The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

The ship rose and plunged over a wave, and the woman held her stomach and lowered into the chair.

  He sheathed the sword lest she attempt to grab it again. "Why do you wear men's breeches and an undergarment for a shirt if you did not come aboard to service my men?"

  She merely released a heavy sigh as if his question was ridiculous. "I'm wearing jeans and a T-shirt, as well you know."

  "Of what material is it sewn?" Rowan had never seen the likes of it before and reached out to touch her breeches.

  She slapped him away.

  He grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet. "You dare strike the man who holds your fate in his hands?"

  Nick's hand on Rowan's arm stayed him from giving into his anger. "She doesna know any better. 'Tis mad she is."

  He released her with a sigh. He wouldn't have struck her. Alas, he was many things--many vile things--but he was not an abuser of women. Even when they deserved it. He would, however, be happy to frighten her into submission, though he was beginning to wonder if that were possible. Such a shrew! A devilish trifler, to be sure. And no great beauty, either. Hair the color of rich dirt was tied behind her in the most unflattering style. Her oval face did bear some pleasantness, he'd allow: a dainty nose, pink lips, deep-set eyes. But she was too small boned, far too thin, and too deficient in curves for his liking. And though she appeared to lack the modesty of a decent lady, neither did she possess the wantonness of a trollop.

  But what was she about? Surely it must be more than to steal his amulet.

  Water pounded the hull. The ship creaked and groaned as if sharing his confusion.

  He was about to question her further, when Farley waddled in, black satchel in hand. His gaze alighted upon the woman. "Well, what 'ave we 'ere?" he said, his toothless smile spreading wide. Kerr entered behind him and leaned against the door frame.

  "'Tis a lady as you can plainly see, man." Rowan turned a hard look her way. "One who refuses to explain her presence here. Mayhap once you fix her wound, her senses will return."

  "The only senses in question here are yours!" She pointed a finger at Farley. "And there's no way that beast is touching me!"

  The insolence of this woman. "If I have to hold you down myself, I assure you, Farley is touching you."

  "Allow the man t' tend yer wound, lass," Nick, always the peacemaker, interjected. "He wilna hurt ye."

  "What are your qualifications?" The woman backed away until the bulkhead prevented further retreat. She pressed a hand to her wound. "Are you even a real doctor?"

  Rowan chuckled at her sudden fear of the surgeon when naught else--being tossed overboard or passed among his crew--had unnerved her. "In truth, ol' Farley was a butcher--weren't you, Farley?--before you joined my crew."

  "Aye, Cap'n." His eyes flashed as he slid a thin layer of hair over his bald spot. "Not much difference 'tween butcherin' an' surgeonin', says I."

  The woman's face paled. Her breath heightened, but then she huffed and glanced at the deck above her. "Very funny! Ha Ha. Now, go get my father and tell him I wish to go home!"

  Kerr chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. Rowan exchanged a baffled look with Nick before he marched toward her and ushered her to the chair. "Sit down and allow Farley to tend your wound."

  She did. Why, she obeyed, he could not say. Mayhap she grew tired of playacting the fool. Mayhap she believed he wouldn't tolerate further defiance. Yet the defeat and sorrow weighing her down was no charade, and he found himself preferring the shrew.

  What also wasn't a charade was the courage she displayed while Farley stitched up the gash on her forehead. Aside from a small wince, the lady made neither whimper nor whine as he expected from the weaker sex.

  Grabbing a bottle, Rowan poured more rum into his mug. Women had always been easy for him to figure out. He knew exactly what they wanted: what words they longed to hear, what gifts they wished to receive, how to adore and cherish them until they groveled at his feet. But this woman? She intrigued him.

  And he had not been intrigued in a long time.

  When Farley finished his ministrations, she glanced up at Rowan, stitches on her forehead and the fight gone from her eyes. "Will you take me home now, please?"

  For a second, he truly wished he could. But he was a pirate captain, not a milksop fawning over the whims of a female. "To this San Diego--town of Spanish dogs? Nay. Not even if I knew where it was."

  "Am I to be your prisoner, then? Your love slave? Is that the game?"

