Great guns, Mr. Jamieson. Where are all the cockboats?” Dajon scanned the empty braces perched atop the deck then glanced over the port side as Borland dashed toward the stern and leaned over the taffrail.
“None here, Captain—sir!” Borland yelled.
“Who took them out?”
“Midshipman Salles took one out, sir,” Mr. Jamieson offered.
“Yes, but who else?” Dajon spiked a hand through his hair. “I gave no one else permission to leave the ship.” He glanced up at the smoldering sun now halfway across the sky and swiped the sweat from his brow.
He must get to shore. He had only an hour before Faith would marry Sir Wilhelm. Alarm gripped him, squeezing hope drop by drop from his heart. Everything, his entire future and that of Faith’s rested solely on his perfect timing.
Fisting his hands on his waist, he scanned Charles Towne port, nearly a mile from the ship. Nothing but indigo waters, stirred only by passing ships and diving pelicans, separated him from reaching his dreams.
Borland approached on his left. “I don’t understand it. All the boats have disappeared.”
Faith slid her silk shoes up the stairs of the brick courthouse, the clank of the irons around her ankles ringing a death knell with each step she took. Reaching up, she tried to wipe the perspiration from her neck, but the chains binding her wrists forbade her. On each side, deputies of the assembly gripped her elbows and assisted her onward. If she wasn’t so distraught, she would laugh at all the fuss they were making over one small woman.
But she was a pirate, after all.
And after assessing the slight men beside her, she’d decided they were wise to use such precautions. Freed from these chains and with a cutlass in hand, she had no doubt she could dispatch them with ease.
But regardless, she wouldn’t dare attempt it. Not with Dajon’s life on the line.
Would she never see him again? The pain of that possibility stabbed her deep in the gut. What had he done when Lucas had given him the news of her decision to marry Wilhelm? Perhaps he had gone to Bath himself to speed up Governor Eden’s pardon. She had no way of knowing where he was, no way of informing anyone of the abominable event about to take place. After Lucas, Molly, and her sisters had left, Sir Wilhelm had prevented anyone from calling upon her again.
Two giddy girls shuffled along behind her, fussing over the lacy trim around her hem and waist.
“Oh, Miss Westcott, you do look so beautiful,” one of them said.
“Beautiful. I so love weddings,” the other girl chirped, reminding Faith of Morgan’s meaningless squawking.
She longed to spin around and ask them if they did not see the chains that bound her feet and hands but thought better of wasting her energy. They were naught but young girls, with no more brains than begonias, hired by Sir Wilhelm to prepare her for this loathsome farce of a ceremony.
Choking down a rising clump of disgust, Faith took the final step, the silk of her emerald gown swishing over her stockings. Neither her warm sudsy bath, nor the beautiful gown now adorning her, nor the string of pearls at her throat had been able to remove the filth of the dungeon from her skin.
Or the repulsion of marrying Sir Wilhelm from her heart.
One of the deputies shoved aside the massive oak door, and a blast of mold, human sweat, and decay assailed her.
She swallowed, hesitating as her legs seemed to melt. The deputies tugged on her elbows, but snatching them from their grasp, she stepped inside of her own free will. She would not be led like a condemned prisoner to her death. She had made her choice.
Faith took another step inside, and the girls scrambled to get by her and take their places at the front. The door slammed shut, showering Faith with dust from the rafters and locking her in a vault from which there was no escape. As her eyes became accustomed to the dim interior, the form of Sir Wilhelm took shape like a specter at the far end of the room. He stood before a long, upraised judge’s table dressed in all the finery of his class. Turning to face her, he licked his gaunt lips as a grin slithered over them. Beside him, a man dressed in a fine cambric shirt and a richly embellished velvet waistcoat and breeches eyed her with suspicion. A priest, wearing the flowing white robes of the Church of England, stood at the front, sifting through the pages of a small book.
Sir Wilhelm beckoned her forward like a snake into his coils, sunlight glinting off his jeweled fingers. The deputies nudged her from behind. Her chains scraped over the wooden floor as she glanced out the window to her left. A wooden platform broiled in the hot sun, two nooses dangling lifelessly in the windless day. No doubt Sir Wilhelm had planned the ceremony within sight of her alternative.
