Pure Captivation: Pure Escapades

By Auria Jourdain

* WARNING: This book contains mature content. Recommended for ages 18+ due to language and sexual content.

 

Injured while fighting in the Northwest Territories, Captain Dayne Neverwood has never felt so useless and alone. He prays for death—sooner rather than later, and his former commander has the answer: One last mission and an honorable demise. His orders? Hijack the Enchanted Lady and give the Brits a taste of their own medicine.

 

He wasn't prepared for their obstinate prisoners—including a lad barely able to climb the rat lines. "Lane" arouses his body and soul, and soon, Dayne finds himself questioning his existence.

 

Delainey Walsh has fought men her entire life. Forced to leave Ireland in shame, she's forced aboard a ship bound for the American Territories. Disguised as a boy, she keeps the sailors at bay—until the handsome American captain saves their sinking vessel.

 

The man won't let her be. His brooding presence ignites her body, challenging her Irish spirit. When he discovers her secret, sparks ignite. But can a man truly give her pleasure and not pain?

 

Tired of the charade, Dayne wants nothing more than to abandon his mission and spend his life by Lainey's side. But war is at their heels, and his memorial is already planned. Will he sacrifice his country for her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Auria Jourdain Books
• Release date: Jul 1, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393917304

Auria Jourdain

History buff, Francophile, and hopeless romantic-- the perfect mixture for writing romance! I have fond childhood memories of reading on quiet afternoons. I loved the "happily ever after" sweet teen romances, but I quickly plunged into the world of historical romance--my get-away-from-real-life transporter. Add in a degree in Political Studies with six years of French--twenty years later, I found a new career. With three published works, I'm still trying to decide which sub-genre is my favorite. I started with historical romances, and two of the six, Pure of Heart and Pure Temptation, are now published. My first YA novel, Spirit of the Northwoods, was released in April of 2016 for my 17 year old autistic son during Autism Awareness month, hoping to spread familiarity about the daily struggles that an autistic person endures. Silence the Northwoods, the first book of my Romantic Suspense trilogy, will be released on January 21, 2017. A spin-off of Spirit of the Northwoods, it has many of the same secondary characters, but it’s strictly for adults. I have a New Adult novel I’m working on for NaNaWriMo 2016, and I’d love to try my hand at a sweet romance YA series in the future. I live in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan with my husband of 21 years and my four children. I spend the long winters plotting and scheming my next book, and in the mild summers, my family and I spend every waking moment we can hiking and kayaking the Northwoods. Living fifteen miles from the shores of Lake Superior, my muse is often piqued by the awe-inspiring beauty that surrounds me. I live where I play, and I can't imagine a more fitting place for me!

Book preview

Prologue

LONDON WHARVES, ENGLAND

March 1814

Please, milord, I cannae go that fast!

Choking back a sob, Delainey Walsh scrambled after her employer, Lord Darnley dodging the workmen milling about the wharves. Her red hair blinded her vision as she tried to free herself from his grasp. I’m begging ye, ser...

Pressing his thin, wrinkled lips together, Lord Darnley gripped her wrists harder and tugged her forward. Blast it, woman, we’re late. You’ll move your legs if you know what’s best for you. He muttered a curse under his breath. God knows why I bother with your kind.

Abandoning her struggle, she scampered after him. Not that she had a choice. She had no idea where they were. As the unsavory characters littering the docks leered at her, she moved faster. 

As they passed the newly constructed London Bridge, she dragged her ragged skirts past her ankles so as not to step into the sewage laying in the street. The muddy water of the Thames sloshed against the side of the mooring to the right. She wrinkled her nose. Where in the world are we goin’?

Your incessant babbling isn’t helping, Miss Walsh. Do you want my wretched son to discover you’re gone?

She shuddered. Duncan Clinton, the next lord of Darnley, had an insatiable lust that she couldn’t escape. No matter where she was, the ill-mannered git had refused to mind himself. Glancing over her shoulder, she swallowed the fear stoking her racing heart.