  Rowan arched a brow at her brazen talk. "Nay, you are to be my prisoner in the hold where all thieves belong."

  She huffed and glanced down.

  Farley looked up from packing his things and winked at the lady. "I'd be content wit' that, miss, if I was ye. He usually ties betrayers to the topmast fer a month 'till alls that's left be burnt skin an' dusty bones. One time--"

  "That'll be all, Farley." Rowan's harsh tone caused the man to finish packing his satchel and take his leave.

  Cudney and Abbot appeared in the doorway. "You called fer us, Cap'n?"

  "Aye, take the woman below and lock her in irons."

  Lady Minx leapt to her feet. "You can't be serious?" She blinked and started to wobble, and Kerr dashed to grab her arm, but she batted him away.

  "Faith now! I'm the captain, and I can be serious whenever I please."

  Cudney advanced, grabbed the woman, and dragged her to the door. Her kicking ceased when Abbot took her other arm, and the two of them lifted her from the ground.

  "My father will hear of this! You won't get paid a dime! I'll see you never work in Hollywood again and that ..." Her voice faded down the companionway.

  Nick straightened his blue braided doublet, making Rowan wonder, yet again, how the man's apparel always remained so clean and unwrinkled, whilst the rest of the crew--himself included--wore naught but stained and rumpled attire. "The lass's father sounds mighty powerful."

  "If he even exists." Rowan snorted and grabbed his mug.

  Kerr grinned. "Spy or not, I wouldn't mind her warming my bed at night."

  "She's no trollop," Rowan shot back, wondering why he defended the little thief. But he'd seen the way the man gaped at her, and he allowed no ravishing on board his ship. "And she'll be locked away from your lecherous hands."

  Kerr snorted. "Why, you're no fun at all, Captain."

  Rowan chuckled and sipped his drink. "Lud, I've been accused of many things, but never of not being fun." Rays of sun from the window swayed over his desk like golden arrows as the sound of flapping sails and shouts drifted from above. "You're dismissed, Kerr. I need you above."

  Frowning, Rowan watched the man leave. He was too much like Rowan--a gambler, a rake, and a ruthless brute when need be. And being five years his senior, Kerr's continued slide into debauchery didn't bode well for Rowan's future. Though the ladies still swooned at Kerr's feet, beneath that charm, years of wanton living had stolen the clarity from his eyes and the healthy glow from his skin. Would Rowan still be preying on these seas, drinking and wenching at seven and twenty? And what would another five years of such a life do to him--if he survived?

  Which is precisely why he'd needed that prize today. If the rumors of the wealth she carried were true, it would have been enough to buy him out of the trade and into a respectable life. Anger rekindled at the woman's interference.

  "Och now, Rowan, why lock up the lass?" Nick's voice jarred him from his thoughts.

  "What would you have me do with her? Keep her in here with me?" Rowan set down his empty mug and crossed arms over his chest. "She's far safer below."

  "So ye are protecting her after all?" A twinkle crossed Nick's eyes.

  "I don't know why. I should punish her for causing me to lose my prize. And for stealing my amulet." He glanced down at the necklace and swallowed a burst of emotion at the memories it evoked.

  "Who do ye think she is?" Nick asked.

  "Until she explains herself, a thief."

  "Not a verra good one, 'twould
seem, eh? How much treasure could such a wee lass carry off this ship?"

  "Mayhap she's after the map. She was shuffling about my desk when we came in."

  "No one knows ye stole it, save Margaret, and ye said if she told anyone, tha' would mean her death."

  Rowan nodded. "Indeed, by her husband's hand. Still, I'll not deny this strange woman has me baffled. Her attire, her speech ... this spirit-father she hails. And have you ever heard of San Diego?"

  Sunlight reflected off the sapphire broach on Nick's doublet. "Nay. But she hasna a Spanish accent, nor does she look like a papist."

  "Or dress like one," Rowan added, remembering the tight breeches and nightshirt she wore. "I do find her entertaining. And presently, I could use some entertaining. If she won't talk, I might charm her into my bed."

  The usual look of disappointment appeared on Nick's face. "Leave the lass be, Rowan. Dinna ye prefer lonely wives? Women who drool over ye while ye are present and pine over ye while ye are away? Ladies who expect naught from ye but the occasional performance in bed when their husbands are gone?"

