Shipwrecked

“There
is never a time or place for true love.  It happens accidentally, in a
heartbeat, in a single, flashing, throbbing moment.”

~Sarah
Dessen

Shipwrecked

Chapter One

Twenty-four was
certainly not too young to die; the problem was that Rowan Murray had never
intended to die a virgin.

“Lord have
mercy….we’re all goin’ tae die!” bellowed the frantic voice of the sailor at
the top of the stairs, thin gray hair plastered to his face from the
combination of the whipping wind and the frothing, angry sea.  He braced
himself in the doorway that led below decks to the cargo compartment of the
ship and glanced nervously at the crashing waves and then down at the men kept
in the dark belly of the ship.  The sailor gritted his teeth together, his
conscious having temporarily edged out his instinct to survive, and he
struggled down the stairs towards the prisoners.  “Get ye on deck sae that ye
can jump overboard.”

“We bloody can’t
move!” Rowan yelled back over the thundering of the sea, “They’ve got us
shackled tae the side of the ship.  Do ye have keys?”

The ship rolled
heavily from side to side in the storm, and buckets of rain gushed down the
open stairwell into the cargo hold of the ship.  Rowan knew that if they were
not unshackled now, they would drown for sure, helpless as the ship was torn
apart in the storm.      

“Aye, I’ve got the
keys.  Spose’ it won’t hurt tae let ye have a fightin’ chance,” the man said as
he braced himself in the staircase and ambled down into the cargo hold,
fumbling with a large iron key ring.

“Him first,” Rowan
insisted, pointing his shackled wrists at his younger brother Malcolm. 

Rowan noticed the
effort that Malcolm was putting into remaining composed despite the perils of
their present situation.  Caught somewhere between a boy and a man, Malcolm
remained awkward and gangly.  Rowan thought he looked so young with his shortly
cropped black hair and freckled skin.  Rowan said a silent prayer of protection
for his brother.

Please Lord,
let him make it.  Give him a chance tae survive.

Malcolm’s eyes
were wild with fear as he held his wrists up so that the man could fit the key
into his shackles.  Water continued to pour into the cargo hold, and the ship
creaked and rolled.  The thick boards were on the verge of cracking from the
surge of the storm. 

Their unlikely
savior, sun wrinkled skin covered in salt and mouth spouting a continuous
stream of filthy words, knit his eyebrows together in concentration against the
swaying of the ship as he struggled to fit the key into the lock of Malcolm’s
shackles. A satisfying click ensued, popping the iron cuff from the boy’s right
wrist.  The rolling of the ship made it difficult for the man to fit the key
into the cuff binding Malcolm’s left wrist, and he braced himself against the
hull, cursing under his breath as he forced the key into the lock.  The second
shackle released, and Malcolm stepped away from the wall, trying to find his
balance as he rubbed his wrists that had been chaffed raw from weeks of
restraint.

“Hurry, man! 
Unlock them!” Malcolm exclaimed, desperate to have his brothers freed so that
they might also have a chance at survival.

“You do it!” the
man huffed impatiently as he thrust the key ring into Malcolm’s trembling hands
and bolted up the stairs.  “It’s every man for himself at this point!” the man
shouted over his shoulder as he retreated above deck.

“We’ve time yet,
don’t panic,” Rowan spoke calmly seeking to reassure his little brother as he
raised his shackled wrists. 

Malcolm fought to
maintain his balance as the ship bucked sharply to the left, and another wave
of water crashed down the stairwell.  He slipped on the cascade of water and
fell to his knees, clinging to the keys for dear life.

“Bloody hell!” he
cursed as he righted himself, trying to brace his body against the wall between
his brothers.

“Watch yer mouth,”
scolded Quinn, wet chestnut hair plastered to his face.  “Ye can do this, take yer
time, get Rowan first,” he coached, watching his youngest brother fumble with
the key ring.

Rowan again held
up his wrists and Malcolm forced the key into the shackle binding his left
wrist.  The lock sprung open and Rowan grabbed the keys with his left hand, and
began to unlock his right wrist.  The lock was stuck, crusted heavily with a
thick layer of rust from many years at sea. Rowan forced the key desperately
into the lock, turning it slightly one way and then the other, willing himself
not to panic.  The key begrudgingly turned against the rust and after a moment
of struggling, the lock finally gave way.

The ship lurched
to the right, causing Rowan and Malcolm to be thrown hard against the opposite
wall of the hull.  Water spilled into the hold, and the ship now lay almost
completely on its side. 

The ship was going
under. 

Quinn was now
suspended up in the air, his shackles hanging from the wall that was now the
ceiling.

“Go without me!”
Quinn screamed madly at his brothers.  “Ye canna save me, but save yerselves!”

“We’re not leaving
ye!”  Rowan bellowed against the roar of the ocean as he fought to right
himself in the water that was quickly filling the hold, fist clenching the
precious keys, protecting them from the angry motions of the sinking ship.
Watching his brother dangle helplessly above him still shackled to the wall of
the ship forced bile to rise in Rowan’s throat.  If there was one thing that he
hated, it was being helpless.

A wave hit the
side of the ship with such force that the timbers of the hull threatened to
give way, creaking and splintering with the force of the blow.  The ship rocked
back into an upright position, a final act of refusal before it would be
claimed by the sea.

Rowan rushed
towards his brother and scrambled to fit the iron key into the shackle that
tied his brother to the ship.  His hand shook and his body fought with every
muscle fiber to remain anchored to the slippery floor.  The lock on the right
shackle popped free, and another wave of water rushed down the stairs, knocking
the key ring to the floor.

