Surrender (2 page)

For Karen David,
a beautiful heroine inside and out.

May, 1862

Biscayne Bay, Florida

T
he night seemed black as an eternal void. The sea was deceptively calm, disturbingly dark beneath a sky scattered with a strange cloud cover. The moon offered occasional fragments of light before the clouds cast the world into a shadow realm that shrouded all but the sound of the water that lapped against the small boat and the rhythmic slap of the oars against the water.

The sound stopped. Impetus alone kept the small boat moving toward the shoreline.

“Why have you stopped rowing?” Risa Magee asked anxiously. She was more than a bit afraid, but she was equally determined that the war would not destroy more lives than necessary.

Finn sighed. “Risa, I would do anything for you, but this is insanity; I can go no farther.”

“Finn! You cannot drop me into the middle of the bay,” Risa said firmly.

“This is an area frequently traveled by cutthroats, thieves, and murderers—not to mention enemy Rebels! St. Augustine might be occupied by the Union, but this is a Confederate peninsula,” Finn reminded her.

“Finn, don’t be difficult. You have only to set me down on the isle—”

“Which could be far too late,” Finn protested nervously. “I’ve not been in these waters in a very long time myself, but I’ve been told that the blockade runners come here often enough, and that sane people should stay away. This is a place of savage monstrosities!”

“Come, now! The Rebels have not bred a strain of
lizard-people to rise from the swamps to do their fighting for them!” Risa assured him with exasperation.

Asking Finn to help her had been a mistake. But who else might have been persuaded to bring her here? Finn was a young, sandy-haired, freckle-faced salvage sailor who had been living in Florida at the outbreak of war; a Yankee diver from outside Boston. An opportunist who had not taken sides in the war, he was still a decent sort of opportunist, and had spent much of his free time assisting with surgery in St. Augustine—and plying Risa with his attentions. She had been flattered, but she certainly hadn’t taken the young man seriously. Especially when she had allowed her life to become such a tangle of strange relationships.

When she had determined to find Ian McKenzie in his Everglades lair, Finn had seemed her only answer; a man who could be bribed to bring her down the coast without insisting on knowing her purpose for such reckless subterfuge. And who would not report to her father—General Magee—or simply tell her she couldn’t go.

“Risa, if anyone knew that I brought you here—”

“Oh!” Risa cried with frustration. “I’ve told you, Major McKenzie himself is in these parts, and that’s why I’m here.”

“If your father were ever to know …” Finn said, his voice trailing away miserably. “He’d have me court-martialed.”

“Finn, my father cannot have you court-martialed,” she informed him. “You are not in the military.”

“He’d have me shot!”

“Finn!”

If her father were ever to know, she thought guiltily, there would be hell to pay. Maybe not for Finn, because her father would know that she had coerced the poor young fellow. However, her father would definitely lock her up somewhere very safe, and see that the key was thrown away. But the esteemed General Magee, recently promoted, was now far away, fighting with General Grant.

“My father will never know. You will drop me off, and I will get back to St. Augustine on my own.”

“No, this was foolish. We’ve got to go back to my ship—”

“Finn! If courage is a factor here,” she said sternly, trying to appeal to his pride, “we can see why the Rebels are doing so much better than the Yanks!” She spoke firmly, staring at the young man with relentless determination.

Finn’s eyes faltered. “Ah, now, that’s not fair, Risa, you truly can’t begin to imagine the danger we’re in.”

But she did know the danger. It didn’t matter. She was desperate.

Once upon a time, she had been in love with a man named Ian McKenzie; Major Ian McKenzie, USA. She should have been his wife. But circumstances had intervened. Ian was married—to someone else. And oddly enough, she, a Yankee, had no choice now at all except to risk her own life in an attempt to save a Rebel spy, the Mocassin. To save Ian’s wife. Even if Risa wasn’t certain she would ever forget just how deeply she had once been in love with Ian, she couldn’t let anything happen to his wife. In the cruelest of times and circumstances, she and Alaina had become the best of friends. They had both risked their lives for one another before; now finding Alaina was crucial.

There was a price on the Mocassin’s head. Dead or alive, preferably dead. Alaina was somewhere near, Risa knew. To prevent Risa from a rattler’s strike, Alaina had been bitten herself, and in the fever that had plagued her after, Alaina had tossed and turned—and talked, giving Risa clues to what was happening. Though Risa hadn’t been able to keep her from leaving St. Augustine on her spying mission, she had learned just when she would be returning and where. Here, tonight.

Now Risa had to find either Alaina, or Ian. And if she found Ian, she had to let him know that his wife was the spy that he was seeking so that he could find her—come hell or high water—before any other Union man might do so.

And see that Alaina was hanged.

“When the cloud cover lifts, I can see Belamar Isle!” Risa insisted.

“Risa, I’d do anything for you, but we have to go back—” Finn said, and broke off. “Listen!”

She went silent, and she heard what he heard. Oars, slapping water. Near them. Very near them …

“We’ve got to head back!” Finn insisted.

“I—I can’t!” Risa told him.

Belamar Isle was right ahead.

“Look, there’s an inlet over there! Row hard, and we’ll count on the cloud cover to protect us.”

Finn suddenly moved, with the speed of lightning and an amazing quiet.

