The Red Siren (10 page)

      Out the front door, Lucas disappeared into the shadows and soon returned leading two horses.
      Faith whistled, and Morgan flew to her outstretched hand. She set the bird on the horse’s back, then clutching her skirts, she mounted her steed, Seaspray, with ease and placed the parrot on the saddle horn. He screeched and flapped his wings, causing the horse to jerk. Grabbing the reins, she steadied the anxious beast until Lucas settled upon his.
      The excitement of the coming adventure began to cloud out the disturbing altercation with her sister—for now. But Faith knew she had to address Hope’s wayward ways soon, before the girl got herself into trouble.
      “Let’s be about that treasure, shall we?” She winked at Lucas and kicked her horse, and the two of them sped out the gate and down the lane.
      
They had not a moment to lose. Faith could not afford to trade broadsides with a British warship, especially one commanded by a highly decorated officer. Such a confrontation not only would result in her ship being sunk to the bottom of the sea but would no doubt leave both her and her crew dead.

P
lanting her boots on the beakhead of the
Red Siren
, Faith crossed her arms over her chest and braced herself against the oncoming white-tipped swell. The turbulent seas reflected the raging of her heart as the ship bolted then careened over a huge wave. She shook her head, trying to dislodge the memories of the morning. She must concentrate on the task at hand.
      After a twenty-minute gallop, she and Lucas had arrived at the bayou, where the
Red Siren
hid in an estuary, anchored safely amid fern and foliage. Her crew had already prepared the vessel with anticipation and welcomed her with greed-infested grins. In less than an hour, Faith had changed into breeches and waistcoat, navigated the ship through the narrow channel, and sent it spewing from the tiny inlet like venom from a snake upon the mighty sea.
      A sinister grin played upon her lips. Mr. Waite expected to rendezvous with the treasure ship off Hilton Head in the afternoon, but Faith would meet up with the vessel long before then. By her calculations, the merchant ship would pass Tybee Island—nigh fifteen miles south of St. Helena—near midday, and the
Red Siren
would be there to give her a proper pirate greeting.
      A gray haze broke the grip of darkness on the horizon and drove the black shroud back into the sky. Soon splashes of coral, saffron, and crimson dazzled the morning like jewels strewed above the indigo sea.
      Closing her eyes, Faith relished the whip of the wind in her hair and the sting of the sea in her nostrils, but thoughts of her sisters intruded upon her peace. Terror drew her muscles taut. After all of Faith’s hard work, after all the risks she had taken to protect her sisters from marriages to unsavory men, Hope threw herself at the most unsavory of them all. Word about town was that Lord Falkland acquired and
consumed women as frivolously as he did his wealth and in equally as shady a manner. And Lady Cormac—an ill-tempered woman of extreme impertinence—was rumored to be no lady at all but the illegitimate daughter of a local lawyer. What could Hope possibly find so alluring in such disagreeable company?
      An arc of bright gold peeked over the horizon, sending a blanket of warmth and light over Faith, lifting her spirits. Depending on her success today, she might finally acquire enough fortune to meet, nay, exceed her father’s condition for her and her sisters’ independence. Not to mention free her from marrying Sir Wilhelm. How she would answer the admiral when he inquired as to the source of her sudden wealth, she had no idea, but her father never reneged on a promise. At last Faith would be able to stay home and keep a better watch on Hope—and on Grace as well, for truth be told, Faith’s youngest sister put herself in no less danger than Hope when she ventured to the shady outskirts of town on her missions to feed the poor and the Indians. Only by the grace of God—no, purely by luck alone—she had not been kidnapped or murdered. Why, oh, why couldn’t her sisters stay home and behave like proper young ladies?
      The sails above Faith snapped as a gust struck them. She tugged her black velvet waistcoat tighter about her neck against the chill breeze.
      Lucas appeared beside her. “All sails be unfurled, and we’ve caught a weather breeze, mistress. I reckon we’ll be at Tybee afore noon.”
      “Thank you, Lucas.”
      The ship bucked again, sending a spray of bubbling foam over the bow. Salt stung Faith’s eyes, and she examined her first mate.
      She wouldn’t be a pirate captain if not for him. When she’d rescued him from the streets of Portsmouth, starving and beaten, and convinced her father to hire him as their groomsman, she had no idea he had sailed on a pirate ship for four years under the dread pirate captain Samuel Burgess. When Captain Burgess was brought to Britain and convicted of piracy, Lucas and several of the crew managed to escape, but they faced a fate nearly as horrifying as the noose as they fought for scraps of food on the streets of London.
      Lucas taught Faith everything she knew about sailing, navigation, firing a pistol, firing a cannon, even wielding a sword. Together they had stolen their first boat, a small fishing vessel anchored in the harbor at Portsmouth. With that, they began their pirating career and, with each
successive conquest, acquired faster ships, until Faith had finally settled on this sleek brigantine—compliments of Mr. Waite.
      When Lucas had refused to assume command of the crew, Faith slid into the role of captain with the ease of one putting on a glove. She seemed to have a natural ability to command, make quick decisions, and inspire the men.
      Lucas squinted toward the sunrise, a dreamy grin softening his features. But Faith surmised piracy was not on his mind at the moment.
      “Am I mistaken, Lucas, or do you fancy Miss Molly?”
      The sun gleamed off his perfect white teeth. “Ye noticed?” He shook his head. “She be…she be…a rare blossom of a woman, to be sure.” He shrugged. “But she shuns me, as ye saw.”
