Surrender the Heart (19 page)

He stormed toward her. Marianne cringed, not daring to release the mast.

“Do you know what you have done?”

“Ruined your rice and flour?” she answered sheepishly.

A cannon blast cracked the peaceful sky with a thunderous
Boom!

Marianne jumped and stared in that direction, but Noah’s eyes never left her.

A splash sounded where the ball dropped into the sea.

“A warning shot, Captain,” Mr. Heaton shouted from his spot by the quarterdeck railing. “I believe they want us to heave to.”

“Confound it all! More than ruined my cargo, Miss Denton.” Noah seemed to be having difficulty speaking. “You have filled my hold with
bloated rice and sticky paste and caused the ship to move as if she were a pregnant whale.”

“I’m sorry, Noah, I could think of no other way to—” She halted, fear strangling her voice at the crazed look in his eyes.

He backed away and clawed a hand through his hair. “Now we are caught like a fish in a net.”

She glanced from him to the frigate and back again. “I thought you said we had nothing to fear from the British.” She forced a ring of hopefulness into her voice.

He pointed a sharp finger her way, his face purpling. “Whatever happens is on your head, miss. Mark my words.” Then turning, he stormed toward the railing.

Within minutes, the British ship came alongside and kept pace with them. Men scrambled in formation across her deck, some in blue uniforms, others in red—all of them armed. Entangled within the lines above, men in redcoats pointed muskets their way. The charred mouths of fourteen cannons gaped at her from their ports on the main deck.

What had she done, indeed.

Noah eyed the British Naval Ensign flapping at the peak of the frigate’s mizzenmast as a man dressed in what looked like a captain’s uniform stepped onto the bulwark and held a speaking trumpet to his mouth.

“This is His Britannic Majesty’s frigate
Undefeatable
. What ship are you and where are you bound?”

Noah cupped hands around his mouth. “We are an American ship out of Baltimore, the
Fortune
, with a cargo for South Hampton, Noah Brenin commanding.” Noah took a deep breath to quell his rising fear. He had traded with the British for years—had friends on English shores. Surely when they discovered the
Fortune’s
nationality and their peaceful business, they would leave them be.

The British captain raised the speaking trumpet again. “Heave to at once, Captain, and prepare to receive a boarding party.”

Noah shook his head. Surely they would see reason. He raised his hands to his mouth. “We harbor no deserters, sir, and cannot be delayed.” He studied the frigate as he awaited a response. Sleek, tight lines and sturdy sails made her swift upon the seas. The barrels of a hundred muskets gaped at him from the tops. Not to mention the fourteen charred muzzles winking at him from her deck. A tremble went through him.

The captain turned to speak to someone beside him. Soon the air resounded with the thunderous fury of a cannon blast. Gray smoke blew back across the British ship, obscuring part of their forecastle. Once again, the ball heaved harmlessly into the sea just astern of the Noah’s ship.

“They be within our range, Cap’n.” Mr. Weller’s horror-filled eyes bulged as he transfixed them on the British warship. “Let’s give ‘em a bit o’ American ‘ospitality, eh?”

Noah shook his head, “We cannot fight a British frigate and hope to win. We would all be killed.” Confound the blasted woman! He expelled a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment then opened them to see the terror etching upon his gunner’s face. “Mr. Weller, I will do my best to protect you.”

Mr. Weller returned a knowing nod, but the fear never left his eyes.

“Go fetch my pistols and sword, if you please. No, belay that.” Noah spotted Mr. Boone on the weather deck and gave him that same order then turned back to Mr. Weller. “Get below and tell the men to arm themselves. Then stay out of sight.”

With a salute that gave Mr. Weller’s naval experience away, he dashed across the deck. Noah returned his gaze to the frigate. A blast of wind punched him with the sting of gunpowder. He rubbed the sweat from the back of his neck. For the first time in his merchant career, he was trapped—caught in the sights of fourteen guns, eighteen-pounders, from the looks of them. A broadside of which would sink him in minutes. He had no choice but to surrender and hope the captain was a reasonable fellow. Why wouldn’t he be? Despite the stories
of illegal impressments that had made their way to Baltimore, most British naval officers were men of honor.

If Noah were a praying man, he would have lifted a petition to the Almighty, but he’d given up on God caring about him a long time ago. Noah was on his own now as he had been for years. Straightening his shoulders, he gathered his resolve to preserve his ship and the lives of those upon it.

He eyed his first mate. “Mr. Heaton, heave to.”

Luke gave him a wary look and laid a hand on Noah’s shoulder in passing as he barked the orders that would lower sails and halt the ship.

No sooner had the ship eased to a slow drift, than a cutter aboard the frigate was swung from its chocks and lowered into the water on their leeward side. From what Noah could make out, a lieutenant, a midshipman, ten marines, and five sailors clambered into the boat and heaved off from the hull.

Mr. Boone returned from below and handed Noah his weapons. After strapping on his sword, Noah turned toward the mast where he’d last seen Miss Denton, expecting to find she had gone below. But there she stood, leaning against the massive wooden pole, terror and remorse burning in her gaze.

“I’m sorry, Noah,” she said.

