The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  Growling, Rowan stepped over the mess on the floor as if it didn't exist, opened a drawer of his desk, pulled out a scroll and spread it on top.

  "You will make up for your error today by decoding this map."

  "If you want someone to do something for you, you should be kinder to them. Not manhandle them and yell and scream like a madman."

  He stared at her, strands of hair hanging in his face, making him look more wild then he already did. She feared he'd throw another temper tantrum when a knock on the door brought a reprieve.

  His shout of "Enter" brought in Nick and Kerr. Both men's gazes shifted from her to Rowan to the mess on the floor.

  "As I told you before," she said, feeling more courageous now that she wasn't alone with him. "I won't decode your precious map until you bring me to my father."

  Kerr took a step forward, his glance taking in the chart sprawled across Rowan's desk. "Captain, we picked up Carter and Tate."

  Circling his desk, Rowan stood before the map, blocking its view from Kerr.

  "Very good. Plot a course for New Providence immediately."

  Kerr nodded and started away.

  "And give the men an extra ration of rum," Rowan yelled after him.

  Kerr winked at Morgan before he left.

  Nick straightened his vest and glanced at the mess on the floor. "Did a storm come through I didna know aboot?"

  "Aye, the minx storm." Rowan leaned back against his desk and nodded toward Morgan.

  Blackbeard skittered across the room, chasing a dust ball, and Nick leaned over and scooped him up. "Now where did this wee beastie hail from?"

  "'Tis the wench's demon cat."

  Nick chuckled and handed the kitten to Morgan.

  "Lady Minx," Rowan began, obviously restraining his anger. "I am the captain aboard this ship and you are but a thief. By the laws of the sea, I could hang you from the yardarm, yet I have been naught but kind. Ergo, you will decipher this map or suffer the consequences."

  She lifted her nose in the air. "I have given you my conditions, Captain."

  Nick's brows rose along with the tension in the room. And for a moment, Morgan thought Rowan would follow through with his hanging by the yardarm threat--or at least pretend to. But instead, he heaved a huge sigh and turned to Nick.

  "Lock her in the sailing master's cabin. We'll see if that will loosen her tongue."

  ♥♥♥

  Rowan hadn't been kidding about locking her up. Nick escorted her to a room smaller than her walk-in closet at home, containing a cot, a mite-infested blanket, a small table and chair, and a lantern which she had no idea how to light. After giving her a look of sympathy, he shut the door. The clank of the lock slammed across her heart with its finality. Since then, no amount of pounding or screaming had set her free. How dare Rowan do this to the daughter of the man who was paying him!

  At least she had Blackbeard for comfort and a small porthole to help gauge the passage of time. The first day Edith came twice to bring her food and empty her chamber pot.

  Which was totally gross--the chamber pot, not the food, though that wasn't much better. Still, using it--and being in the same room with it--made her incredibly thankful for indoor plumbing, and she vowed never to complain about scrubbing her toilet again.

  She also vowed never to complain about heat again. San Diego on its hottest day had nothing on this wooden coffin of a sauna. Sweat plastered her hair to her head and her clothes to her skin, and the air was so heavy she struggled to fill her lungs. But no matter what, she would not give in to Rowan's request to decode his stupid map. The joke would be on him when her father ruined his acting career for torturing her.

  Morgan tried to tell Edith as much, and though the woman was always kind and sympathetic, she refused Morgan's pleas for freedom.

  "No, child. I can't be disobeying the captain. If I do, he might put Farley an' me ashore somewheres. An' I's sure the authorities are still looking for us."

  Morgan broke off a piece of the fish Edith had brought and gave it to Blackbeard, then poured water into a saucer and set it on the floor. "What would be so bad about that? Surely living on a boat gets old after a while."

  Edith shook her head and laughed. "Why, child. I'm a Negro an' Farley's as white as coconut milk. We never be allowed t' stay married. An' I probably be sold off as a slave agin or taken back to my owner."

  Morgan hadn't thought of that. Sorrow swept through her at the thought of how people of color had been treated in the past.

