A Sneak Peek--The Opening of To the Wind
The world is a wicked place, full of lies and deceit. A man must stand strong against the force of evil, lest he perish. So I thought before Lenora came into my life. She was an angel, appearing in a moment’s time upon the deck of Sweet Lenora, the ship named for her. The ship I commanded. She seemed so fragile a creature I knew I must protect her from the world. And protect her I vowed to do for all my days on this earth. I had locked my heart away in a box of iron, but Lenora broke the seal and set my poor heart free.
We had gone through much in our brief days together, Lenora and I. As we ran from the trouble that pursued us from Rio port, my heart flew against the wind and I believed again in love. I had my Lenora beside me and where, but a few hours before, I dwelt in the shadow of a hangman’s noose, I was free now to gaze into her green-as-emerald eyes and run my fingers through her long, red-gold
hair.
Yet even as Sweet Lenora heeled into the current, trouble had not departed us in its entirety. We left a dead man in our wake. We sailed with but half a crew, a motley lot of rag-tag ruffians assembled from the few willing to sail on with me. Those among them I trusted could be counted on a single hand. Rupert, my cook, was one. A New Orleans man I had known since I was a child, he had served on the Carmen Anne, where I had been first mate. Maurice, the cabin boy, was another. He was but a child of ten, on his first voyage and the son of a good friend to my mother. I promised her to keep him in my care. And there was my heart, Lenora, to whom I entrusted my very life.
Mr. Coffer, my first mate, I left behind in Rio port, after he learned of my imprisonment and gave word he would no sooner sail under the command of a kidnapper than under the pirate, Bluebeard. It was charged that I had kidnapped Lenora in Salem when the ship
embarked on her maiden voyage. The charges were false, of course. She would call them absurd and so would say to anyone who asked. Yet gossips’ tongues wagged, even among the rough men of the sea. I might have challenged Coffer for his words, for they deeply offended me. But my love gave me to know I need not suffer such fools as the mate.
The lack of a first mate left me, as commander, in sore need. It takes a severe man to run such a lot of hard scrabble seamen. I myself had a reputation of being a stern man, but a fair one. I asked the same of the mate who ran the crew. I had little choice but to go to the third mate, the only officer left me, and promote him. Mr. Abercrombie had never held a position of power and I knew well the men had no use for him. He was known as cruel and easily affronted. The mistake I made in this promotion became evident as we neared Cape Horn, the southern tip of South America. We were making for San Francisco. The winds had been fair and I prayed they remain so given the shortage of crewmen. The shortage made for much work and I was not afraid to do my portion to keep Sweet Lenora to the wind. At twelve bells, I came to the quarter I shared with Lenora. I meant to finish my entry to the Captain’s log as she lay abed, but the sight of her, so soft and warm with her long hair curtaining her breasts, soon beckoned me to close the book and join her. I wanted nothing more than to part the curtain of that hair and lay my lips against her soft skin.
“You’ve finally come to my bed, have you?” she teased. Running her fingers over my chest, she stirred in me a near painful
urgency.
“Aye, what you do to me, woman.”
Lenora laughed deep into my neck. “And what do you intend
to do to me, sir?”
I growled aloud and took her into my arms, turning her under me and kissing her with the passion she had unleashed. I thought of nothing but the softness of her flesh surrendered to me, when there was an urgent knock on the cabin door. I groaned. “Not now,” I shouted in the direction of the door.
Lenora suppressed a laugh. “I have business to attend,” I added,making eyes at her. This made her laugh all the harder. The knocking did not go away.
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir. It is a matter of great urgency.” It was Maurice’s young voice from the other side of the door. I tumbled from my wife and pulled on my breeches. Lenora got up after me and, once she hurried into her gown, handed me my shirt and bid me put it on. I supposed she was right in cautioning me not to answer the door bare-chested, though in the moment I wanted to thrash Maurice, and it would not have bothered me in the least to school him as to what he disturbed.
Maurice’s face was white in the light of the candle he held, his thin body shivering to the marrow. Seeing him in such a state made me forget my anger. “It’s Cook,” he said. “You must come.”
Lenora made her way to the door and I bid her stay behind, but she was a stubborn lass and would have none of it. Maurice led the way to the galley and there we found Rupert lying face down on the table. I thought at the first that he had gotten into the store of rum that was under his watch. The man was known to have a taste for it, but he never drank to the point of incapacity and the thought that he had both angered and surprised me. Then he raised his head. Lenora gasped and I feared for a moment she would faint, for the cook’s face was a hideous sight. The skin along one cheek puckered, angry red streaks running rivulets from his eye to his neck like tears.
