The Red Siren (26 page)

Slamming his logbook shut, Dajon rose from his desk, flung on his frock, and headed up on deck. This was the day he would catch the notorious Red Siren. After discovering—much to his utter glee—that Faith was not one and the same, he had propagated the news of the
Lady Adeline
all over Charles Towne, ensuring all the sailors who traveled these waters knew of the incoming merchant ship and her valuable cargo. Surely word would reach the pirate.
      Climbing up the companionway ladder, he emerged onto the deck to a blast of wind and spray that only increased his exuberance. Perhaps now he could keep his mind off the alluring and frustrating Faith. A sharp twinge from an old injury pinched his nose, and he squeezed it, hoping to force down the pain and the memories along with it. Marching across the deck, he gazed upon the morning mist dissipating over the water. If only the fog of confusion hovering in his mind would dissipate so easily.
      Faith returned his affections. He knew it. Her body, her voice, her eyes, and especially her lips—a sudden warmth spread through him as he remembered her sweet taste—everything displayed her passionate ardor, everything save her words and the way she had dashed from his embrace. But why?
      While only partially aware of his crew’s salutes and “Good days” as they passed, Dajon watched the golden sun arise from its bed of blue to start anew its journey across the sky.
      Fear. That was what he’d seen in those auburn eyes. But of what?
      Of men. From her past, no doubt—from the horrible things that had happened to her sisters. And all from the same loathsome ruffian.
      Dajon clenched his jaw. The man should be flogged and then keelhauled for what he’d done to these ladies, to this family.
      The ship bucked over a rising swell, and Dajon braced his boots on the slippery deck. The jolt seemed to loosen a hidden truth within him. Had Dajon revealed his ardor for her too soon? Had he been too harsh, too passionate with his kiss? Perhaps that was why she had fled. Gripping the main deck railing, he squeezed it and vowed to be more careful, gentler, more patient. He must prove his trustworthiness to her, no matter how long it took. For Miss Faith Westcott was a lady well worth the wait.
      
Leaping up to the quarterdeck, he took his position beside Borland.
      “Sailing trim, Captain, southeast by south,” the first lieutenant stated without glancing his way.
      “Very good, Mr. Borland. Any moment, then.” Dajon clasped his hands behind his back. They had already passed St. Helena Sound. The pirate ship could turn up anywhere now.
      The warmth of the sun caressed his left cheek while the wind slapped the other, reminding him of Faith’s ever-changing moods. By the powers, was she never far from his thoughts?
      He glanced at his first lieutenant, standing beside him as stiff as a marine, eyes locked on the point of the ship’s bow, his jaw rigid and his fists bunched. Dajon had never seen him quite so tense before.
      “Did you sleep well, Mr. Borland?”
      “Aye, sir.” His tone pricked Dajon like icicles.
      Perhaps he was frightened about the upcoming battle. But no. They’d been in many skirmishes before, and Borland had always been the epitome of bravery. “Are you unwell, then?”
      “No, Captain.”
      “Very well.” Dajon conceded to the man’s foul mood, supposing he didn’t want to discuss whatever vexed him. “When we have the ships in our sights, lower the topgallants, if you please. We must give this pirate time to shed her snake’s skin and reveal her true colors.”
      “Will she not be able to tell the
Lady Adeline
is a decoy?” Mr. Borland said, although the effort seemed to exhaust him. “I have heard she’s a clever pirate.”
      “Never fear, Borland. I have ensured that the
Lady Adeline
appears in every way a true merchant ship. I even had her loaded with ballast so she sits low in the water.”
      Mr. Jamieson joined them, his face alight with anticipation.
      “Once she raises her colors and fires a shot, then we have her,” Dajon continued.
      “Very exciting.” Jamieson rubbed his hands together and then adjusted his bicorn. He faced Dajon with a look of concern. “Will it not be difficult to arrest a lady?”
      Dajon’s mind filled with visions of the arrogant, brash woman who had stolen his father’s ship from him five years ago, leaving him to return home in disgrace. “This is no woman. ’Tis naught but a callous thief housed in a female body, as devoid of conscience and decency as
any other pirate.” He gripped the cold silver of his sword. “No, I have no qualms about escorting this lady to the noose.”
      A dark cloud appeared on the horizon, threatening to cast a shroud of gloom on the promise of a bright day.
      “Besides, gentlemen, if all goes well today, we will catch a pirate.” He lifted his voice, trying to cheer up his friends. “And not just any pirate. One who has been pilfering these waters for months. Certainly that will shed a favorable light on us back at the Admiralty.”
      “On you, Captain.” Borland finally met his gaze, though the glint in his eyes was anything but friendly. It reminded Dajon of a flaming linstock. “It will shed a light upon only you.”
      “Nonsense, Borland.” Dajon gave a half chuckle, unsettled by the hostility in his friend’s gaze. “You know I shall report all of our efforts in the success.”
      Borland’s face twisted as if he were stifling a sharp retort, but he returned his gaze to the sea and said no more.
      “Sail ho!” The cry came from above them.
      “Where away, Mr. Gibson?” Borland yelled.
      “Off the larboard bow, sir. Three points.
      “Hold up there!” Gibson bellowed again. “Two sails now, sir.”
      Dajon plucked out his spyglass and pressed it to his eye. Two ships, indeed. Too far to know who they were for sure, but one swiftly bore down upon the other.
      It had to be the
Red Siren
.
      “Ease the helm, Mr. Borland. Away aloft and trim the sails. Let’s take her in slow.” Dajon slapped his glass into the palm of his hand and grinned as Borland repeated his orders to the crew.
      “The last thing we want to do is scare her off.”

