The Heiress of Winterwood (39 page)

As night deepened, clouds rolled in, thickening the sky and obscuring the moon’s glow. Graham paused only long enough to fill his lungs with air.

He was close to them. He could feel it in every fiber of his being.

Above him, the clouds hung thick and low, and at his ankles, a night’s mist swirled at his feet. He stood in the shadows, watching the ship rock. The choppy water pulled it, testing the tether of the ropes. Through a tiny window an unsteady light wavered.

Even in the black of night, the docks were never quiet. A man ran past. Two others came from the opposite direction, their voices no louder than whispers.

Graham felt William approach. “What are we going to do?”

“We are going to wait.”

“Wait?”

“Patience, brother.”

Graham was as eager—if not more so—and checked his timepiece, though he already knew the time. The moon’s location in its
path across the night sky gave him all the information he needed. Dawn would arrive soon and shed its cool light on the docks and sleeping ships, rousing all from their slumber.

To Graham’s best guess, Littleton had left the warehouse with five men. The odds of being able to board the ship were unfavorable. After all, the entire crew could be aboard. He spotted one sailor. Then another. But his options were waning. A hired crew would likely offer little loyalty and protection to Littleton, and he’d already missed one opportunity to free the women and Lucy. He’d not miss another.

Minutes slipped by at a sluggish pace, and the moon crawled along its path in the night sky, illuminating the low-hanging clouds. With every passing moment, his senses heightened just as they had in an impending battle. The hair on his neck stood straight. He was on constant alert. But never before had a battle been so critical—never had so much been at stake.

Sulter’s past and long-forgotten words of God rushed to the forefront of his mind. Suddenly they seemed clear. His own strength was not sufficient. Even though he did not know what awaited him in the wooden confines of the
Perseverance
, God did. Graham knew well the dangers of boarding an enemy ship, docked or not. But tonight he would not board the ship of his own strength. He would not cower in fear at the unknown. Tonight he would pray. He would put his faith in the God who had offered him forgiveness. Offered patience. Offered him a future.

A cloud covered the moon, shadowing the docks still further. But just then, a lantern’s light appeared on deck. Then another. Two darkened forms accompanied the lights. Graham’s jaw twitched. Now was the time.

Sulter leaned close, his gravelly voice low. “Thou, O Lord, art just and powerful: O defend our cause against the face of the enemy.”

Graham recognized the prayer. It was from the Book of Common Prayer, often spoken at sea when facing an imminent battle. The words had been long memorized and often quoted. But tonight they took on new meaning and infused him with humble confidence.

He finished the prayer. “O God, thou art a strong tower of defense to all that flee unto thee: O save us from the violence of the enemy. O Lord of hosts, fight for us, that we may glorify thee. O suffer us not to sink under the weight of our sins, or the violence of the enemy.” His voice shook with the final words. “O Lord, arise, help us, and deliver us for thy Name’s sake.”

Graham’s heart pounded as erratically as the waves lapping the side of the
Perseverance
. After instructing William to stay behind and keep watch, he and Sulter turned toward the ship. Even though the ship itself was unfamiliar, his confidence surged. They were on his turf now, and with God’s help, they would persevere.

Sure-footed, with weapon brandished, he boarded the frigate with Sulter close behind.

But then he heard her. Lucy.

The babe’s sharp cry punctuated the night’s sounds, followed by an angry voice that could only be Littleton’s. Graham adjusted his grip on his pistol and with his other hand reached down to make sure his blade was still tucked in his boot.

The vessel creaked and rolled beneath them. With his feet firmly on the deck, he looked up. The mainmast stretched into the starless sky, and coupled with the vessel’s gentle movement, a myriad of memories flooded him. But it was the sounds of voices Graham listened for. They could be anywhere in the dark maze of lower decks. When a cry pierced the night, he looked at Sulter. They
followed the cry down a ladder. A dangerous decision, really, for once below deck, they would be trapped if they were not successful.