It was a dangerous coastline by nature, and so it was that salvage had been a prosperous business here since the first Spanish ships had sailed to the New World. Dangerous reefs hid beneath the waves to rip at the unwary. In some areas, landfall was smooth beach. In others, mangroves grew out along the shoreline, creating a tangled web of roots, inlets, and coves, uninhabited, surrounded by thick semitropical forests. Snakes, birds, and insects in many varieties plagued the brackish waterways that streamed inland from the bay.

Their rowboat suddenly jarred hard against a root; a flash of moonlight let Risa see Finn’s face. So pale that his freckles stood out, he brought a finger to his lips, warning her to silence. She sat quietly, catching a brief glimpse of their surroundings before a billowing dark wave of clouds descended over the moon once again. Finn wasn’t such a poor choice for a guide after all; he had brought them into the tongue of a cove. The chirp of insects was suddenly very loud, almost deafening. Something touched her face, and she nearly screamed, but realized it was the brush of a mangrove, hanging right over her head. They were flush against the trees, nearly completely concealed in the night.

Again, she heard oars slapping against the water. Then a few moments’ silence.

Risa realized that the other boat was very near. Like them, her passengers were listening.

Finally, the silence was broken.

“Ah, the captain’s hearing has become so good he hears the fish swimming at night!” a male voice with a slight Irish lilt complained.

“He knows the sound of fish swimming from that of a small boat being rowed!” a second voice warned.

“But the captain—”

“Would never have given away his own position so thoroughly,” the second man said softly.

“Hmmph!”

Again, silence fell on the night. Once more, the din of dozens of insects seemed to rise. From somewhere, Risa heard a
plop!
—and she wondered whether alligators or crocodiles inhabited these coves that rimmed the bay.

“We can’t be too careful,” the second man said again. “Not with the
Maid of Salem
expected in these waters. The captain thinks that taking her—and her cargo bound for Key West—can give guns to thousands of our infantry boys. And she’s heavy-laden with morphine and quinine. What with New Orleans taken now, slow as we may be getting supplies through the state, they’re mighty welcome when they reach the battlefields to the north.”

“Aye, welcome,” the man with the Irish accent said wearily. “Matt?”

“Yes?”

“It’s not good, is it?”

“War is never good, Michael.”

“Whatever we Rebs capture, they have more. More and more. They have more men, and more guns.”

“Ah, but we have more men like the captain. We’ve old Stonewall Jackson, Stuart, and Lee. Lee was one thing the damned Yankees wanted they didn’t get! Our troops have beaten the tar out of greater numbers time and again.”

“And sustained losses as well.”

“Stop being so worried, Michael, it won’t serve us well.”

“Aye, now that’s a fact. But there’s nothing in this cove hereabouts. Let’s turn her around.”

Risa exhaled on a shaky breath as she heard the enemy boat moving away.

They waited.

The night, on the water, was actually cool. Risa shivered—and felt a trickle of sweat slip down her spine at
the same time. She was a fool. How could anyone find a man—or a woman—in endless acres of sea and swamp?

The bay seemed enormous, the swamp eternal. The wait agonizing.

“I’m moving her out. I’m heading back to my schooner,” Finn said determinedly.

“Finn—”

Risa broke off, suddenly aware of sound very near them again. A movement, a knocking … something not quite right. Something …

A second enemy rowboat! she thought with alarm. Oh, God, the second boat had been in the cove, not certain that they were there. Whoever manned the boat had waited in an uncanny silence, hidden even from their countrymen, just waiting for Risa and Finn to give themselves away …

“Row!” she cried suddenly to Finn, “Row!”

“Oh, Lord Almighty!” Finn cried as their little craft was suddenly struck hard. Risa was knocked to the damp flooring of their rowboat.

“Who goes there?” came a harsh demand. A match was struck, and lantern light suddenly flooded Risa’s eyes; she couldn’t see. “Speak quickly, now, and beware! We feed all Yankees to the sharks!”

Risa brought her hand before her eyes, trying to ward off the blinding light, her heart hammering in a fury. She didn’t need to reply; Finn was already stuttering out an explanation. “I’m not a Yank; I’m a salvage diver—” he began.

“Salvage diving—in the middle of a dark and cloudy night?” came a second, deeper voice, one touched by just a hint of wry amusement.

And suddenly, a booted foot came down center in the small boat, bringing with it the towering figure of a man. He carried a naval cutlass, and it gleamed long, wicked, and sharp in the glitter of the lamplight.

The little boat rocked wildly with the new weight; the man didn’t seem to notice, but balanced effortlessly.

Risa reminded herself that she was the only child of a military man, and such an upbringing had not been without its rewards. She carried a small Smith & Wesson repeating revolver in her skirt pocket, and she knew how
to use it. She drew it out quickly, hands amazingly steady.

“Well, sir, you should be just and fairly warned—
we
feed all Rebs to the sharks!” she cried with a bravado that startled even her.

Yet it was to no avail, for he was as quick as lightning.

Before she could take aim, her pistol was slammed out of her hands by the swift blur of his cutlass. His steel struck her weapon from her hand without so much as grazing her flesh, and the gun went flying into the night. It was caught just briefly in a flicker of lamplight as it arced—then it landed with a plop in the sea, and sank.

Risa saw again the glitter of the enemy’s cutlass.

“Captain!” the man with him called out in warning. “There’s another boat coming in; lots of Yanks out—”

They suddenly heard the sound of gunfire, and Risa realized that the little boat stalking them before was engaged in battle with another small vessel.

“Indeed, the time has come … we’ll secure these prisoners and engage as well,” the captain commanded.

“Secure them—or feed them to the sharks?” his companion said lightly.