“Oh, it all sounds so marvelous,” Rosa Jenkins, one of the farmers’ wives, exclaimed as she hugged her young daughter.
Dodd slunk through the crowd and stopped before the colonel. “I hear tell there’s a hidden lake of gold guarded by monster crocodiles.” His eyes flashed with excitement as he glanced over the mob. Some stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Others ignored him, while interest lingered in a few gazes. In fact, more than one sailor stopped what he was doing and inched closer.
“Did you say a lake of gold?” a woman exclaimed.
“Just a myth, Mr. Dodd.” James joined the group. “An old tale meant to fool the greedy.”
Dodd looked him over with a sneer and patted his pocket. “Maybe the lake is a myth, but I have a map.” His brows arched. “An old pirate map that describes the location of buried treasure.”
The colonel chuckled. “If there were any treasure, I’m sure it’s long gone by now, Mr. Dodd. Pirates don’t tend to leave their gold for long.”
“If they all got killed off, they do.” Wind blew Dodd’s blond hair into a frenzy and doused Eliza with the scent of his Macassar cologne. “Besides, I got this map from an old sailor who frequented pirate haunts in the Caribbean. Paid good money for it.”
“I hope not too much.” James chuckled, and several colonists joined him.
“Is that why you signed on with the colony?” The colonel’s tone grew strained. “And here I brought you along for your experience as a sheriff.”
“I’ll be your law when the occasion calls for it.” Dodd opened his pocket watch and gazed at the time as if he had an appointment. “But that won’t stop me from looking for gold.”
The colonel shook his head and snorted before returning to his post. Yet several passengers crowded around Dodd, wanting to know more about this mysterious treasure. Others continued prodding Mr. Scott for more information about Brazil, prompting from him further descriptions of exotic fruits, wild chickens that all but leaped into pots of boiling water, forests filled with mahogany and cherry, plenty of wild game for the taking, and sap as sweet as honey. But Eliza grew bored at the fanciful talk. For that was all it was. There was no paradise this side of heaven. No utopia. She’d forsaken whimsical dreams when her family disowned her and left her to rot on the street. When she’d been forced to witness horrors no woman should see. Brazil was a new start for her. A place where people didn’t know who she was. Nothing more. She raised her face to the sun, feeling its warm fingers caress her skin. A breeze tugged strands of hair from her chignon, but she didn’t care. Though her father had forbidden her to wear it down, saying, “Only women of questionable morals wear their hair loose,” Eliza had tossed aside her pins at every opportunity. Here in the relentless wind, she had the perfect excuse. She smiled as her curls tickled her neck and tumbled down her back. Free.
She was free at last.
No more loathing glances from the citizens of Marietta, no more being banned from shops, hotels, eating houses, and even from church. No more falling asleep hungry in tavern rooms not fit for pigs, selling her nursing skills for pennies to desperate souls who tolerated her presence. It had not mattered where she went or how far she ran, or even that she had changed her name, it seemed everyone knew the famous solicitor Seth Randal’s traitorous daughter.
She drew in a deep breath of the briny air and smiled. The rush of water against the hull combined with the snap of sail and creak of timber into a soothing symphony that swept over Eliza, loosening her tight nerves. The ship lunged and sprayed her with salty mist.
Closing her eyes, she waited for the sun and wind to dry the moisture away when a voice crashed down on her from above. “A sail! A sail!”
“Where stands she?” Captain Barclay shouted as Eliza glanced across the horizon.
“Two points off our larboard stern, Captain!”
Spinning to face the back of the ship, Eliza spotted half-moons of snowy canvas floating over the azure sea about a mile astern.
Clutching her skirts, she crossed the deck to where the colonel stood, spyglass to his eye. “Who are they?”
“Unclear.” He continued to study them. “I can’t spot their flag.”
Eliza’s throat went dry. “You don’t suppose the Union sent a ship after us.”
He lowered the scope and gave her a reassuring smile. “They wouldn’t waste their time. I’m the only contraband on board this brig.”
Though the colonel’s voice was strong and confident, his gray eyes held a hint of alarm. The wind flung Eliza’s hair into her face. She swatted it away and glanced once again at the ship.
