Mutiny of the Heart Read online

  ISBN 978-1-61626-112-2

  MUTINY OF THE HEART

  Copyright © 2010 by Vickie McDonough. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 721, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.

  All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.

  Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.

  PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.

  one

  Charleston, South Carolina 1788

  Heather Hawthorne gazed at the monstrous homes of Charleston as another wave of doubt slammed into her with the full force of a hurricane. Was she making the right decision?

  Hadn’t she asked herself that question a thousand times since boarding the ship back home in Canada? Was it too late to hail the carriage driver and ask him to return them to the Charlotte Anne before it set sail for the Caribbean?

  “Are we almost there, Aunt Heather?”

  Smiling down at the lad she loved as her own, she ruffled his hair then found his cap on the seat and set it on his head. “Aye, dear one, we’ve nearly arrived.”

  Jamie furrowed his brow and leaned against her arm. “Do you think he will like me?”

  Heather’s heart clenched as she patted his soft cheek. “Of course he will.”

  Please, Lord. Let it be so. Holding the lad’s hand, she watched the tall homes, and even taller palm trees, pass by. She hadn’t seen the likes of such houses since her family left England and settled off the coast of Canada on Nova Scotia. Her poor cottage was probably a fraction of the size of the carriage houses that sat behind many of the giant homes. Nearly all had one- and two-story porches, or piazzas as she’d heard them called. Many of them faced the Charleston harbor, welcoming the cooling breezes of the sea. She lifted her head. Though she could not see the harbor at the moment, she could smell the salty air.

  Lucas Reed was said to be one of the wealthiest shipbuilders in the area and would certainly live in one of these large homes. No sooner had the thought taken wing than the coach slowed and stopped. Heather gasped and held her hand against her chest. The imposing brick house looming above them was three stories tall. The decorative front door was sheltered by a rounded portico supported by four massive white columns. Curved stairways on either side led up to the landing. Ivy clung to the brick below the portico and crept out onto the stairs, giving the home a soft accent.

  The carriage driver lowered the steps and opened the door. “The home of Mr. Lucas Reed, miss.”

  She accepted the hand he held out and descended the steps, turning to check on Jamie. He shrank back, staring at her with wide blue eyes. “Don’t be afraid, lad. I’ll be with you.”

  He nodded then gathered the bag that held his favorite possessions and hopped down, looking around with a crinkled brow. “Where’s the house?”

  The driver chuckled and motioned toward the red brick structure. “‘Tis here, boy.”

  “But that’s a big building.” Jamie tilted his head back and looked up at the portico.

  “Aye, the houses here are quite large.”

  Now that was an understatement if there ever was one. Heather swallowed the lump in her throat. She’d gone through so much to get here, but what if the man didn’t want the boy?

  Lucas Reed had more money than he knew what to do with from the looks of this house, and his reputation for helping others was widely talked about—although he surely hadn’t helped Jamie’s mother any. She pursed her lips, trying to maintain a proper attitude. She would see that he did right by the lad, even if she had to remain in this hated country to do so.

  The coachman lifted out her satchel and Jamie’s smaller one. “I shall run these up the stairs for you, miss.”

  She smiled, found a coin in her handbag, and paid the man when he returned to the coach. “Thank you for your service.”

  “Should I wait for you, miss?”

  “Nay.” Surely Mr. Reed could provide transportation back to the docks if needed. Straightening her back and her resolve, she took Jamie’s hand and climbed the stairs to the massive white door. She pounded the knocker and gazed around at the homes crowded together. How could one live with neighbors so nearby?

  The door opened, and she swallowed hard. A butler studied her, gazing down her length and back up. His eyes narrowed a bit. “How can I be of service?”

  “We’re here to see Mr. Reed. Is he at home?”

  “Hmm … I don’t remember him having an appointment today.”

  “We don’t have one.” Heather lifted her chin at the stern man. “We’ve just arrived in town, and I had no chance to notify Mr. Reed in advance.”

  Jamie tugged her hand, shuffling his feet. “I need to use the … you know.”

  The butler backed away, holding the door open. “Step inside, miss, and I’ll see if Mr. Reed is available. May I tell him the nature of your business?”

  “‘Tis rather private.” Heather ducked her head beneath his stern gaze. She got the impression he didn’t think much of her, but he wasn’t the one she was worried about. They stepped inside, and he hoisted their bags and set them in the entryway then closed the door.

  “Stay here. I’ll return shortly. You may leave your card in the receiving tray over there.” He pointed to a long, narrow table that held a hammered silver tray with three of the four corners bent inward, then strode into the interior of the house.

  She wandered over to the table, taking in the fine furnishings of the home. In the dish lay several calling cards with the owners’ names on them. She had no card to leave. What would it matter anyway?

  “Aunt Heather…”

  “Hang on a bit longer, please.” She stooped in front of Jamie and brushed his dark hair from his deep blue eyes. Oh, how she’d miss him. He was like a son to her, but he deserved to know his father, especially since his mother had died.

  But would the father be worthy of such a fine lad?

