Stormy Seas
Evelyn James
Stormy Seas
Copyright © 2014 Evelyn James
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
At the Docks
Nobody's Daughter
Rogues
Too Many Hands
The Other Side of the Door
Another Surprise
Some Kind of Rescue
Confusion
Worlds Away
Introductions
Battles
Danger
The Royal Ball
Sparkling Halls
Darkness
Regret
Connect with Evelyn James
At the Docks
Kira walked quickly through the muddy streets near the docks, hoping to avoid the curious eyes of several unkempt on-lookers. It was getting late and the darkness promised a certain kind of unnamed danger, especially for a girl so young and innocent-looking as she. Kira hiked up her skirts and started to patter softly on the dirt.
“Where ya going, missy?” a scraggly man cackled at her. Looking back, she saw several dark shadows slowly lumbering towards her and heard a low, gravelly laughter.
Kira's heart jumped and she made a run for the end of the street, knowing her own hut was just around the corner. It was nothing more than a small lean-to, but it had sheltered her and her father for many years. In this moment, that dirty, humble little place seemed like a fortress made of steel.
She heard the perverse laughter echo towards her, reaching out its suffocating hands to pull her back. Kira rounded the corner in a panic only to slam into the hairy chest of a bearded sailor.
Kira let out a panicked scream and and threw her arms out violently. She could feel a hard grip, hands tightened around her arms. “Let me go!” she shouted. “My father's house is just there!” She struggled further only to find she was only fighting with herself.
She looked up from her panic to see a humorous glint in the eyes of the sailor, whose blonde hair was swept back, giving him a slightly regal look despite the rest of his appearance. He held his hands out to show her he had no intention of restraining her.
Kira could feel the blood rushing to her face and she slipped past the Nordic sailor with a slight “Humph.” Kira wondered what she would find if she turned to look back, but could not bring herself to do it. She reached the little, weathered door of her father's hut and threw herself inside.
“Kira...” her father's weathered face crinkled up a little to show he was pleased to see her. He sat hunched over his workbench against the far wall, fiddling with a piece of wood for his carving. He was a graying man, with very little hair left, and friendly eyes that were touched with a despondent air of sadness.
His once robust frame had grown withered and weakened, and Kira could only blame the wet, musty conditions near the dock and the knowledge that her father felt completely lost without her mother.
Kira's mother had been a glorious beauty with radiant green eyes and the most beautiful red hair anyone had ever seen. Or at least that was how Kira remembered her. Kira had heard her father speak many times of the numerous well-to-do suitors her mother had turned down when she fell for him.
She fell for the humble dock hand, with no pedigree and no name. Now Kira wondered, sadly, if her mother would still be alive had she not spent most of her days in this dark, stale hut.
“Did you get it?” Kira looked up from her post at the door and realized she had forgotten the hard lump of bread clutched between her fingers. She smiled cheekily. “Yes, I got it. Had to haggle a bit, but Jeremiah has a hard time resisting my charms.”
She spoke of the quiet baker's son, who always blushed when she came by. Kira heard her father's voice in the back of her head every time, reminding her that a nice boy like Jeremiah would make a good husband.
Someone to provide for her, watch over her when he was gone. Kira shrugged that thought away. She had little patience for most men, and even less trust. Only her father deserved that oft-misplaced emotion, and she could not bear to make a mistake with the kind of men she had seen run the docks her whole life.
“Here, papa.” She tore the meager loaf in half, reserving the larger chunk for her father. He hungrily tore away at the bread, while Kira took a place on the little cot in the corner.
Kira's thoughts flashed momentarily back to the large, blonde sailor she had barreled into before. Again, she could feel her pale skin flushing over the thought. She ran her hand softly through her deep auburn hair, wondering what he had thought of her, so disheveled and panicked in the moment.
Kira bit her lip and pushed the thought away. If she couldn't trust Jeremiah, the meek son of a baker, she knew she would never allow herself to give into such a rough, powerful sort of man.
She wasn't sure when she had decided men couldn't be trusted, or even if it had been a decision at all. Perhaps it was just the cold reality, and she had seen it clearly, like every other woman who grew up in this world. She shuddered to think of life without her father even though she was reminded every time she heard his painful, hollow cough that she could not hold onto him forever.
“Kira...” She heard her father say her name softly. “Yes, papa...” “I've taken some work at the docks tomorrow. Nothing too difficult,” he smiled with a weary light in his eyes. “Just enough to make sure you don't wither away on me now.” Kira tried to laugh, but found the irony painful enough.
“Papa, I'm old enough now to be a lady's maid. You can't keep this up forever. Won't you just let me try to get some work?” She heard his good-natured chuckle turn into a low, scraping cough. “Tomorrow, Kira. We'll talk about it tomorrow.”
Kira pulled the covers back on the little cot, and curled herself into the bed. She stared at the naked planks that formed the wall, and searched silently for answers. He was here for now. But how long 'til he left her alone?
* * *
Marcus O'Hare was startled by the panicked mass of red hair that he found himself wrestling with on the street corner. He looked down to see big, frightened blue eyes framed by porcelain skin. He tried not to be distracted by the girl's perfect, rose-colored lips as she started to struggle against his body.