Mayhap she should be grateful that Lord Darnley had taken the matter seriously. Despite the man’s derision toward her and her station, he was doing her a favor by sending her as far away from his son as possible.

At the wharves, they slowed their approach. Ships of all shapes and sizes littered the river. Lord Darnley ushered her through the crowd and halted at the far end of the pier. Wait here.

Her gaze followed the yards of canvas towering above her head, and she inhaled a gasp. A nearby merchant ship with two masts bobbed in the water, its furled sails luffing in the breeze. As the crew scrambled about the decks, readying the vessel to sail, hope surged through her.

Is he sendin’ me back to me da?

Clutching her shawl beneath her chin, she eyed her employer warily. I thank ye for helpin’ me, milord, but where are ye sendin’ me?

Darnley stiffened his broad shoulders. You think this a charitable rescue, woman? Get that fool idea out of your head. My son’s life is a mess—and you’re to blame.

She gasped. But I dinnae do anything, milord.

He wrinkled his nose before cocking his eyebrow. You sealed your fate when you enticed my son into your bed. My wife is too soft. She should have tossed you out months ago.

Tears streamed down her cheeks. To where? Please, ser!

Quiet! He pinched her arm. "You’ll do as I say and not question me. Unless you want to hang for the death of my grandson?"

Shaking her head, she clasped her hands to her heart. Nightmares of her small ward dying in her arms had tormented her for two months. I dinnae kill l’il George, I swear it. His fevers were too high. I couldna save him. I loved the boy like my own, I did.

Darnley huffed. It matters not. The Ton is merciless. Given the chance, the blasted busybodies will crucify you and my son in front of God and Country. I refuse to let London society cast blame on Cobham Hall for this scandalous affair.

Heat blazed across Lainey’s cheeks, and she ducked her head. It came as no surprise she’d been branded a temptress—and murderess—by most of London. Truth be told, Duncan had taken her against her will none too discretely. I had no choice, Lord Darnley. Duncan forced me to—

Grabbing her by the arm, he hauled her to the side of an open shack and hissed, Gads, woman, don’t say my name. These wharves have ears. With a quick glance over his shoulder, he tugged his tall, conical hat past his brow.

Lainey fingered the strands of red escaping the servant’s mobcap she’d been forced to wear. As Lady Emma’s maid-in-waiting, she wasn’t used to donning such shabby garb, but Lord Darnley had insisted she keep herself disguised as well.

Touch wood that nobody recognizes either of us.

Ah, there he is. Let’s get this over with, shall we? Darnley propelled her toward a short-statured merchant walking along the pier. Dressed smartly in a brown button-down greatcoat and trousers and shiny black shoes with gold buckles, the older gentleman gazed nervously at his pocket watch.

It’s about bloody time. Giles! Good of you to meet me here." Grasping the edges of his hat, Lord Darnley tipped it in greeting.

Bouncing from foot to foot, the balding man squeezed his hands into fists. Ye Lordship. The honor is mine, o’ course. Thick cockney seeped from his tongue as he stepped closer. I was afeared you weren’ gonna show. Wha’ have ye go’ fer us this trip?

Shoving Lainey forward, Darnley grunted, Here.

Giles’ eyes narrowed as he shook his head vehemently. Are ye daft? This ain’ a passenger vessel. I though’ ye had goods, no’ a blasted doxy.

Fisting the man by the collar of his thread-worn shirt, Lord Darnley spat, Don’t lie to me, Giles. You already have bondsmen on board. Leering at Lainey, he sneered. This one might be of use to your crew.

Giles’ eyes bugged out as he hiked a thumb toward the ship. Surely, you don’ mean to put her wit’ those louts? They be a right unsavory bunch. Nope. I won’ do it.

Darnley twisted the man’s collar. Secretary Canning would be quite interested to know about your under-the-table dealings, sir. Perhaps an anonymous post to have you investigated is in order?

The man’s ruddy face blanched as he struggled to loosen Darnley’s grip. N-nay, milord, tha’ isn’t necessary.

"We had an arrangement. You will fulfill our terms."

