Beloved Captive by Kathleen Y'Barbo Page B

the mainmast of the Cormorant as if leading the way. Caleb picked up his pace to catch up to the older man, who was practically racing toward the vessel.
    “Have I hit upon a subject you wish not to discuss? Perhaps you’ve been giving thought to what I said?” Caleb asked when he fell into stride beside him. “Perhaps I should withdraw the question.”
    “It would be a healthy idea,” Fletcher said, the pipe still clenched between his jaws. “For although you’re seed of the Bennings and son of John Spencer, I’ll not be answering to you on this particular matter.”
    “I see.”
    The older man stopped just short of the dock and whirled around to face Caleb. “And another thing, lad. I’m sure you’ll find my devotion to the Bennings as odd and my attention to your mother’s welfare as amusing.” He paused to pull the pipe from his mouth and jam it into his pocket. “However, you will comment on neither. Do you understand?”
    “Clearly.”
    He tilted his head toward Caleb, his eyes narrowing. “So we’re done here?”
    “Completely.”
    “And your mother will know nothing of this conversation.”
    “Not a word.” He gave Fletcher a serious expression. “I’ve been thinking that perhaps I should have the crew weigh anchor and head back to Santa Lucida tonight rather than wait for daybreak. If we weigh anchor in an hour, we can be home in time for breakfast.”
    “Do as you wish, lad.”
    Caleb sidestepped a stack of crates, then returned to the topic at hand. “Might I impose on you to wake the captain and tell him we wish to dine with my mother at dawn?”
    “I’ll not comment on your reasoning, but I shall inform the captain of your decision.”
    Stifling a smile, Caleb allowed the indignant man to board the vessel ahead of him. “Thank you.”  
    When Fletcher disappeared below without even sparing a curt good-night, Caleb knew he’d trod on sensitive ground. “No more teasing,” he whispered. “It appears my mother may have a suitor.”
    The thought caused him to smile as he settled into a dark corner of the quarterdeck and made himself comfortable for his evening conversation with God. As he watched, one by one the tiny pinpricks of light pierced the sky.  
    With each new star, Caleb called to mind a blessing the Lord had bestowed. It was a game he’d learned as a child; who had taught it, he could not remember.  
    He added a new blessing to the list. “Thank You, Lord, for the man who loves my mother.”  

    * * *

    Emilie kicked at the water until her tangled skirts bound her legs just as tightly as the rope that still bound her hands. While the gold in her skirts pulled her toward the ocean’s floor, salt water stung her eyes and nose and filled her mouth until she could neither see nor breathe.
    Save me, Lord.
    Somewhere in the distance, a bell sounded, likely from the vessel carrying the thieving criminals. She sank below the surface, and her ears gurgled with the rush of water, ending any hope of hearing from which direction they approached.
    Or, she hoped, from which direction they departed.
    Please, save me, Lord.
    Once again, she bobbed to the surface, this time pitching forward in the hopes of keeping herself afloat by floating, not an easy thing to accomplish given the weight of her father’s gold. The thought of what she must look like made her shiver, as very likely she could indeed be dead before anyone other than the ruffians who burned the Sunday Service found her.
    I cannot do this alone, Lord .
    With concerted effort, she threw her head forward and paid for it by striking something hard. Blinking, she tried to see what sort of oddity might be afloat in her vicinity.
    Near as she could tell from the feel of it against her cheek, she’d managed to find some remainder of the ship. Still warm to the touch, it likely fell away charred but not completely burned.  
    Emilie tried in vain to hold onto the floating lumber. Raising her hands over her head, she allowed