The Red Siren (32 page)

      “I fear he’s right. Governor Johnson hates pirates. And after what Blackbeard and his crew did to this town, he has vowed to hang every single one of them he catches,” Grace said.
      “Never mind about that.” Faith tossed her hair over her shoulder, trying to hide her own apprehension that even someone as powerful as Sir Wilhelm could squeeze a pardon out of Robert Johnson. Hoping for a diversion, she gestured for Lucas and Molly to come closer. Their intertwined hands separated as they took up places on each side of her sisters.
      “Aye, Cap’n.” Lucas nodded then peered into her cell. Repulsion and agony burned in his gaze. “I should be in there wit’ ye.”
      “Oh, good heavens, Lucas, what good would that do?” Faith sighed then shifted her smiling eyes between him and Molly. “Were you holding Miss Molly’s hand?” She knew what she had seen, and the prospect
it posed delighted her.
      Lucas flashed a gleaming white smile that brightened the dingy dungeon.
      “They are courting,” Hope interjected, dabbing her cheeks with a handkerchief. “Isn’t it marvelous?”
      Faith swept her gaze to Molly, who had lowered hers and was shuffling her shoe against the stone floor. “Molly, I do declare, what happened to your fear of caring for anyone—especially a man?”
      Molly shrugged one shoulder and smiled. “When I see you turn to trusting God after all you been through, I figured I needed to start trusting Him, too.” She cast an adoring look at Lucas, which he quickly returned. “An’ I always had a soft spot for reformed pirates.”
      “Well, at least one good thing has come out of all this mess.” Faith forced a smile. “I am most pleased.”
      Facing Lucas, she grew serious. “How are things at home?”
      “I sent a dispatch to the admiral. I don’t know when he’ll get it, but I’s sure he’ll be comin’ home when he does. Everything else is fine.” Lucas cast a sideways glance at Hope that gave Faith pause.
      Faith studied her two siblings. “Have they behaved, Lucas?”
      Hope’s expression sank.
      “Miss Hope’s done run off wit’ that Lord Falkland a couple of times, mistress. I can’t seem to keep an eye on her all the time,” Lucas replied, folding his hat in his hands.
      Faith snapped her gaze to Hope. “Hope, why? Why do you throw yourself at a man who will only use you?”
      “He’s leaving, Faith.” Hope’s blue eyes swam.
      “What do you mean?”
      “He sets sail tomorrow for England.”
      “The sooner the better.” Molly snorted.
      “He won’t take me with him. I love him, Faith.” She dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “I thought he’d make me an offer of marriage before he left.”
      Faith clenched her jaw. “The man is a scoundrel, Hope. He cares for no one but himself.”
      “You are wrong.” She stamped her foot. “He promised to marry me when he returns.”
      “Oh, he did, did he?” Faith’s heart sunk at the naiveté of her sister. The ruffian would most likely never return, and Hope would either
wallow in grief for years or find comfort in the arms of the next man who smiled her way. But at least Faith wouldn’t have to worry about Lord Falkland anymore.
      “Remember, Hope, how God protected you from those scoundrels at the Pink House?”
      Hope did not raise her gaze.
      “Perhaps He is doing the same thing now,” Faith continued, praying the Lord would reveal His love and mercy to Hope as He had done with Faith. “Perhaps He is protecting you by sending Lord Falkland away.”
      “If He is, then He is cruel,” Hope said in a sharp tone that sliced through Faith’s heart.
      Retrieving her arm from around Hope, Grace tucked a loose tendril of her sister’s hair behind her ear. “How can you discuss something so trivial as Lord Falkland when our sister is locked up in a dungeon?”
      “She inquired of me,” Hope snapped with a pout. “And besides, she said she would be pardoned in a few days.”
      “That’s right,” Faith said.
Freed from prison one day, only to be chained to a madman the next.
      Hope coughed and drew her handkerchief to her nose. “The smell in here.”
      “You should leave. It isn’t good for you to be down here.” Faith turned to Molly. “Please take my sisters upstairs. I need to speak with Lucas for a moment.”
      “No, I don’t want to leave you,” Hope pleaded.
      Faith forced herself to smile. “I’ll see you in a few days.”
      “She’ll be jest fine, Miss Hope.” Molly began to lead Hope away. Grace swallowed hard and flashed a wavering grin toward Faith before turning to join them.
      “Grace.” Faith tugged on her sister’s arm, halting her. “If something goes wrong…I mean with the pardon…”
      Grace’s green eyes became glistening pools. “Please don’t say it.”
      “Promise me you’ll take care of Hope. She will need your strength.”
      Grace nodded as a tear escaped her lashes and sped down her cheek. “You will get out of here. I know it.”
      “Pray, Grace. Please pray.”
      “I’ll be prayin’, too, Miss Faith,” Molly said over her shoulder as she led both girls to the bottom of the stairway.
      “Lucas, I need you to get a message to Mr. Waite for me.”
      