I won’ be takin’ her anywhere if’n ye kill me, milord. Darnley released him with a snort. Removing a white handkerchief from his pocket, Giles wiped the sweat from his brow. His buggy eyes found Lainey and he swallowed. Wha’ d’you suggest I do? I can’ have me sailors in an uproar. She’s awful comely. She’ll be in grave danger, milord.

Prickles skated up Lainey’s neck. Shrinking away from the men, she rubbed the remains of the punishment Duncan had inflicted upon her backside not a sennight ago. Unfortunately, the pain went deeper than mere bruises upon her skin. A bunch of dirty sailors taking advantage of her for the next several months? Nay, she wouldn’t do it.

I’ll rot in prison first.

Lord Darnley wrinkled his nose in irritation. She can service your entire crew for all I care. She’s used goods anyway. Consider it payment. I want her as far from London as possible.

Lainey eyed her employer with contempt. Had the last nine years serving the Darnley household meant nothing? Despite being ripped from her home, she’d pledged her loyalty to him and his wife. Hadn’t he saved her from the horrors that had plagued her in Ireland? Apparently, he didn’t care in the slightest. His only concern was his good name.

Raising her chin, she glared at the men still arguing as if she weren’t there. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of the bloody English nobility. But she refused to pay her way as a concubine.

Touching her emaciated form, she gazed at her long willowy legs and smallish chest. How many times had she been mistaken for a lad?

It wouldna be hard to deceive them.  

She tugged on Lord Darnley’s sleeve. I could dress like a boy, milords.

The men went silent. Giles’ eyes widened. Ye be needin’ bedlam, girl!

Arching an eyebrow, Darnley grinned and shoved her toward her new gaoler. On the contrary, problem solved. Giles, I assume you have this under control. I’ll just be off then. Adjusting his hat, Lord Darnley quickly turned on his heels and disappeared into the afternoon crowd.

Wait, milord! Ye have papers to sign! Whipping around, Giles glared at Lainey. He grabbed her wrist and muttered something about the bloody nobility before stuffing her inside the shack. Not a sound, woman. I need to have a word with Captain Ellsworth before ye board.

As the merchant hustled up the gangplank, Lainey sank onto a set of crates. The trials of the last ten years enveloped her like death’s shroud, numbing her heart. Why wouldn’t it be? After ten years of being passed from one house to the next, she was used to being cast aside like a stray.

Her Irish brogue, once thick and proud, had been replaced by a more refined English. Only a hint of her mother tongue remained. Lady Emma used to say she’d sufficiently stripped the Irish heathen from Lainey.

Just as the English had done to me motherland.

Aye, the first Lord Darnley had staked his claim on County Meath two centuries ago, and her family had suffered every day since.

She was barely five and ten when she’d been defiled by a local priest and forced to leave her home to serve the Darnley’s. She’d spent most of her young life battling the stronger sex, including the Darnley’s obsessed son. And what right had she to protest? She’d had no choice but to succumb to the powers that be lest she end up dead.

What other burdens must she bear?

God only gives us what we can handle, child.

Lady Emma’s words pierced Lainey’s heart like shards of glass. Pulling a handkerchief from her skirts, she wiped her tears. She hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to the only person who had served as a true companion the last few years.

The mistress of Cobham Hall had been Lainey’s saving grace. The woman had tried to keep her son from Lainey as best she could. Apparently, the Earl could no longer look beyond Duncan’s indiscretions.

Pressing her trembling hands together, Lainey crossed herself and dusted the dirt from her skirts before standing. Despite her somber situation, she would face her fate with the grace and dignity Lady Emma expected of her.

Pressing her trembling hands together, she crossed herself and dusted the dirt from her skirts before standing. Despite her somber situation, she would face her fate with the grace and dignity Lady Emma expected of her.

Stepping out of the shanty, Lainey scanned the beastly vessel in front of her. The Carrington. The gold eagle fixated upon the bow stared at her ominously as two masts towered over her head. The crew worked diligently, rigging the four, square sails perched upon each pole strung with lines of rope resembling a spider’s web. A few young boys hung from the ropes like monkeys. Fear mixed with dread as she faced her next adventure. This would be more than a small ride up the river.