  Rowan snorted. "I'm well aware of your disapproval of my lifestyle. But it suits me. Keeps me warm at night with fond memories and free during the day with no shrew to order me about."

  "What of marriage? Family?"

  "Lud, man, are you trying to put me in an early grave?" Rowan chuckled.

  "Nay, pirating will do tha' quite nicely."

  "And yet, I have achieved nothing but success upon these seas. Have I not filled the crew's pockets? Made a name that is feared all over the Spanish Main?"

  "Aye." Nick snorted. "But to what purpose?"

  Rowan walked to the windows and stared at the glittering sea. "You know my purpose."

  "T' repay a debt ye owe yer dear twin sister, Juliana."

  Just hearing her name doused Rowan in shame. "I stole one of our family's merchant ships and left her destitute."

  "An' went off pirating."

  Rowan gave his friend a searing look over his shoulder. "'Twas the only way I could make money. I intended to return once I made my fortune, but by the time I sailed back to Port Royal, the city had fallen into the sea."

  Nick rubbed the back of his neck. "A horrible tragedy, tha' earthquake."

  "Thank God, my sister survived. I would have never forgiven myself otherwise."

  "God? Ha' my ears deceived me? D'ye finally give credit where credit is due?"

  Rowan frowned. "'Tis but an expression. Your father may be a vicar, but I'll hear none of your preaching."

  "An' ye didna stay t' help her because ye feared for yer own neck."

  "I lack no conscience that you need remind me." Nay, Rowan's conscience had reminded him every day since. And he always justified his actions the same. There had been pirate hunters about, in particular Captain Edmund Merrick, the preacher pirate. Rowan already had a bounty on his head, and once he discovered his sister was well cared for, there was naught he could do. Instead, he'd sailed away, intending to capture more prizes and return some day to restart his father's shipping company and provide a lavish living for him and his sister--one which would garner society's admiration and respect.

  "Have ye no' acquired enough wealth yet t' pay back this debt?" Nick asked.

  Rowan shook his head. "Not enough to ensure Juliana lives like a princess."

  "Wha' if she doesna want t' live like a princess?"

  "Everyone wants to live like royalty, Nick."

  "Wha' if yer sister would rather ha' her brother home instead?"

  Circling the desk, Rowan dropped into a chair and stretched out his legs, battling between anger at his friend's impertinence and laughing at the ludicrous notion that his sister would want him home.

  "I will not return empty-handed and be a burden to her like I was before. I will return a victor, her champion, someone she can depend on and respect." Respect--something he'd never received from her before. Or from anyone in Port Royal.

  Nick let out a deep sigh. "'Tis been nearly two years since ye walked into tha' tavern and recruited me for yer venture."

  Rowan smiled. "You would never have signed on with me if you weren't running from Mr. Childers."

  The ship creaked over a wave, and Nick glanced out the window. "Indentured servitude was no easy burden t' bear. Not from tha' man."

  Rowan only nodded. Word had spread through Port Royal of Childers' cruelty to his servants and slaves.

  "Ye did save me from tha', I'll grant ye. Though I fear the news tha' I turned pirate would put my father in an early grave."

  "Then we shall not send a post to inform him." Rowan smiled, grabbed the bottle of rum, and saluted his friend. Nay, if he admitted it, Nick was more than a friend. He was like a father to Rowan--one who cared about him--and nothing like the ogre of a man who had sired Rowan and who did naught but berate him and tell him how useless he was.

  But he would prove his father wrong. He would prove everybody wrong. He was not a wastrel like all of Port Royal believed him to be. He would return the richest man in Jamaica, and all of society would bow to him and Juliana.

  ♥♥♥

  Morgan ended up back where she had started--in the stinky, sweltering cargo hold. Only this time, at least three inches of water that smelled like sewage saturated the Nine West Sandals she'd splurged on for Jason. The sludge seeped between her toes and soaked the hem of her jeans. Bile rose up her throat. Two men, bare-chested and sweating, manned an old wooden pump that filled buckets with the excess water, while a third man tied them to a rope that was then hoisted above. Old sails formed a patch over the hole made by the cannon, though water still seeped from it and dripped onto the floor. She'd appreciate the authenticity of the scene if she wasn't so angry.

