Chapter Seven.

The clang of a bell and the shout of "ship approaching starboard side" caused Dorian to jerk upright from his study of the account book as he stood in his makeshift office on the quarterdeck. Horrace, the man presently on lookout at the fore masthead, sounded the alarm.

John's booted steps rang out as he climbed the steps to the quarterdeck. "Come quick, Captain. I don't like the looks of this." They had to shout to be heard above the unrelenting north westerly wind.

"What kind of ship?"

"Square rigged, large, standing toward us."

Dorian strode to starboard, raised the spygla.s.s to his eye, and agreed. He could see the huge lugsails, flattened like boards in the stiff wind, coming right for them. "It's a lugger. One of the fastest ships built. They're notorious for pirating, better ready the men."

"All men to their stations!" John shouted above the combined roar of gale and activity. The crew recognized the threat, readied their weapons, and scurried to their respective posts. They had been drilled for this event.

The crew's excited tension matched the rapid pumping in his own veins. With the Angelina barely a year old this crew was yet green, but Dorian knew he had prepared them as best he could. This might be the test which would prove their mettle.

Turning to John, Dorian commanded, "Tell Lady Townsend to lock herself in the cabin and not open the door for anyone save you or me. Warn her that this might be the pirate fight she's been asking for." It had been two days since their dinner with Captain Moore, two days of stormy weather that had kept him occupied with the ship, without a chance to see her.

John nodded, face grim as he turned to obey.

As the ship came closer into view Dorian saw an ominous sight. A huge, sleek vessel with scores of men on deck, some stood at the rail, shouting and waving their arms above their heads, others were occupied with sails and rigging bringing the great beast ever closer to them. A soft curse escaped Dorian, still peering through his spygla.s.s. The sixth sense Dorian had cultivated from years of experience told him what he was watching was different. These were not the ordinary pirates he had confronted in the past. There was no stealth in their manner, nor cunning, only a show of reckless confidence, giving away any element of surprise. They appeared well-organized despite their bold frenzy, turning into the headwind to fight perpendicular to the Angelina. He took a deep breath of determination. G.o.d have mercy.

The Angelina was well armed with thirty-nine guns: long eighteen-pounders on the main deck, and thirty-two-pound carronades on the quarterdeck and forecastle. The men awaited their opponent's first move, a mixture of fear and fight on their faces. As expected a fiery blast came forward, flying straight above the bow of the ship, demanding that the Angelina stop.

The men cheered for the pirate ship's bad shot and fired back with their ready cannons. Grapeshot peppered the pirate ship's midsection but did not seem to penetrate and do the damage expected. As they drifted closer still, their various guns came into range. Smoke and the smell of gunpowder made Dorian's eyes burn, and the shots of the enemy cannons splintered the wood of the deck like bombs going off. Shards and needle-sharp splinters flew through the air to imbed themselves in his men and rip through the sails, leaving little more than white, flapping tatters attached to the masts.

Suddenly, the ship shuddered and a loud groaning sounded with a sharp crack. Dorian spun around, his heart sinking in dread as a main mast snapped in half and fell across the quarterdeck with a horrible crash. Grapeshot peppered the deck with more splintering wood as the pirate ship came within shouting distance. G.o.d help us. Dorian ducked for cover, all the while shouting orders to his men. The pirate ship was within boarding distance.

Dorian knew the pirates would not want to sink them yet, wanting to keep their precious loot from sinking into the depths of the Atlantic, which gave them a little more time to try and disable the pirate ship. While the pirates abandoned the heavy artillery in favor of muskets to continue the attack, Dorian had no such reservations, ordering his men to reload and fire the cannons. After several attempts the crew cheered as the bow of the lugger caught fire.

Dorian only had time for a quick a.s.sessment of his men before the lugger moved alongside the Angelina to board. A few of the men had been hit and Dorian's stomach quivered in anger and fear. He was responsible to keep his men alive, to keep them safe. There must be more he could do. Dorian stood on the quarterdeck, watching with a sense of helpless frustration as the lugger moved along the Angelina's side.