As a young sailor rolled a barrel toward the gangplank, she bustled toward him. Excuse me, lad. Do ye know where this ship be headin’?

Pulling the grungy hat from his head, he shrugged. Usually stops in Dublin before headin’ to the colonies. Without another word, he picked up his load and hauled it up the ramp.

Her pulse pounded with hope. Mayhap I’m goin’ home! Could it be true? It was but a day’s ride from Dublin to Athboy. She couldn’t wait to see her da and the verdant hills of her homeland again.

As Giles emerged from the crowd, he scowled at her. Wha’ are ye doin’ out here, woman? Seizing her wrist, he dragged her to a houseboat floating next to the docks. Shoving her through the door, he threw an old pair of sailor’s breeches, a strip of linen, and a ragged shirt at her feet. This is all I could find. Ye got two minutes.

But—

His top lip lifted into a snarl. We ain’ go’ time fer this. Cap’n will be soundin’ the bell soon. As if on cue, the loud clanging resonated from the docks. Pointing to the garments, he hissed, Unless ye wanna stay on the wharves with the beggars and thieves? He pinched her arm. Way I hear it, ye’ve go’ the Earl’s son in a right state. Lainey stifled a gasp and snatched the garments from the floor. With a nod, Giles pulled the door.

Lainey stripped off her skirts and chemise with haste. Binding her breasts with the strip of linen, she drew the billowy shirt over her torso. She tugged the breeches up her legs and tied the belt around her waist. She did her best to tuck in the shirt, but the clothes swallowed her emaciated form. It’ll have to do.

She opened the door. But before she could step out, Giles pushed his way inside. Panic wound its way around her heart. Her trembling legs almost gave way. Crossing her arms to shield herself, she cowered in the corner. Please, ser. What are ye doin’?

Holding up a long knife, he twirled his index finger in a circle. Makin’ ye look like a boy. T’was yer idea, mind. Reluctantly, she stepped forward and did as he bid.

Ripping the mobcap from her hair, he clutched her tresses. Sweat dribbled down the back of her neck as he sheared her curls to her nape. Tugging a skull cap over her shorn hair, he spun her toward the door and muttered, Let’s go. We don’ have much time.

She raked her hand across her bare neck and swallowed the ache in her heart. T’is gone. All of it.

He snapped her arms together in front of her body. With a stern glare, he pursed his lips. "Now hear this, lad. I go’ clearance to let ye board, but this be the only way yer gettin’ on the ship."

He slapped a pair of shackles on her wrists, and she cried out against the stinging pain. She struggled to break free. Nay...

Grunting, he gripped her wrists tighter. Ye wanna go back? Ye’ll face Darnley’s wrath by yerself, by God. I go’ better things to do than be yer keeper.

Terminating her resistance, Lainey stared at the ship. Her stomach jumped. He was right. She couldn’t return to Cobham Hall. Better to face the unknown than return to the devil.

She gave him a curt nod. As he propelled her up the gangplank, she tripped. Where are we goin’?

Ignoring her, Giles clapped her on the shoulder and smiled at a burly man standing at the top. Sam, this boy be a last-minute addition. Servin’ time fer his tomfoolery, constable says. Ye go’ room?

As Lainey glared at Giles, the older man took her by the shackles and barked a laugh. This snap of a boy? He’ll fit right in. Takin’ a rowdy lot this time. Wouldn’t want to be down there meself. As Giles strode away, Sam tugged on her iron cuffs. Come, lad. Best not to fight it. Ye be chattel now.

The light of day disappeared as he forced her into the grand frigate. Shoving her toward a staircase, he guided her down the steepest stairs she’d ever seen. Dread swallowed her soul as they spiraled four levels below, into the bowels of hell. At the bottom, he pulled her to a stop.

