Emma Barry (17 page)

As she slid the paper into her workbasket, her fingers brushed August’s most recent note. August Philip Wainwright. The six syllables caused her cheeks to blaze cerise and her heart to work twice as hard. She had known he was a dangerous man — a rogue, he’d said — from the first day of their acquaintance. He told her so straight out as a warning. What she hadn’t known was how she could feel his smile in her heels. How the velvet in his voice would run over her body, awakening every nerve. How his charm would drive her to do truly stupid things. To wit, participating in clandestine correspondence.

She knew that it was foolish. She had often lectured girls at seminary about the dangers of such activities. She was reasonable, logical, and obedient. This was madness. She had therefore almost absolutely decided to break with him.

The clock on the mantel began to sound and Matilda rose by instinct. Now, as she did every afternoon, she would meet Papa at the hospital and visit wounded soldiers. She gathered some books, paper, and an orange in a basket. But as she fumbled with the simple grosgrain ribbon on her bonnet, she examined herself in the glass.

What did August see in her face that was worth pursuing? Was she merely another challenge, another conquest? Or did he sense in her some hitherto unknown depth? Did he understand things about her that she herself had missed for twenty-one years?

In a subdued state, she closed the door to their rooms, descended the stairs, and bid Mrs. Wallace, their landlady, farewell. It was no good. She knew August was likely the scoundrel gossip made him out to be, and that he wanted to ruin and desert her like the heroine in a two-volume novel. But she possessed exactly enough doubt to prevent her from throwing him over. If she were one-tenth right about him, then it was worth the risk to try and see herself as he did.

For if she were correct, then he was a man who put all others to shame. His eyes were livelier than any others she had ever seen. He was merry and intelligent and amiable, whispered about everywhere but indispensable at every social event. But also sad. All the ladies loved him, but he stood apart from them somehow. Of all the stories she had heard, none in the least resembled their friendship. It was no rote seduction. She felt certain no one knew him as she did. Whether she understood the authentic man was a different question entirely … but frivolous and perilous as it might be, she had to know: who was August really? What did he see in her?

Matilda soon arrived at Armory Square Hospital and found Papa — Reverend Winters to seemingly the entire town — waiting for her at the door.

“Good afternoon,” he said, dropping a kiss on her cheek. “How are you, my dear?”

“Oh, I’m well,” she replied as they climbed the stairs, wishing that that simple truth were adequate to describe the sea that churned within her.

Emma Barry has a master’s degree in English and is completing a PhD in American studies.
Brave in Heart
is her first published novel. She’s working on a sequel and several contemporary romances. She loves hugs from her toddler twins, Earl Grey tea, her cat’s whiskers, and her husband’s cooking.

You can learn more about her at
authoremmabarry.com
.

Off the coast of Cornwall, 1805

Shackled like a worthless animal, Adele Seaton scanned the crowded cell, wincing as iron manacles chafed the tender flesh on her wrists and ankles. The pitch and sway of the vessel beneath her confirmed the HMS Dragon’s crew was taking advantage of the winds of an approaching storm, making her feel more alive than she’d ever been. Her body hummed with anticipation. It was only a matter of time before she clashed with the Dragon’s captain. He was a formidable opponent, but she held the element of surprise. He didn’t know he had a woman on board, and more foreboding — a woman who would do anything to save her brother’s life.

Around her, men groaned in the muted light, some from injuries incurred during the skirmish which had led to their capture. Others from testing their restraints, a fact only serving to make Adele more aware of the dangers they faced should they not achieve their goal — gaining control of an English warship. Unfazed, she leaned against the iron bars digging into her back and took a deep breath. The impenetrable barrier reminded her that to fail meant more than risking her own future. To fail meant her brother, Garrick, would suffer at the end of a hangman’s noose.

There was another risk involved. The Black Belle. One of her father’s fastest sloops, the Belle was Garrick’s ship, the crew — his crew, men who’d sworn to help save her brother’s life. But at what cost? Garrick was being held prisoner in Spain.