"Stand ready, men! To arms! To arms!" Dorian and John shouted the phrase as the men reached for their muskets, blunderbuss, pistols, and swords. The thwack of boarding hooks sank into the wood of the Angelina's side, marring her beauty all the more. Minutes later pirates leapt over the railing, whooping and wild, with boarding axes swinging and all sorts of firing weapons. Dorian's men leapt into the fray and a moment of pride filled him at their courage. Dear G.o.d, give us courage and strength, his whole being cried out the silent prayer.

The booming of muskets gave way to the clashing of cutla.s.ses which appeared as a silvery light in the dying light of the sun. The night echoed with groans of men falling to their death. Dorian no longer had time to a.s.sess the losses on board his ship, he was much too busy forcing down one h.e.l.lion after another. He could feel his muscles shudder and ache from the weight of his sword.

There were so many of them.

Suddenly Dorian was rushed by a huge opponent. He had long scraggly black hair, the top of his head wrapped in a piece of brightly colored cloth. A golden ring swung from one ear, and a long, black beard, thinly braided in the middle, hid most of his face except for the evil glint of his eyes.

Dorian dodged the powerful swing of the curved cutla.s.s while trying to push the man closer to the edge of the deck. Their blades made wide arcs accented by loud clangs as they met and held. The man was strong. Quite possibly too strong to hold off. Trickles of sweat ran down the center of Dorian's back. His chest heaved with exertion and his muscled arms strained to their limit.

Dorian barely felt the pirate's blade slice his forward thigh, but soon felt the effect as his leg gave a little beneath his weight. Desperate not to show his weakness, he gritted his teeth and redoubled his efforts. Taking fortifying breaths, he forced his foe closer and closer to the railing. A grin widened upon Dorian's face when he saw a glimmer of uncertainty enter his opponent's eyes. Confidence gave Dorian a new burst of strength. His thrusts became harder, more accurate. One step forward, then two more, he gradually pushed the man toward the edge. As the pirate's back brushed the rail Dorian bit out, "You'll not win this day." With one final push of the mighty steel he twisted the blade around and used the dagger in his other hand to plunge it into the pirate's chest. A look of surprise gripped the man's face and then he was pushed overboard into a watery grave.

Dorian had no time to revel in his victory, for when he turned around he was confronted with another opponent. Blades clashed for several more agonizing minutes, until a shrill whistle stopped the pirates mid-swing. It was amazing to see. Each pirate disengaged himself from battle and fled for the pirate ship. With amazing speed the ship turned and, before Dorian could gather his men to fire much upon them, they had sailed out of range. It wasn't long before they were just a dot on the horizon.

Dorian turned to survey the damage. His men! G.o.d, what had happened? He strode over to the surgeon who was busy attending the injured. Blood smeared the white boards of the deck and coated their boots. He stood above a b.l.o.o.d.y body of a man that the surgeon, McCally, was working on. Dorian didn't at first recognize the man as the wounds to his head were so profuse.

"It's Sam Edwards, Captain." The surgeon gave a sad shake of his head. "He's not going to make it, I'm afraid."

Sorrow filled his chest as he saw that it was indeed his quartermaster, Sam Edwards. Kneeling down beside the man's body he lifted his limp, b.l.o.o.d.y hand in a tight grasp and promised, "They'll pay for this, Sam. I'll find out who they were and they'll pay."

The dead were being prepared for their sea-burial when one of the men strode up to Dorian and called out in a tight voice, "Sir, the most valuable of the cargo is gone. Silks, teas, the spices, and even furniture."

Turning back to the bodies strewn across the deck, Dorian clenched his eyes shut. The cargo was gone. How had the enemy seized it while fighting a battle with his men? No wonder they had stopped fighting at the sound of that shrill whistle. It was a signal. A signal that the cargo was aboard their ship and they could abandon the fight. Dorian's hands clenched into fists on either side of his legs, the one cut burning with pain and dripping blood. These weren't ordinary pirates. They were too skilled at their operation and they had known the Angelina too well. Whoever ran this operation was a mastermind at thieving, and Dorian was determined to find out who it was.

