The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  Morgan groaned and rubbed her sore arm where she'd rammed into a tree. "Do I look like a flower to you?" The sound of water beckoned, and she started toward it. "I'm not in the mood." She waved them off. "If your captain sent you to fetch me, you can tell him I'm not coming until he stops all this craziness. In fact"--she faced them again--"tell him he'll have to answer to my father if I get hurt, so he best contact him and get me out of here right away. As in now!" Her shout had no effect on the morons. They simply stood gaping at her as if she were speaking a foreign language.

  Her frustration near boiling, Morgan continued onward, slower this time, peering through the shadows just in case there was another drop-off. She heard the men groan and follow her, and she thought to give them another piece of her mind when one of them grabbed her arm and shoved her to the ground.

  "Ye've got a shrewish tongue, I'll give ye that, missy," the short one said as he forced her other arm to the ground and held her fast.

  "Aye, a saucy wench that'll sure give us gents a bit o' sorely needed pleasure." The other man hovered over her and began unbuckling the belt that held up his baggy pants.

  Morgan struggled against the man's grip. "You're hurting me!" She tried to kick him in the crotch, but he slammed his knees on top of her legs. "Ouch!"

  The man on top of her started grunting like a pig.

  "Okay, I get it," Morgan said, gasping. "Raping and pillaging. Now, get off of me!"

  "Naw, we's jist gettin' started, missy." The man tightened his grip, and she felt his spit spray her face. Totally gross!

  The darkness stole their features, but she could make out the shape of the larger man push the shorter one aside and take his place all the while ordering him to hold her arms.

  Cursing, the man took a spot above her head and pinned her down again.

  "Okay, enough is enough! My father will hear of this!"

  Struggling was useless against two of them, and for a split second real fear sliced through her. But then she remembered none of this was real. It was just part of the play her father had staged.

  The pirate began slobbering on her face, and she slammed her forehead into his.

  "Ow! She 'urt me 'ead."

  A booming voice bellowed from the darkness. "I will hurt more than that if you don't release her this instant, Adney!"

  Rowan. For some ridiculous reason, relief washed through her.

  The man holding her arms leapt from her as if she were on fire. "Aw, Cap'n. We meant 'er no 'arm. We thought ye was done wit' 'er, 'tis all."

  Morgan pounded her fists on the other man's chest, but he wouldn't budge.

  "Get off her, Pax, or I'll gut you and string you up as fast as you can spit."

  Morgan could sense the man's hesitancy ... his anger. Such great acting! "Ye let 'er go, Cap'n. I says that means she be free game."

  "I told the crew she was not to be touched, and until I say otherwise, that order stands." With each word he uttered, his voice grew in volume and intensity. "Now you've gone and upset me. And you know what happens when I'm upset."

  The short man must have had an inkling because he bolted through the foliage and disappeared.

  "I told you to get off her!" Rowan's growl was enough to frighten Big Foot. He charged forward, but the man released her, leapt to his feet, and drew what looked like a knife--a rather large knife.

  If all this weren't a silly act, Morgan would be terrified. As it was, she rose and attempted to once again brush dirt from her clothes. Could she never stay clean in this crazed adventure?

  "Get back, woman!" Rowan shouted as he barreled toward the man, nearly knocking her over.

  "Hey!" Morgan peered through the shadows to see Rowan slam into the smelly actor and the two of them fall to the ground, grunting and groaning. What happened next, she couldn't say. It was too dark to see much of anything until Rowan dragged the man up by the collar and slugged him across the jaw. His head whipped around and he stumbled backward. Snatching the knife from the ground, Rowan kicked the man in the back then forced him against the trunk of a nearby tree.

  "Beware your defiance!" Spinning him around, Rowan pointed the knife at his throat. "Not many have lived who have dared cross me."

  The man's breath came hard and fast, and Morgan sensed his terror.

  "Apologize to the lady."

  "I'll not apologize t' no trollop," the man ground out.

  Rowan pressed the knife. A stream of red spilled down the man's neck.

  "By all means. Then you'll die right here, and I'll leave your filthy carcass for the beasts to feast on."