  "Still, you know as well as I do, that wouldn't happen now." Morgan grabbed Edith's chubby hand and gave it a squeeze. "Please let me out. My father will hear of this, believe me, and I don't think he'll be too pleased." Or maybe he would. He had always told her what a spoiled brat she was. Perhaps this was his way of disciplining her. But even he wouldn't be so cruel.

  Would he?

  Edith patted her hand. "Child, you make no sense t' me sometimes. Now, you must eat. You's shriveling t' nothing but bones."

  "I'm not hungry." Morgan sat back with a sigh, though she wasn't sure whether it was the cancer or seasickness that stole her appetite.

  Edith lifted a pot and poured hot liquid into a cup. "Here's the tea I gave you before. The one I said might help wit' your cancer. Drink it. I knows you'll feel better."

  Morgan smiled, thankful for the woman's kindness and concern, and for not treating Morgan like she had the plague as some people did when they found out she had cancer.

  Thanking Edith, she sipped the tea. A little bitter for her tastes, but the warmth spun a trail of comfort down her throat.

  The older woman studied her with a smile. "God will heal you, child. I knows it."

  Morgan couldn't help but huff. If she had a dollar for every time someone at church had said that same thing, she'd die a rich woman.

  "You don't believe me?" Edith asked, still smiling.

  "I don't think God cares anymore."

  "Ah, now don't you worry 'bout that, child." Edith rose and leaned over to pet Blackbeard, curled in a ball in Morgan's lap. "He can heal you anyways. Now, is there anything else I can git you?"

  "You don't happen to have canvas and paints, do you?" Morgan said teasingly. If she was going to be stuck in here for much longer, it would be nice to have something to do. And in lieu of meds, painting always helped calm her nerves.

  Surprisingly, Edith didn't laugh at her request. Instead, she grew excited. "You paint, child? How wonderful. Lemme see what I can do." And off she went.

  The next day, it was both Farley and Edith who paid her a visit. Edith set a tray of food on the table and then emptied Morgan's chamber pot while Farley removed her stitches and doused the wound once more with rum.

  "Healin' nicely, if I do say so meself," he declared, sitting back to examine his work.

  Edith kissed him on the cheek. "The best surgeon I ever seen."

  If it was possible for the aged man to produce a blush beneath his leathery skin, Morgan was sure she spotted one. He swept a comb of hair over the bald spot on top of his head and folded hands over his chubby belly. "Reminds me o' the time we stitched up that little girl down by the docks at Bridgetown. Poor thin' fell off a boat an' hit her head on the reefs. 'Member that, Darlin'? Turns out she was the daughter of the dread pirate--"

  "Now, now Farley, I sure Miss Morgan don't want t' hear your stories," Edith interrupted. "Oh, almost forgot, child." She set a canvas sack on the table. "It ain't paints, but it might help you pass the time."

  After they left, Morgan peeked inside the satchel and found two sheets of old, crinkled parchment and a stick of charcoal. It felt like Christmas.

  On the third day, the lock jangled, and Nick came in with orders to escort her above for fresh air.

  "How kind of the captain." Morgan was being facetious as she ascended onto the main deck and the bright sun slammed her eyes shut.

  "Aye, 'tis true, lass. Though ye'll not believe it, Rowan doesna tolerate disobedience on board his ship
." Nick led her to the railing.

  She gripped the hard wood and blinked as her eyes grew accustomed to the light. "I suppose I should be glad he didn't make me walk the plank." She chuckled.

  "I wouldna joke aboot sich a thing, lass. I've seen him do jist that."

  She glanced over the deck, seeking the object of their discussion, but he was nowhere in sight. Instead, she found several of the men staring at her, a few even leering. Some attended their tasks, while others loitered about drinking from a bottle they passed among them. A small group circled a barrel, playing cards.

  Turning back around, Morgan drew in a deep breath, hoping to force the stale air out of her lungs. Before her, the sea spread to the horizon like turquoise frosting on a cake, decorated with golden sprinkles. She licked her lips. What a beautiful sight. Wind wove cool fingers through her hair and fluttered the folds of her skirt, drying her perspiration. The boat rose and plunged over a wave, and she balanced her feet on the deck and smiled when a cool mist sprayed her.

  "Well," she said. "Do thank the captain for not tossing me to the sharks, and for allowing me a moment above. I've never really liked the ocean, but this is stunning."