  Lucas Reed stood on the second-story piazza, staring at the Charleston harbor. The warm sea breeze touched his cheeks, and he lifted his head, breathing in the salty air. The morning sun glistened off the waters, causing him to squint, but even so he noticed a dolphin as it rose out of the water in a graceful arc and disappeared again.

  He loved starting his mornings out here on the wide, covered porch. In fact, he just might start breaking his fast on the piazza every morning while he was in Charleston. What a perfect way to start a perfect day.

  But he had business to attend to, a shipyard to oversee, and one day soon, he needed to return to the plantation and check on his servants. He donned his frock coat and took a final sip of his tea, then turned to go inside.

  Langford exited the house. “There’s a woman with a boy to see you, sir.”

  He waved his hand in dismissal. “Give them a few coins and food and send them on their way.”

  His butler sniffed. “Though clothed more like country folk,

  I do not believe they are beggars, sir. The lady mentioned traveling and that they have just arrived this morning.”

  Lucas searched his mind, trying to remember what ships were due into port this week. Intrigued by the mysterious visitor, he followed Langford downstairs to the foyer. A woman of modest dress stood holding a child’s hand. Her woolen gown and heavy cloak hinted that she was from a cooler clima
te. He wondered that she wasn’t sweltering under Charleston’s spring warmth.

  She lifted her head and followed his downward progression with something like disdain on her pretty face. Her dark brown hair was neatly tucked under her linen cap and a wide-brimmed hat. Intelligent brown eyes stared at him without the usual signs of attraction he saw gleaming in the eyes of most women he encountered, in spite of his efforts to discourage them.

  Interesting.

  Women often sought him out at soirees and events, but very few actually came to his home, especially without an escort. As the elder of two sons, he’d been blessed to inherit the Reed fortune, but a not-always-unpleasant side effect was that most of the town’s mamas had set their caps to snare him for their daughters. And more often than not, the town’s poor found their way to his door. Somehow, he believed this woman was neither.

  Langford crossed to the table where visitors left their calling cards. His mouth twitched as he picked up a tattered paper the woman must have deposited in the receiving tray. “Miss Heather Hawthorne and Master Jamie.” Langford turned toward the woman. “I present Mr. Lucas Reed, miss.”

  Heather Hawthorne. The name meant nothing to him, and he noted that the child’s last name had not been mentioned. He closed the distance between him and the woman. The boy danced at her side, tugging on her hand. Lucas resisted smiling. “Langford, perhaps you could show the boy to the facilities and then see that he has a treat in the kitchen.”

  Miss Hawthorne’s lips tightened, and she glanced down at the child as if she didn’t want to turn loose of him.

  Jamie leaned toward her, shaking his legs as if cold. “Please, Aunt Heather, I must go.”

  Miss Hawthorne nodded, and Lucas allowed a grin, taking in the boy’s black hair. When the child turned his grateful blue eyes on Lucas, his heart leaped like a horse clearing a jump. Jamie smiled, revealing a twin set of dimples, and the breath whooshed out of Lucas’s lungs. His mind filled with questions, but he held his tongue until Langford and the boy were gone.

  “Might I offer you a seat and some refreshment, Miss Hawthorne?”

  She shook her head and fanned her face. “Nay, but I thank you.”

  “You have an endearing boy, Miss Hawthorne.” Lucas stood with his hands locked behind his back. “May I inquire as to the nature of your business?”

  The woman glanced to the doorway where Langford and the boy had quit the room; then she met his gaze. “Aye, you may. I’ve come to deliver your son to you.”

  Lucas felt as if he were riding full gallop and had encountered a tree branch hard in the chest. He opened his mouth to deny the child, but the boy’s piercing blue eyes, dark hair, and dimples prevented him from speaking. He’d seen the startling resemblance of a Reed male in the boy, but he knew that he couldn’t have fathered a child that age. He may have been promiscuous as a young man, but since giving his heart to God seven years ago, he hadn’t been with a woman. He stared at his guest, wondering what game she was about. “I can assure you, Miss Hawthorne, that boy is not mine.”

  two

  Heather waved her hand in front of her face as the heat of the room and the man’s denial hit her full force. She took in his handsome face, black hair, and startling eyes the color of the sea. How could the arrogant rogue disallow Jamie when the boy was his miniature? Did he think she was a fortune hunter seeking to pawn off the child for the sake of a few coins? Though her heart pounded, she lifted her chin. “You are wrong, sir. Do not try to deny the lad. His face is yours.”

  Lucas Reed shook his head. “You are mistaken. I’ve never seen you before, so how could Jamie be our son? Besides, did he not call you his aunt?”

  The blood rushed from her face, and she held her hand against her chest. “I never said he was mine, as much as I wish it were so. He is the son of my cousin. She is the one who assured me that Jamie was your son and made me promise to deliver him to you.”

  The man narrowed his eyes then waved his hand in the air. “Where is this nameless accuser? Has she not the gall to indict me to my face?”

  “How dare you speak ill of the dead.”