      “Nay, I am not so sure.” Faith offered him a coy smile.
      “Don’t be teasin’ me, mistress.”
      “Despite present appearances, I
am
a woman. And I sense that Miss Molly is not as repulsed by you as she pretends. Trust me.”
      Lucas scratched his head, his fingers tangling in the black hair that hung in thick wires to his shoulders. “Odds fish that I do find some comfort in that.”
      “Is she aware of your heritage?”
      “That I be a half-breed? Nay.”
      “She may not know you have some Negro in you. The color of your skin could pass for a summer day’s tan.”
      “D’ye think it would make a difference?”
      “Perhaps. You should tell her about your past.”
      He scowled. “How my parents were murdered, how I’s once a slave, how I run away and became a pirate?”
      Faith snickered. “Well, perhaps you should omit that last part.”
      “Aye, to be sure. She be a godly woman, which is why she don’t want to be hearin’ about me past neither.”
      “It might soften her opinion of you.” Faith blinked when she realized that she of all people was playing the matchmaker. Yet an undeniable spark crackled across the room when Lucas and Molly were together.
      “What would a proper Christian woman like her want with a half-breed, half-witted, thievin’ barracuda like me?” Lucas rubbed the back of his thick neck.
      “Aye, but there is so much more to you than that, and you know it.” Faith flashed him a knowing glance. “Besides, I have never seen you run
from anything, Lucas. ’Tis why I’m glad you’re my first mate. Fearless, adventurous. You risk your life every day on this ship, but you fear a woman who stands barely five feet tall?”
      “Aye, that be about the way of it.” He crossed his beefy arms over his chest, and they both laughed out loud.
      “Sail ho!” Mac’s deep voice bellowed from the crosstrees.
      Yanking her spyglass from her belt, Faith raised it and scanned the horizon. Off their starboard beam, the coastline of the New World sped by in sun-kissed shimmers of emerald and honey. Up ahead, nothing but dark blue streaked with foam-crested waves extended to the horizon. “Where lies she?”
      “Four points off our larboard bow!”
      Shifting the glass to the left, Faith squinted and spotted the tips of two pyramids, dark against the rising sun. But as the ship grew larger, from her size and colors, she appeared to be naught but a French fishing vessel—too small to carry any fortune of note.
      “Let her pass, men. She is not the one we want.” She turned to Lucas. “Keep our British colors aloft and alert me when another ship approaches.”
      “Aye, aye, mistress.”
      Faith marched to the foredeck ladder then swerved about. “Have Kane check all the pistols and muskets and ensure they are working properly. And tell Bates to ready the guns.”
      Lucas nodded with a smile.
      Three hours later, after catching parcels of sleep in between several ship sightings, Faith emerged from the companionway in a bouffant red-satin skirt, a gold-lace stomacher trimmed with pearls, and a cream-colored bodice that blossomed into double-ruffled sleeves. In one hand she carried a folding fan, in the other a flintlock pistol. A red silk scarf adorned her neck. They had arrived at Tybee Island, and she must dress appropriately for such important guests.
      All gazes shot to her, and Morgan squawked a whistle.
      With a roll of her eyes, Faith braced one hand on her hip and cleared her throat to allow her most imperious tone. It always seemed harder to command the ship arrayed like a child’s doll.
      “Prepare to go about!” she barked across the deck, sending the crew up into the shrouds. Plucking the spyglass from her belt, she scanned the coastline, nigh three miles off their starboard side. She must turn the
ship around and maintain a leisurely course in the same direction their prey would be sailing, thus allowing their enemies to come alongside with ease when they took the bait.
      She heard the familiar hollow thud of Lucas’s boots approach.
      “Hard to larboard, Lucas, but keep a slow pace.” She lowered her glass and squinted at him in the sunlight. A strand of hair slapped her face, and she waved it aside.
      With a nod, he swung about and began braying orders. “Ease down the helm! Let go the foresheets and headsheets!”
      “Bring down the foresheets, bring down the foresheets,” Morgan hooted as he paced upon his tiny perch.
      The purling of the sea along the hull softened to a trickle as the ship slowed.
      Lucas wiped the sweat from his neck. “Helm, bring her about. Raise tacks and sheets.” Men scrambled like monkeys across the ratlines, shrouds, and yards that towered precariously overhead.
      Faith gripped the railing as the ship veered to port, spitting a fountain of white foam off her stern. After further orders, the yards on the main and crossjack swung around together and braced up sharp on the new tack. Wind eased into the rising canvas, sending the ship skimming through the turquoise water.
      Kane joined her at the main deck railing and spit off to the side. The rugged boy’s dark gaze took in the expanse of sea before them. “When d’ye expect this ship o’ yers, Capitaine?” He folded arms nearly as thick as his thighs across his chest.
      “Anytime now. Not to worry, Kane.” Faith had never regretted offering a position on her ship to the half-French, half-British seaman she’d found tied to a chain, scrubbing the deck of a French merchant vessel. Later she’d learned he’d been abandoned by his young mother on the streets of Bristol and, at the age of thirteen, press-ganged into the Royal Navy. Now barely eighteen, though his face remained boyish, he had grown into a very imposing seaman.
      He flashed a playful grin her way. “I ain’t worried none, Capitaine,” he said in that peculiar accent of his that still held a trace of French. “Ye have a natural sense about ye when it comes to ships.”
      “Is the barrel ready to be set afire?” Faith asked.
      “Just awaitin’ yer order, Capitaine.” He pressed both sides of his mustache.
      