The musty smell of old wooden crates and urine smacked her in the face, and she stifled a sob. The wretched souls apparently facing the same fate gazed up at her with pity in their forlorn eyes. As Sam guided her to the middle of the hold, he fastened her wrist shackles to a hook on the nearby beam and tightened them.

Here ye go. Home fer the next month—if’n ye don’ get sick an’ die.

The pale woman next to her coughed, and Lainey’s heart plummeted to her stomach. I cannae. I will nae!

Grunting, he tugged her legs together, stifling her struggle. His voice softened. Come, now, lad. Make the best of it, aye? Ye and I both know ye ain’ gettin’ off this ship. We be pushing off as we speak.

To Dublin?

Is tha’ wha’ they tole ye? He shook his head and tsked. Bloody gits. This ship’s going to the British Canadian territories, lad. They be needing help on the front to fight the bloody Americans. On His Majesty’s doorstep, they are. He fastened her legs to the floor with a length of chain and patted her back. Be brave, son. It’ll only get worse from here.

Burying her face in her arms, she slumped over her knees and closed her eyes. As the bells pealed ominously above her, announcing her imminent death, she broke down and cried.

Aye, she’d never see her homeland again.

Part One:

Prisoners

and

Martyrs

Chapter One

RURAL NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT

March 1814

Why have you come, sir?

Bracing his elbow on the armrest of his wheelchair, Lieutenant Dayne Neverwood swept his straggly brown hair from his face as he glared at his commanding officer. He clenched his jaw.

Nay, his former commander.

Standing at attention, Colonel Robert Sandstone placed his cocked hat under his arm and cleared his throat. His steel grey eyes pierced Dayne like a whaler’s knife, the judgment cutting as deep as the Atlantic.

Raising his chin, he scowled at the man who’d sentenced him to his fate. Out with it, Colonel. No disrespect, sir, but you’re interrupting my busy day.

Wrinkles creased Sandstone’s rugged face, tell-tale signs that he’d endured as much during this nonsensical war as Dayne had. Lifting his nonexistent leg, Dayne snorted.

Bullshit. Nobody has suffered as thus.

As if on cue, pain jolted through his right hip. The sensation snaked down his thigh, his limb throbbing in time with his racing heart. Rubbing the weakened muscle, he sucked in a sharp breath. Despite his appendage being amputated below the knee, the damn thing still ached.

His eyes darted to the bottle of laudanum sitting beside his bed. He licked his dry lips. All I need is a nip.

Arching an eyebrow, Sandstone stepped forward. Lieutenant Neverwood, America needs your help once more.

Dayne stared at the man, gripping the arm of his chair until his knuckles paled. Five years. Seventy-four long months serving as an officer in the godforsaken northwestern wilderness, losing both his leg, his rank, and his dignity, and America still demanded he sacrifice? What more must he give? His firstborn?

Nay, that wouldn’t suffice. Since he was no longer a whole man, he needn’t worry about having children.

He swallowed hard, burying the pain beneath the brick wall of his empty heart. Get someone else. I’ve served my country. I just want to be left in peace.

Tossing his hat on the bureau, Sandstone grumbled a curse as empty bottles of whiskey toppled. He yanked a rickety chair from the corner of the cluttered room and slammed it next to the unkempt bed. Clothing and papers littered the floor and he pushed them aside with his feet. Without permission, he sat.

Unbuttoning the top lapel his double-breasted coat, he leaned forward with his hand perched on his knee and harrumphed. How long since you left your post, Neverwood? Nearly a year? Scanning the room, he wrinkled his nose.  You’ve left the army behind.

Dayne shrugged. "I was discharged. That’s the point, sir." He stared at the army issued bag sitting in the corner, untouched. He hadn’t bothered to unpack his belongings upon returning from Fort McHenry nearly three months ago. What did it matter? Life didn’t matter.

Sandstone crooked an eyebrow. Good to see you can still clean the privy.

Dayne followed Sandstone’s gaze. Only the commode, equipped with a chipped, porcelain chamber pot, had been meticulously cleansed. He sighed. No need to live like a pig.

