It was apparent even in the dim lantern light that the pirates had emerged and were fighting those left on deck. She could not see well enough to ascertain whether Karl and the others were among those who remained. Half of her wanted to return and fight them herself; the other half begged her onward toward safety. Gunfire grew louder, the shots creating eerie flashes in the night. Yet it was only as several shots sank into the waters nearby that Elsa turned and again followed the men who were growing distant. She had to live. If not for herself, or for Karl, for her children. The idea was as clear in her mind as if God had spoken.

I go
, she prayed silently, swimming with everything she had in her.
I go, but please be with Karl
.

She continued swimming, no reassuring response coming to her heart. She reached the shore, and the men helped her into a skiff. Another was loaded and traveled beside them, intent upon giving word, she learned, to the waiting ships that they were clear to attack. “But what of Captain Martensen?” she asked.

“Don’t worry, Cap’n, he’ll be fine,” said one.

“He’ll be along shortly. We’ll leave some men and a skiff for him an’ the others.”

With a sigh she looked on as the men rowed off among choppy seas to the point and then around it. She could not see anything in the black night until they were nearly upon the first ship, the
Tempest
.

“I need to get to the
Grace
. Is she a part of this convoy?”

“Aye,” said one sailor. “But the captain wanted you aboard his ship. Wanted to know where he could find you.”

“But my children—”

“Cap’n will be along shortly,” said another, with utter confidence. Did they not know that he might lie dead in Mason Dutton’s cabin?

Elsa agreed, for she needed to know about his welfare as surely as Karl had needed to know about hers. “But send word to the
Grace
that I am alive. Tell them to bring my children to me.” She had not fed Eve since that morning, and the babe would not take more than a bottle or two of goat’s milk before screaming for her. And Elsa needed to hold her children and know they were safe.

“Aye, aye, Cap’n,” said the first sailor.

Elsa climbed the lines and stood, shivering, on the deck of Karl’s ship. A man came forward and offered her a wool blanket, which she accepted gratefully. Elsa wrapped herself in it and turned back toward the water. At least she could no longer hear gunfire. Was it because they were past the point or because it had ceased?

Wearily she rolled her head and rubbed her neck.

A slender man in a white apron, who she presumed was the cook, came up beside her. “Cap’n will be along, ma’am. He’s a good man.”

“You needn’t tell me so,” she said. “I know.”

“Brought you some tea.”

“Thank you,” she said, taking the hot tin cup from his hands. “How many in this convoy?” she asked, seeing only the closest ship off the port side.

“Eight. Come dawn we’ll blow that bilge rat out of the water.”

“But the
Tempest
is unarmed.”

“Aye. But we’ll stand by. If any are left, we’ll pick them out of the water to be hanged in America or England, take your pick. That is, if the Emperor lets them get that far.”

Elsa reached for the rail, suddenly shaky on her feet. “Is there someplace I might sit a moment?”

“Yes, yes, ma’am. Right this way. The cap’n would want you to rest in his parlor.” She followed the man to Karl’s quarters, feeling a bit odd at entering without him there. But the cook seemed to have no qualms about it, so Elsa told herself she was being silly. Who cared at that point where she rested and waited?

The cook looked hard at her. “If you’re weary, you could rest in there,” he said, nodding to what Elsa presumed was Karl’s bedroom.

She shook her head. “No, I couldn’t. Not that I could sleep. I will wait until Karl—Captain Martensen arrives safely.”

“Should be soon, ma’am. I’ll leave you be. Flag down any of us, should you be wantin’ for anything.”

“Thank you,” she said, sinking to a wooden chair. The door closed behind the cook, and Elsa looked around the room. It was Spartan and clean, typical of how she imagined Karl would decorate. There was not one hint of a feminine touch, and only two pictures on the walls. She rose to see them. One was of a schooner like the
Sunrise
that they had first sailed out of Camden. Another was a steamer like the
Tempest
. Elsa walked through the room and into Karl’s study. This room was warmer, more masculine, more apparently Karl’s. There was a fine wooden desk which was open, papers strewn every which way. She walked over to it and idly looked over the pages, not snooping necessarily, she told herself, merely reviewing what was there. A corner of a newspaper clipping peeked out of the secretary above. Looking around guiltily, Elsa pulled it out. It was from her column, a picture she had drawn of Peder, shortly before his death.