And then there was Kendra. If the pirates had reached the cargo deep in the hold, had they found her too? She could have been spirited away to the pirate ship while he was fighting and he wouldn't even know. His heart leaping at the thought, he ignored his injury, turned, and ran to the steps leading down to the cabins.

The door was still shut and locked. A good sign. He banged on the door with all his strength. "Kendra, it's me. Open up!"

No answer. No sound came from the room.

In rising panic, Dorian backed up, ran toward the door, and plowed his shoulder into the wood, causing it to crack and splinter. "Kendra!" He yelled through the hole. "It's okay. Open the door."

Still no sound. Was she injured? Was she even there? He again plowed into the door, this time rendering enough of a hole that he reached inside and unlatched the door. Pushing against the splintered wood, he opened the door and sprang inside.

Kendra stood in the far corner of the room, her back to a pirate, a knife to her throat.

Dorian reached for his pistol.

"Don't cha be thinkin' o' using your gun, Captain. Or else, this here lady'll be sliced up real pretty. Put yur weapons down on the floor, real easy like."

Kendra's eyes bulged with fear and her breathing rasped quick and loud across the room. Dorian nodded his head. "Don't hurt her. I will let you go unmolested. You have my word." With slow, deliberate moves he took his gun from his belt and lowered it to the floor.

The pirate-a thin, filthy man-chuckled, showing several missing teeth. "That ain't my instructions."

Dorian felt his knife that he always kept shoved in the back of his waistband burn against his back. If he could only distract him long enough to reach for it. He glanced at Kendra. She looked ready to faint; not much help there. "Instructions? Did your plan include being the only one left on board my ship? It would seem your plan has gone awry as your ship has sailed away without you."

The man blanched but tightened his grip on the knife hilt.

"So this is a suicide mission, is it? Once your deed is done there will be nowhere for you to go. My men will see that you pay if you harm her." Not that he was getting a chance at that. Dorian took a couple of steps closer.

"Stop right there." The man pressed the knife into Kendra's throat, causing a m.u.f.fled scream to escape her.

Dorian held up his hands in surrender. "The path you are on will mean certain death for you. Let me give you another option."

The man scowled. "Enough talk. I'm to kill the lady with you watchin', so take a seat."

With a move so quick no one had time to react, Dorian simultaneously pulled out his knife and plowed into the man's free shoulder. Kendra screamed and stomped down on the man's foot, further loosening his hold on her. Dorian grasped the man's arm that was holding the knife, but not before he made a desperate swipe, cutting Dorian across his cheek. Dorian swung around, kneed the man in the groin as hard as he could, and grasped the pirate by the hair. With a tremendous swing of his arm, he punched the skinny man in the temple and watched with satisfaction as the man's eyes rolled into the back of his head. The pirate went limp, hanging by his hair from Dorian's hand.

Dorian turned a celebratory grin on Kendra but she was too terror stricken to respond. Wide eyed and gripping her throat, she could only stare at him. Oh no. She looked ready to faint any second.

"Get me something to tie him up with, will you?" Dorian barked out the command, knowing that action might help her regain her ability to function.

Kendra swallowed hard, nodding. Her eyes were gla.s.sy with unshed tears as she tottered over to the armoire.

"There should be some rope in the bottom drawer."

Kendra nodded and opened the drawer. Dorian dropped the pirate to the floor while she dragged the rope over to him. "Now, go and get help. Find John or any of the men and call them down here."

Kendra nodded, turning to go. In a quick move, Dorian stood and swung her into his arms. "It's okay now." His voice gentled as he held her close. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you."

Her stiff body melted into his as a hiccup of a sob broke from her throat. "But your cheek is bleeding!" she cried out in an hysterical wail.

Dorian chuckled and pulled his head back to look at her. With one arm still around her waist supporting her, he took the other hand, and with his thumb, caught a tear racing down her cheek. "Is that what's bothering you? I thought this scoundrel had scared the wits out of you."

She sniffed, blinking out more tears. "I knew you'd come."

Her faith in him caused a feeling of protective love to sweep through him. He grasped her tight to him again, whispering near her ear, "My cheek is only a scratch, my lady. My leg, however, will need some tending though. You can nurse me back to health if you'd like."