Tired of this mundane interrogation, he wheeled himself around. He wanted nothing more than to wipe the holier-than-thou look off Sandstone’s face. The man was notorious for his patriotic righteousness, and Dayne didn’t have the energy to endure his rant.

He rubbed his temples. "Get to the point, Colonel. My stepmother has big plans for me this evening. She insists on teaching me how to darn stockings the right way."

Indeed. Sandstone snorted. Gripping the lapels of his overcoat, he sat up, his spine ramrod straight. "The General requested you for this mission, Neverwood. This war isn’t over. Every able-bodied man needs to step up and do his part to put those British thugs in their place." 

"Do I look able-bodied?" 

Sandstone scowled. "Come now, son. The surgeon said you could be fitted for a wooden leg. Put your time to good use. Get out of this chair and do something."

Dayne barked a laugh. Aye? Apparently, you haven’t spoken with my father. He hiked his thumb to the fields of his family’s tobacco plantation below. I can’t even help tend the fields. He’d be more than happy to give you his opinion about what a worthless lout I am. Not that his father needed him. With Bryce seven and ten and the twins only two years younger, Daniel Neverwood Merriweather had all the hands he needed.

And legs.

Sandstone squinted out the window. How many siblings do you have?

Following his gaze, Dayne’s stomach soured as his four younger brothers flanked their father. Plenty. Are you here to recruit? Bryce is nearly of age. According to my father, he’s the perfect son. He’ll be an impeccable soldier.

Growling, Sandstone stood and crossed his arms over his chest. "Enough! Better men than you have taken beatings on the battlefield, seen horrors they can’t forget, and returned to a full life. Where’s the officer who led his troops into the wild and ran down the Shawnee? Who took aim at Tecumseh’s brother and served General Harrison proudly? That man was the bravest soul I knew. He fought like a native. I was proud to have him serve alongside me."

As visions of the Shawnee camp flashed through his mind, Dayne closed his eyes. The nightmare of Tippecanoe would be his undoing. Their missions had been pointless, and that battle had cost him his leg. The war that had once given him such purpose, to fight for something he believed in, had all but destroyed his faith in God, humanity, and himself.

Every time he tried to envision his future, he saw nothing but darkness, a life where others had to do things for him. Who would it be? Bryce? His baby brother, Cameron? Or would it be some poor woman who couldn’t make a suitable match and ended up stuck with him? No way in hell was he going to heap such responsibility on his family—or worse, a woman of his stepmother’s choosing. What kind of life was that for anyone? 

Opening his eyes, he muttered a curse. The reminder of everything he’d lost was the last thing he needed. "Captain Neverwood is gone, sir. He should have died honorably on the field of battle. Instead, he’s left with this. Swallowing the bile that burned the back of his throat, he raised his arms, accentuating his emaciated form. For God’s sake, look at me. There’s nothing left for me but this chair. Just let me live in peace." Ignoring the hitch in his chest, Dayne spun away.

Before he could turn about, Sandstone seized his chair to a halt. The coldness of the man’s icy gaze bit through him. Don’t kid yourself, son. You’re a coward of the worst sort. Nothing but a pathetic excuse of life. Be a man!

Spots dotted Dayne’s vision. Nobody had ever called him out on his inner-most fears, least of all himself. Drawing his lips across his teeth, he leaned forward and bit out, "You’re out of line, Colonel. You have no fucking idea what I’m feeling."

Sandstone arched an eyebrow. You think not? I can see it in your eyes. You don’t want to live, yet you don’t have the courage to off yourself. You want nothing more than to die, like you should have.

It was true. Dayne wished to God his men had left him in that Shawnee camp. He had no right to live while others had perished. He was left to suffer as punishment.

Sweat poured down his back as he swallowed the lump in his throat. I can’t go back, sir. I see them in my sleep. Women and children dying. Every night, I witness my own brothers being shot down one-by-one, along with the American flag.

With a heavy sigh, Sandstone placed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. You were one of my best officers, son. I could always count on you and your men to do the dirty work. That’s why I sent your team in first.

