Free Beloved Captive by Kathleen Y'Barbo Page A

supplies.”
    Emilie found her food quickly, then extinguished the lamp. She nibbled her meal in darkness, an odd situation all around. Somewhere between the rising of the quarter moon and the first light of morning, she fell into a fitful sleep. Awakened by the watch bell, she raced to the tiny window without lighting the lamp.
    A deafening roar that could only be cannon fire shook the very floor beneath her feet. Emilie raced for the bunk and tucked her legs up under her. Remembering the captain’s warning, she retraced her steps to bolt the door.
    Her heart pounding, Emilie felt her way along the wall until she found her bunk and fell into it. Overhead the sounds intensified until it sounded like the roof above her might fall away and a roomful of men shouting and running about would join her.
    The ship rocked and shuddered but seemed to remain steady in the water. Thankfully no further shots were fired, leaving Emilie to return to her theory that it was all a misunderstanding.
    She held to that theory until the first man tried to burst through the door. Even then, Emilie never considered she might be leaving the vessel by force.
    Until the door splintered.

Chapter 8

    May 27
    Benning Plantation, Santa Lucida

    Caleb held the letter carefully, knowing whatever it held would change the careful balance he’d finally found here on the island. His intention in riding to the highest point on the island had been to put space between his thoughts and the home he had come to share with his mother.  
    Caleb could see the green fields planted under his grandfather’s hand. Nearby, the Cormorant bobbed at anchor on seas so blue-green that it hurt his eyes to stare at them for long.  
    None of this, he realized with a start, bore the impression of his father. It seemed as though John Spencer’s political and judicial reputation in Washington did not extend to this far-flung corner of the world.  
    The horse stamped at the damp earth, likely as reluctant as he to remain still when so much of Benning Plantation lay before them. Truly Caleb had found he loved to sit astride a good horse, to give the animal free rein and hang on bareback while the creature flew over the earthy green fields and up into the hills. This mare, Rialto, was his favorite.  
    “Settle down,” he murmured as he patted the horse’s flank. “We’ll run soon enough.”
    The letter slid out of his pocket and nearly tumbled to the ground before he caught it. As Caleb broke the attorney general’s seal, he held his breath.
    Scanning the greeting and first paragraph, his gaze landed on the words he’d hoped for when he left Washington: Proud to offer this promotion .  
    “Promotion. Hurrah!” he shouted as a flock of orangequit took to the skies from their hidden perches in a nearby grove of nance trees.
    Once again, he had to settle Rialto before continuing. The next sentence stopped him cold. He read the words again, then slowly said them aloud: “   ‘. . . to the Department of the Navy.’   ” After he finished reading the last line, he said, “But I’m a lawyer, not a sailor.”
    “Well, that’s a pity,” Fletcher said from somewhere behind him. “For I had hoped to entice you to accompany me aboard the Cormorant today. I’ve a mind to test her sails a bit on an errand, and the day’s a fine one.”  
    “Well now.” Caleb swiveled to see his mentor walking toward him.  
    No longer did he have the shuffling gait, drawn complexion, and stooped shoulders of a man on the wrong side of health. The only sign of his injuries was the ebony and gold walking stick he barely depended on and the bandages Caleb knew were wrapping his shoulder and chest.
    “What say you, lad?” Fletcher removed the ever-present pipe from his pocket and studied it, one hand leaning on the walking stick. “Are we to sail this morning or must I go alone now that you’ve stated you’re not a sailor?”
    Caleb laughed even as he determined to steer the