“Get me a cloth and fresh water,” Lenora said. I might have known it would take more to shake my girl and for this I was sore glad.
Maurice ran to do as she asked. Rupert flinched as I drew near and I knew he was not in control of his senses. “What has happened?” I demanded.
“Accident.” The word hissed from Rupert’s throat.
Maurice returned and Lenora took the wet cloth and held it to the cook’s face. She was tender at the task, but poor Rupert blacked
out from the pain of it nonetheless.
“What happened?” I demanded again, this time of the cabin boy.
“’Twas the soup. Cook fell into it. Boiling, it was.”
Lenora wrapped a dry cloth over the wound.
“How, pray tell,” I asked, “does a cook fall face first into a pot of soup?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
I took Maurice by the shoulders and attempted to shake the sense back into him. “You can’t say, or won’t say? I need the truth, boy.”
Lenora stepped forward. “Anton, please.”
“I need the truth,” I repeated. I’ll admit I did not like that she had stepped into the affair.
She turned to the boy. “If you know what happened, Maurice, you must say.”
“I have told you. He fell into the soup.”
I grumbled, ready to throttle him again.
Then Lenora said, “You and I both know cooks don’t fall into the soup unless they are sore drunk. And I don’t believe that to be the case.” Maurice stared at my wife, seeming uncertain that he had heard about drunkenness from the mouth of a lady, and I had to suppress a grin. Lenora stood her ground. “So Cook was drunk, then?”
Maurice looked at his shoes. “No, ma’am.”
I stared at the boy. He blinked up at me and whispered. “’Twas no accident. Mr. Abercrombie dunked Cook’s head into the boiling pot.”
Lenora caught in a deep breath and I put my arm to her waist. “Help Cook to bed. We’ll tend his wounds again come morning. It will be left to you to make breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy stood taller for having been asked to undertake the task.
“Good night, then.” I guided my wife back to the safety of our cabin.
Once the door was shut, she flew to my arms. I held her and felt the trembling in her bones. “We don’t know for certain what happened,” I said. “I’ll sort it out come morning.” I brushed my hand through the silky tendrils of her hair. I wanted, badly, to finish what Maurice had interrupted.
“Abercrombie is a horrid man,” said she. “Rumors abound.”
We had gone through much in our brief days together, Lenora and I. As we ran from the trouble that pursued us from Rio port, my heart flew against the wind and I believed again in love. I had my Lenora beside me and where, but a few hours before, I dwelt in the shadow of a hangman’s noose, I was free now to gaze into her green-as-emerald eyes and run my fingers through her long, red-gold
hair.
Yet even as Sweet Lenora heeled into the current, trouble had not departed us in its entirety. We left a dead man in our wake. We sailed with but half a crew, a motley lot of rag-tag ruffians assembled from the few willing to sail on with me. Those among them I trusted could be counted on a single hand. Rupert, my cook, was one. A New Orleans man I had known since I was a child, he had served on the Carmen Anne, where I had been first mate. Maurice, the cabin boy, was another. He was but a child of ten, on his first voyage and the son of a good friend to my mother. I promised her to keep him in my care. And there was my heart, Lenora, to whom I entrusted my very life.
Mr. Coffer, my first mate, I left behind in Rio port, after he learned of my imprisonment and gave word he would no sooner sail under the command of a kidnapper than under the pirate, Bluebeard. It was charged that I had kidnapped Lenora in Salem when the ship
embarked on her maiden voyage. The charges were false, of course. She would call them absurd and so would say to anyone who asked. Yet gossips’ tongues wagged, even among the rough men of the sea. I might have challenged Coffer for his words, for they deeply offended me. But my love gave me to know I need not suffer such fools as the mate.
The lack of a first mate left me, as commander, in sore need. It takes a severe man to run such a lot of hard scrabble seamen. I myself had a reputation of being a stern man, but a fair one. I asked the same of the mate who ran the crew. I had little choice but to go to the third mate, the only officer left me, and promote him. Mr. Abercrombie had never held a position of power and I knew well the men had no use for him. He was known as cruel and easily affronted. The mistake I made in this promotion became evident as we neared Cape Horn, the southern tip of South America. We were making for San Francisco. The winds had been fair and I prayed they remain so given the shortage of crewmen. The shortage made for much work and I was not afraid to do my portion to keep Sweet Lenora to the wind. At twelve bells, I came to the quarter I shared with Lenora. I meant to finish my entry to the Captain’s log as she lay abed, but the sight of her, so soft and warm with her long hair curtaining her breasts, soon beckoned me to close the book and join her. I wanted nothing more than to part the curtain of that hair and lay my lips against her soft skin.