She looked down at his bleeding thigh and took a deep, shuddering inhale. "Oh no. You must sit down. Was the fight terrible? It sounded so terrible."

Being reminded of the seriousness of the battle was like having a bucket of cold water thrown into his face. "Bad enough. I've lost a few men and several are injured." He gave her a hard, sudden kiss then stood her away from him. "Go and get help, my lady. As soon as this man awakens, I intend to find out who is behind this."

"But your leg!"

"Is not as bad as it appears. I'll let you doctor me after I've dealt with this man."

Kendra nodded and ran from the cabin. Dorian hoped the sight of the deck wouldn't send her into a swoon. The Angelina and her men were going to need a long recovery time.

Moments later John entered the cabin with two seamen. "Captain, you've captured one of them?" John's face was white with tension lines standing out on either side of his mouth.

Dorian stood, equally grim. "So I thought. It seems I've hit him too hard." He looked down at the inert body. "He's gone and died on us."

Kendra gasped, pressing her hand against her mouth.

John shook his head.

"Well, throw him overboard. We'll have to investigate this matter on our own once we get to Yorktown."

"Aye, Captain." The two seamen lifted the pirate by the arms and legs and carried him from the room.

Chapter Eight.

Yorktown, VA-Summer 1798 Land!" The shout came from above.

Kendra glanced up from the book she had been reading, and then, as the word sank in, she sat up, gripping the book to her chest. Had someone really said land?

"Land ho!"

They had! She tossed the book aside and leapt from the bed. Taking up her cloak, she dashed out the door and down the narrow corridor, shivers of excitement racing through her.

"Land ho!" she heard again. She fairly flew up to the deck where several of the sailors had gathered at the western rail, gazing out at the dark line of coast just visible on the horizon. Kendra joined them, a mixture of excitement and anxiety battling in her stomach. What if her aunt and uncle didn't want her? What would she do then?

Dorian saw her the minute she came up on deck, a sunny spot of yellow against the gray-green water. He started toward her, grinning at the way she clapped down another monstrous hat, this time a wide-brimmed yellow straw trimmed in black ribbons with some kind of enormous bunch of yellow feathers in the front and a single, long black feather sticking out in the back. The feathers looked ready to make use of their original design and give the hat flight in the stiff wind. Once he reached her side he asked on a cheerful note, "Are you happy to see the end of our voyage is in sight, Lady Kendra?"

"Oh, yes," she breathed, looking at up him with excited eyes. "I will be most happy to plant my feet upon solid ground."

Dorian took in the sparkle in her violet-hued eyes as he jested, "I'm afraid you will have to endure another day or two of my company as I am bound to escort you to your new home."

Her eyes widened and a hint of surprise flashed across her face. "You are personally seeing me to my aunt's?"

"Would you rather John saw to it? He is the one who a.s.sured your uncle that he would see you safely home."

"Oh. Whatever is most convenient, of course." She worried her lower lip between her teeth for a moment and turned toward the spot of land in the distant. In a voice almost too low to hear she admitted, "I should welcome your company, though. I am a bit nervous as to my reception when I first meet my aunt and uncle."

"You have never met these relatives before?" His regard for Lord Townsend slipped another notch.

"No, they left for America soon after they were married. I hadn't been born."

"I see." But he didn't really. The protective urge he felt for her surged to the fore. "What else do you know of this aunt and uncle of yours?"

"Not much," Kendra replied with a shrug. "Aunt Amelia was my mother's younger sister. She married Lord Rutherford and they soon left for America." Kendra looked up at him with such innocent eyes. The thought of dropping her off at a stranger's house made his stomach churn. He tried to focus on her speculations as she continued. "I thought perhaps he had been a.s.signed there by the king, before the war, or some circ.u.mstance like that."

"Hmmm." Dorian didn't want to upset Kendra with his reservations so he merely nodded. If this aunt and uncle were unsuitable he would take her to his home.

