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Writing Projects: Fiction :: Nonfiction
Fiction Excerpt: GYPSY HEART
GYPSY HEART – Historical Romance, WIP
Grant Tremayne, Earl of Ravenwood, moaned in his sleep.
Once more, Grant stood on the deck of the sloop Miranda, the flagship of Raven's Wing Shipping and named in honor of his sister. As he snapped the spyglass shut and tucked it into the crimson sash around his waist, the acrid smell of salt and smoke plundered his senses. The Miranda raced toward certain death, knowing she was the H.M.S. Guerriere's only hope against the American frigate Constitution. In the back of his mind, Grant allowed himself the pleasure of the chase and relished the blood pounding through his veins, bringing on an alertness known only in battle.
Pacing, Grant tied his long russet hair into a haphazard que and resolved to wait for the right moment, their only chance. The Miranda could not hope to match the massive Constitution, but Grant planned to even out the odds a bit for the Guerriere.
This particular battled waged several hundred miles of the coast of Boston while others continued in Lake Erie. As Grant watched, the sea heaved and Captain Isaac Hull raked fire across the Guerriere from stem to stern. The Miranda reached the warring frigate giants just as the Guerriere’s main mast toppled into the sea, forcing the ship to drift out of control, her mast acting as a huge rudder.
“Pour it into them!” Grant barked the order to pudgy-faced Davey Hayes, who would not outlive the day. Even in sleep, Grant felt a pang of grief, knowing he had sent a lad barely past adolescence to his death.
Grant sent many men to their deaths that day, but no matter how many times he relived it, would he ever change his course of action.
The Miranda poured out a round of cannon fire, but the effect was nothing more than an annoying fly to the Constitution, easily slapped away. The Guerriere rammed sideways into her enemy’s hull, and were boarded for her reward.
Grant ordered the Miranda to circle around, they would attack from behind. Just as she came about, grapeshot rained down upon them, splinters of wood a foot long whizzing through the air. Davey Hayes fell to the deck, stabbed through the heart, his face frozen in surprise for all time.
American sailors, no more than shadows in the thick smoke, jumped aboard hollering, but were compassionate to their prey. Grant knew they would not be so kind when they found him, an officer, and the Earl of Ravenwood. Grant had been a thorn in their side, hitting quick and escaping thereafter, he had avoided capture for months now, only to be brought low when aiding a friend.
"Hoy there, cap'tin, you'll be coming with me." The voice sliced through the smoky veil as the tip of a musket jammed into Grant’s side.
The Americans dragged Grant aboard as the Guerriere and the Miranda were set afire and slowly sank to the bottom of the sea.
A petty officer led Grant to the captain’s quarters, where they waited for Hull to finish with other business. Inside, Grant heard muffled voices, raised in arguement, the one definitely British and the other, Grant assumed belonged to Hull.
"My information gained you not one, but two vessels this day, Hull, and I demand my due!" The British voice seethed, raising an octave in the process.
Silence reigned from within for a moment. "Very well," Hull clipped out. "You'll receive your fee once we reach Boston."
Grant's blood boiled, knowing he was within arms' reach of a traitor, the very informer responsible for their inevitiable defeat and capture. Davey Hayes' young, bloodied face loomed iin Grant's imagingation, a worthless death, one that could have been avoided.
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