She gave it a sad smile. Because Peder had been so handsome, so alive. Because they had been so happy together. And because Karl and Peder had never made amends.

With one last glance at her beloved’s picture, she slid it back in the secretary where she had found it and looked at the maps on the wall. Karl’s log was open, notes written in his clean, manly script and small emblems artfully drawn. She had never known he could sketch so well. Peder had always enjoyed keeping his own logs, so Elsa had never seen
Karl’s work. She paged backward through the volume, pausing over drawings of other ships, whales, and dolphins, as well as coastlines and the like.

The main door opened with a swollen shudder. Guiltily, Elsa turned back the pages to where she had found it opened and then went to the study door. Karl stood there, dripping wet and grinning. She raced into his arms, feeling as though she had never been happier to see anyone in all her life.

“Oh, Karl, Karl! You’re well! You’re safe!” She pulled back to make sure there was no blood, no wounds, then embraced him again. His arms wrapped around her, and he closed the door on a dozen smiling sailors’ faces. Elsa blushed, but she did not care. All that mattered was that her friend was alive and well. Or was that it? Suddenly she remembered what had happened the last time they had encountered Mason Dutton together. Their kiss. She dropped her arms from him and stepped away, fighting to meet his gaze, but uncertain. What did he want from her this time? She was no longer a married woman, and he had saved her life.

“Thank you, Karl. Thank you for saving me,” she said, going to the chair and sitting on the wool blanket that she had left there. She watched as he retrieved a blanket for himself and dried his shoulder-length hair. His clothing clung to his well-formed body, making her aware of the muscles beneath.

He came to her with a guileless smile and knelt before her. “Elsa, Elsa,” he said, placing a roughened hand on her cheek, and waiting until she met his gaze. “I could not do anything else. I could never be anywhere else. I am your friend.” Gently, he dropped his hand.

Friend
. She shook her head at her stupidity and nodded. She returned his tender touch by placing her own hand on his cheek as he had done before her. “You are indeed the finest friend a woman could have. Thank you, Karl. If you had not come, I doubt that I would have left Mason’s ship alive.”

Karl grinned and rose. “I don’t know about that. The Heroine of
the Horn has made a name for herself as a captain known for bravery and valor.”

Elsa grimaced. “I grow tired of the legend of the Heroine of the Horn.”

“We cannot stop the forces that have begun.”

“No, I suppose we cannot. Karl, did you lose many men?”

“Two of the Emperor’s men died. I have two wounded.” His look was jubilant. “I never expected that God would smile so clearly upon us. All went just as planned.”

Elsa shook her head and returned his smile. “And Mason? I heard a shot, just as we left the captain’s quarters.”

Karl turned away, as if to brush off the memory. “He made a move. I shot him in the thigh.” He turned back toward her. “If the Emperor’s navy does not kill every man aboard, it is likely that Dutton will die before the day is done anyway. He was losing a lot of blood.”

Elsa looked down, surprised at the shame that flooded through her for being jubilant at such news. What kind of Christian was she to rejoice in another’s death, regardless of what he had done? “I cannot help myself,” she said lowly. “I am glad that he will no longer be a threat.”

Karl walked over to her and lifted her chin. “He threatened you.”

“He did. He told me he would make me his captive bride.”

Anger flooded Karl’s face. “He deserves a painful death.”

“Let us not concentrate on that. Let’s not celebrate another’s pain. Let’s celebrate being free.”

Karl met her gaze and nodded. “You are right. But we will not celebrate until we know Mason Dutton will never threaten us again.”

August 1887

T
he Bergensers had no idea what to do with Tora Anders. She had once been a part of them, but as a snobby child. Now she was again among them, but as a woman with a much quieter spirit. The change in her seemed too dramatic to believe, and thus the Bergensers, while treating her civilly, were still rather cool in their approach to Tora.

“It’s distrust, plain and simple,” Nora said one day, under her breath, to Kaatje as they watched Tora struggle to make conversation with Eira Nelson across the churchyard. “Can’t say I blame them, though. While I’m glad for you that she’s of some help, I don’t understand why she is here. Is she just using you, biding her time until she can go off and chase her dreams again?”