The sound led them to the wardroom. How many times had he entered a wardroom? In times of relaxation, to dine with officers. In times of battle, when it served as a makeshift surgery room. But never would he have thought he would be entering one to rescue his daughter.

Time was limited. The crew would be on to them soon, and what match would two men have against a crew? Sputtering light flashed from behind a drawn door. Graham looked back at Sulter, pressed his finger to his lips, and leaned closer, desperate to hear anything above the thudding in his brain.

From within the wooden walls he heard a woman’s voice, soothing, soft, and low. He heard a harsh whisper. A baby’s whimper. Graham held up one finger, then another to indicate the distinct male voices that met his ear. Their best hope was to catch the men off guard.

He waited through the silence until the murmur of men’s voices once again sounded from within. Good. The men were distracted. He signaled Sulter, and then with all of his weight, he rammed the door with his shoulder and slammed it against the wall. Women screamed. He saw one man. Two men. And then his eyes narrowed on Littleton.

Pistol pointed straight at Littleton’s chest, he pushed him and one other man past a table and against the paneled wall.

Littleton’s struggle for composure played on his dark features. Flickering light from one of the hanging lanterns glimmered off of the perspiration trickling down the sides of his face. His voice rang with imperious bravado. “Ah, the mighty Captain Sterling, come to claim his bride. I’d wager this is not what you expected to find, is it?”

Graham fought the urge to look back at Amelia and Lucy and
kept his eyes focused on Littleton. He pressed the pistol against Littleton’s chest.

A sinister smirk curved Littleton’s lips. “You’d best kill me, Sterling,” taunted Littleton. “Because mark my words, if you are fool enough to let me live, I’ll have my revenge yet.”

Graham gritted his teeth. “Nothing would give me greater pleasure, but unfortunately it isn’t up to me when your miserable life will come to an end.”

“Then you’re a greater fool than I thought.” Littleton’s squeaky laugh dripped with the desperation of a caught man. He licked his lips and shifted his eyes to the man Sulter was tying to the table leg. “You may think that you will have your way by simply barging onto this vessel, but you are sorely mistaken.”

Graham narrowed his eyes on the man, his chest tightening at the pure evil lurking in Littleton’s expression. But suddenly, a woman’s scream pierced the air. He glanced back toward the sound, and in that split second, the man who’d been standing at Littleton’s right lunged, pushing Graham backward against the long table situated in the middle of the room.

Graham gulped for air as the man struggled to pin him down. But the smaller man was no physical match. After taking a few blows to his side, Graham adjusted his grip on his pistol, righted his opponent, and landed a solid blow to the man’s jaw, sending him staggering against a sideboard. Candlesticks and decanters crashed to the ground at the impact, and Graham whirled back to face Littleton. To his surprise, Littleton had locked his arm around a woman’s waist and held a knife to her throat. At second glance, he saw it was not Amelia or even Mrs. Dunne whose eyes were wide with terror. It was none other than Helena Barrett.

Graham did not have time to figure out how this woman had found her way into this mess. He raised his pistol. At the movement, Littleton tightened his grip on Helena, and she squeaked in fear.

The pitch of Littleton’s voice increased. “I would not recommend that, Sterling.”

Graham’s was steady. “Let her go.”

Littleton sneered. “I want my money.”

Graham licked his lips. He was not dealing with a sane man. “And if I give you the money, will you let her go?”

He laughed. “You can take them when you leave.” Littleton nodded toward Amelia, Mrs. Dunne, and Lucy but tightened his grip on the horrified Helena. “But I’d be a fool to let this one go.”

Graham’s pistol itched in his hands. His coat might as well have been made of fire. Perspiration poured down his temples, burning his eyes. He was a man of swift decisions. And a swift, sure decision needed to be made. In addition to saving his daughter and Amelia, he needed to get Mrs. Dunne and now Helena Barrett to safety. The desire for justice bubbled up within him. If it took his last breath, he would not allow this man to terrorize another.

