Oceanswept (25 page)

About the Author

Born and raised in Idaho Falls, Idaho, Lara is the youngest of five children. She had to be pretty dramatic to get any attention whatsoever. She has since learned to channel her theatrics into writing.

At age seventeen, Lara's poetry and a short story was published in an anthology of teen writers. For the past seven years, Lara has utilized her writing skills as a technical writer and creative copywriter.

Lara holds a degree in psychology from the University of Idaho. She lives with her husband, two daughters, two dogs, cat, and ghost cat. She is a blogger, adoption advocate, brownie lover, and Oreo hater.

She is the author of the young adult historical adventures
Oceanswept
and
Undertow
and is currently working on the final installment of the trilogy,
Rebel Tide
. To learn more about Lara and her books, follow her on
Facebook.com/LaraHaysAuthor
or
visit
www.larahays.com
.

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Lara Hays

I
wondered what haunted his dreams. What creations of sleep could possibly terrorize my pirate warrior? I sat on the edge of Nicholas’s bed in the blackness of midnight, humming softly as my fingers slowly swirled through his hair. I could still feel the dampness of sweat on his scalp.

The sea was tumultuous tonight. The sails were reefed but I could still hear them snapping in the wind a deck above us. The air was heavy and damp and smelled strongly of brine.

Nicholas seemed as restless as the weather. He moaned and writhed.

“Shh,” I whispered, stroking his cheek to relax his tense jaw.

He never talked about the nightmares. Even when I asked. Although, once I thought I heard him cry out, “Mama.”

I traced the shape of his lips with my fingertips. He finally stilled, his breathing growing deep and steady. I bent over and kissed his cheek, then stood to leave.

His hand reached out and grabbed mine. “Stay with me?” he whispered, sliding to make room on the bed.

I took my place next to him. He buried his face
in my hair. And we both slept.

CHAPTER ONE

I
stood at the porthole in my cabin, hypnotized by the undulating waves of the ocean and the rocking motion of the boat. The Caribbean sun burned relentlessly, turning the waves into reflective mirrors. Down in my cabin, there was no breeze to break up the heat. The smell of the ship was strong on days like this—the smell of baking wood and a whiff of mildew. I had never thought much about the smell of wood before, but Nicholas did. He loved wood and whenever his hands touched a plank or a rail, it was with reverence. He talked about the way wood smelled, the way it spoke in creaks, the way it cried sap when it was fresh. I absentmindedly placed my palm on the bulkhead and let my fingers press against the smooth, unyielding wood, willing it to speak to me the way it spoke to him. 

A soft rap sounded at my door. “Tessa?”

There were only the two of us on the ship. I smiled over my shoulder, inviting him in.

“There is a ship approaching us.”

“Pirates?” I asked, unable to mask the fear in my voice.

Nicholas smiled broadly, his hands slung casually on his hips. “A ship from the British Royal Navy.”

My eyes grew wide. “Oh no. Do they think
we’re
pirates?”

Nicholas laughed. “I think your father has sailed out to meet you.”

“Sailed out to meet me? How? Why?”

He looked at me shyly. “I sent a letter.”

Back in Curaçao, when we heard rumors that my father had survived the hurricane that I thought had killed him, Nicholas encouraged me to write a letter and send it ahead of us since we had to wait a couple of weeks for my broken leg to get stronger. I refused to write it, too scared to hope my father was actually alive.

Nicholas looked only slightly contrite at his small act of defiance. “You did?” I eagerly looked out the porthole but saw only the familiar view of endless sea and sky.

“Portside,” Nicholas clarified.

I grabbed my cane and took a few shuffling steps with my splinted leg—a souvenir from my last encounter with pirates. Nicholas scooped me into his arms and carried me out to the wide corridor—more of a foyer that spanned the width of the ship—and gently deposited me in front of a porthole that looked out over the other side of the ocean.

A giant, tri-masted ship flying Britain’s colors crested on the waves about a half a league away. 

Nicholas looked at me anxiously. “Are you excited? It will be no time at all until you see your father again.”

I smiled uneasily, still staring at the ship on the horizon.

I felt Nicholas behind me, his arms circling my waist.

“You’re nervous,” he stated.

“I’m not nervous.” 

“What is it?”

His lips found a soft spot on the side of my neck.

“This happened so fast,” I said truthfully. 