Pompous half-wit. Little did he know she would gladly put the noose around her own neck rather than marry him. ‘Twas only thoughts of Dajon that kept her feet moving toward a fate worse than death.
Oh God, help me. I know I deserve this and far worse. But if there’s any way in Your mercy to rescue me while sparing Dajon and my sisters, even if by my death, please come to my aid.
Faith inched ahead, praying for a breeze to whip in through the window, but the air remained tepid, static as doldrums at sea. No movement, not a single wisp stirring. Dead, like her heart.
Keeping her face forward, she finally reached the front.
“Miss Westcott, may I introduce Judge Nicolas Trott.” Sir Wilhelm gestured toward the finely dressed man beside him.
Trott. Faith had heard of the man. An Anglican priest, descended from a highly influential British family, he was known for his lack of mercy and his particular hatred of pirates.
With an arrogant snort, he perused her.
Sir Wilhelm retrieved a paper from his coat and waved it before her face. “On Judge Trott’s recommendation, Governor Johnson has graciously given me your full pardon.”
How she longed to snatch the document and stuff it into his pretentious mouth.
The judge snapped a quick glance her way as if staring at her too long would infect him. “I trust you’ll not be pirating again, Miss Westcott.”
“I trust I’ll not be doing anything pleasurable ever again, sir.”
A hint of a smile lifted the judge’s lips.
Perspiration streamed down Faith’s back, drawing the silk close against her skin. Somewhere in the distance, a bell tolled. Sir Wilhelm took his spot beside her, rubbing his arm against hers. Disgust swept over her like raw refuse, and she stepped away.
The young girls giggled with delight from their seats, oblivious to the nightmare playing out before them.
Faith glanced over her shoulder at the thick wooden door holding her captive, the deputies flanking each side. Oh, that Captain Waite would come barging through those doors and whisk her away from this madman, but she knew that would never happen. He probably had no idea this marriage was even taking place, and if he did, to halt it would mean his certain death.
As if reading her mind, Sir Wilhelm leaned toward her with a sneer. The smell of starch and stale breath curled in her nose. “Looking for your Mr. Waite, perchance? Hoping for a heroic rescue, my dear? Even if he knew about the proceedings, I’ve arranged for him to be detained today. We wouldn’t want our blessed nuptials to be interrupted, now, would we? Besides, if he dares show his presumptuous face, I’ll have him arrested on the spot.” He brushed a speck of dirt from his waistcoat as if it were Dajon himself.
Regardless of the man’s omens of doom, a spark of hope lit within Faith. Dajon was still free—and alive! And that speck of knowledge gave her the courage to continue.
She thrust her hands toward him and rattled her shackles. “Do you suppose you could unchain me for the ceremony, Sir Wilhelm, or am I to be kept in irons our entire marriage?
A lecherous fire glinted in his eyes. “If it keeps you forever mine.”
“All the chains in the world will never accomplish that, sir.”
With a curse, he snapped his fingers and called for one of the deputies.
After her chains were removed, Faith flexed her ankles and rubbed her aching wrists, sure they were red beneath her pristine gloves.
“We are ready, Reverend.” Sir Wilhelm faced the priest, who had been observing the odd proceedings with both interest and disapproval. For a moment, Faith hoped he would not agree to perform such an obvious mockery of the sanctity of marriage, but all hope was dashed when he adjusted his red sash and said, “Very well. Let us begin.”
Dajon pulled himself out of the bay and crawled onto the wharf. He stood and shook the water from his hair. Wiping the drips streaming down his face, he eyed the dock men and sailors who stood slack jawed, gaping at him. He had no time to explain to them why he’d just emerged from the harbor like a fish from the water. Instead, he bolted down the dock, weaving around crates and barrels and clusters of men, ignoring the hollers and yelps that followed in his wake—and the curse when he accidentally bumped one man into the water.
“My apologies!” he yelled without looking back.
Barreling past the docks, he charged onto the street and was nearly trampled by a pair of geldings pulling a carriage. He waved off the driver’s rather obscene expletive and shielded his eyes from the sun. There in the distance, the bricks of the courthouse shone bright red against the other brown buildings. He dashed down the crowded street, ignoring the sharp rocks scraping over his bare feet, and prayed harder than he ever had.
Just a few more minutes, Lord. Can You hold them up for just a few more minutes?