He fought a smile as it became clear to him that the girl felt truly in danger. The auburn-haired beauty threw a few frenetic punches, and Marcus removed his hands from her arms. For a moment, he felt the urge to speak, to say hello, but her startled eyes blinked quickly, she blushed and disappeared past him.
He turned just in time to watch her feminine figure disappear inside the first door on the street. Marcus sighed. There was something about her that triggered his interest, but he dismissed the thought and continued on his way to the docks.
His confident stride was unmistakeable. Marcus O'Hare was a man of the world, experienced on the open sea and well-adjusted to the dangers of that life. Very little on the streets of this dock could cause him distraction. His regal profile and blonde hair made for a striking image against the more rough, weathered appearance of his clothing.
“Captain!,” a voice called out with uncertainty. Marcus turned to the all-familiar voice with a smile. “Malcolm...pick up the pace, why don't you?” From behind him, a rather portly, older fellow attempted to match his speed. Malcolm was an agreeable, serious type with a balding head and distinctive spectacles who had served as the cook on Marcus' ship for many years.
“Are we behind schedule, Captain?”
Marcus smiled distractedly as he continued taking fast, confident strides down the street. Rustling his hands through his white gold hair, Marcus tried to shake the vision of the dazzling fair-skinned beaut
y out of his head. His mouth twitched imperceptibly then he remembered Malcolm's presence with a slight laugh.
“We leave tonight. It's not wise to stay docked for long with the munitions on board.” Malcolm nodded his round head with a serious look on his face.
“Of course, Captain.” Malcolm knew that this particular voyage of the ship Reliance was an unusual one to be sure. Captain O'Hare, who was more at ease manning a ship and shouting orders, was a decorated Navy man who had been entrusted a very important job by the King himself.
And while Marcus managed to charm and impress while ashore in London, he preferred the freedom of uncharted expeditions and assignments that were so often given to him because of his determined, relentless nature.
Today, they were responsible for bringing a large load of munitions and some very valuable information back to London. Malcolm knew failure was not an option for the Captain, who had a reputation for numerous outlandish victories on the high seas.
What that top-secret information was, Malcolm could not know. Only the Captain carried that with him, a look of resolute determination on his face.
Malcolm continued his attempt to keep up with O'Hare, pushing his short legs to waddle much faster than they were meant to. “I suppose you'll be happy to see Lady Kensington when we return,” Malcolm suggested, feeling a kinship with the Captain despite their age difference.
Marcus looked slightly off-put, his eyes glazed over with a vague look of confusion. He tried to nod in a suitable response, but his head was lost in a cloud of thoughts and questions. His thoughts moved to the dark-headed beauty he had last seen 8 months ago. Luciana Kensington was a stunning and exotic woman, with a long-line of blue-blood ancestry on her father's side.
In his mind's eye, Marcus traced over the lines of her sculpted face. Perfect cheekbones, supple lips. She was everything a man could ask for and more. Somehow, Marcus' exploits on the open sea had brought him into favor in the upper-class circles and he found himself a sought-after bachelor.
But Luciana's existence had startled him at first, and he had been drawn in by her beauty and the allure of her luxurious, influential lifestyle. To the world at large, Marcus O'Hare and Luciana Kensington were meant to be. A glamorous dichotomy of raw adventure and bravado, melded with the powerful combination of beauty and riches.
Marcus shook himself out of his reverie, made a cursory response and then ordered Malcolm to mind his own business. Marcus wanted to laugh at his own uncertainty, wondering why he could see shining red hair in his visions instead of black.
As the men reached the edge of the dock, they could see the Reliance rocking steadily back and forth. The frigate was made for battle, but today, speed was of the essence. Marcus had been warned that the intelligence he carried would be highly sought-after by certain high-powered governments. Staying docked too long was an unnecessary risk and one Marcus intended to avoid.
“Ahoy, Captain.” Several shipmates were working steadily, preparing the Reliance to set sail. Johnson, a slender, wiry young sailor with a light-hearted smile gave a nod to the men as they came aboard. Johnson had just joined the ship at the beginning of this voyage and was still adjusting to the newness and excitement of life on the high seas.
As Captain O'Hare made his way to the hull, he heard the pounding of a horse's hooves reach the dock. “Captain Marcus O'Hare!,” breathed the rider, a frenetic youngster with a stream of blood running down his shirt. Shouts went up on deck as the sailors called the Captain's attention to the battered messenger.
“What is it, son?,” O'Hare shouted, scrambling back onto the deck. He could feel the pounding in his chest as his heart started to race. It was no coincidence that this bruised rider came to him as he boarded the ship with top-secret information. The rider panted, looking desperate, “Your informant, Mr. Green. He was my master, sir, and now he's dead.”
The messenger's voice cracked with a slight tinge of pain and he looked at O'Hare with a pleading sort of insistence. “You must go, and be warned. They are after you.”
* * *
Marcus O'Hare scrambled onto the Reliance, shouting orders to his men. The death of his informant meant that someone was fast on his trail. The information he carried to the King was too vital to risk. They needed to be out at sea, now.