They had not come across any ships of note on the passage south, so she had to assume the treasure ship would soon pass their way. One glance at the sun’s position told her it was close to eleven o’clock. She hoped they wouldn’t have long to wait.
      But wait they did.
      Another three hours passed in which no ships were seen save a small fishing vessel that gave them a friendly hail. Standing on the quarterdeck, Faith clutched the railing. The rough wood bit into her skin. Trickles of perspiration slid beneath her heavy gown as the sun, now beginning its descent in the sky, flung its fiery arrows upon them. But she doubted it was the sun that caused her to perspire. Her nerves knotted into balls with each passing second.
Where is that ship?
      “Don’t be worryin’ none, Cap’n,” Wilson said behind her as he steadfastly manned the helm.
      She cast him a measured smile over her shoulder. As stout a sailor as ever could be found and none more loyal, Wilson had stood at the ship’s wheel for hours without complaint. “Have Strom relieve you, Mr. Wilson.”
      “Nay, I’d like to stay at me post, if ye don’t mind.”
      Faith nodded with a smile and turned back around.
      Lucas’s tall figure loomed over one of the men below on the main deck as he assisted him in securing a rope on the belaying pin. The other pirates lingered about like powder kegs ready to explode. Some busied themselves playing dice, others cleaning their weapons. She allowed no drinking on her ship before a raid. Rum dulled the wits and slowed the senses, but the lack of it seemed to keep the men far too jittery.
      Faith drew in a deep breath of crisp air, bringing with it the earthy scents of damp wood and tar. Oh, how she loved the smells of a ship! Yet not even sailing upon her precious sea could loosen the dread that now fastened itself around her. Perhaps she was the one who had been duped. She took a quick scan of the horizon and bit her lip. Had the captain known who she was all along? Had he set a trap for her? Her legs numbed.
      “Nobody’s fool, nobody’s fool,” Morgan cawed from his perch on the mainmast just below Faith, his words echoing her own impression of Mr. Waite. She frowned at her feathery friend. “Whose side are you on, anyway?”
      With a flap of his red and blue wings, he cocked his head upward and stared at her with one eye.
      
“A sail, a sail!” Mac shouted.
      Shielding her eyes from the sun, she surveyed the horizon.
      The dark silhouette of a ship bore down upon them.