Graham glanced as Sulter, who nodded. With a swift motion, the older man kicked a chair across the floor, the commotion of which was enough to distract Littleton. Graham lunged forward and pushed the blade away from Helena. Graham shoved Helena away and grabbed Littleton by the coat, pulling him to the opposite corner of the narrow room away from the women huddled next to the scullery door. A fistfight, a pure battle for physical domination, ensued. Littleton still fisted the blade in his hand. Graham’s gun had fallen by the wayside. The men were unevenly matched. Graham tried to reach for his own blade tucked in his boot, but he was forced to call on every bit of energy to keep Littleton’s blade away from his body.

He thought he was gaining the upper hand when he pinned Littleton on the planked floor, but with a sudden jolt, Littleton broke from his grasp and dove away from him. Graham seized the opportunity to jump to his feet and ram Littleton into the wall. At
the motion, Littleton’s blade dragged across Graham’s arm, slicing through his coat and penetrating skin. The shock was so strong that he wasn’t even sure if he’d been cut until a searing pain followed by a blinding heat radiated from the spot. Graham swung his other arm, pummeling Littleton’s shoulder, but Littleton answered with his own punch to Graham’s jaw.

Graham heaved for breath, but then, from a direction he did not know, a shot rang out. Only when Littleton’s eyes widened in stunned pain and he stumbled and fell to his knees did Graham realize what had happened. He whirled around. In the doorway stood William, pistol pointed, smoke curling up from the barrel.

Regaining his senses, Graham grabbed Littleton’s knife, threw it to the side, and patted him down for other weapons. Littleton cried out at the pressure, and Graham pushed his shoulder against the ground.

Graham thrust his own pistol, which was still loaded and had fallen to the ground, across the floor to his brother. He then pulled the fabric of Littleton’s trousers away from his leg to reveal a raw flesh wound. He looked closer. No bullet. “You’re a lucky man, Littleton. It grazed you. Count your blessings it was not I who took the shot.”

Littleton groaned, his teeth clenched, and spewed a smattering of curses before dropping his head back against the planked floor.

Graham called to William, whose face was as pale as a man who’d just witnessed a murder. “Come over here. Don’t let him move a muscle.” He straightened, glanced over at the group of women and screaming baby, and then down at his own arm. Blood seeped through the heavy fabric, darkening the wool to nearly black.

He wiped the hair sticking to his forehead away and assessed Littleton. Now he hardly looked a threat. Pale with a smearing of crimson blood across his nose and cheek. Sulter hurried forward to assess Graham’s wound.

Graham expelled his breath slowly.

Could this really be over?

He had to touch Lucy. Make sure she was real. And Amelia. His beloved Amelia.

Before he could even turn, he felt a hand on his shoulder and then caught a glimpse of blond hair from his peripheral vision. His muscles tensed until he heard a voice—more soothing and softer than his own mother’s.

“You’re hurt.”

Amelia.

Her hand traveled his back. The tenderness of her touch was a balm. He wanted to fall against her, let her comfort him, but he gathered his senses. Pushed the pain down. They were not safe yet. They all needed to depart the ship. With Littleton’s accomplices still near, they weren’t safe until their feet were safely on land.

He stood and took her hands in his. He wanted to grab hold of her. To pull her to him and feel her against him. To let her very presence heal his wounds and calm his weary soul. But now was not the time. “You must get Lucy off this ship.” His voice was little more than a growl.

“Sulter!” Graham dropped her hands and wove through the throng of tossed chairs and ushered Mrs. Dunne and Helena Barrett forward. “Get them off the ship. Now.”

He looked back down at the other two accomplices. Sulter, who’d always been quick with a rope and stronger than his small frame would suggest, had the two men bound. Sulter nodded and took Mrs. Dunne’s hand. Graham and William leaned down and lifted Littleton from the ground, each taking an arm.