  "Apologies, miss," he managed to sputter out.

  Rowan released him. "Begone!"

  The man's shadow raced before Morgan and disappeared. "Wow. That looked totally real. Like you really cut him. Was that one of those fake blood thingys they use in the movies?"

  Sheathing the knife, he took a step toward her. Though she couldn't see his features, she sensed him staring at her with his usual look of bewilderment.

  The smell of alcohol overwhelmed her. "You're drunk."

  "Not quite enough to make sense of your incoherent drivel."

  She sighed. "Listen. That was great. Very chivalrous and all. The hero rescues the damsel in distress. Nice touch. I know I'm supposed to swoon in your arms now, but I'm really not in the mood."

  He said nothing. Instead, grabbing her hand, he pulled her along, batting leaves and branches out of the way as they went. The sound of trickling water grew louder, and before long they came upon a creek that looked like liquid silver in the moonlight. He ordered her to sit on a boulder, then left. The man had the manners of a hoodlum, but in all honesty, it felt good to sit down. Slipping off her shoes, she rubbed her blistered feet and enjoyed the breeze cooling the sweat on her neck. Even though this had all been staged, Morgan couldn't help the relief she felt at not being alone anymore. Or was she?

  Where had Rowan gone? Wasn't he supposed to be flirting with her? Playing the dashing hero? Or maybe her father had told him to play the hard-to-get bad boy. She could care less at this point.

  The sounds of the jungle returned--chirps, buzzes, and croaks along with the flutter of leaves--much more haunting at night. Her anxiety returned with it. She hugged herself. Something dove at her, and she leapt from her perch and swatted the air.

  Except for a milky glow slicing the leaves from the moon above, it was pitch dark. Still, she didn't really want to wander through this jungle at night. Nor could she stay here.

  She started for the creek to parch her thirst when brush fluttered and boots stomped and Rowan returned with an armful of wood. He dropped it to the ground and began arranging it.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Making a fire."

  "Why?"

  "You need ask?" He glanced up at her. "To keep predators at bay for one. To provide warmth and light for my Lady Minx for another."

  "But aren't we going back to camp?"

  "Nay, 'tis best we stay here."

  "Oh, I get it." She huffed. "If you think I'm spending the night here with you, Romeo, you got another thing coming."

  "Ah, the lady knows Shakespeare." He chuckled as he finished stacking wood. Then pulling two objects from a satchel swung over his shoulder, he struck them together. "Alas, if you wish me to die for our love, you must pardon me there."

  "Very funny." Morgan made her way to the creek. Seeing no other way to get a drink, she knelt in the sand and drew handfuls of the precious liquid to her mouth. Nothing had ever tasted so good.

  Leaning back, she drew a deep breath, realizing how heavy her eyelids felt ... she let them fall ... for just a minute.

  When a deep, throaty growl rumbled through the jungle.

  Chapter 7

  Sparks flew from the flint and steel and landed on the tinder Rowan had collected. Leaning over, he blew lightly, then placed sticks on the small flame until it caught the wood. The woman had gone to the creek for water, but he kept one eye on her lest she attempt to
dash off.

  He'd put nothing past her, this outlandish lady. He'd never met anyone like her. From what he'd overheard, she hadn't been afraid in the slightest of being ravished. Forsooth, quite the opposite! 'Twas like she believed she was, indeed, in a drama and all of them actors playing their parts. Which would explain her Shakespeare reference. But he didn't want to believe that, for that would mean the lady truly was mad. And for some reason, that thought saddened him most of all.

  A growl rolled through the jungle, and the lady leapt from her spot by the creek and dashed toward him, eyes wide. "What is that?"

  He smiled. So she was afraid of something. "Most likely a jaguar, though I'll admit to being surprised at finding one on this island."

  "Jaguar?" She stared into the darkness. "Then we aren't safe here."

  "Naught to fear, Lady Minx. The fire will keep him at bay."

  She stared at him, the growing firelight reflecting both horror and unbelief in her green eyes. But then the shrew returned. "I insist you take me back to camp at once."

