*Excerpt from Chapter 2*

It was 1717 and…

Swan Harbor

May 1717

It was her youngest brother Luke’s third birthday, and this year had been no different. Their caretaker, Anne Michaels, had planned a party, and they were all expected to attend. But just like the rest of her family, Hope Prince hadn’t been in the mood to celebrate.

Her father, Geoffrey, had disappeared after dinner, probably drinking in his study. Martin, her oldest brother and his wife, had escaped after the cake was cut. And while there was a small part of her that felt guilty for what was in her heart, the pain was still too fresh. Because this was the day when her grief simmered just beneath the surface.

A half hour later, she was able to sneak out the back door, and her feet unerringly carried her into the woods behind her home. But rather than follow the stream toward the cliff, she turned in the opposite direction. After a day of pretending everything was all right, she needed to hear her feelings mattered. That the ache inside was normal.

Except the closer she drew to the tavern owned by the Patterson’s, her best friend’s family, the more she second-guessed her decision. Was it fair to take her morbid self into their home? To subject them to her sour mood?

But you have every right to your feelings.

She did, and she knew they understood that. Faith’s family had both drawn her closer and given her space the last three years.

Hope had almost reached the tavern door when it opened and the raucous laughter from inside caused her to reconsider. She skirted around the building and headed back into the woods. But with every step she took, the feeling of being watched grew stronger. So much so, she ducked behind a tree and looked back over her shoulder.

A group of men were standing right outside the tavern. She could hear their laughter from her hiding place and there was something about it that unsettled her. And even knowing they couldn’t see her, she took another step back, pressing closer to the trunk of a tree. When a twig snapped beneath her foot, she caught her breath, hoping no one had noticed. Especially when she remembered she had on a new gown. Her uncle called it ‘sunshine yellow’ and as it was brighter than most of her clothing, it stuck out among the greens and browns of the foliage.

Hope gathered her petticoats tight to her legs and peered back around the trunk. The group had moved on, except for one man. Tall, dark, and…

But the first word that immediately came to mind was dangerous. He was a pirate after all, and dressed accordingly. Black boots and breeches topped by a billowing black shirt that exposed his broad chest. However, the longer she looked, another word floated through her mind…intriguing.

She stared, unable to look away, and then the strangest thing happened. He touched his chest, and the expression on his face changed. The look had her fading further into the woods, as it caused feelings inside she wasn’t sure how to describe.

“Don’t go off alone, Hope,” she’d been told more than once.

“Those woods are not the place for a young lady,” she’d been warned.

“Be careful, Hope. You never know…”

Except, there was a stream that meandered up into the hills surrounding Swan Harbor she couldn’t seem to stay away from. It was lined with wildflowers, berries, and small animals she loved to watch.

But the feelings inside refused to allow her to enjoy what normally gave her pleasure. Instead, they pushed her forward, searching for peace. And they were only settled when she was on the cliff overlooking the ocean. It was there, with the blue sea in front of her, the wind in her hair, and a field of wildflowers behind, her insides calmed. For it was there she felt closest to her mother.

Hope stepped near the edge, wrapped her arms around her waist and held on. The pain, sorrow, and anguish, she kept a tight lid on most of the time bubbled up and…spilled. It had been three years since her mother’s untimely death. And yet the pain never completely dissipated. Christine Swan Prince had been the light in their family.

When she had died after giving birth to baby Luke, everything had changed inside their home. The servants became more subdued, her father spent more time away from his family and she, as the only girl, had been expected to take over. But then Anne, who had been her father’s nanny, had stepped forward. And Hope was left alone…just as she wanted.

Do you really?

That was what she told herself, anyway. And when she wanted company, there was Faith and her family. Most of the time, they helped take some of the loneliness away. And during those times Hope survived. But it never stopped her from wishing for more. Wishing for someone or something to fill the hole her mother’s death had left in her heart.

It was those times, she ended up on the cliff, staring out at the blue water and the songs within spilled over. She sang from her heart, rarely paying attention to the words that came from her mouth. But the haunting melody echoed around the town and out to sea, leaving her open and vulnerable.

Hope knew people talked about her family. How could they not? But since her father was the law, the talk was hushed and said behind their backs. And while it should have upset her, she was unable to make herself care. What mattered was being herself and trying to find the happiness her mother had promised was waiting.

Complete happiness had so far eluded her, but she could admit, with the return of the swans to the cove, she had felt a subtle shift inside. It was as if the force her mother believed they brought was being shared. That finally, what had been waiting had arrived.

Far below her, the swans that had been coming to their small town since her birth floated in the cove. The bank was dotted with females on nests, and just the glimpse had what suspiciously felt like hope blooming inside. And even though it hadn’t been intentional, her melody changed, becoming lighter and brighter.

Hope was in the air.

~~~SH~~~

El corazón del Rubí

May 1717

“Is the Siren singing again tonight, Cap’n?”

Ian tore his gaze away from the vision in yellow, relaxing his stance when his first mate, D.D., joined him on the bridge.

“She is,” he replied, his eyes drifting back to the lass on the cliff. “There’s something different though.”

“Her song changed.”

“You think so?”

“I do.” D.D. hesitated several moments before offering, “Today, there is more hope than sorrow in her song.”

“Perhaps.”

“You think not?”

“I…” But his voice died when he was unable to find the right words. Once again, he lifted the spyglass and studied her features. Tall, slim, with a fair complexion and long red-gold curls. “She crossed my path earlier,” he surprised himself by admitting.

D.D. leaned against the railing and Ian could feel his friend’s attention on him, rather than their siren, “Is there a story there?”

“Not much of one.” Ian shrugged it away as if it were not important. “When I left the tavern, she was heading into the woods.”

And the yellow of her dress had caught his eye and in the vicinity of his heart a warmth had bloomed.

Except those were words he could not utter out loud.

“She’s young,” he settled on.

“Does she work at the tavern?”

“No,” Ian quickly responded but then amended his answer, “at least I do not believe so.”

“You sound besotted,” D.D. exclaimed, surprise in his voice.

Ian wanted to scoff, but the warmth that had appeared in the center of his chest when looking at her had been new…different.

“She’s young,” he repeated.

D.D. smirked, “So was my wife when I first met her, and look how…” But then his expression sobered, and Ian knew where his thoughts had traveled.

Instead of responding, he turned his attention back to the cliff. Without his spyglass, he couldn’t make out the Siren’s features, but there was something about her that took his breath. Her long yellow gown rippled in the wind, and the way her arms were wrapped around her waist, told him she was in pain. But what could have brought such pain to one so young?