Napoleon ignited hostilities between Spain, France, and England. And one more incorrigible entity stood in Adele’s way. Captain Henry Guffald. The naval officer commanded the Dragon and lived for one purpose only: revenge against every last pirate roving the sea. In the gloomy hours since she and her men had attacked his ship and allowed themselves to be captured, gossip had flit from man to man. No good would come from taunting a man like Guffald. By all accounts, he’d once been in league with Captain Barnabas Frink, a pirate greatly feared along the English coast. Some speculated Guffald had received his unmistakable limp as a result of that affiliation. Others claimed he’d turned his back on England for a woman. Adele cared less. But her men fancied themselves awestruck by the legend: Guffald’s hobbled gait, the ice hardening his stare, and the scowl, notably not of this world.

Adele had only one opinion. A pirate, dim-witted enough to get caught, deserved what he, or she, got. Smuggling was risky business. Garrick understood the danger. They all did. But Garrick was the eldest of her six brothers and he’d taught her everything there was to know about being a pirate. Not just being
a
pirate, but a deuced good one. He’d never done anything without a backup plan. That’s why she knew if he’d found trouble in Spain, it wasn’t because of piracy. No. Something else entirely was afoot, which meant she couldn’t sit back, as her father had suggested, and wait for the royal navy to intervene. Garrick would hang unless King George sent an emissary to deliver Garrick’s ransom to the Bay of Biscay. But Adele didn’t trust the navy. Napoleon had made these desperate times and she’d risk anything, including acquiring an English warship to ensure her brother made it out of Spain alive.

Without her father’s support, she’d been left with no other choice than to waylay the Dragon. This particular Brig had been the only English vessel running the coast in the past five days. And there were only ten days left before the deadline to free her brother passed. If she didn’t succeed now, Garrick would be paraded to the gallows and hung until his neck snapped. The navy would never intervene on a pirate’s behalf. She was sure of it.

Adele closed her eyes to block out the horrific image of her brother gasping for his last breath. Instead, she chose to focus on more satisfying images — in particular, the future look of Guffald’s horror and surprise as she claimed his ship. The navy swine deserved to be shamed into submission for all the hardship he’d wrought upon her kind. And the acknowledgement that he’d been outfoxed by a woman would prove quite satisfying, indeed.

Oh, yes!

A knowing grin drew up the corners of her lips. In her meager ten and nine years, she’d set out to prove she was any man’s equal, rather than be fed to the marriage mart without a say in whom she married. She’d been trained to size up men at an instant. Her brothers had drummed this technique and more into her mind in their bid to help her gain independence. Born the only girl in a family of six stalwart boys, she understood the value of first impressions. Mistakes cost lives. She wasn’t about to jeopardize Garrick’s freedom for herself, or anyone else. And she would do or say anything to prove it.

A hard torso pressed against hers, bringing her mind back to the present. Adele turned and focused on Husam, the man her father had assigned to protect her since she’d begun exploring ships at ten years of age. Her bodyguard and right hand for nine years, he gave her a cunning smile. He agreed with her plan. She inhaled deeply and smothered a grimace, trying to ignore the indelicate, stale air that threatened to suffocate her within the steel cage.

“He’s a madman, that one,” Husam, her dark-skinned Moroccan companion, suggested.

“Who?” She knew very well who he meant, but she wanted him to speak his mind.

“Guffald.” Husam’s attention narrowed on the distracted guard. “He’ll offer no leniency.”

“I’ll ask for none.”

“You won’t need to,” he countered.

The guard shuffled his feet. Together they followed the guard’s motions until the ship pitched, rousing her men. Immediately disgruntled, they whispered among themselves to discover if she’d given the signal. With half of her attention trained on the guard, she shook her head negatively.

“The storm is a gift from Allah.” Husam’s eyes glinted. He was eager for the chase. “Very good odds.”

“That remains to be seen.” Adele shifted her posterior when her leg began to go numb.

“A man does not have to see to know.”

“I’m not a man,” she reminded him. Her blood pulsed faster as she gazed into the ebony depths of Husam’s eyes. She admired his faith and intuition with admiration and respect. At the same time she didn’t understand how he could be so certain the odds were in their favor. And yet, she was eager for Husam’s assurance. “Does Allah guarantee Garrick’s safety?”