  He chuckled. "You'll soon discover that rare is the person who insists anything of me. Besides, you'll be safer here."

  "With man-eating beasts roaming about? I don't think so."

  "Lud, better than the woman-eating beasts back at camp."

  At this, she frowned. "I'll be safer when I'm home in bed."

  "Ah, is it to bed you wish to go?" He rose and gave her a rakish grin--the kind most women could never resist.

  She huffed in disgust. "Touch me and I'll sue you for harassment."

  He scratched the growing stubble on his jaw and studied her. "Faith now, but you are a strange little tigress. In good sooth, you'll find I never have need to force myself upon a lady."

  "Really? I bet they all fall at your feet just like Jason."

  "I know not who this Jason is, but aye, ladies find my charm irresistible." Except this particular one. Nay, where other ladies vied for his attentions, this lady did all in her power to escape him. Not only escape him, but insult and berate him. Extraordinary! He could make no sense of it.

  Scanning the small clearing, he found two logs wide enough to sit on and pulled them near the fire. "Have a seat or 'twill be a long night upon your feet."

  She glanced down at the log as if it were a brick of horse dung, then stooped and began to move it one way and then the other, an inch here, an inch there, always stepping back to assess her efforts before doing it again. "I don't see why we can't return to camp," she said, still fumbling.

  Flames crackled and leapt for the sky, scattering light over the trees at the edge of the clearing. She continued fussing with the log until it lay in a perfect line horizontal to the edge of the fire.

  "You may return if you wish." Rowan nodded in the direction his pirates had fled. "I should warn you there are predators along the way and a host more when you arrive on shore, for my men are no doubt well into their cups by now."

  "Into their cups?" she asked as if she had no idea what that meant. "Oh, never mind." One brow arched. "Are you saying you can't defend your lady love against a wild beast?"

  "Even I cannot fight off a hungry jaguar," he retorted.

  She placed a hand on her heart. "Forsooth, my hero has a weakness." She gave him a taunting grin before lowering her gaze to once again study the log. Finally happy with its position, she proceeded to furiously brush away dirt and twigs from the surface before lowering to sit upon it. Once settled, she began fluffing out her skirts, but the more she fluffed, the more her face scrunched--in the most adorable way, he might add--as she began shaking dirt from her gown and trying to press out the wrinkles. She continued her ministrations for several minutes until Rowan felt it was he who would go mad.

  "Leave it be, woman!" he snapped and threw a log on the fire, shooting more sparks into the night. "Edith will find you a clean gown when we return."

  "I can't stand to be dirty. And everything is out of place." She looked up and must have seen his perplexed expression. "I need my meds, Rowan. Can't you see I'm going nuts without them."

  Nuts? Was she to turn into a pecan next? "Do you refer, perchance, to medicaments?"

  "Whatever you want to call them. Yes."

  Ah, that would explain her odd behavior. Mayhap she had a brain disease. He'd have to ask Farley if he could use his trephine to bore a hole in her skull and relieve the pressure. "And what is it exactly that ails you?"

  A bug flew about her face, and she slapped at it, horrified. Then pressing her right side, she winced and faced him. "I have OCD and anxiety, if you must know."

  "Anxiety?" He snorted. "Over what? You are safe here, as I have said." Memories rose of how she'd attempted to sort his things back in his cabin. "Mayhap you would not be anxious if you stopped tinkering with everything and let things be."

  "But things are not right." She hugged herself and glanced around their tiny camp. "They must be right"--she rubbed her temples--"or my world falls apart."

  "Nothing is right with this world," Rowan returned. Something he'd learned long ago. "If perfection is what you seek, save yourself the trouble and acquit the futile quest."

  The eerie shrill of a night bird echoed through the canopy, and she sighed and stared into the fire. "I can't believe my father is making me sleep in the dirt with bugs and wild animals. And a pirate," she added with disgust as if he were worse than the prior two. If he were any other pirate, he would heartedly agree. But he'd been raised the son of a rich merchant and was taught to treat women with respect. All women.

  Even impish thieves.

  "Alas, perchance this will help." Rowan reached into his sack, pulled out a flask, and handed it to her.