“‘Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted of God in the time of man’s innocence, signifying unto us the mystical union betwixt Christ and His church….’”
The priest droned on, reading from The Book of Common Prayer, and Faith’s legs transformed into squid tentacles beneath her. She stumbled backward, and Sir Wilhelm gripped her around the waist and drew her near, imprisoning her against his languid body, only further increasing her nausea.
“‘… is not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, or wantonly, to satisfy men’s carnal lusts and appetites, like brute beasts that have no understanding.’”
Brute beasts? Faith dared a glance at Sir Wilhelm, wondering if he recognized himself in those words. But he stared ahead, a supercilious smirk planted on his mouth.
“‘I require and charge you both, as ye will answer at the dreadful day of judgment when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment, why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do now confess it.’”
The priest paused, looked up from his book, and glanced around the room. His gaze took in the deputies guarding the door, the frivolous girls squirming with excitement in their seats, and Judge Trott, who retrieved a pocket watch from his waistcoat and looked at the time with a sigh.
No one uttered a word. No one came to her rescue.
Sir Wilhelm tightened his grip around her waist, and she suddenly felt as though she were chained to an anchor, sinking deeper and deeper into a bottomless sea.
The priest’s searching gaze then passed over Sir Wilhelm and landed on Faith. He raised his brows as if encouraging her to respond.
Lowering her gaze, Faith bit her lip then clenched her jaw and held her breath—anything to keep the words blasting forth from her mouth that yes, she knew of an impediment to this marriage. She knew exactly why they should not be lawfully joined together. Joined. A shudder ran through her, and she pressed a hand over her rebelling stomach.
But for Dajon’s sake, she remained silent.
Casting an anxious glance over his shoulder, Sir Wilhelm waved a hand through the air. “If you please, Reverend. We are in a hurry.”
Giving Sir Wilhelm a look of annoyance, the priest cleared his throat and resumed his reading.
“Sir Wilhelm Carteret, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honor and keep her, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall live?”
Sir Wilhelm opened his mouth and said something, but his answer was drowned beneath the enormous thud of the door crashing open behind them.
Wheeling around, Faith squinted at the tall figure standing in the doorway, her eyes adjusting to the light that blazed behind him. Water dripped from his breeches onto the wooden floor like droplets of hope.
“I hope I’m not too late for the wedding.” Sarcasm rang in his deep voice.
Dajon.
Faith’s heart leaped and then took on a frenzied beat, stealing her breath away.
Sauntering toward them, Dajon shook water from his cotton shirt. His blue eyes were riveted on her, laughter and love sparkling within them.
Sir Wilhelm thrust his pale face into the reverend’s. “I said, I will. Now carry on.”
Dajon tore Sir Wilhelm’s hand from Faith’s waist and pushed himself between them. He swiped a hand through his wet hair, its dark ends dripping onto his shirt. The wet fabric clung to his muscled chest still heaving from exertion. He smelled of the sea and of salt and life.
He winked at Faith, and a warm, peaceful sensation flooded through her, quickly extinguished by her fear for his life. “What are you doing here?” she whispered through clenched teeth. “They will arrest you.”
Ignoring her, he turned toward the priest. “I protest this union, Reverend.”
“Finally.” The reverend snapped his book shut and folded his arms over his robes.
“I order you to continue.” Sir Wilhelm’s rabid gaze shot over them and then locked onto the reverend as if he would devour him whole.
But the priest simply shrugged as if the situation were out of his control.
“Deputies, arrest this man at once!” Sir Wilhelm ordered the men standing guard at the now open door, then he glanced at Judge Trott, who stood to the side watching everything with a stern yet detached gaze.
A sickening wave of dread washed over Faith. She had done everything to prevent this very thing from happening. Why, God? Please help us.
“On what charge, may I inquire?” Dajon asked in a tone that bespoke no fear of the answer.
“Treason.” Sir Wilhelm threw back his shoulders and faced the judge. “Judge, this man willingly allowed this pirate to go free.”
“Indeed?” Judge Trott rubbed his chin, seeming to be more amused than appalled.
“Yes, I have a trustworthy witness from his ship. His own first lieutenant.”
Faith studied Dajon, his body a statue. Not a tremble passed through him. No fear shot from his clear eyes. In fact, he stood nonchalantly as if he were awaiting his breakfast. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it, and he raised it to his lips, locking his gaze upon hers—a sultry, playful, dangerous gaze.