“Aye.”
      No matter what Faith’s future held, she must warn Dajon. “Please inform him that Mr. Borland is not his friend. He has told Sir Wilhelm that Mr. Waite let us go free.”
      Lucas’s dark brows rose, and alarm burned in his eyes.
      “Mr. Waite is in danger,” Faith said.
      “But Sir Wilhelm, don’t he want the cap’n out of his way? Why don’t he and Borland just have him arrested?”
      “Because I have made a bargain with them to prevent it.”
      Lucas gave her a puzzled look. “What sort of bargain?”
      Faith ground her teeth together, barely able to spit out the words. “I have promised to marry Sir Wilhelm.”

D
ajon leaped up the foredeck ladder and charged across the wooden deck, making his way to the bow of the ship. Anger tore at him, ripping his self-control to shreds. He had to calm himself before he faced Borland, or who knew what he might do. He thrust his face into a blast of salty air. A metallic scent bit his nose, a sharp smell that made his skin crawl and permeated the air with a feeling of unease.
      
Friend.
Some friend, indeed. He snorted, clutching the railing as the HMS
Enforcer
lunged over a rising swell then slapped the back of the wave, showering him with warm spray. He shook his head, scattering the droplets onto the railing, where they shimmered like diamonds in the moonlight.
      Two of his crew lazed nearby, but one steely gaze from him sent them hustling away. He needed to be alone. He had to think. He had to patch the wound from Borland’s treachery, and then he had to decide what to do with the rat.
      After Lucas had delivered Faith’s message, Dajon had tried to visit her, but upon being prevented from doing so, he had weighed anchor and headed directly out to sea. He’d always heard the voice of God more clearly when he coursed through the vast, untamed ocean, and he hoped that would be the case tonight. If not, he feared he’d be forced to follow through with his original impulse of strangling Borland and then tossing his lifeless body to the sharks.
      
God, help me. Is there any pain worse than the betrayal of a friend?
Then he remembered how the Lord had been betrayed by all His dearest friends—those who had sworn their love and loyalty to Him.
How did You bear it, Lord?
      
“Forgive.”
The word floated on the breeze, weaving around the strands of his hair.
      