Dayne shook his head. We’re fighting a losing battle.

Raising a bushy eyebrow, Sandstone leaned forward. After all you’ve been through, all the men lost under your command, do you really want the British on our soil? The very land your father toils? The country he once fought for?

Dayne stared out the window as his father’s silhouette lingered in the setting sun. Ironically, the man hadn’t always been a plantation owner. Once a merchant sea captain, Daniel Neverwood had enlisted his ship to fight for America’s freedom during the Revolution. A patriot, he was dedicated to the birth of a new nation.

But he’d returned a broken man. Instead of resuming his duties at sea, he’d married a woman who would eventually manipulate him to change his name and lead him to this mundane life of a planter, one Dayne had no desire to emulate.

Lifting his chin, he pursed his lips. What does it matter? My father lost respect for me long ago.

Then put it to rights. You’re the only soldier I know who has the expertise and the guts to pull off a mission as delicate as this. Nodding at Dayne’s covered leg, he pressed his lips together. It was God’s will that you survived so you could be of use. It’s your destiny.

Dayne scoffed. God’s will. Have faith. He’d heard such hubris at Fort McHenry. The chaplain had visited every day, reminding Dayne that the good Lord still had plans for him. Brushing his hair from his face, he eyed Sandstone. You don’t seem like a God-fearing man, sir.

Perhaps not. However, I believe in second chances. You’ve been handed this assignment with welcome.

Not interested.

Sandstone cocked his head. General Hawthorne stated that he’d reinstate your former rank as well.

Dayne gritted his teeth. He’d been stripped of his captain’s bars because he’d had the courage to stand up to the powers that be. He snorted. I could care less, sir.

Sandstone leaned forward. What if I told you the danger of this mission almost certainly includes your demise?

Dayne sat up and stared at his commanding officer intently. Aye?

Sandstone clapped him on the shoulder. Indeed. And I promise you a hero’s burial, son. It’s a sight better than pulling the trigger yourself.

Dayne rubbed the scar crossing his amputated knee. Fate didn’t suit his usual liking, but the man’s unwavering gaze stirred a longing deep inside his soul. This was his chance to be free. Free from pain and this blessed chair—a chance to die on his own terms.

As a sharp pain radiated to his missing foot, he shifted in his seat. An honorable death was certainly preferable to suicide. He could never take his own life. To do so would only cause his family more humiliation.

I may never get this opportunity again.

Wheeling in front of Sandstone, he snapped a strong salute. Very well. I can be at McHenry within a fortnight, sir

A slow grin spread across Sandstone’s face. Good to hear it, son. But you won’t be traveling to base. Retrieving a slip of parchment from his pocket, he handed it to Dayne. This is a clandestine assignment. The success of this mission and your final salvation rely on complete secrecy. You’ll report only to me, understood?

Furrowing his brow, Dayne perused the script. After a few moments, his stomach lurched. Jesus! They want me to do what?

He stabbed the parchment with a growl. There is no honor in this. Under who’s authority—

The stalwart man held up his palm. I’ve got orders from the highest level to execute this. They requested the best man I’ve got. You’ll be a hero, son.

If I don’t end up in the brig first. Eyeing Sandstone warily, Dayne blew out a breath. Who in their right mind would issue an order such as this? This has the potential to destroy us.

It won’t. I give you my word. If you’re captured, you’ll have reinforcements waiting in the wings. He bent over Dayne’s chair. You won’t rot in some English prison, nor will you waste away in this chair with an addled mind. Serve America and die with honor. End your suffering. Isn’t that what you want?

Dayne’s eyes darted to the bottle of opiates on his nightstand. Wont and longing danced through his soul. If the world only knew how much he’d prayed for a release from the drugs, from the emotional scars tormenting him...

He sat forward and cocked his head. T’is an absolute certainty? If I do this, I need to know my actions won’t affect my family.

You have my word. Sandstone held his head high. You’re a decorated officer, and this is war, after all.