“Shouldn’t ye be changin’ yer clothes, Cap’n?” Lucas asked as he strapped on his cutlass.
      “Nay, I tire of hiding behind ruffles and lace.” Faith poured priming powder from her horn into the small pan in her pistol, careful not to spill any. “Today I will plunder this ship dressed like a pirate—a true pirate.”
      Lucas grinned. “’Tis fittin’ fer yer last time.”
      Then, as if noting the gleam in her eye, he added with a raised brow, “It
will
be yer last time, Cap’n?”
      
“Don’t you be pointing that pharisaical eye toward me, Lucas.” Faith cocked her head and gave him a sideways glance. “You forget I know you too well.”
      A blast of wind stole his warm laughter as the
Red Siren
split the waves with each thrust of her bow.
      Bracing her boots, Faith leveled the glass on her eye. “Besides, see how low she sits in the water? Heavy cargo.” She lowered the glass and winked at Lucas. “Methinks there be gold in that ship.” But when her first mate’s stern eye did not falter, she conceded, “Yes, Lucas, this will be my last time, I assure you.”
      Scanning the horizon, she saw no other sails besides the merchant ship, the words
Lady Adeline
painted in black upon her bow, French colors flapping upon her mainmast. Only two swivel guns guarded her deck. No gun ports appeared on the hull. Defenseless and as out of place upon these violent seas as a lady in a brothel.
      And with all her gold for the taking.
      At the thought of stealing this unsuspecting merchant’s gold, a weight of shame tugged upon Faith. She winced and furrowed her brow. Was this newfound godliness of Lucas’s contagious? Good heavens, she hoped not.
      The
Red Siren
surged and plunged over a wave, spraying glittering white foam over the bow. Shaking it off along with her guilt, Faith studied her prey. “Odd. Surely she spots us. Why doesn’t she run?”
      “Their cap’n seems to be loadin’ his swivels.” Lucas smacked his lips. “Methinks he is unsure whether we are friend or foe.”
      “We have not hailed them as either,” Faith yelled over the crashing waves. She wrinkled her brow. “But his swivels? Against our sixteen guns? Either he is a fool, or he is completely mad.”
      Flinging her hands to her waist, Faith marched across the quarterdeck to the railing and gazed down upon her crew readying for battle. The ship creaked and moaned as it forced aside each opposing wave, fighting its way to its victim. White canvas cracked above her like a whip, prodding the ship forward.
      “Should I raise our colors, Capitaine?” Kane yelled from the main deck.
      Shielding her eyes from the sun, Faith gazed up at the Union Jack bristling in the breeze. “Not yet, Mr. Kane. They appear to be unaware of the danger.”
      