Dajon shook his head and doffed his bicorn, tossing it to the deck.
I don’t know if I can.
      Booted steps clumped over the deck, but Dajon didn’t turn around. He clenched his jaw and prayed it wasn’t Borland. He’d been avoiding the man quite successfully and hoped to continue to do so for a while longer.
      “Captain.” The voice spiked over him—one that used to lift Dajon’s spirits but now only clawed at his heart. “What brings us out upon the waters this fine night? News of a pirate nearby?” Borland planted his boots firmly on the deck beside Dajon and crossed his arms over his chest.
      A blast of hot wind, laced with salt and fish and betrayal, tore over Dajon, and he lengthened his stance and stared at his first lieutenant. The wind played havoc with the coils of Borland’s sandy hair, tugging them from his queue. He wouldn’t meet Dajon’s gaze. In fact, Dajon couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the playful camaraderie that had often danced across his friend’s brown eyes.
      Blood surged to Dajon’s fists. How dare the man even speak to him after what he’d done? But here he stood, feigning a friendship that had probably never existed and all the while betraying Dajon’s confidence. “Why, Borland?”
      Borland flinched, and the side of his mouth quirked, but otherwise he remained still. “Why what, Captain?”
      Dajon grappled the hilt of his service sword, longing to draw it and end this charade. “No more games.”
      Borland’s jaw tightened. “I see you are not quite yourself tonight, Captain.” He turned to leave. “I shall speak to you at another time.”
      Seizing him, Dajon twisted him around. “You will speak to me now.”
      Borland’s eyes flashed with a fury that startled Dajon. “Very well.” He tugged his arm from Dajon’s grasp as if he detested even his touch. “What is it you wish to discuss?”
      The ship bucked, forcing both him and Borland to grab the rail. Dajon took the time to draw a deep breath to restrain his rising fury. “Why did you betray me?” he growled through gritted teeth. “And to that ninny Sir Wilhelm?”
      Borland’s eyes darted about wildly before they met his, fear skipping over them, but then a cold sheen swallowed up the fear and his body stiffened. “I was doing my duty.”
      “Your
duty
? You agreed that if Miss Westcott abandoned her piracy,
we would allow her to go free.”
      “No,” Borland snarled. “
You
agreed to that. I merely listened and obeyed.” He shifted his gaze back to the sea. “Which is all I ever do.”
      Shocked by the hostility firing from his friend’s eyes, Dajon stared out over the churning black sea that spanned to an even darker horizon. The moon illuminated crystal foam upon the waves and frowned at him as if she disapproved of the goings-on below. He wished she would fling some light upon his current situation, for no matter how far back he searched, Dajon could think of no time he had mistreated Borland or any of the other men on his crew. “You do what I say because I am in command.” Dajon spoke with grave deliberation.
      “Yet in doing so, you ask me to risk not only my career but my life.” Borland dared to laugh. “Our friendship does not extend that far.”
      Dajon clenched his jaw, wondering if their friendship extended any further than Borland’s self-interest. “You know very well that if I were caught, I would never divulge to anyone that you had any knowledge of what I did.” Dajon gripped the railing. “Nevertheless, you should have informed me of your true feelings instead of placating me with lies.”
      Borland crossed his arms over his chest. “’Twas my responsibility to turn you in. A captain who does not abide by the articles of war should not be in command of one of His Majesty’s ships.” He flicked the hair from his face and gazed out upon the sea. “Yes, perhaps this ship needs a new commander.”
      The hull of the ship creaked and moaned in protest, and it took every ounce of Dajon’s control not to slam his fist into Borland’s jaw. “Jealousy? That’s what this is about?” Dajon roared. “You envy my position—is that it? After all these years?”
      Storming to the foremast, Dajon punched it, but all he did was cause searing pain to shoot through his fingers and into his wrist. Shaking his burning hand, he faced Borland, who remained a rigid bulwark.
      “Then our friendship has been naught but a pretense.” Dajon returned to his side and thrust his face toward him.
      “Not always.”
      “When did you begin to hate me so?” Dajon gripped the roughened wood of the railing.
      “When you received command of this ship over me—with fewer years’ service and no connections. Egad!” Borland gave Dajon a scorching look. “You even resigned for two years and then came back, like the
prodigal son expecting a lavish party upon your return.”
      “And you the faithful son,” Dajon muttered, cursing himself. He’d never considered that his friend might be envious of his promotion, never once thought Borland would be anything but happy for his success. “I have been a fool to trust you.”
      “You don’t understand, Dajon. You never have.” Borland shot him a look of disdain and thrust out his chin. “If I do not make a success of myself in the navy, I will be a disgrace to my father, my entire family. It is what they expect of me.”
      Watching the Union Jack flapping on the bowsprit, Dajon tried to recall his friend’s history. Borland came from nobility—a second son, not in line to inherit the family fortune but nobility nonetheless—and from a long line of naval captains. “I did not ask for the honor, Borland.”
      “No, of course not.” Borland’s voice burned with sarcasm. “The great Dajon Waite, praised for his heroic encounter with a Spanish flotilla off C
à
diz that prevented a resurgence of hostilities. Pure rubbish, I say. I was there right beside you, but did I receive a command?” His fists clenched as if trying to squash the memory.
      “So you send me to my death.”
      “No.” He slid his dark eyes over to Dajon. “My intent was to simply have you removed from the navy.” His upper lip twitched beneath a slick mustache.
      Fury rampaged through Dajon, shattering all control. Gripping Borland’s stiff collar, Dajon thrust a fist into his stomach. Borland folded with a groan and stumbled back.
      “Treason is an offense punishable by death,” Dajon said through clenched teeth, landing another blow on Borland’s jaw, snapping his head to the side. Then, clutching his coat, Dajon shoved him toward the bow and hauled his limp body precariously atop the railing.
      Borland gripped Dajon’s hands, trying to detach them from his neck. His eyes exploded with terror as he glanced below him at the raging water. “Do you think me so vile as to have you killed to further my own career?” he squeaked.
      Dajon tightened his grip and jerked Borland’s head farther down toward where the bow of the ship crashed through the ebony water in a frothy, raging V. Only the weight of Dajon’s body prevented the man from tumbling into the water. Just one inch to the left, just one shove and
Dajon would be rid of this menace forever. Without his testimony, Dajon would live and Faith would not have to marry Sir Wilhelm.
      