  The men shoved her into an iron-barred cage that went from floor to ceiling and was no bigger than her walk-in closet at home. She held a hand over her mouth to keep from barfing up what was left in her stomach as the shorter one locked the gate and gaped at her with curiosity--and something else reminiscent of looks she'd received at Jason's nightclub from drunken men.

  "My father will hear of this!" She gripped the bars and rattled them. "What are your names again? Abbot and Cudney? Yup, I'll make special mention of you both to him."

  Her threats seemed to have no effect on the actors. Rather good actors, she had to admit. Both looked dumber than a box of rocks. Layers of filth covered their skin and leeched onto their baggy pants and shirts, while their hair hung in greasy strands.

  The shorter one--the one with the strange shiny eye, a thicket of hair bursting from his shirt, and arms like Popeye on spinach--laughed at her and thumbed toward his friend. "Cudney here can't hear a word yer sayin', Miss. Had his ear blown off by grapeshot. So, goes ahead and threaten all ye wants."

  Gnarled pink flesh covered the spot where Cudney's ear should have been. Great makeup job.

  Abbot wiped spit from his mouth with his sleeve. "I sure would like t' taste this rare treat." He fingered the key as if contemplating unlocking the gate.

  As if understanding his intent, Cudney shoved down Abbot's hand and muttered, "D'ye want the cap'n after ye?"

  Grunting--as if unable to form a coherent sentence--they turned and ambled away, taking the lantern with them, the only light except for a distant glimmer near where the men were pumping water.

  Darkness suffocated her, forcing her to slosh through the sludge and grope for the crate she'd spotted. Upon finding it, she sat, pulled her sopping feet from the water, and wrapped her arms around her knees. Disgust shivered through her. God only knew what germs, diseases, and bugs were slithering through that water and were now on her feet and jeans. Fear clenched her heart into a ball of panic. She resisted the urge to wipe off the sludge. That would only get it on her hands. But she needed to get clean! She had to get off this boat where all was disorder and chaos and return to her orderly life where she knew what to expect.

  Except for the cancer and Jason dumping her.

  But
at least she had her job, her safe apartment, her reliable Volvo, a daily scheduled routine, and her painting on weekends.

  The boat tilted, and she nearly tumbled into the water. Grabbing the edges of the crate, she resisted the urge to cry. She resisted the urge to scream and shout and wail. Instead, she stoked her anger to near boiling.

  Just wait until she saw her father. What had he been thinking? It was one thing to send a thirteen-year-old on a wild-West vacation and quite another to send a twenty-four-year-old woman who had OCD and anxiety and stage three cancer to a pirate boat in the middle of the sea. No doubt he'd told the actors to be as authentic as possible, but locking her up in the heat and dark with sewage for a floor was a little too authentic. What was next? Flogging at noon? Walking the plank? No doubt in his self-aggrandizing mind, her father thought putting her in such a horrible situation would take her mind off her cancer.

  But nothing could take her mind off the fact that in less than six months she would be dead.

  Not even the handsome pirate above--the actor who played Captain Rowan Dutton. A total hunk, as long as he didn't open his mouth. Raw masculinity was another description that came to mind, along with jerk and male chauvinist and self-centered pig! He was obviously more interested in getting paid for his part than making sure she was comfortable. He'd be lucky to be paid at all after she told her father how he'd treated her. He was probably supposed to pretend to fall madly in love with her too, like some cheesy pirate romance novel. She'd laugh if she wasn't so miserable.

  The roar of water against the outside of the boat, along with the constant creak and moan of wood, only added to her frayed nerves. Was this boat even safe? It sounded like it would split apart at any moment. Great. Sinking to the bottom of the sea would definitely take her mind off of her cancer.

  Maybe it was a better way to go anyway.

  Her heart took up a rapid beat, and the familiar tightness in her chest returned. Her anxiety was rising, and she needed her meds. Did her father think every problem could be solved by throwing money at it? No doubt he already had the best oncologists lined up to work on her case as soon as this little weekend adventure was concluded.