Yet Faith was the one who felt a sudden unease prickle her skin. They would be on the ship in minutes. With so much gold aboard, why did she not at least make a run for it? Swinging about, spyglass to her eye, she scanned the horizon once again. Nothing but azure sea streaked in sparkling white.
      “Orders, Cap’n?” cried Bates. The master gunner’s twitching eyes met hers from below.
      “Lucas,” she yelled over her shoulder. “Shorten sail. Down tops and gallants.”
      Lucas repeated the orders, sending men into the main shrouds and scrambling aloft.
      “All hands about ship!” Faith boomed from the quarterdeck railing. “Prepare to board. Mr. Wilson,” she bellowed to the man at the helm, “lay me athwart her larboard side.”
      “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The barrel-chested pirate turned the wheel.
      Faith glanced back at Bates. “When we come alongside her, fire a warning shot across her stern, if you please, Mr. Bates.”
      “Aye.” The man gave her a toothless grin and waddled off.
      “Let’s make our intentions known, gentlemen.” Faith drew her cutlass and held it over her head. “For the gold!”
      “Aye, fer the gold!” the men echoed and then hurled hearty boasts and curses toward the merchant ship now only fifty yards away.
      Jumping down the ladder, Lucas halted at the main deck railing and stared at their prey. Faith joined him and followed his gaze to the sailors buzzing about their swivels as if trying to figure out how to fire them. Her first mate scratched his thick hair.
      Minutes later a thunderous blast shook the ship and sent a ripple through the water. Acrid smoke curled from the
Red Siren
’s gun port, and a splash sounded where the shot plunged harmlessly into the sea beyond the
Lady Adeline
.
      The crew of the merchant vessel skittered across the deck in a frenzy but soon lowered their colors in a signal of surrender.
      “Something’s amiss, Cap’n.” Lucas frowned. “’Twas far too easy fer a ship carryin’ a fortune.”
      Faith knew he was right. She knew she should hoist sail and flee while she had the chance. But she couldn’t. Too much rode upon this last venture. Besides, when would she have another opportunity at such wealth?
      
Just one more haul. Just one more.
      Against every instinct within her, she turned to Lucas. “Then let’s take her quickly and be gone,” she snapped.
      As the band of blue narrowed between the ships and Faith’s crew readied the grappling irons, the merchant captain stood amidships and gazed her way. He cupped his hands. “Ahoy, from whence came ye, and what do ye want?”
      Bracing her fists at her waist, Faith yelled in reply, “Good quarter will be granted to you, sir, if you lay down your arms, open the hatches, and haul down your sails.”
      A grin took root and began to spread upon the captain’s lips. And before it reached the corners of his mouth, sheer terror struck Faith.
      “Cap’n, off our stern!” Lambert’s normally steady voice quaked from the crosstrees.
      Her heart turned to ice, and she knew before she even turned. She knew what she would see.
      The HMS
Enforcer
plunged toward them, white foam exploding off its bow.

“We’ve got her now!” Dajon snapped his spyglass shut, excitement bristling his skin. “Took the bait like the greedy shark she is.”
      He turned to Borland, who stood beside him at the quarterdeck railing. “Unfurl the topsails and gallants.”
      Mr. Borland repeated his command, sending the crew aloft. Soon the
Enforcer
’s sails caught the wind in a sharp snap, sending the ship skimming over the rolling swells at top speed.
      Fierce wind clawed at his bicorn, and Dajon shoved it down on his head and clung to the railing. Frothy dark water swept over the deck and rolled out the scuppers. The sharp scent of salt and fish tore at his nose as they raced to get windward of the pirate.
      “She’s raising her sails, Captain,” Jamieson said, lowering his glass.
      “She’ll not catch the wind in time.” Dajon crossed his arms over his chest. “Ready the chain shot, if you please, Mr. Jamieson.”
      “Yes, sir.” Mr. Jamieson stormed off and dropped below deck to inform the gun crew.
      “Beat to quarters. Clear the deck for battle,” Dajon instructed Borland, who bellowed his commands to the crew.
      
