Marooned

By Anna Markland

An intrepid Caribbean pirate hunted by international navies is marooned on a deserted island with a resentful Danish widow he has taken captive.
Maximiliano and Heidi seemingly have nothing in common, except the long-held desire to start life afresh. Is their fate a blessing in disguise?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Anna Markland
• Release date: Mar 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9798215193679

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MORE ANNA MARKLAND

Anna has authored more than sixty bestselling, award-winning and much-loved Medieval, Viking and Highlander historical romance novels and novellas. Most recently, she has ventured into the world of the Regency.

No matter the historical or geographic setting, many of her series recount the adventures of successive generations of one family, with emphasis on the importance of ancestry and honor. A detailed list with links can be found at https://www.annamarkland.com

SMOKING GUN

Sankt Thomas, Danish West Indies, 1825

I ’ll kill them, Torsten Jakobsen shouted, waving the loaded pistol erratically. I’ll kill them all.

Heidi cowered in a corner of the tiny kitchen, as she’d done too often before, but this time she was terrified her husband might turn the weapon on her if she uttered a word. She knew better than to try to reason with him when rum had him in its thrall, and he reeked of the demon drink.

Bruises were bearable, a bullet to the head...

No longer needed, Torsten yelled, pointing the gun at her face. My services are no longer needed. And whose fault is that, wife?

She’d borne the brunt of his anger and his fists for two years. Her campaign to improve the lives of the hundreds of slaves owned by the Danish West Indies company had angered his employers and resulted in his demotion, but she couldn’t be blamed for the decline of the entire sugar industry. More efficient American competition had achieved that.

What do they expect me to do? Torsten ranted, eyes bulging. Take my lovely wife back to Denmark?

The looming possibility of a long return voyage to their homeland filled Heidi with dread. There was nothing left for them there. The economy of Denmark was still floundering after the defeat of her ally Napoleon and the subsequent loss of Norway to Sweden. They’d be destitute, dependent on Heidi’s older brother who’d inherited the family farm. Thormod wasn’t known for his philanthropic nature.

Besides, despite the difficulties, she loved the tropical island they’d come to five years ago, full of youthful optimism. Perhaps if she tried to comfort her husband...

She swallowed the leaden taste of fear. I...

The crack wasn’t loud. The deafening silence that followed stole the breath from her lungs. She stared in disbelief, steeling her body against the pain, the blood, the descent into oblivion. Her husband had murdered her.

But it was Torsten who crumpled to the floor, blood trickling from his mouth, his eyes wide with shock, the smoking gun still in his grip.

Startled out of nearby nests, squawking grackles drowned out the sound of her screams.

FLIGHT

Atlantic Ocean 1825

Heidi Jakobsen gripped the sloop’s stern rail with both hands and peered into the sunrise as the Hekla sliced through choppy Atlantic waters on its westerly journey to Puerto Rico and the Caribbean. The shores of Sankt Thomas were still visible on the dawn horizon. She was leaving behind the optimistic Danish girl who’d begun a new life on the sun-drenched colonial island five years ago. It’s ironic, she murmured. I never wanted to come to Sankt Thomas in the first place.

Your pardon, a gentleman standing beside her said. "Jeg taler ikke dansk. I don’t speak Danish."

Mortified she’d spoken out loud and momentarily blinded by staring into the rising sun, she squinted to see the ruddy face of her elderly fellow traveler. He was well-dressed, sported a tidy grey mustache and smelled of wealth. Probably a British sugar magnate, or… You are American? she asked.

You guessed right, young lady, he replied with a clipped bow. Roland Stephenson the Third, at your service. You’re going home to Denmark, I suppose.

He’d rightly assumed most of the dispirited Danes aboard the Hekla were fleeing the crumbling economy. She supposed Denmark would be her final destination since she’d been forced to leave the place where dreams of a happy married life lay in ruins. At least the company that had cast her husband aside like a piece of rubbish had paid her fare. Eventually, she allowed. "I hope to visit New York first. I have a tante, an aunt, who lives there."

I’m a Baltimore man myself, he replied. Though I’ve spent many years in the sweltering heat of Florida since it became part of the United States.

Sugar? she asked in her limited English.

Right again!

He turned, leaned back against the railing and pointed with his ornately carved cane. Culebra dead ahead, he declared. We’ll be in Caribbean waters soon.

She followed his gaze. Beyond the sparsely populated island of Culebra lay Puerto Rico. She and her new husband had sailed from the eastern shores of the Spanish colony on the last leg of the exhausting journey from København to Sankt Thomas.

It seemed a lifetime ago.

Don’t worry, Torsten had assured her. After we make our fortune with the Danish West India Company, we’ll go home, buy land and build a big house.

You seem lost in thought, the American said. Will you miss Saint Thomas? Very different from Denmark.

My husband died there, she replied, not sure if miss was the right word.

My condolences, he said, taking out a brilliantly white kerchief to mop his beet red face. I know only too well how hard the tropics can be on a man’s health.

It seemed ridiculous to explain all that had befallen her to this elderly foreigner who was clearly uncomfortable in the heat, but the words tumbled out of her mouth. We were aware the prosperity of the island depended on slave labor, she said, realizing now how naive they’d been. But the notion meant nothing to either of us until we saw first-hand how cruelly slaves are treated by the plantation owners and even company directors.

Yes, Stephenson sighed, leaning heavily on his cane as he retrieved a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. No better than animals.

She nodded, but the lack of conviction in his voice and the nonchalant way he returned the watch to its nest had her wondering how many slaves the affluent American owned. Their plight didn’t sit well with my Lutheran upbringing. My ineffective calls for an improvement of their working conditions raised the ire of my husband’s superiors.

Which led to arguments, I shouldn’t wonder.

She swallowed the bitter memory of the hurtful insults they’d hurled at each other. When I refused to stay quiet, he was demoted to clerking for the Brandenburg African Company.

Stephenson grimaced. The unscrupulous Germans who lease a trading post from the Danes and deal exclusively in human flesh. It’s rumored they conduct the biggest slave markets in the world in Saint Thomas.

My husband told me, she murmured, unable to bring herself to describe the effect his demotion had on Torsten. Equally disgusted and disillusioned by the inhumanity of the slave trade and resentful of the fate that had befallen him, he turned to drink, blaming Heidi for his troubles. He was always remorseful about the beatings and violent sexual encounters when he was sober. Her Christian faith taught she must forgive him, but her broken heart and bruised body came to despise and fear him.

She sought a safer topic. "Despite the difficulties, the tropics seduced me. When other European women complained of the heat, my Scandinavian blood drank it in. When humidity drove others to higher ground, I savored the salty taste on my lips. I filled my lungs with the thousand and