  "Rum? You're giving me rum? Alcohol is what got me into this mess in the first place." She ran both hands through her hair--rather beautiful hair, he was forced to admit, as the firelight accentuated ribbons of auburn woven among the brown.

  Shrugging, he took a swig.

  "Haven't you had enough?" She spat. "How are you going to protect me if you're always drunk?"

  He chuckled. "I do my best work when crocked to the gills."

  She frowned. "Not that there is anything to really protect me from. I'm sure those animal growls are soundtracks."

  As if in defiance of her words, a distant roar resounded, and her wide gaze sped to the surrounding jungle. Finally, she rose, tripped over her skirts, and plunked on the log beside him. She grabbed the flask from his hand. "Since I don't have my meds, perhaps a sip or two will help."

  The sip turned into three or four, during which time Rowan watched her shoulders lower a bit and her breathing steady. What had happened to this lady to make her wound so tight? And why would a woman so nervous about everything sneak aboard a pirate ship to steal an amulet? 'Twas an act of bravery--or stupidity--not one belonging to one so skittish.

  Yet, she wasn't skittish at all, but brave beyond compare. What an enigma.

  The katydids took up a chorus as a breeze stirred the flames and showered them with sparks.

  She took another sip and snickered. "If my mother could see me now. Drinking alcohol with a pirate."

  "Indeed? Was she opposed to spirits? Or just pirates?"

  "Both." She smiled then took a deep breath, the rise and fall of the sun-kissed mounds above her bodice drawing his attention. "She opposed many things," she continued. "Swearing, gambling, drinking, movies, most TV shows and books, and of course dancing."

  He had no idea what TV shows and movies were, but the rest he could attest to as favorites of his. "Dancing as well? Faith now, what a tedious life."

  "She's one of those religious freaks. Goes to church every time the door is opened, you know the type."

  He did. In a way. His sister, Juliana wasn't quite so devout, but she did tend to preach to him overmuch.

  Morgan pointed the flask at him so quickly, it startled him. "It's not that I don't believe in God. I do. It's just that for all my mother's churchgoing, she doesn't practice what she preaches, i
f you know what I mean."

  The rum was loosening her tongue, along with her nerves, as he had hoped. Rowan nodded. "Hypocrites. I know many such people."

  "I'm surprised you know anyone who goes to church in Hollywood." She took another sip.

  He wondered where this Hollywood place was. Sounded a lot like that den of pirates, Charles Town, he was planning on sailing to next.

  She stared into the fire, the flames reflecting angst in her eyes. "She preaches trust in God, but then falls apart when something bad happens. She preaches healing but then runs to doctors for every hangnail. She preaches faith and peace and joy, yet she is on more anti-anxiety and anti-depression meds than anyone I know." Morgan eased a lock of hair behind her ear. "The truth is"--she rubbed the flask between her hands--"I can't count on my mother for anything. She literally freaks out at the slightest thing and then calls me for help. Most of the time I feel like I'm her mother instead of the other way around."

  Rowan had no idea what this freaks out meant, but it didn't sound like Morgan's mother was of much use.

  "Do you believe in God, Mr. Actor? Or should I call you Captain? What is your real name, anyway?"

  "Rowan will do." He shrugged. "In truth, I don't know whether I believe in a divine Creator. My sister seems to think He exists and He cares. I have yet to see evidence of either."

  "I've always believed in God. Always prayed. I suppose going to church since I was a baby gave me no choice. But lately, well ... lately, I have doubted whether He's even there."

  A sorrow hovered around the lady as if she were deeply burdened by the revelation. Or was it something else? Oddly, it made him long to help her, to take away her pain. Odd because, if he were truthful, Rowan wasn't the type to care much for the problems of others.

  "And your father?" he asked, finding himself ever more curious about this woman's past.

  "Well, I'm sure you met--no, he probably sent his admins to hire you." A distant roar stiffened her, and she searched the darkness. "He's the president of one of the biggest software companies in the country. Rich, smart, powerful and decisive." She paused and lowered her gaze to the fire. "And distant, cold, and unloving."