“Forgive as I have forgiven you.”
      The words splashed over him along with the salty spray of the sea, but Dajon shook them off.
      “Sir Wilhelm promised me you will not be executed.” Borland clawed at Dajon’s fingers, his face as ashen as the moonlight that spilled over it.
      The muscles in Dajon’s face knotted into tight balls. His fingers began to ache. Fury urged him onward. Fury and the pain of betrayal, of being played for a fool. He could not remember a time he’d ever been this angry, a time when he wanted to kill.
      A beaming spire of white light lit up the eastern sky. The sharp sting of electricity hung in the air, sending the hair on the back of Dajon’s neck spiking. His breath grew ragged and deep as he remembered the pillar of fire—God’s pillar of fire—that had saved Hope. A fire of grace. For Hope had done naught to deserve it. In fact, quite the opposite.
      “Please, Dajon,” Borland begged, his eyes sharp with panic, his hands clamping over Dajon’s wrists as if they were his only lifeline.
      Grinding his teeth, Dajon held him farther over the edge, trying to fight the rage that took control of him.
      Lightning flashed again, this time closer, and Dajon wondered why there was no thunder, no clouds. A chill crawled over his skin. His hands no longer ached. His muscles bulged with strength. And he knew all he had to do was release the squirming wretch and Borland would tumble into the sea.
      God’s grace. A free gift of forgiveness for a debt that could never be paid. Like Dajon’s debt. Like Borland’s. The Almighty had lavished His grace upon Dajon; who was he not to do the same for his enemies?
      “You insolent buffoon.” Dragging Borland’s stiff body back over the rail, Dajon released him.
      Stumbling backward, Borland gripped his throat and tripped over a hatch coaming.
      Dajon drew his sword and pointed the gleaming tip at Borland. He no longer intended to kill him, but certainly God would allow him this small satisfaction of seeing his friend continue to squirm. “Sir Wilhelm exaggerates his power. I’ll grant you, the jingle-brained man has some authority here in Carolina where his grandfather was one of the eight lord proprietors, but his word carries no weight with the Admiralty. He
could no more stop an order of execution from a court-martial than he could stop the recent Indian raids or Spanish attacks.”
      Shock followed by a sudden realization passed over Borland’s expression as he wavered over the deck, trying to regain his balance while avoiding Dajon’s blade.
      Angry waves slapped the hull, reaching white fingers onto the deck as if they were yearning for the prey that had escaped them. Instead, they spit their salty spray over the two men. Dajon gazed into the night sky, clear save for the sparkle of stars and the glimmer of the moon. The lightning had vanished. Had he only imagined it, or was it some wicked force tempting him to commit murder?
      Shaking off the frightening thought, Dajon lifted Borland’s chin with the tip of his sword. “And look what you have forced upon Miss Westcott. Now she’ll have to marry that feeble knave.” Dajon grimaced, nauseated at the thought of that man’s slimy hands touching Faith.
      Borland straightened his coat and threw back his shoulders as if hoping to regain his dignity. Or perhaps he’d seen the bloodlust dissipate from Dajon’s eye and no longer feared his fury. “’Tis a better fate than the noose. Besides, that she would resign herself to marry such a maggot to save you is quite noble.”
      Dajon raised one brow angrily. “Except you and I both know that I shall be arrested as soon as she is wed.”
      Borland shrugged. “That was the plan.” He eyed Dajon’s blade. “But I beg you to believe me—I thought you would lose your commission, not your life.”
      Dajon studied his first lieutenant, wondering if that were true, if there was a scrap of decency left in the friend he once knew. “It matters not anymore.”
      “You can run.” Borland swallowed and stared at Dajon pleadingly. “Change your name; lose yourself in the colonies or, better yet, the West Indies. A man can make a fortune as a privateer, I’m told.”
      “Only during wartime or else be hanged as a pirate.”
      “Never fear. I’m sure we shall declare war on France or Spain soon enough.” Borland chuckled.
      Dajon blew out a harsh breath. When disaster had struck his career so long ago, he’d run away, away from his family, away from God. “Nay. I’m tired of running.” He lowered his blade and waved it toward the ladder. “Get out of my sight.”
      
Borland eased away, keeping his eye on Dajon, before turning and making haste for the ladder. But suddenly he halted and turned around. “What will you do?” No anger, no hatred stained his voice, just curiosity.
      “Why, turn myself in, of course.” Dajon sheathed his sword, the sharp hiss of metal sealing his decision. “First thing in the morning. Then”—despite his dire future, he allowed himself a speck of joy that reached his mouth in a grin—“I shall send word to Miss Westcott that she no longer need marry Sir Wilhelm.”