Chapter 31 Bound to Destiny #2
He rose and sat beside her on the narrow cot, wrapping an arm gently around her shoulders. She leaned against him, head resting on his chest. He could feel the steady beat of her heart, the soft whisper of her breath against his shirt.
“Whatever comes,” he said, “it shall all work out. God has a plan, even when we see it not.”
To her credit, she didn’t argue. She only sighed—a long, quiet exhale that mingled with the sighing of the sea beyond the hull.
They sat like that for a long while, wrapped in lantern glow and moonlight, two souls caught between centuries. Neither ready to let the other go.
?
A band of warmth shifted across Desi’s closed eyes, back and forth, warm and bright one moment, cold and dim the next.
Morning already? She tried to bat it away, unwilling to leave the solace of sleep.
But then the Sentinel’s familiar voice rose to meet her; the taut strain of cordage, the thunder of wind in canvas, the groan of timbers beneath pressure, and above it all, the low, commanding timbre of Caleb’s voice rolling across the deck.
A smile ghosted her lips. That sound—the rhythm and melody of this ship—never failed to stir her soul.
If only she could live out her days upon these planks, beneath this sky.
But that could never be.
Swinging her legs from the cot, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes.
Memories of the night brushed over her—his arms about her, his whispered reassurances, his warmth sheltering her from the world’s madness.
Twice he’d tried to leave, twice she’d clung to him until exhaustion claimed them both. Now, he was gone.
Rising, she moved to the water basin and splashed cool water on her face, then ran her hands through her hair, and attempted to smooth out the wrinkles in her skirts. She suddenly wished for a mirror, but maybe its absence was a blessing, for she must look a fright.
The air smelled of salt and oak pitch, of candle smoke and the faint spice of Caleb’s skin that lingered on her.
Streams of sunlight spilled from the window across the floor, turning the shadows to gold, and she longed to capture them and fill her heart with their goodness and light…
their hope. She needed hope more than anything.
Peering outside, she smiled at the azure sea spreading in sparkling ripples to the horizon.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Share your wisdom with me today.”
The wind shifted, carrying a whisper of the sea through the opening. She drew in a deep breath of brine and courage. Then a shout shattered her calm.
“A sail! A sail. Two sets o’ sails off the starboard quarter!”
The blood drained from her face. Montverre.
Gathering her skirts, she fled out the door.
Above deck, the world exploded into motion. Caleb stood near the helm, scope fixed to his eye, Alden and Liam flanking him.
“Aye, ’tis Montverre,” Caleb said grimly, lowering the glass. “Rot and Ruin!”
His gaze swept the deck. Only a handful of men stood at their stations, the rest lay low by fever. He glanced aloft where four topmen adjusted sail with sluggish precision. Desi’s stomach clenched.
Their eyes met. For one heartbeat his expression softened, then hardened again into the sharpness of command.
“Beat to quarters! Clear the deck for battle!”
His roar reverberated across the deck, sending the few men left scrambling to their tasks. Drums thudded. Men scrambled. Only two of the gun crew readied one of the 12-pounders. The air thickened with fear and the pungent reek of tar, sweat, and panic.
“Where’s Keg?” Desi asked.
Liam faced her, and for the first time since she’d known him, terror streaked across his eyes. “Master gunner’s taken ill with the rest, Miss Starr.”
Alden snatched the scope. “She’s closing fast, Captain. And she’s the weather gauge!”
Whatever that meant, Desi knew it was not good. Caleb brushed past her, giving her hand a fleeting squeeze before striding to the helm.
“Where stands she, Shorty? How long till we reach the Devil’s Mouth?”
“From my last reckonin’, Cap’n, we’ll be upon her within the hour if Davy Jones don’t take us first,” the helmsman muttered, gripping the whipstaff tight.
The portal. Elation and dread warred within Desi. They were so close to the place she might go home, yet so near to where the Sentinel would meet her doom. Her stomach soured.
Was Caleb’s destiny sealed for all time?
Liam stormed forward, his voice cutting through the din.
“Saints and angels, we’re done for! Two frigates on our tail, and half our crew in their graves!
We’ve not men enough to haul a brace, let alone trade broadsides.
We’re done for!” He slammed a fist against the bulwark.
“The Devil’s Mouth indeed. It yawns to swallow us whole! ”
“Enough, Liam!” Alden barked, planting a steadying hand on his shoulder. “We’ve faced worse odds. The Almighty hasn’t failed us yet.”
“Saints preserve us, He’d best wake soon,” Liam spat, pacing away.
From the main hatch, Brandt emerged, pallid and unkempt, one hand on his cane, the other gripping the coaming for balance. His coat bore fresh blood, his eyes hollow with exhaustion. When Caleb’s gaze found him, the surgeon gave a slow shake of his head.
Desi’s heart dropped. The sick men no better.
The Sentinel heaved beneath her feet as she peered toward the horizon. Two French frigates, their sails full-bellied, cut white scars through the blue expanse. Gunports yawned wide as sunlight flashed along the rows of black muzzles like death waiting to roar.
The wind carried the sharp tang of powder from their enemies’ decks. A low, rhythmic boom echoed across the water as they fired a warning shot.
Desi gripped the rail. Was this it, the moment the Sentinel was fated to fall? Would Caleb be lost to the deep, bound to history’s silence, forgetting she had loved him across centuries?