A moment later, Nicholas prodded
me again. “What is it really?” He turned me towards him, breaking the spell the window had on me.

Nicholas’s striking looks still took my breath away. Vibrant grey eyes fringed with black lashes; full lips; tawny skin; thick, dark hair that fell in waves around a chiseled face; a strong chin with a dusting of dark stubble. Everything about him was rugged and untamed. I could hardly believe he found me as irresistible as I found him.

His eyes blazed with concern—he wasn’t used to me being unsettled. “Everything has worked out perfectly. Your father is alive. He has come to welcome you home. He can grant me a pardon. I will no longer be a fugitive. Our life together can begin at last. You should be ecstatic.”

“I know,” I mumbled. I
should
have been ecstatic, but I was far from it. I was eager to be reunited with my father. For the past three months we had both thought the other dead—him, the victim of the hurricane that sank our ship during the crossing from England, and me, claimed and murdered by pirates.

A stray hair fell over my face and tickled my nose—a constant occurrence with my new chin-length style. Still watching me with apprehension, Nicholas brushed the lock behind my ear. Even that little action stoked a horde of unsettling questions.

How would I answer my father when he asked what happened to my hair? Would I tell him that it had been sawed off, handful by handful, by a revenge-crazed pirate captain? When he asked what had happened to me over the past three months, would I tell him that I had been tried and found guilty of witchcraft and murder, ignited a mutiny and barely escaped with my life, then worked as a scullery maid in a bordello? And how, exactly, would I explain the renounced pirate officer who had his arms around me?

I caught Nicholas’s hand and pulled it to my face, kissing his palm. “I have become accustomed to my freedom here on the
…
Freedom
,” I smiled knowing we had named Nicholas’s ketch well. “I am not sure how I will adjust back into a world of corsets and crumpets and chaperones.”

I took Nicholas’s face in my hands and kissed him on his lips. “I will have to learn to do without certain things.”

Nicholas let out a full-bodied chortle. “I have certainly corrupted you!”

I blushed but didn’t turn my gaze away from his. “Everything is going to change.”

“Some things will change,” Nicholas conceded softly. “But not everything. Not the way I feel about you.”

“I know that.”

“Are you afraid of what your father will think?”

“No,” I answered quickly. Too quickly.  I paused and gathered my thoughts. “The girl I was in England
…the girl I became over the past few months…they seem like two different people. Today I have to reconcile them.”

Nicholas lifted my chin and pecked me on the nose. “We’ve been renegades long enough, luv. It’s time we let society civilize us a little.”

I nodded nervously. “I suppose so.”

“There is only one thing I need to do,” he said.

I cocked my head. “And what would that be?”

He lifted my chin with his fingertips and, with a crooked smile, ran the tip of his nose along mine. I closed my eyes and tilted my face to his and he pressed his lips to mine. A familiar excitement blossomed in my stomach. I placed my hands on his arms to steady myself, feeling the swell of his biceps under his thin shirt. He cupped the back of my head with a hand and pulled me closer, his kiss growing from tender to fierce in an instant. I met his passion, pressing myself into him. He kissed me again and again, his lips urgent and hungry. I was overwhelmed, lost to an undertow I could not fight. 

“Kisses like this will be in short supply for a while.” Nicholas gave me a flirtatious smile and kissed the tip of my nose, but the truth of his statement hung heavy between us.

“Let’s get our fill, then,” I whispered, weaving my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling him closer for another kiss.

An earsplitting roar tore through the stillness.

Nicholas stood alert, his eyes sharp as they swept around the room. “Cannon fire,” he stated matter-of-factly. He sprang up the ladder to the main deck. I cursed my broken leg, wishing I could follow.

Through the porthole I saw that the British ship was on us. They had made excellent time. I took up my cane and hobbled to the base of the ladder.

“Nicholas?” I called. “Is everything all right?”

The staccato sound of boots was my only answer. Nicholas was barefoot. Someone else had boarded the ship.

“Hello?” I called. No one answered. “Nicholas? What’s happening?” I paused and listened. I heard voices, but could not decipher what they said. More footfalls. “Nicholas?” Still no answer. Fear pooled in my stomach. “Nick!” I called.

Something was wrong.

In a panic, I tried to pull myself up the ladder.