Rowan’s heart sank
as he tried in vain to reclaim his grip on the keys, only to watch them slide
into the watery depths. 

Malcolm came
flying though the air from behind his brother, diving towards the keys.

“Got ‘em!” he
shouted, triumphantly raising the keys above his head as he staggered towards
Quinn, boyish smile lingering proudly on his face.

The ship lurched
again and the sound of splintering wood filled the hull.  This was it.  The
ship was doomed now, breaking apart as it succumbed to the pummeling of the
relentless waves.

“Leave me!” Quinn
shouted, challenging Rowan to disobey him with all of the authority that he
could muster.  He glared at his younger brother with steely gray eyes.        Quinn
wanted to die. 

“She wouldna want
this for ye, brother,” Rowan said, brushing aside the chestnut hair that was
plastered to his face aside.  “She’d want ye tae fight, tae live,” Rowan said,
green eyes intense as he started down his older brother.

“I
want
tae
die, let me go tae be with her,” Quinn sobbed as he slapped away Malcolm’s hand
that held the key to his salvation from the shackle.  “Go!  Save Malcolm!”
Quinn ordered, body racked with emotion.

“I’ll bloody knock
ye out and jump overboard with ye, but I’m not leavin’ ye here, Quinn!” Devon
challenged as he held his brother’s free arm and motioned to Malcolm to unlock
his other wrist. 

Malcolm struggled
to fit the key into the lock, and forced the key to turn, popping open the
lock.  Rowan jerked Quinn’s arm and motioned towards the stairs, but Quinn
stood fast, steely gaze intent on challenging his younger brother.  Rowan met
his brother’s stare with ferocious intensity, eyebrows knit together over
piercing green eyes.  Accepting his defeat, Quinn followed his brothers up the
stairs and into the mouth of the storm, knowing that if he didn’t Rowan would
knock him out at carry him.

                                                            ***

Bang! Bang!
Bang! 

Anna Stanton stood
as still as a statue, blonde hair plaited back in a simple braid that rested on
the rough fabric of her gray woven dress.  She stood straight and tall against
the cold flagstones by the window, seeking to mold her body into the ancient
stones of her family home.  Thin but agile fingers reached out ever so slowly
to push aside the heavy damask draperies, ever so slightly.  Slowly, cautiously
her fingers drew back the fabric as she tilted her head to peek outside.

Bang! Bang!
Bang!
The sizeable fist of man dressed in full military regalia pounded
against the heavy wooden door of Stanton Place.  “I know you’re in there!” his
voice boomed as he continued to beat on the door.  “I’ll be back this afternoon
with the magistrate if you do not open the door right this instant!”

Anna let the
draperies fall back into place and exhaled slowly, leaning her head back
against the cool stones.

 “Damn
collectors,” she whispered into the silence of the foyer, hanging her head in
defeat.

 
This is not
how my life was supposed to have turned out.

Straightening her
spine, Anna reluctantly left her hiding place and walked briskly towards the
heavy wooden door.  She unlatched the bolt and slid the heavy guard bar out of
the way, then pulled with all of her might to swing the massive door open.  The
hinges creaked loudly, needing oiled desperately.  Anna grumbled to herself,
hating to watch her once beautiful home fall into a state of disrepair.  The
downward spiral of her mother’s health and her family’s financial ruin were
almost more than she could bear.  Almost.

Forcing her chin
up and squaring her shoulders for battle, Anna smiled as she opened the door. 

“May I help you,
Sir?” she asked sweetly, smiling slightly in an effort to hide her annoyance as
she greeted the bill collector standing in the doorway.

“Indeed I am
hoping that you may be able to,” said the man, bedecked in a red velvet jacket
heavy with medals and military honors that buttoned at the waist, said single
button straining to cover a rather large pot belly.

His pale blue eyes
looked inquisitively at Anna, causing her to glance away, suddenly
uncomfortable as she felt a flush rise up across her face.  His face was
punctuated with an awkward mustache, waxed at the ends in a manner to make it
curl up unnaturally.

“Are you Miss
Stanton?” the man inquired, seeming to already know the answer as he toyed with
the golden chain of his pocket watch. The tedium of exchanging forced niceties
played openly across his face.

“Yes, Sir,” Anna
said, regaining her composure as he spoke her name.

Anna felt a sudden
pang of longing for the wait staff that had been let go more than a year ago. 
No well born lady should be answering the door like a common butler. Despite
her financial ruin, Anna still held an air of pride and tradition close to her
heart when the Stanton name was spoken.

“Murdock’s the
name, Colonel Meriwether Murdock.  Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he said,
smiling stoutly beneath the awkward mustache as he extended his hand towards
Anna.  She extended her own out of habit, years of training made this motion
automatic, and found her fingers quickly enveloped in Colonel Murdock’s
complete with a kiss on the top of her knuckles.  His mustached felt
surprisingly scratchy on her skin, causing her to jerk back unexpectedly from
his touch.

“How exactly can I
help you, Colonel Murdock?” Anna said tersely, unconsciously wiping the back of
her hand on the fabric of her skirt.

“I’ve a
proposition for you, Ms. Stanton.  I understand that your family has come
across, shall we say… difficult times?” Murdock said coolly, testing the waters
with his question.  His pale blue eyes watched Anna for a reaction, yet her
face was like stone as she listened. 

Colonel Murdock
knew of her family’s financial ruin, he knew that her father had squandered
generations of riches on gambling debts and mistresses, leaving Anna and her
Mother nearly destitute. His sources had enlightened him to the fact that Mr.
and Mrs. Norman Stanton’s only daughter was proud, headstrong and determined to
save her family’s name.