Husam nodded.

She sighed and rolled her shoulders, trying to release her anxiety. It would do well for her to believe that Husam believed Garrick would survive. “Then we couldn’t have asked for better odds.”

Satisfied, Adele gazed about the cage, counting the heads of her men. They were outnumbered, two to one, but she had no doubt they could outfight, outwit, and outman anyone who stood in their way.

“Won’t last long,” Husam’s deep baritone warned. “Wrong time of year.”

Weather in the English Channel could be unpredictable, oftentimes blindsiding a ship. “Point taken.”

Husam leaned in. “Guffald will not like being bested by a woman.”

“Don’t underestimate my determination.”

“I never do.” He flashed a playful grin that stretched the tattoos ornamenting his face.

Adele ignored him. She scanned the cell, noting the wary expressions of the men. She calculated the distance from her men to the bars, from the bars to the barrel of the guard’s pistol, and beyond to the doorway of the hatch. She took a deep breath, nodded, indicating she was ready, and then rose to stand.

As agreed, her crew quickly surrounded her. She’d been overlooked by the guards, thanks to the protective shield these men had formed about her when they’d boarded. Her anonymity gave her an edge she planned to use to full advantage. But nothing could have pleased her more than the barrels and crates filling the hold, forcing the iron cage to be erected closer to the hatch.

She grinned and her men followed suit. Their work was half done.

Shouts above set the guard into motion. The man, startled from nodding off, gazed quickly at the iron bars, then toward the door. Adele’s heartbeat quickened as the shouts grew louder, more insistent.

“Land, ho!” Land had been sighted. Time was quickly running out.

Husam’s whistle shrilled into the din. Her crew wasted no time. They answered Husam’s signal, rattling rusty chains, and clanking metal pans against the prison bars.

“Keep it down, you blaggards,” the guard commanded. “You’ll earn yourselves a flogging.” The guard ventured closer when the men didn’t immediately obey. “Quiet!”

Garrick’s men, a combination of Moroccan, English, Irish, and a few rowdy Scotsmen, congregated at the front of the cage, the noise they created escalating to deafening heights.

“Step back, I say,” the guard shrieked, sweat beading upon his upper lip.

The hold grew eerily quiet. All but one of her men stepped back. Adele approached the bars with her head held down. Her lean form was concealed beneath loose-fitting wool and her slow gait allowed the guard to believe she wasn’t a threat.

“You’re a puny one,” the guard snarled. “Ignorant too.”

Adele hid a smile. She raised her head and leveled her gaze, knowing the man would rectify that statement within a matter of minutes.

Victory comes to those who prepare for it,
Garrick once told her.

Silence swelled in the hold. When she didn’t move, the guard finally spoke again. “Come to beg for mercy, eh? You won’t find it, I tell you.”

Potter, one of Garrick’s rugged crewmen, reached through the bars, nearly succeeding in strangling the distracted sentry’s neck, making the guard jump clumsily backward in his haste. Laughter ensued.

“There’ll be none o’ that, jack-a-naves!” He held his gun aloft.

Adele held herself in check. With the changing of the guard hours away — port yet to be breached — it would take more than this one man, this one ship, to quash her plans. She locked her eyes onto the guard’s witless stare. In the dim light, she knew the man couldn’t see the tick in her jaw that forewarned she was about to produce a lie. Plunging herself deeply into character, Adele inhaled a stabilizing breath.

“Have you got the ague?” the guard asked. “Step back.”

She stepped closer to the bars instead, keeping her eyes focused on the sentry. Wary, the sailor raised his weapon, an old moisture-ridden blunderbuss pistol. She paused. Was the half-wit unaware the gun was useless below deck? There were too many barrels of cannon powder carelessly stacked nearby, and one single gunshot could destroy the entire ship, and himself, in the process.

“Back away!”

Adele refused to comply and her silence only served to enrage him.

“Back away, I say!” he shouted a second time, priming his weapon.

Adele half-turned, stepped backward, and gave Husam a wink.
Now!

Husam grabbed her by the chin and tilted her face to the light. He grunted loudly, and then asked, “What have we got here? Where have
you
been hiding?”