“Most likely a merchantman or a fishing vessel,” he continued. “Nothing to trouble yourself over. See, even Captain Barclay isn’t concerned.” He pointed to the quarterdeck where the captain calmly studied the ship, his first mate by his side.
Eliza nodded, tension fleeing her as she drew a deep breath. However, that tension returned when off the bow of the ship, a wall of fog ascended from the sea, blocking their path.
Graves, the brooding ex-politician, caught the direction of her gaze and smiled at her from his spot by the foremast. But she hadn’t time to wonder at the reason. Instead, she alerted the colonel, who upon seeing the fog, called to the captain. The sailors had been so intent on determining the origin of the other ship, they hadn’t noticed the coming haze.
“Odd,” the colonel said, shaking his head. “I’ve never seen a fog so thick when the sun shines.”
“It seemed to come out of nowhere.” Eliza gripped the railing.
“Still, it’s just fog. If anything, it will keep us well hidden.” Yet his tone seemed hollow and distant—unsure. She followed his gaze to the captain, who unleashed a string of orders for the crew to shorten sail. When she faced the colonel again, he assessed her with eyes as stormy and gray as the incoming fog. “But I perceive you are not a woman easily frightened. Neither plucking a bullet from a man’s flesh nor traveling all alone to a new land seems to trouble you.”
Warmed by his compliment, Eliza noted that James was assisting Angeline and Sarah below, out of the chilled mist. “I have never been accused of being timid, Colonel.”
He shoved the telescope into this belt and leaned back on the railing, arms across his chest. His charcoal-colored hair danced over his collar in the wind. “War has a way of stealing one’s innocence. As well as strengthening their character. However, in your case, this pluck of yours seems more something you were born with than something acquired.”
She slipped a bit closer, allowing his large body to block the wind. Something about the man made her feel safe—a masculine assurance, confidence, and protectiveness that dripped from every pore and hovered in the air around him. And she hadn’t felt safe in quite some time. Besides, she could stare into those piercing, gray eyes for hours—the ones that now looked at her with adoration. Adoration she didn’t deserve. “I fear you may be right, Colonel. Though my fortitude has caused me much trouble through the years.”
A mischievous twinkle crossed his eyes. “I should like to hear of your daunting adventures, someday, Mrs. Crawford.”
Did any man have a deeper, more symphonic voice? It resonated through her in low, soothing tones that melted all her defenses. She backed away and lowered her gaze. “I would never want to disparage your good opinion of me, sir.”
He took her hand in his. “You never could.”
She tugged it away. What was she doing? She’d never been the flirtatious type. Perhaps three days of navigating wobbling decks and cleaning up vomit had warped her good senses. Senses that told her there could never be anything between a Southern colonel and a Yankee by marriage. Unless … after hearing her story, after hearing her reasons, perhaps there was a chance he would understand, a chance he could see beyond her past.
Another chill struck Eliza, and she hugged herself as the ship thrust into the fog bank. Gray roiling mist enveloped them, condensing in drops on the woodwork and lines.
“Stand by to take in royals and flying jib!” Captain Barclay’s orders ricocheted over the deck. “And light the lanterns fore and aft!”
Colonel Wallace gripped the railing and gazed at the gray curtain. “Odd. Very odd.”
Most of the passengers scrambled below out of the cold as deathly silence devoured the ship. Even the creak of wood and purl of water against the hull sounded hollow and distant. Above them, the tips of masts disappeared as they poked through the head of the vaporous beast.
Sailors stood on deck, wide-eyed. Some climbed aloft to adjust sails. Moses, Delia, and her two children hunkered together beneath the foredeck. Eliza couldn’t blame them for not wanting to join the others below, considering their attitude toward the former slaves. Turning, she clutched the railing. Droplets bit her hands and spread a chill up her arms as white foam licked the hull beneath her.
Motion drew her gaze to Mr. Graves, who was still leaning against the foremast, one boot crossed over the other as if he hadn’t a care in the world. A satisfied smirk sat upon his lips before he began to whistle. The eerie tune snaked over the deck, sending the hair on Eliza’s neck bristling even as the mist thickened, obscuring him from her view.
Heavy moisture coated her lungs, making it hard to breathe. She felt the colonel stiffen beside her as his intent gaze took in the fog on both sides of the ship. He cocked his ear and closed his eyes as if listening for something. The lines on his forehead deepened.