“Is this true, sir?” Judge Trott shifted his stance.
“That Sir Wilhelm has a trustworthy witness?” Dajon released her hand and cocked a brow at the judge. “Or that I let this lovely pirate go free?”
Judge Trott grunted. “Never mind. This is a matter for the Admiralty Court. I shall ensure they are assembled as soon as possible.”
“Pray don’t trouble yourself, Your Excellency.” Dajon bowed slightly. “The witness Sir Wilhelm speaks of cannot seem to recall the incident. But it doesn’t matter….” He cast a sly glance at Faith. “I resigned my commission yesterday to the commander in chief aboard the HMS Perseverance.”
Faith gasped. Dajon’s career meant everything to him. She could not believe he would willingly resign.
Dajon shrugged one shoulder. “You may speak to him yourself, if you wish.”
Judge Trott plucked his watch out again, eyeing the time. “Very well. Very well.” Returning the watch to his pocket, he eyed Sir Wilhelm. “Unless this lady protests, I believe this wedding is canceled.” He tilted his head at Faith and awaited her response.
She could hardly believe her ears. Was this truly happening, or was she dreaming? She dared not move for fear of waking up.
“Indeed, I do not, sir,” Faith said.
Sir Wilhelm barreled toward Judge Trott, his eyes alight with fury. “But, sir. I insist you arrest this man.”
“Do you have some other charge to make against him?”
Sir Wilhelm’s face turned purple as he sputtered curses and shot his fiery gaze over the room.
“Then this matter is closed.” The judge released a heavy sigh. “Now if you will excuse me, I have far more pressing business to attend to.” He started for the door.
“Then I insist you hang this woman for piracy.” Sir Wilhelm’s quivering, frantic voice bounced off the brick walls and screeched through the room like a wail from a badly tuned violin. He pointed his bony finger at Faith.
She clung to Dajon’s wet arm and swallowed, knowing well this man’s vengeance was not beyond watching her die.
Dajon laid his strong, warm hand over hers.
Judge Trott spun on his heel, his face puffed out in exasperation. “Egad, man. She has been pardoned.”
Sir Wilhelm plucked the paper from his pocket, holding it up for all to see. Then, gripping it between his fingers, he started to rip it, but Dajon was on him in a second and snatched it from his hand. “Thank you. So kind of you.”
Judge Trott turned and marched from the room, his deputies in tow.
Sir Wilhelm faced them, his face contorted into a sickly knot, his eyes afire with hatred. For a brief moment, it seemed as if he contemplated charging Dajon, but he must have seen the futility of such an action, for he remained in place.
“You have not seen the last of me.” He spat and wiped the saliva from his chin.
“To my utter despair,” Dajon replied.
Sir Wilhelm turned and marched from the room, flinging a chain of foul curses over his shoulder.
Faith fell into Dajon’s arms. The moisture from his shirt soaked into her gown like a refreshing ointment. “Is this really happening?” She leaned back and gazed up at him. “I cannot believe you came for me.”
He took her face in both hands and shook his head. “How could you ever believe that I would not?” He kissed her forehead, her nose then placed his lips on hers.
Heat inflamed her belly, threatening to overtake her, but feeling the reverend’s eye upon them, Faith pushed from Dajon’s embrace and threw a hand to her hip.
“What took you so long? I nearly married that buffoon.” She glanced at his powerful physique, all the more evident through his wet attire. “And why are you all wet?”
“‘Twas such a hot day I thought I’d swim into port instead of taking a boat.” He chuckled, a playful gleam in his eyes. “And I had to wait until I was sure Sir Wilhelm had procured your pardon, which I knew he must do before you wed.”
“Will there be no wedding?” the whining voice of one of the girls asked. Embarrassment flushed over Faith. She had forgotten the silly girls were still present.
Dajon cocked a brow and gazed at Faith then at the reverend, who had remained before the judge’s bench like a pillar of aplomb, a look of satisfaction on his face.
Faith’s breath kindled anew, sending her chest heaving. Once again her legs wobbled beneath her.
Dajon took her hand in his and gazed down at her, his blue eyes so assured, so true, so loving.
“Miss Westcott, will you marry me?”