He marched toward her. “No time for apologies, miss. You need to get below.”

She shook her head. “I caused this, and I will accept the consequences of my action.”

Grabbing her arms, he peeled her from the mast and led her to the ladder. “Do as I say for once, Miss Denton.” She ceased struggling and lowered her chin.

Noah halted. “Muster the men amidships, Mr. Heaton,” he ordered Luke, who was strapping on his own weapons. His first mate’s eyes met his. No fear, only anger seared in his dark gaze, making Noah glad for the first time that he’d chosen such a courageous man for first mate. For never had he needed the man’s bravado and stalwart spirit
more than he did now.

He urged Marianne down the ladder onto the main deck. She trembled, and his anger diminished. Despite her guilt in causing their present predicament, she must be more terrified than he. “Get below, Miss Denton, and you will be safe.” Yet he heard the uncertainty in his voice. “Hide in—”

He was interrupted by a bellow from below. “Drop the manropes!”

He turned to Marianne. “Do as I say.” Then he nodded for his men to oblige. Fear rose to join his anger for the lady. He had no idea what type of man this captain was, but he had heard stories of innocent women being captured from merchant ships as well as men.

Seven sailors, followed by ten marines clambered over the bulwarks and landed with resounding authority on the deck of the
Fortune
. A man dressed in white breeches and a blue coat that sported three gold buttons on the cuffs sauntered toward Noah. “Good morning, Captain. I am Lieutenant James Garrick, first lieutenant of His Majesty’s ship,
Undefeatable
. This is Mr. Jones, our senior midshipman.” He gestured toward a boy no more than twenty, standing beside him as he shifted slitted eyes over Noah’s crew.

Noah lengthened his stance, trying to use his height to intimidate the shorter man. “Why has your captain stopped my ship, Lieutenant Garrick? We are but simple merchants. Our countries are not at war.”

“War?” The man snickered “We need no war to reclaim what is ours.” He glanced over the crew and waved a hand to his men. “Search below and be quick about it.” He smiled. “You’ve got deserters from His Majesty’s service in your crew, and by God, I’ll have them.”

Marianne backed against the break of the foredeck. She hoped to hide behind the swarm of Noah’s sailors crowding the deck. She could not go below. Not when this invasion was all her fault. What if Noah or one of his men were to get hurt—or worse, killed? How could she live with herself? If there was any way to prevent bloodshed, she must stay above to offer her hand—or her reason.
Oh Lord, forgive me for
putting everyone on this ship in danger. Why have You allowed the British to capture us?
Her thoughts sped to Agnes, and she prayed the woman would remain out of sight. And Mr. Weller as well. Poor Mr. Weller.

Noah stepped forward, the purple plume of his hat waving in the breeze. His blue eyes turned to ice as he glared at the lieutenant. “I am Captain Noah Brenin, and I do not welcome your visit, sir. In fact, I protest this pretence as piracy. I can assure you my crew are all Americans and you, sir, are wasting your time.”

Mr. Heaton and Mr. Hobbs took positions on either side of Noah, sentinels guarding their captain.

“Indeed.” The lieutenant fingered sideburns that extended down to his pointy chin. “If that is so, we shall be gone before you know it. Now assemble your men in the waist, if you please.”

Noah gripped the hilt of his sword. “You have no right, sir.”

Marianne held her breath. The wind stopped as if pausing to view the unjust spectacle below. Perspiration slid down her back. Along with her admiration of Noah’s courage, rose fear for his safety.
Please, Lord. Do not let them fight
.

“Ah, but we do, Captain.” The lieutenant held out his hand. “I’ll take that sword and your pistols, too.”

Noah scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“And your officers as well.” The man’s glance took in Mr. Heaton and Mr. Hobbs. “And anyone else who has the stupidity to believe they can best His Majesty’s Navy,” he shouted to the crew.

Mr. Heaton’s eyes narrowed. He fisted his hands, and for a moment, Marianne thought he would lunge at the man.

Noah raised his hand, holding him at bay. “If this is a friendly visit, Lieutenant, what need do you have of our weapons?”

“Ah, defiance, but what would I expect from you rebel Americans?” Lieutenant Garrick aimed his pointy finger toward his ship where the muzzles of fourteen cannons, primed and ready to fire, gaped at them from the frigate’s deck. “Any resistance will be met with force, Captain.”

Even from where she stood, Marianne could see the muscles in
Noah’s jaw tense. “Would your captain kill his own men to prove a point?” he asked.

“If he had to.” Lieutenant Garrick shrugged. “But I assure you …” He thumbed toward the line of marines standing in formation behind him. “I would have no trouble quelling any dissension and escaping this”—with lifted nose, his glance took in the deck—“rotted bucket you call a ship before we sink her to the depths.” Again, he held out his hand and Noah, his eyes simmering, drew his sword and handed it hilt-end to the infuriating man, nodding for Mr. Heaton and Mr. Hobbs to do the same.

Noah stepped to the center of the deck. “Line up, men!”

Marianne’s heart sank. Was there nothing to be done?

The sailors shuffled into tattered lines around the mainmast. Their eyes skittered about as their fearful mumblings drifted to Marianne on the wind.