Something was wrong. Eliza knew it. One glance at the colonel told her that whatever it was, he sensed it too.
He took her hand. “You should get below, Mrs. Crawford.” His tone brooked no defiance. With a nod, she turned to leave when jets of yellow and red flashed in the distance.
“A shot! All hands down!”
C
HAPTER
7
O
nce again Eliza felt the colonel’s firm body against hers. This time, instead of landing on top of her, he’d forced her to the deck and pressed her head against his chest while he hovered over her like a human shield. Cocooned within a barrier of warm muscles, all she could hear was the
thump thump thump
of his heart.
Or was that the crew diving to the deck?
An ominous splash quivered the air around her. Curses flew. A blade of sunlight cut through the fog, piercing the wooden planks to Eliza’s right. Pressing a hand on her shoulder—no doubt to prevent her from standing—the colonel rose and glanced over the ship. She felt the loss of his body heat immediately. Along with his masculine scent—both replaced by a chilled wind that smelled of fear and cigar smoke.
“Stay down,” he ordered before marching to the quarterdeck, parting a fog that was already scattering beneath the sun’s rays. Eliza peeked at Captain Barclay, his face a mass of angst as he raised the telescope to his eye.
“Lay aloft and loose fore topsails!” The captain’s shout broke the eerie silence, startling Eliza. Immediately, sailors jumped up and dashed in all directions. Their bare feet thrummed over the wooden planks, sounding far too much like war drums on the battlefield.
“Man the weather halyards and topsail sheets!” Captain Barclay’s booming tirade of orders continued. “Helm-a-starboard! Steady now!”
Rising to her feet, Eliza peered behind them, squinting as sunlight shoved away the mist. Off their larboard quarter, the ship they’d seen earlier burst out of the fog, foam flinging from her bow and the American flag flapping at her foremast.
She was heading straight for them.
“Bloody Yanks!” One sailor shouted as he passed Eliza and leaped into the ratlines.
The deck buzzed with sailors dashing here and there, clambering aloft or grabbing lines. Hayden, their resident stowaway, emerged from below, followed by James and a few other male passengers.
“Do you have shot for your guns, Captain?” The colonel’s face had tightened like a drum, his eyes focused.
“Aye.” The gruff seaman pointed forward where some men were removing canvas from two small guns on either side of the foredeck. “I only have these four-pounder swivels, as you can see.” His hardened gaze swept to the oncoming ship. “We are a civilian ship, not a privateer. Those white-livered curs!” He slammed his fist on the quarter rail and barreled down the ladder.
Pressing his wounded side, Hayden led a group of men to the captain. “What can I do?”
In the mayhem, Eliza seemed to have been forgotten. She faced the oncoming ship as it rose and plunged through the sea, its ivory sails gorged with wind. Not a speck of fog remained anywhere. Instead, golden streams of sunlight poured upon the
New Hope
as if highlighting their position for all to see. For the Union ship to see. What did they want? More importantly
who
did they want? Fear curdled in her belly at the thought they were after the colonel.
Perspiration slid down Eliza’s back. The ship pitched over a wave, and her feet skipped across the deck. Above her, sails caught the wind in a boom nearly as loud as a cannon. She’d heard more than her share of the monstrous beasts on the battlefield and seen the devastation they could wreak, but she had never been in the middle of a battle. Especially at sea.
The brig swung to port. Her timbers creaked and groaned as the ship tacked away from their enemy. The railing leaped toward the sky. Eliza clutched it lest she tumble across the deck. Her mouth went dry.
Why didn’t the blasted Union leave them alone?
Hadn’t they done enough damage?
The ship righted again. Wind whipped strands of Eliza’s hair into her face. She brushed them aside just in time to see a yellow flame jet from the Union ship.
“Hands down!” the captain yelled, but Eliza had already anticipated the command and lowered herself to the deck planks. The smell of dank wood and tar filled her nose. A heavy body pressed against her back, barricading her from danger. The colonel again. She knew his scent, the feel of his steely muscles.
The snap and crack of wood split the air. Curses ricocheted over the brig. Captain Barclay loosed another string of orders, something about tacks and sheets and the helm. But Eliza was more concerned that someone may have been injured. Thankfully, she heard no screams.