Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
brIGIT
Mid October
Tonight, the ocean is too calm for the grief it carries.
My sister lies beneath these waters, wrapped in sailcloth.
I canna help but wonder, had we had endured the blind judgment of neighbors, would she still be breathing Irish air?
Instead, I am left with her infant son, the one she bade me swear with her last breath that I protect as my own.
The captain says we will make landfall soon.
I continue to pray that Cormac will show mercy.
If he refuses us, I cannot return. Home has never been kind to women whose hands are too sure, or whose knowledge does not come from books.
I have seen jealousy take hold like a fever and breed fear.
Whatever must be done to keep this child safe, I will do it.
Charleston Harbor was a chaos of sails, crates swinging from ropes, barrels rolling across planks, and men shouting. It was hotter than I expected; the fresh breeze from the open sea was gone, replaced by the smell of sweat, fish, and tar.
I shifted wee Pádraig higher in the fold of my shawl and tilted my parasol to keep the sun directly from his face.
Patrick. I’d best get used to the name he would use here. The Irish name would remain at home with his namesake, his seanathair, his grandfather.
“Are you ready, Miss?”
Captain Mosely’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. He hadn’t been pleased to have two single women aboard his ship, and after the commotion with my sister, I was certain he’d be glad to see me gone.
“Aye.”
He tipped his head toward the row of buildings along the quay. “The Crow’s Nest. That’s where arrangements are handled,” he said shortly. “You’ll be expected.”
I followed the line of his gaze and felt my throat tighten. The dock below teemed with men—merchants, sailors, laborers waiting to be hired for the day. Somewhere among them was the man who held my future. I wondered how I was meant to pass through the ruckus with the babe.
His features softened, but only for a moment. “You’ll be safe enough. Best to not linger,” he urged, already turning away, his duty finished.
I’d almost picked my way to the tavern, but an angry shout drew my attention.
A man near the edge of the quay, taller than most and broad through the shoulders, his belly straining the buttons of his waistcoat. He loomed over a young boy sprawled beside a tipped handcart.
“Next time I say move, you get out of my way,” he shouted.
The boy scrambled backward on his hands, eyes wide. A dog darted in, barking and snapping at the man’s heels. Without breaking stride, the brute lashed out with his boot. The dog yelped and ran off.
A few men laughed. Most looked away.
Something hot and furious settled in my chest. Before I could think better of it, I was moving. The crowd parted more readily than I expected as I stormed toward him, the parasol in my hand striking his arm like a pointed accusation.
“Shame on you,” I said, my accent cutting sharp and loud through the noise of the dock.
He turned, startled, just long enough for me to slip past him. I crouched and took the boy by the arm, steadying him on his feet. “Ah, now, lad. Are you hurt?”
The boy shook his head. “I’m fine, miss.”
A shadow fell across us.
“Mind yourself, mistress,” the man said, his voice thick with a threat. “This doesn’t concern you.”
I straightened, careful of the babe tucked against me. “It concerns anyone with eyes. You knocked him down.”
His mouth twisted. “He was in my way.”
“And you’d trample a child for it, would ya?” I challenged him. “That’s a poor sort of man by my measure.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd that had grown. Some heads nodded.
“Aye. The boy’s all right,” a voice called. “Best be on your way, Cormac, before she skewers you with her stick.”
Cormac.
The name struck harder than the kick he’d given the dog.
This was the man I had crossed an ocean to meet. The man who held the papers. The man who would decide where I went, what I did, and whether the child in my arms would be fed or turned away.
I looked at him then—truly looked. At his careless strength. His temper worn as easily as his hat. At how little others meant to him.
The truth rose swift and certain.
If I stood before him as myself, we would not be safe. But I could become someone else, at least to Cormac.
The thought came fully formed, terrible in its clarity. I felt it settle, heavy and final, like a stone dropped into deep water—choosing the lesser sin but knowing it would still mark me.
I tightened my hold on Patrick and drew a slow breath. Whatever sin there was in this world, it could not be greater than handing a child to a man like that.
Cormac was already turning away.
I stepped forward.