Sailors worked vigorously pulling in the anchor and readying the ship. As they launched on their journey, Marcus saw the young messenger collapse forward on his horse.
He felt a tightness in his chest. Whatever the poor boy had endured, there was nothing Marcus could do for him now. He had no time, and no choice. He must return his ship and his cargo safely to England.
Nobody's Daughter
Kira woke early to find that her father had already left for the docks. A small slice of bread rested on the edge of his work table. For her, no doubt.
Kira brushed her hair off her face and dressed herself in her one and only dress. It was a simple, tan colored outfit that did her complexion no favors. But she couldn't afford to be choosy or ungrateful. Too many children ran the streets, begging for money. She could only imagine what they did at night.
“Today's the day,” she whispered to herself. She planned to head off at lunch time to find her father at the docks and insist he take the remaining bread as his lunch. Then she was off to submit herself as a house maid for several of the upper-class homes across town.
She did her best to dust her boots and dress off, but knew they would probably be back to their lusterless condition by the afternoon.
Slipping out the door, she found the dock streets to be much friendlier in daylight. A few people passed here and there, some selling their wares and others seemingly intent on their destinations. Kira shivered slightly despite the midday sun, remembering the terror of the previous night. She soon found herself humming under her breath, though, as she contemplated the changes that might come if she took work.
“Kira, dear.” A familiar voice called out to her as she walked through the dusty streets. “Miss May,” Kira exclaimed with pleasure. She felt herself relax at the joy of seeing her friend, the bubbly washer woman who so often sat on the street with her wash basin. “Off to see the baker's boy?” she asked with a smile in her eyes.
Kira shook her head emphatically, trying not to laugh at the insistence of her father at roping others into his match-making scheme. Miss May's face was red, in part from the gusto she used while washing, and in part because of the fiery sun that was rising over head.
“Well, I know you don't have much use for men,” she smiled knowingly, “But someday you might come to understand how useful it can be, having someone watching out for you.” Kira nodded.
Every girl found romance alluring. But that was not what Miss May was referring to. Miss May was talking about being practical. And Jeremiah certainly was a practical choice, given Kira's station in life.
“Yes, Miss May.” Kira didn't want to argue with the older woman, who had been married to a reliable, loving man for many years until his death. Kira knew her disdain for most men would only seem like disrespect to Miss May's memories.
May wiped her forehead and sighed heavily. “There's no end in sight with this, you see?” She pointed at the basin, filled with brown-colored water that was murky and uninviting. May looked downtrodden but tried to muster a slight grin for Kira's sake. Kira nodded. Kira could not imagine what May must feel. She was reminded of her own situation, where she too might be on her own soon enough.
“I hope,” Kira started, “I hope that I can convince father to take more rest. I worry that his health...It's just so dank and musty at home, and he coughs so terribly hard.” Miss May looked at her with a slight sadness in her eyes. “Men are stubborn. You're a good girl for taking care of your father, dear. You know that.”
May took her wet fingers, dried them off and patted Kira's shoulder with a gentle touch. Kira fought back the slight feeling that tears might overcome her, and nodded her head in embarrassment. They s
tood in silence under the sun as May continued vigorously beating a pair of trousers into submission on the washing board.
“So where ya off too, then?,” May insisted. “To the docks, Miss May,” Kira smiled graciously. “I best be on my way to get this bread to my father.” Kira gave May a tight squeeze, getting water from the basin splattered lightly on the front of her dress. As Kira headed back down the street, she heard Miss May's sing-song voice cry out, “You tell your father not to work himself too hard, now.”
* * *
“A flower, lass?” A sad-looking little man sat in a doorway, trying to peddle a few wilted flowers. Or were they weeds? “No, thank you,” Kira said good-naturedly, while picking up her gait. She could see the sails of the many ships rising up on the horizon.
She passed many little homes, similar to hers, weathered and seemingly defeated. A few tired shops stood open for customers, promising shoes, food and other goods. It seemed to Kira that everything near this part of town was dying, except for the beautiful, timeless ships that floated gently in the water. She envied those elegant vessels, free to move about, explore the world.
As Kira moved closer to the docks, she could hear a bustle of shouts and movement. A group of men seemed to be fighting over something near the end of the dock. Suddenly the huddle opened and a petite blonde girl scrambled away.
Kira thought she couldn't be much younger than her. The girl ran panicked down the dock, wiping tears from her eyes and smudging dirt all over her face. Kira felt her heart jump, as she nervously tried to make out what was unfolding before her.
“Are you alright?” Kira started to say, but the girl glanced anxiously back and then disappeared down a side street. The faint echo of a sob reached Kira and then died down. Kira suddenly felt fear grip her as some of the men looked her way. Several beady eyes looked her up and down. She could see that the fighting had eased and only one man seemed to be delivering blows to another.
Kira felt a wave of shock wash over her as the unruly pack opened. She could see a limp, weathered figure receiving a powerful beating from a dark-haired sailor. A choking feeling caused Kira to grasp at her throat as she tried to rationalize the brutality that she saw.