Chapter One
June 11th, 1803
Somewhere on the Atlantic coast of Florida
Samantha’s fingertips skimmedacross the jagged edge of a worn shell and a piece crumbled beneath her thumb. With lips pulled tight, she tossed her find back into the surf.
Not quite right.
The screech of a seagull echoed in the distance and Samantha tucked a stray copper curl under her wide-brimmed hat. She scanned the glistening sand where the waves broke.
There.
Her bare toes curled into soft sand. The tines of a sizable shell jutted into view as crystal-blue water pulled back from the beach. A wave crashed toward her and she strode into the sea. When she bent to pluck her prize from its hiding spot, foam swirled around her knees, soaking her breeches, but her fingers continued their search.
A laugh bubbled forth when her palm brushed a rigid mass. She pried the shell loose, shaking sand away in the rushing water before lifting it into view. Twice the size of her hand, the conch’s pink interior reflected the bright glare of the sun. A perfect specimen.
Yes. It would do.
Samantha’s pulse beat a happy tune when she slipped the shell into the leather bag tied at her belt. She stayed in place, letting her feet sink deep into the cool sand. Another wave swept in and she stared out at the horizon. A subtle urge to dive into the temperate water tugged ather while the sparkle of sunlight dancing across the water called to her soul.
“Captain?”
The voice snapped her from the ocean’s trance and she turned toward the shore. Griff, her first mate, gestured at the sun. “She’ll start setting soon. Best be on our way.”
She nodded and trudged to dry ground to join her men. They hiked together to the single longboat resting on the beach. Beyond it, theSiren’ssilhouette loomed from where she anchored offshore and Samantha’s heart swelled with pride at the fine figure the brigantine cut on the water. Two masts thrust into the sky with canvas sails hanging slack. A crisp line of white paint ran below the main deck to hide a dozen cannon hatches.
Her ship.
Well, for this trip at least.
Her gaze slid back to Griff as he heaved the boat into the surf. His grey beard was trimmed short and weathered wrinkles spread from the corners of his eyes. Most days, theSirenwas his ship.
She splashed into the water and vaulted into the small boat. The men picked up their oars and they glided into the calm waters of the bay.
Once Samantha’s feet landed on the solid planks of theSiren’sdeck, she strode to the stairs of the quarterdeck. Griff followed her up to the helm. Puffy white clouds had sprung from the horizon to their south and she grinned.
“Looks like the winds will be in our favor tonight.”
He followed her gaze and nodded. Though the weight of the shell at her belt begged to be added to her collection, she brushed aside the need. She needed to make a good impression. Her little jaunt to shore had wasted precious time and risen more than a few brows. Time to prove to the men—at least the new ones who hadn’t spent the last decade with her underfoot—she wasn’t just a wealthy brat indulging ina passing whim.
Though she’d graced the decks of her uncle’s fleet since she could walk, no one on the crew would have expected her to be allowed to sail in command. No matter how many times she’d voiced her wish to, they’d always laughed it off. Women didn’t sail—not as a profession—and they definitely did not captain ships.
This trip might be her one chance to show she deserved a spot captaining in the fleet. So far, everything had gone as planned. Even better? A decent chance they would arrive back in Savannah early. A good impression, indeed. Her lips tugged up.
A few quick steps and she stood at the ship’s wheel. Her hand settled on one of the worn spokes. “Ready the sails and raise the anchor.”
Her command spurred the crew into action. The sails unfurled almost instantaneously and she bit back a wry smile. Griff’s crew—her crew—worked like a well-oiled machine, ready to be on the move at a moment’s notice. They had already prepared the ship to sail while she’d been ashore. Not a coincidence. They’d been trained to be the best, and that meant one thing.
Never be caught unawares.
When the anchor lifted from the sea bed, her fingers vibrated with the gentle thrum of freedom running through the ship’s hull. A tepid breeze flitted around her face as the sails caught the wind and pushed them out to sea. Soon, she had to press her hat to her head while theSirensliced through the water.
Each subtle movement of her hand brought the ship under her control and she closed her eyes, taking in each groan from beneath her feet, each slap of rigging against the sails above. The ship sang to her, and little by little, Samantha gave herself over to the song. Until she and the ship were one.
Her smile broke free. This was what she was made for.
The minutes stretched into the better part of an hour as she stoodstill, content to listen. Once they were well on course, she turned to Griff. “You take her until supper.” It was still such a foreign thing to speak down to him. He’d been “Captain” to her for as long as she could remember.