  "Aye, that it is. God's creation always amazes me."

  "God? I assumed pirates didn't believe in God, Nick. May I call you Nick? Or is that not proper in ... what year are we pretending to be in again?"

  "The year of our Lord sixteen hundred and ninety-four, lass. And aye, ye may call me Nick." He leaned his elbows on the railing. "Most pirates believe in God." He squinted toward her and smiled, sunlight turning his hair to burnished bronze. "They jist don't follow Him."

  Sounded like some of the people in her church. "And you?"

  "Weel, my father was a man of the cloth, as they say, so aye, my faith is strong."

  "Just because your father believed?"

  "Nay, God ha' revealed himself t' me in many ways, lass."

  "Hmm." Sails flapping above brought her gaze up to see men inching across the yards again, clinging to ropes. Kerr shouted an order from the helm, and his eyes met hers briefly. He winked at her as he was prone to do, making her wonder at his motives.

  She faced the sea again. "How did you get into acting?"

  "How's that, lass?"

  "Okay." She sighed. "I'll play along. How did you become a pirate?"

  The deck wobbled, but Nick barely moved to keep his balance. "Och, now, that is quite a tale." His hazel eyes sparkled. "I was a lieutenant in the Royal Navy once."

  "That's the British navy, right?"

  "Aye." He scratched his red beard, giving her a queer look as if everyone should know such a thing.

  "Give me a break, I took math in college, not history." Yet his odd look remained. Shaking her head, she stared out to sea. "So why aren't you still in this Royal Navy?"

  "I disobeyed a direct order. Something ye canna do in the Royal Navy an' survive. They cashiered me an' sent me t' prison."

  She had no idea what this cashiered was, but prison she got. "You? You don't seem the type. You are so obedient to Rowan--even to the point of locking up innocent women." She grinned, and Nick chuckled.

  "Rowan's a good man. Captain Hawkins, now there was a monster."

  "What order did you disobey?"

  "To whip a young midshipmen for a wee infraction. The lad ha' already been punished enough. It would ha' probably killed him."

  "They sent you to prison for saving a boy?"

  "Aye, but I ended up in Port Royal as an indentured servant." At her look of puzzlement, he continued, "A slave t' serve out my term." He gave her a mischievous grin. "But I got oot, ran away, and met up wi' Rowan recruiting for his crew. 'Twas no' but God's grace. 'Cause jist a few weeks later, an earthquake sank Port Royal into the sea."

  "Wow. It must have taken awhile to come up with all these great back stories." And just for her benefit. Perhaps her father really did care for her.

  Nick stared at her, confused yet again.

  "Never mind." She waved him off, wanting so badly to trap him in some lie that would surely force him to give up this charade. "So, Nick, how do you, a God-fearing man as you say, justify raping and pillaging?" Ah ha, she had him now.

  "What a beguiling lass ye be. I can see why he likes ye."

  "Who likes me?"

  "The captain, of course." He said it as if it were common knowledge. The boat pitched over a wave, and Morgan closed her eyes as cool mist sprayed her again. Good thing, because a hot flush consumed her face.

  "But t' yer question," Nick continued. "I stay where the good Lord plants me. An' for some reason, he's planted me here wi' Rowan. It may comfort ye to know, lass, that Rowan ha' papers from Governor Beeston granting him authority t' prey on the French. So, 'tis really no' pirating he does unless he attacks the Spanish. And then I beg off from duty."

  Morgan rolled her eyes. "You actually believe God has put you on a pirate ship?"

  "Aye." He smiled. "He's full of surprises, no?"

  No. She had not witnessed that. To her, God seemed rather staunch and demanding. "But don't you have any goals of your own? Don't you want to go home? Live a normal life?"

  He frowned and stared down at the foamy water zipping against the hull. "Aye, more than anything. I suppose I'm free t' go back now tha' the navy thinks me buried along wi' my owner at Port Royal."

  "To Scotland?"

  "Aye. Aberdeen." He tugged on the red plaid tartan around his neck. "These are my clan colors, an' this"--he fingered the broach pinned to his vest--"'tis a green sapphire handed down from my Viking ancestors."