The shrill sound of a whistle screeched through the air, and the crew scrambled over the deck, clearing away barrels and crates, stowing equipment below hatches, and arming themselves with musket and sword.
      Spyglass to his eye, Dajon scanned the
Red Siren
—his father’s ship. A fire brewed in his belly at the sight of it. At last he would have it back.
      Though the pirate crew furiously tugged at the furled sails aloft, they would not loosen the canvas in time. He would be on her in minutes. His gaze shifted to the Union Jack. She had not raised her pirate colors. But no matter—she had clearly come alongside the merchant vessel to plunder it.
      And this would be her last time.
      They were nearly within firing distance, and Dajon gave the order to lower sails.
      The
Red Siren
’s gun ports flung open in an attempt, he assumed, to scare him off, making him snort. “She’s brazen. I’ll give her that.”
      The
Lady Adeline
had already drifted away and was hoisting sail rapidly in order to escape the impending battle.
      “Run out the guns, fire a warning shot, and then signal her to surrender,” Dajon commanded.
      The thud of port hatches striking the hull reverberated through the ship, one after the other, followed by the clanks of gun trucks grating over the deck. The thunderous boom of a cannon shook both ship and sky, and Dajon peered through the smoke toward his enemy. Would she surrender or put up a useless fight that would surely end in bloodshed?
      “She lowers her flag, Captain,” Mr. Borland announced with a grin.
      Huzzahs erupted from his crew.
      Dajon nodded in satisfaction.
      “Lower the cockboat, Mr. Borland. Let us pay a visit to the infamous
Red Siren
. Shall we?” He slapped his friend on the back and stomped down the quarterdeck ladder.
      “Aye, Captain.”
      As the boat thudded against the wet hull of the
Red Siren
and rope ladders were tossed over the rail, Dajon rose in the wobbly boat and adjusted his navy coat. He squared his shoulders and gazed up at the dark hull of his father’s ship. Pride rippled through him. He had caught the
Red Siren
. He had done his duty and protected the colonial waters
and the citizens of this land from the ravages of this vexatious pirate.
      
Thank You, God, for this victory,
he silently prayed, hoping that this courageous act would somehow atone for at least one of his past sins.
      Leaping over the bulwarks, Dajon landed with a thud onto the deck, followed quickly by Mr. Borland and ten marines. He scanned the ship, seeing nothing but a crew of scurrilous pirates staring at him, scowls dripping from their faces.
      “Your arms, gentlemen. Toss them in a pile, if you please.” He gestured toward the center of the deck.
      Slowly they complied, each one slogging toward middeck, flinging their weapons onto a growing heap of metal and their curses toward him and his men.
      “Now where, pray tell, is your captain?” Dajon allowed his eyes to travel over the crew, shooting each man down with his imperious gaze. “Has she scurried below decks like the coward she is?”
      A tall, dark man emerged from the shadows beneath the foredeck ladder. “She has no wish to see you, Mr. Waite.” The familiar voice struck Dajon before the face registered in his brain. Even then, it took a minute before Dajon found his breath.
      “Lucas.” Dajon’s jaw hung slack, and for a moment, he thought it would loosen and drop to the deck at his feet. “What in God’s… What are you doing here?”
      “Never mind, Lucas.” A feminine voice swirled in the air like a siren’s call, and a woman, dressed in breeches and a white flowing shirt, crossed with baldric and pistols, stepped out from behind Lucas. The floppy hat perched upon her head hid her face, and Dajon’s heart crashed through his ribs at the sight of her.
      She sauntered toward him and pulled out her cutlass.
      Instantly the muskets of all ten marines leveled upon her. She snickered. “Frightened of a woman?
Tsk-tsk
.” She shook her head. “I would request a new batch of marines if I were you, Captain.”
      A hint of a smile played under the shadow of her hat.
      She handed the hilt end of her sword to Dajon. “With my compliments, Captain.” The scent of lemons joined the salty breeze and spiked him like a dagger. His pulse throbbed in his neck. He tried to move, but his boots felt as though they were bolted to the deck.
      A green and red parrot flew down and landed on the capstan. “Clap ’er in irons. Clap ’er in irons.”
      
The lady lifted her chin and slowly raised her gaze to his. A tiny scar in the shape of a quarter moon taunted him from her neck. Beneath the shadow of her hat, eyes the color of mahogany met his with a look of determination—and sorrow.