His home? The thought, so strong and sudden, gave him pause. He looked away from her open face to suppress a groan. What would he do with her then? Marry her? His first marriage had been a sham, a disaster, and he'd vowed never to make that mistake again. Molly's face flashed through his mind. A pretty brown-haired girl with curves beyond her years. He'd only been eighteen. Young, intemperate, and foolish. Molly was two years younger and knew something about batting eyelashes and leaning close enough that he could feel her body against his arm. He'd gotten her pregnant. At least that's what Molly and her mother had told them after their one time together. His parents had urged Dorian to do the right thing and marry the girl. Something they never spoke of now, something they all regretted. As soon as she'd moved in with them, Molly had turned from a demure innocent who'd unwittingly been lured into Dorian's arms to a selfish girl who took every opportunity to demand and complain. She'd insisted on her own maid, had no interest in learning the duties of a wife or helping Hannah, Dorian's mother. She spent all of her time parading about town in the Colburn carriage and begging Dorian to take her places and buy her things.

Driven by despair, Dorian threw himself into work and it paid off. Within a few months and with a little help from his father, he had bought his first ship and sailed away from his problems-leaving them in the hands of his family. But Molly had tricked them all.

When he arrived home, six months after his wedding, he discovered that Molly wasn't really pregnant, never had been. It was all a ruse. Dorian turned his back on her and never looked her in the eyes again. He left again and again, leaving his parents to deal with her, never home, always sailing, always free on the wide-open sea. He'd grown hard, he could feel it inside, a hardening that only cared for his ships and the sea and this form of freedom.

A couple of years later his unuttered prayer was answered, leaving him mired in another level of wretchedness. While Dorian was away on one of the ships, Molly went to visit her mother and contracted small pox. She had been forced to stay at her mother's for fear of contaminating the Colburns, something that couldn't have pleased her. In less than two weeks she had died. Dorian hadn't even been there for the funeral and when he finally did find out, it was as if a great burden had been lifted from him. He was almost happy about it, and for that he couldn't forgive himself or Molly.

He'd drifted then. Free but not. Building his fortune and turning his back on any kind of depth in relationships. Women were off limits except to flirt and dally. The more he pulled away from them the more willing they became. He found himself having to use his wits to escape their entrapping tactics. Like Angelene. No one understood that he knew she and women like her had been playing their game to his advantage for years. He'd never thought to have a different life.

He needed to remember all of this, keep it in the forefront of his mind when the lovely earl's daughter flashed her brilliant violet-hued eyes at him and turned his stomach into mush. He? Husband and father? Tied to the land and a woman he would struggle to trust? The idea struck him as a blow while a constricting feeling tightened around his neck, making him struggle to drag in the next breath.

"Are you alright, Captain?" She looked up at him with that open, heart-shaped face and big, tilted eyes. She placed her gloved hand on his arm, all concerned loveliness. He found he couldn't answer. He was certainly not alright. Before true panic could set in, he bowed in a short jerk and muttered, "I had better get back to my duties," and turned and walked away.

Kendra's brows came together as she watched him leave. Whatever had she done to send him scurrying off like that, as if his very life was in danger? She exhaled with a loud humph and turned back toward the growing dark line on the horizon. America. Land of the free, they said. She could only hope the adage proved true for her, an Englishwoman, who didn't know the first thing about freedom and what her life here might become.

The next twenty-four hours brought them up to the sh.o.r.es of a new republic. The late afternoon sun glinted off the gray-green water of the York River as the Angelina wound her way across the choppy waters of the Chesapeake Bay toward Yorktown. Kendra stood at the railing, watching the lush landscape go by either side of the ship. The water narrowed and narrowed from wide-open sea to a sliver of river waves cutting through wild land. Heavily wooded forests flanked the river's edge-greens, browns, and the tawny colors of scrub and bush. Kendra took a great, long breath of the moss-damp air and tried as best she could to tamp down the rising anxiety this wilderness brought to her chest.

An hour slid by as they turned toward a bend in the river. Kendra felt her heart rise in hope and wonder as the beginnings of a town came into view. Various-sized storehouses dotted the wharf where men scurried about loading and unloading ships. The sailors aboard the Angelina were soon busy docking the great ship as if it were no more than a toy. Kendra marveled at their skill as they slid with ease into their moorings. They were soon bobbing alongside other sea craft of various shapes and sizes, waiting to disembark.