“You’ve finally come to my bed, have you?” she teased. Running her fingers over my chest, she stirred in me a near painful
urgency.
“Aye, what you do to me, woman.”
Lenora laughed deep into my neck. “And what do you intend
to do to me, sir?”
I growled aloud and took her into my arms, turning her under me and kissing her with the passion she had unleashed. I thought of nothing but the softness of her flesh surrendered to me, when there was an urgent knock on the cabin door. I groaned. “Not now,” I shouted in the direction of the door.
Lenora suppressed a laugh. “I have business to attend,” I added,making eyes at her. This made her laugh all the harder. The knocking did not go away.
“I am sorry to disturb you, sir. It is a matter of great urgency.” It was Maurice’s young voice from the other side of the door. I tumbled from my wife and pulled on my breeches. Lenora got up after me and, once she hurried into her gown, handed me my shirt and bid me put it on. I supposed she was right in cautioning me not to answer the door bare-chested, though in the moment I wanted to thrash Maurice, and it would not have bothered me in the least to school him as to what he disturbed.
Maurice’s face was white in the light of the candle he held, his thin body shivering to the marrow. Seeing him in such a state made me forget my anger. “It’s Cook,” he said. “You must come.”
Lenora made her way to the door and I bid her stay behind, but she was a stubborn lass and would have none of it. Maurice led the way to the galley and there we found Rupert lying face down on the table. I thought at the first that he had gotten into the store of rum that was under his watch. The man was known to have a taste for it, but he never drank to the point of incapacity and the thought that he had both angered and surprised me. Then he raised his head. Lenora gasped and I feared for a moment she would faint, for the cook’s face was a hideous sight. The skin along one cheek puckered, angry red streaks running rivulets from his eye to his neck like tears.
“Get me a cloth and fresh water,” Lenora said. I might have known it would take more to shake my girl and for this I was sore glad.
Maurice ran to do as she asked. Rupert flinched as I drew near and I knew he was not in control of his senses. “What has happened?” I demanded.
“Accident.” The word hissed from Rupert’s throat.
Maurice returned and Lenora took the wet cloth and held it to the cook’s face. She was tender at the task, but poor Rupert blacked
out from the pain of it nonetheless.
“What happened?” I demanded again, this time of the cabin boy.
“’Twas the soup. Cook fell into it. Boiling, it was.”
Lenora wrapped a dry cloth over the wound.
“How, pray tell,” I asked, “does a cook fall face first into a pot of soup?”
“I can’t say, sir.”
I took Maurice by the shoulders and attempted to shake the sense back into him. “You can’t say, or won’t say? I need the truth, boy.”
Lenora stepped forward. “Anton, please.”
“I need the truth,” I repeated. I’ll admit I did not like that she had stepped into the affair.
She turned to the boy. “If you know what happened, Maurice, you must say.”
“I have told you. He fell into the soup.”
I grumbled, ready to throttle him again.
Then Lenora said, “You and I both know cooks don’t fall into the soup unless they are sore drunk. And I don’t believe that to be the case.” Maurice stared at my wife, seeming uncertain that he had heard about drunkenness from the mouth of a lady, and I had to suppress a grin. Lenora stood her ground. “So Cook was drunk, then?”
Maurice looked at his shoes. “No, ma’am.”
I stared at the boy. He blinked up at me and whispered. “’Twas no accident. Mr. Abercrombie dunked Cook’s head into the boiling pot.”
Lenora caught in a deep breath and I put my arm to her waist. “Help Cook to bed. We’ll tend his wounds again come morning. It will be left to you to make breakfast.”
“Yes, sir.” The boy stood taller for having been asked to undertake the task.
“Good night, then.” I guided my wife back to the safety of our cabin.
Once the door was shut, she flew to my arms. I held her and felt the trembling in her bones. “We don’t know for certain what happened,” I said. “I’ll sort it out come morning.” I brushed my hand through the silky tendrils of her hair. I wanted, badly, to finish what Maurice had interrupted.
“Abercrombie is a horrid man,” said she. “Rumors abound.”
