Authors: MaryLu Tyndall
Other books by MaryLu Tyndall
Surrender the Heart
The Red Siren
The Blue Enchantress
The Raven Saint
EGACY OF THE
The Falcon and the Sparrow
© 2011 by MaryLu Tyndall
Print ISBN 978-1-60260-166-6
Adobe Digital Edition (.epub) 978-1-60742-275-4
Kindle and MobiPocket Edition (.prc) 978-1-60742-276-1
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted for commercial purposes, except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without written permission of the publisher.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.
Cover image: Faceout Studio,
Published by Barbour Publishing, Inc., P.O. Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683,
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses
Printed in the United States of America.
MaryLu Tyndall dreamed of pirates and seafaring adventures during her childhood days on Florida’s coast. She holds a degree in math and worked as a software engineer for fifteen years before testing the waters as a writer. Her love of history and passion for storytelling drew her to create the Legacy of the King’s Pirates series. MaryLu now writes full-time and makes her home with her husband, six children, and four cats on California’s coast, where her imagination still surges with the sea. Her passion is to write page-turning, romantic adventures that not only entertain but expose Christians to their full potential in Christ. For more information on MaryLu and her upcoming releases, please visit her Web site at
or her blog at
To those who have been wounded by life
ong. Gong. Gong
. The evening air reverberated with warning bells from St. Peter’s church. Rose McGuire halted in her trek to the pigsty and gazed across the shadowy farm. Musket fire echoed in the distance. The British were on the move again. Punctuating the unrest crackling through the air, shards of maroon and saffron shot across the western sky, bringing into focus the line of cedar and pine trees that marked the end of civilization and the beginning of the dense forest of Maryland.
Gong. Gong. Gong
. The eerie chime scraped a chill down Rose’s spine.
She glanced back at the brick house in the distance. Though she had yet to spy a redcoat anywhere near her farm, she should go back inside. Swallowing her fear, she emptied the bucket of slops into the pig trough. Grunts and snorts amassed in the putrid air above the enclosure, drawing her attention to her favorite pig, who waddled toward her to receive his evening scratch. Kneeling, she reached her hand in between the fence posts. “Hi, Prinney.” His moist, stiff hair bristled against her hand as he lifted his head beneath her caress and nudged against the wooden railings, while the rest of the pigs devoured their kitchen scraps.
“You’ll miss your dinner, Prinney. Better get some before it’s gone.” Rose stood and dabbed her sleeve over the perspiration on her
forehead. A light breeze, laden with the smells of hay and honeysuckle, brushed her golden curls across her face. Flicking them aside, she drew in a deep breath, hoping the familiar scents would calm her nerves.
Men and their wars
. She hated the war, hated the alarms, hated the violence. But most of all she hated the fear. Two years was far too long to live in constant terror of being overrun by a ruthless enemy.
Picking up her bucket, she hastened to the barn, gazing at her tiny garden as she went. Even in the dim light, she could make out the patches of red and yellow of the nearly ripe tomatoes and the spindly silk atop ripe ears of corn. She smiled. Despite the war, life went on.
Musket shot peppered the air.
Pop. Pop. Pop
. Somewhere close by, soldiers were being shot at or a settler was defending his land—somewhere close by, people were dying. Fear prickled her skin. Just a few more chores and she would go inside. Rose began humming a song her father taught her when she was young. She could still hear his baritone voice as he sang the words—words that always seemed to calm her.