  Sunlight turned the gem into liquid emerald, and she couldn't deny the setting looked quite antique.

  "There's a bonny lass waiting for me back home. A' least I hope she's waiting. I intend to marry her an' raise a bevy of bairns."

  Even though none of this was likely true, Morgan couldn't help but smile. "So, why don't you?"

  "I'll go when God releases me from Rowan. I'm needed here for now. Och, but Rowan may ha' been the reason I was sent here in the first place, no?"

  "So you think God had you arrested and enslaved so you could help Rowan?" She snapped hair from her face. "And you're not mad at Him for that?"

  "Was no' the good Lord's fault I disobeyed an order. He jist turned it out for good. An' He may ha' something else for me to do before He sends me home."

  "How can you live like this? Not knowing where you're going to be next year, next month, or even tomorrow? Not knowing what you'll be doing, who you'll be with, or whether you'll be a slave or a pirate?" She shook her head, just the thought of so frivolous a lifestyle causing her insides to knot. "Trusting a God you can't see or hear?"

  "Seems a better way t' live, lass, than trusting yerself, eh? We canna control wha' happens in life. 'Tis best to trust the One who can."

  Shouting and cursing turned her head around to see the men who'd been playing cards leap to their feet and shove the barrel over, sending cards flying. One man punched the other across the jaw. He reeled backward into the arms of his fellow crewmen, who tossed him forward again. A fist fight ensued. Both men jabbed and slugged each other while a mob formed around them, shouting both encouragements and insults.

  She imagined it was like watching stunt men practicing for a bar-fight scene. Though from the crunch of fist on bone and thud of punches to the gut, it sounded all too real. Finally, Kerr dove into the fray and yanked the men apart, threatening something called keelhauling for the next man who threw a punch.

  A gust of wind whipped hair into Morgan's face, and she tossed it aside and turned to the sea once again.

  Nick studied her. "Ye're a strange lass, t' be sure. Where other women would be scairt t' death being amongst pirates, ye act like ye've been on a pirate ship yer whole life."

  She shook her head, weary of the pretense. "Oooh"--she pasted on a fearful expression--"I suppose I should worry about being raped."

  His lips slanted. "Nay. 'Tis in yer favor the men fear their captain more
than they wish t' satisfy themselves."

  "Lucky me," she replied glibly.

  "Ye'd feel even luckier if ye'd do what he asks."

  She shot her gaze to his. "So, that's what all this is about. He sent you to convince me."

  "No' in so many words, but, aye, I'd recommend it."

  "I might have decoded his stupid map it if he had asked nicely. But to be honest with you, Nick, I've been bullied about by so many men in my life, I'm not taking it anymore. If he wants my help, he should first apologize for his rude behavior and then ask politely."

  Nick chuckled. "I'm thinking 'twill snow in the Caribbean before tha' happens."

  Yes, she'd noticed Rowan's pride as well.

  "So, tell me, lass, how did ye end up on this ship?"

  She wondered if it would be worth trying to explain yet again. "As I already told you and your captain, I was touring a replica of this boat at the Tall Ship Festival in San Diego. My friend put something in my drink, and I guess I passed out. When I woke, I found that stupid amulet stuck in a lantern down in the hold--as you call it. I hit my head and the next thing I knew I was here. That's the God's honest truth." Balancing on the leaping deck, she met his gaze head on.

  He studied her with a look she was very familiar with--the look of a psychiatrist to a patient. A deep assessing look, an inquisitive look, yet ... a caring look. At the end, he glanced over the sea, consternation rolling across his jaw.

  She snorted. "So, here's the part where you call me crazy."

  "Nay. I fear I canna do tha', lass."

  "Why not?"

  "Because, I dinna think ye're lying."

  Chapter 11

  Rowan slid the candle atop the table in Morgan's cabin and lowered into the chair, careful to be quiet. Golden light from the sputtering flame joined silvery moonlight drifting in through the porthole--both shifting over her face with each gentle sway of the ship.

  Her deep breathing assured him she had slept through the sound of him unlocking the latch and the creak of the door as it opened and shut. Though the small kitten snuggling against her breast had peeked up at him when he entered, it must have considered him no threat to its mistress, for the little beast quickly went back to sleep.