“Down there!” an unfamiliar voice sounded from above. After a scuffle of footsteps, two strange faces looked down at me from the main deck. Startled, I fell off the ladder, my splint catching on the rungs, and landed with a violent thump.

“Are you Miss Monroe?” one asked.

I nodded.

The men jumped down the hatch and crowded over me, peppering me with questions.

“Are you all right?”

“Are there any others?”

“What is the matter with your leg?”

“Are you hurt?”

I closed my eyes and threw up my hands, gesturing for the men to stop their ranting. They quieted immediately.

“Where is my father? Is he here?”

The older of the two sailors stepped forward and helped me to my feet. His face was pocked and lined. He wore a white wig that hid his natural hair color but his eyebrows were flaming orange. “Madam, I am Commander Ephraim Bidlack. This is Lieutenant Johnson.” He jerked his head to the dark-haired sailor next to him. “Your father is not here. He is breaking through a pirate siege at Nevis. In fact, he knows nothing of your whereabouts.”

“He did not issue the order to find me?”

Commander Bidlack continued his explanation. “When your captor’s letter arrived, the admiral was gone. I read it in his stead and ordered instant pursuit. Your father would not have wanted us to waste a day.”

My captor?

“Lieutenant? Are there any others?” a voice from the main deck called.

Johnson climbed partway up the ladder so he could talk to someone on the main deck. “No, sir. Just Miss Monroe.”

“Is she well?”

“It appears she has an injured leg, but she is stable.”

“Can she be moved?”

The man named Johnson peered down at me. “It would be difficult for her to board the other ship.”

“Very good,” the voice from upstairs said. “We have the pirate in custody and we will take him to the other vessel instead.”

I looked frantically at the gentlemen with me. “What does he mean by that? He has the pirate in custody?”

“Don’t worry,” Johnson comforted, stepping off the ladder. “You are safe now.”

“I was safe ten minutes ago,” I insisted, my frustration finally exploding. “I demand you tell me what has been done to my escort.”

The men exchanged a surprised look.

Commander Bidlack coolly said, “We understand him to be a pirate. He has been arrested.”

“Release him! He is not a pirate, he is my rescuer.”

Johnson knitted his brows together in confusion. “We received a threatening letter.”

“You received no such thing!”

“Do you have the letter, sir?” Johnson asked Bidlack.

Commander Bidlack nodded and retrieved a folded piece of parchment from his coat. I recognized Nicholas’s slanted writing—I’d seen it enough in the log books. I snatched the letter out of Bidlack’s knotty fingers.

Dear Sir,

By way of introduction, I am a humble sailor who had the good fortune of meeting your daughter, a certain Miss Tessa Monroe, under circumstances of duress. I write to inform you that she is well. She is presently in my custody in Willemstad, Curaçao, where she is recovering from an injury. As soon as her strength returns, I shall take her aboard my fishing ketch and sail to Basseterre, St. Kitts, to reunite the two of you and discuss further arrangements. I hope this news finds you well. I anxiously await our meeting.

Your Obliged,

N. Holladay

“This letter is not threatening,” I hotly chided.

Bidlack pounded the letter with a finger. “This is practically a ransom note.”

I quickly reread the letter, then looked back to Bidlack, confused.

Bidlack huffed and scowled.

“The man we apprehended upstairs,” Johnson began, “is he not Nicholas Holladay?”

“Yes,” I answered tentatively.

“And is he not the same man who is a pirate known by the name Marks?”

I groaned. “He answers to the name Nicholas Holladay. He has acted as my protector for the past twelve weeks and does not deserve to be treated as a criminal.”

“Our sources were quite clear. He is the quartermaster of the pirate vessel
Banshee
,” snapped Bidlack.

“He is the
former
quartermaster of the
Banshee
. He has renounced his
former
profession and is, in fact, wanted by that pirate crew for desertion.”

“His letter professes custody over you,” Johnson said, reading over my shoulder and pointing out the words. “The mention of your injury. Duress. Your return in exchange for further arrangements.”

“You’ve made a lot of assumptions.” I quickly folded the letter and returned it to Bidlack. “I am indebted to Mr. Holladay—a man who rescued me
from
pirates and nursed my injuries. He has brought me to St. Kitts at great personal sacrifice.
My father
is indebted to him.”

Johnson softened, his warm brown eyes mystified. “All this can be sorted out. For now, he’s already aboard the other ship. You’ll see him back in St. Kitts.”