Isaac stood at the quarterdeck’s railing, staring down the expanse of the main deck. A sharp edge of anticipation curled within his chest as he gripped the rail with steady hands. Beneath the surface calm, his gut tightened, same as it always did when taking to sea. Part reverence, part exhilaration—a primal thrill he suspected would never fade.
“Cast off the bow and stern lines!” His command carried through the heavy morning air. “Ease her off the dock!”
At once, the crew leapt into action. Ropes slapped against the timbers as the dock lines were freed and heaved aboard. TheTempestdrifted slightly, vibrating with her new freedom.
Isaac turned toward Silas, who stood at the wheel. “Ahead slow. Bring her into the current.”
“Aye, sir.” His first officer handled the wheel with practiced ease.
The sails snapped free and billowed in the slight breeze, and the ship caught the wind, her bow slicing through the dark water as she pulled from the docks. Gradually, their speed increased, and he couldn’t help looking back. Even with their head start, theSirenfollowed closely in their wake. Moments later, she passed them in the narrow channel. Christian gave a cheerful wave from his spot at the helm.
“Not so fast,” Isaac muttered. He lifted his eyes to the yards, where crewmen still fastened lines. “More sail. Shake out the topsails!”
“I certainly hope the entire trip is not made into a race.” Silas’s dry comment brought Isaac’s attention back.
He clapped the first officer’s shoulder. “That, officer, is not a bad idea.”
To port, the city gradually fell away, replaced with wide expanses of reeds and sawgrass. As they passed Hutchinson’s Island, the sluggishcurrent tugged at the hull. Silt and sandbars lurked beneath the surface, shifting with every tide. Isaac scanned the water for telltale swirls hinting at hidden shoals. Beyond Elba Island, the waterway widened, most of the threats disappearing, and he let out a breath, fixing his eyes on the horizon where the river gave herself to the sea. The wind, unshackled by the narrow banks, filled the sails and theTempestsurged forward with new purpose.
Once they passed the Tybee Island lighthouse and theTempestcleared the last of the sandbars, Isaac went below to his cabin. With effortless precision, he unbuckled his sword belt, gently setting the leather scabbard on his desk. Sinking into the chair, he spread a navigational map out and retrieved his instruments from a drawer. His fingers traced up through the inlets of the Carolinas. With practiced precision, he measured the distance, using his brass divider to mark the nautical miles. He marked the spot they should be by midafternoon and charted their course from there—a steady northeast tack hugging the coastline, where they would benefit from the prevailing winds.
Leaning back, he pulled his sword free, the steel glistening even in the dim light of the cabin. He ran his thumb lightly along the edge, testing its sharpness. A whetstone lay in his top drawer and he removed it, drawing it across the blade in a familiar rhythm. Back and forth, each pass smoothed invisible nicks away.
A soft knock came from his door and he paused as the cabin boy entered with a tray of food. The boy kept his head down and approached in silence. He extended the tray and faltered, silverware clattering while water sloshed over the edge of a full goblet. Isaac bit back a curse as some dripped onto the map.
“I’m sorry, sir.” The slightest hint of an accent laced the boy’s soft words as he used his sleeve to wipe up the mess before it could soak into the linen-backed paper. Something familiar, yet he couldn’t quite place it.
“Jack, isn’t it?”
All he got was a quick nod in return as the boy turned and hurried from the cabin. Shy, then—or perhaps had worked under harsh captains before. No matter, after a few days, he would come out of his shell. Isaac turned back to his sword, wiping it with an oiled cloth before sliding it back into its scabbard.
His gaze drifted to the window, where golden sunlight filtered through the panes. His mind wandered—back to the island, to the wild beauty beneath the waterfall’s rush. To a peach pressed to supple lips, juice flowing down bronzed skin. Her image came unbidden, an unwelcome visitor to his thoughts, yet in the solitude of his cabin, he found himself unwilling to cast her out. A silent surrender to a temptation he dared not name.
*
Isaac stretched hisarms above his head after he climbed from the main hatch. His rest had done him well. Now for four hours at the helm. He glanced off the port side, where theSirenhad taken the lead a few hundred yards out. Close enough for him to see copper hair billowing from behind the wheel. Though most men would scoff at the idea of letting Samantha captain a ship, Isaac knew better than anyone how adept she was at it. Hell, she could probably outperform half his men—on the water and with a blade.
He slowed as he passed a group of men polishing the deck, brushes sweeping rhythmically against the planks. The new cabin boy hunched over a spot, scrubbing with a desperate fervor. The boy seemed smaller, frailer, than he had come across in the tavern the night before. Now, he struggled under the weight of a simple task. Isaac’s brow furrowed. The kid had probably lied about his age—and experience.
He nearly stopped to question him, but after a sigh, continued. Even if the boy admitted it, what option was there? Wasn’t like he would toss the lad into the brig. Up on the quarterdeck, he took thewheel from Silas.
His first officer flexed his hands, rubbing them on his breeches. “She’s under too much strain. Best to slow our pace.”
Isaac glanced up at the sails, billowing in the rushing wind. The massive canvas sheets stretched taut, humming under the pressure. Still, considering the steady breeze and calm surf, she would be fine—was built to withstand much worse.
He shook his head. “Let’s take advantage of these conditions and make as much distance as we can. I’ll have the men shorten the sails before my watch is up.” Silas gave a single nod and headed down to take his rest.
Isaac fixed his eyes on the horizon, but his thoughts refused to stay on course, despite his best efforts. Each time he closed his eyes, he sawher. Though his palm rested against the spoke, he could almost feel the subtle tremble in her fingers as he had led Miss Montclair around the dance floor. The light scent of her hair, something floral, clung to him like a ghost. He’d meant to keep his distance, meant to follow Christian away. Yet something about her had tugged on him, like the pull of a full moon’s tide. And he’d asked for the dance.
He shouldn’t have.
The shape of her waist beneath his palm, the pulsing warmth of the curve there, all burned into his memory. Something about the wonder in her eyes as she experienced the party, her unfettered enjoyment, had softened his usual disdain for such events. She hadn’t wanted to say goodbye. Truth be told, he hadn’t either.
He exhaled sharply, forcing his grip on the wheel to tighten, the rough wood biting into his palms. It didn’t matter. She was back in Savannah now, far removed from this deck and foolish thoughts. He had left her behind, just as he should have. And yet, the memory clung to him like sea mist, refusing to drift away. With a scowl, he turned his eyes back to the sails, determined to let the wind carry her from his mind.
His skin prickled, the weight of someone’s gaze pressing on him, and he turned. The cabin boy ducked his head, returning to his work, his face cloaked in the shadows from his brimmed hat. The wind gusted across the deck, pressing Jack’s shirt around his frame, highlighting a curved waist. Isaac gritted his teeth and dragged his gaze away. Ridiculous. Now he was seeing things.
A sudden crack echoed across the ship and Isaac’s heart leapt to his throat, his hands tightening around the spokes. His gaze darted to the deck just in time to see a young crewman knocked off his feet as a thick line snapped across the deck like a whip, striking him hard across the chest. He tumbled, landing hard against the railing, his body crumpling in a heap.