Aye, but war changes a man. Dayne closed his eyes and sighed. Fine. I’ll await your orders at the Windhaven Inn at New Haven.

Sandstone clasped Dayne’s outstretched hand. "You’re a good man, Captain. I’ll be in touch." With a sharp salute, he turned on his heels, softly shutting the wooden door behind him.

Dayne stared out the window, a myriad of emotions running through his mind. He raked a hand across his scruffy beard and cringed as Sandstone’s words cut through him.

Your country needs you once more.

Dayne snorted. What a hypocrite he was. Patriotism had never ruled his decision to join the army. He’d used it to escape the ever-growing tension at home.

Saint Daniel Neverwood. Nay, Daniel Merriweather. Perusing the man who had sired him as he walked the newly planted tobacco fields, Dayne cursed under his breath.

The dinner bell rang, and his youngest brother Cameron bolted toward the house. His sweet giggle filled the air as the three older brothers followed suit. The boy held the door wide, and Daniel leisurely strolled in behind them, stopping in front of Cam to tousle the boy’s hair with a kind smile.

An empty ache filled Dayne’s heart. Why in the hell had he returned to this place? His stepmother abhorred him. And his father had nary a good thing to say to him since he’d returned. There was no substance to his relationship with his father, and there never would be.

Because Daniel had never wanted him. Dayne’s real mother had died when he was but a babe, but instead of owning up to his responsibilities, Daniel had passed Dayne off to his uncle Henry, the New Haven wharf master. Dayne had naught but the rowdy sailors of New Haven to teach him.

Until his father married into the infamous Merriweather family. For eighteen years, Charlotte Merriweather had reigned over their lives. Unfortunately, the woman never let Dayne forget that his mother was a common doxy from the wharves.

Nay, he didn’t belong here.

Clenching his jaw, he shoved away from the window and wheeled himself to the side of his bed. As he lifted himself from the chair, a jolt of pain coursed through his leg. Settling himself at the edge of the mattress, he grasped his thigh.

Sweat beaded across his brow. His lips trembled. Lifting the laudanum from the table, he popped the cork from the bottle and took a healthy swig. Sucking air into his lungs, he closed his eyes and prayed for the pain to subside.

His heartbeat slowed. Lying back, he sighed with relief as the opiates took hold. One last mission and I’ll be free. It’s gotta be better than this hell.

Chapter Two

NEW HAVEN, CONNECTICUT

April 1814

The rain beat a steady rhythm against the old oak door of the Windhaven Inn. As the elements whistled through the cracks of the mortar-less stones, Dayne flipped up the collar of his coat and nursed his whiskey to ward off the chill. He squinted at the door. Hopefully, his guests wouldn’t be late.

He was awaiting his Uncle Henry and a merchant sea captain named Reece Carrow. Apparently, the man was looking for a new first mate, and the timing couldn’t have been better. Sandstone was getting pushy. Their target was on the move. And with new orders, he set Dayne to the task: acquire a vessel and crew by any means possible and take control of The Carrington, a British ship bound for the Canadian territories.

Pain rippled through his leg. Grimacing, he unstrapped the belt holding his peg to his stump and examined the welts on his thigh. His knee had swelled nearly twice its size.

Throwing the wooden contraption to the ground, he cursed. He’d only had the bloody contraption for two weeks. After Sandstone had given him his assignment in its entirety, he’d visited Fort McHenry to be fitted for his new leg. Unfortunately, he hadn’t walked on it enough to break it in.

Gripping the arms of his chair, he rubbed his thigh. The constant rain didn’t help. Pulling a small vial of laudanum from his pocket, he emptied it into his drink and threw it back.

He closed his eyes, cursing the day his men had hauled him from the shores of the Wabash River. Dayne hated having to use the opiate to control the pain, but he hadn’t been able to live without it.

Dread settled in his heart as he set the empty bottle aside. The medicine was no longer an option. He’d weaned himself from the drug, knowing he’d need his wits about him for this mission. And he couldn’t do it alone.

He raised his glass and muttered, "I’m counting on you,