  Mr. Reed’s expression softened, and those startling eyes implored her to believe him, but she knew the truth. What reason could Deborah possibly have for lying about such a thing? Her cousin was amiable, genteel, and a believer in God. She would not tell a falsehood about something so important.

  “I am sorry for your loss, but surely you must understand my dilemma, miss. A stranger appears at my door with a boy she claims is mine, but I know for a fact that he couldn’t be.”

  Her irritation surged. “You must be mistaken. ‘Tis a disgrace that you could father a child and not even know about it.”

  His cheeks actually reddened beneath his tan. He narrowed his eyes, and she could almost see the cogs in his mind turning, trying to find a way to convince her.

  “What is the name of the boy’s mother?”

  “Deborah Farmington.”

  Mr. Reed blinked, and a range of emotions flooded his handsome face. If Jamie grew up to look like his father, he’d be a comely man, for certain. And if she wasn’t mistaken, the man had just gone pale. “I see you recognize Deborah’s name.”

  His stance rigid, he turned and paced away from her, as if gathering his thoughts. His long legs carried him across the wide entryway to a room that looked like a formal parlor. The exquisite furniture must have been shipped from England, or maybe even France. Her family had owned such possessions—before her father lost his fortune funding the war against the colonists. She hated being here in this country—the country responsible for her family’s demise and her father’s death. Her small cottage paled in comparison, and as hard as it would be to leave the lad she loved as her own, he would have a chance to get an education here and enjoy luxuries that she could never give him.

  Suddenly, Mr. Reed swerved back to face her. He strode toward her then halted and shook his head. “I’ll admit to knowing Miss Farmington’s name, but as I said before, it is impossible that the boy is mine.”

  For a moment, Lucas had hoped that Jamie was his, but the years didn’t add up. He hadn’t seen Deborah in eight years, and the boy couldn’t be more than six at the most. But even more compelling was the fact that he and Deborah had never been intimate.

  Miss Hawthorne’s brown eyes sparked, and she rummaged around in the worn bag that dangled from her wrist. She pulled out a crinkled paper then thrust it at him. “Here, if you don’t believe me, read this.”

  He took the paper and turned it over, noticing the Farmington seal on the back. He rubbed his thumb over the wax, traveling back to another time. A time when he still believed in love. A time before his dreams had been crushed as effectively as a spider beneath a boot heel.

  He broke the seal and began reading:

  My dear Lucas,

  Forgive me. I know you must be confused and most likely angry, but I implore you to accept Jamie as your own, even though you know he isn’t. Surely, you can see he bears little resemblance to me, but rather has the same dark hair, remarkable blue eyes, and dimples characteristic of the Reed men. He is in fact your nephew, and Marcus’s son.

  Lucas sucked in a breath, drawing Miss Hawthorne’s curious gaze. She obviously had no idea what message the letter held. He turned away, not wanting her to see the pain in his eyes. How could the woman he loved—the woman who was to be his wife—have borne a son by his brother?

  His heart ached as all the memories rushed back. After a moment, he forced himself to read on:

  I want you to know that I didn’t go with Marcus willingly. He kidnapped me to make you suffer—to keep us from marrying. I do believe at first he saw it as a game, but then he became infatuated with me and refused to return me to you. He hates you because you inherited your father’s homes and business, while he got almost nothing, even though he was born only a few minutes after you.

  Lucas clutched the letter to his chest, not wanting to read what came next. Deborah hadn�
�t left of her own accord. He’d hoped—prayed—that had been the case, and yet, as he thought back on things now, would it not have been easier on her if she had left willingly rather than as a captive aboard his brother’s ship? Oh Deborah, what you must have suffered. You have no idea how long I searched for you.

  He slowly paced the room and continued reading:

  I will admit that my heart ached for Marcus after my anger died down. He seemed so lost and alone, even though I know much of it was his own doing. He took me to an island in the Caribbean where he makes his home. He said you’d know of it if you thought hard enough.

  Marcus kept me two years, hoping I’d fall in love with him. Sad to say, I wish I could have. He so needed someone to love him, but my heart only ever belonged to you, Lucas.

  I longed for things that must not have been God’s will.

  This next part is as difficult for me to write as it will be for you to hear. In a drunken rage one night, Marcus came to me and begged me to tell him I loved him. I could not.

  Lucas ran his fingers through his hair, not wanting to read what followed. Oh Deborah.

  He took me that night. I’m sorry for the crudeness of my letter, but it is vital that you understand—that no one ever know that Jamie is not your son, for consider the

  shame that would be cast upon him if people learn he is the illegitimate son of a pirate, the Black Mark. I’m sorry for the embarrassment and sorrows this will cause you, but for my child’s sake—for the love you once held in your heart for me—I implore you to raise Jamie as your own.

  I am dying. I’ve pleaded with my cousin Heather to bring my son to you.

  I pray you walk with God and that one day I will see you in heaven.

  I shall remain forever yours, Deborah

  Lucas leaned against the doorjamb, trying to grasp all the letter had said. He clenched his fist, knowing if he ever saw his brother again, he’d flog him within an inch of his life. He sighed and forced his hand to relax.