The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  She prayed for their safety through the storm and for the Reckoning and the Ransom. She prayed for her mother and what she must be suffering in Morgan's absence. But most of all, she prayed for Rowan. For his protection, for God to open his eyes to see Him, and for their success in rescuing him without incident.

  When she opened her eyes, the waves swelled around the ship, the sky had darkened once again, and the wind whipped around her. But she felt peace inside. More peace than she'd ever known. Looking at the black clouds broiling on the horizon, she whispered into the wind, "Rowan, hang in there. We're coming to get you."

  An overwhelming feeling of loss and desperation filled her, and she realized that she truly did love him. That somehow in this mixed-up crazy time-travel adventure, she'd fallen in love with a pirate.

  She lowered her gaze and gripped the railing. "Please God, don't let him die."

  ♥♥♥

  "That's him. That's Bloodmoon's ensign--a red moon in the shape of a skull." Morgan heard Captain Merrick announce to his first mate, Jackson. Slamming his telescope shut, he stuffed it in his belt and issued a string of orders that sent the man across the deck bellowing to the crew.

  Morgan peered through the morning mist but could only make out a dot on the horizon. Still, just the thought that Rowan was near made her heart skip.

  She'd spent a long day and night below in her cabin while the storm wreaked havoc upon the seas, feeling much like an old sock tumbling around in a dryer. Charlisse and Gabrielle had kept her company until they retired for the evening. How they could sleep was beyond Morgan, but she used the time to pray--to thank God for delivering her from her anxieties and OCD and probably a host of other problems she wasn't aware of. She wasn't even nauseous anymore, though the ship was bucking like a wild stallion.

  As to whether God had healed her from cancer, she didn't know. What she did know was that He loved her, and she trusted in that love. Whatever happened, it would all work out according to His plan. The sea finally settled late into the night, and she caught a couple hours of sleep before she rose, washed up as best she could, and came above.

  Now that Bloodmoon had been sighted, she could think of nothing else but saving Rowan. But where were the Ransom and the Reckoning? She scanned the horizon. Nowhere in sight. Had something happened to them during the storm?

  Merrick slid beside her and leaned one elbow on the railing. His graying dark hair was tied behind him, though one loose strand leapt across his stubbled jaw. Leather straps crisscrossed his chest, stuffed with pistols, while a sword hung at his side. Age had not drained him of a vitality and strength of presence that must have been overpowering in his youth. "You should go below, Miss Morgan. We'll be upon them in under an hour, and if I know this raucous cur, he'll put up a fight."

  "What happened to the other ships?"

  He gazed out to sea. "Thrown off course during the storm. They'll join us soon."

  "I'd like to stay here, if you don't mind," Morgan said as if she had a choice. "I want to see Rowan as soon as possible. Maybe I can help?" As soon as the request left her lips, she knew it was ridiculous. What could she possible do during a ship battle?

  Merrick's left eyebrow arched significantly as Charlisse--back in breeches and shirt and strapped with weapons--popped up from below.

  "Miss Morgan, unless you are skilled in the art of naval warfare, I highly--" Merrick began but was interrupted by his wife's embrace.

  "Charlisse is staying above," Morgan protested. "Isn't she?"

  Merrick gave his wife one of those looks Morgan could only dream of--a look of intimacy born from years of love and understanding. "I have tried my best to get my wife to stay below during a skirmish, but alas, 'tis one battle I consistently lose."

  "Finally you admit defeat, milord." Charlisse grinned.

  "Only temporary surrender." He kissed her forehead.

  Emotion burned in Morgan's throat as she watched the loving exchange. She could not remember a single time her parents had looked at each other with such unconditional devotion. Ever. Morgan had given up believing that such romance existed in the world. Apparently, over the years, she had given up believing in a lot of things.

  Merrick tore his gaze from his wife. "I must insist you go below, Miss Morgan."

  "Let her stay, Merrick." Charlisse put her hands on her hips. "If she's anything like me, which I think she is"--she winked at Morgan--"she'll sneak up here anyway."

  Morgan liked this woman more and more by the minute.

  Raising hands in the air, Merrick shook his head, kissed Charlisse on the cheek, and headed back to the tiller. Charlisse then gave Morgan strict instructions about where to stand and what to hold onto during battle.

  Surprisingly, Morgan felt more excitement than fear as she took up a position clinging to a post beneath what Charlisse called the quarterdeck.

  An hour later, as promised, with the Ransom and the Reckoning still not in sight, the Redemption sailed within a mile off Bloodmoon's stern. Two ships had joined the monster--no doubt more pirates. Undeterred, Captain Merrick continued to sail full speed toward them.

  "Prepare and run out the guns!" His shout ricocheted above her.

  The ship leapt and plunged, sending foamy squalls sweeping over the deck and pouring through holes back to sea. Morgan's arms and legs ached from trying to keep balance, but she wouldn't miss this for the world.

  Groups of men hovered over cannons perched at the bow, while one glance over the side revealed the muzzles of more guns punching through the hull.

  Oddly, Morgan felt no fear.

  One sailor took handfuls of sand from a sack and sprinkled it over the deck. Another group of men spread nets above their heads. Young boys no older than fifteen carried pouches and burning sticks to the sailors manning the guns.

  Still Morgan felt no fear.

  But when a sword of flaming yellow shot from the stern of Bloodmoon's ship, and Merrick shouted, "Hit the deck!" terror finally flooded her.

  Chapter 23

  Boom! Boom! A thunderous explosion jarred Rowan from his semi-conscious agony. The ship trembled, timbers moaned, and the sludge by his feet quivered. He opened his good eye, grabbed onto one of the rusty iron bars and attempted to pull himself up.

  Regardless of the reason, the cannon fire boded well for Rowan's predicament. Whether Bloodmoon was attacking or being attacked, the encounter would keep him occupied and his thoughts from devising Rowan's next torture. He didn't relish being keelhauled, despite it being the torturous ending he deserved.

  A distant cannon boomed and the ship veered to larboard. Rowan flew across his cell, striking bars along the way. Pain seared through muscle and bone. Finally, he wedged himself in the corner as water roared against the hull and the ship canted high in the tack. The bilge sloshed across the deck, rats floating atop on debris. The single lantern hanging on a hook outside his cell sputtered out, leaving him in darkness. Just as well. He didn't wish to see the shot bursting through the hull, the sea's claws gushing in to drag him to the depths.

  He only hoped Bloodmoon was as good at battle as he was at torture.

  Or did he? Maybe 'twould be better to die now, to sink to Davy Jones' locker, a fitting, honorable death for a Brethren of the Coast.

  The ship completed its turn and settled once again. The sea pounded entrance against the hull. Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Guns exploded in rapid succession. The ship trembled and jerked to starboard. Despite his condition, Rowan itched to go above. There was nothing worse for a pirate captain than to be locked below decks during battle. Besides, he wished to see who they were fighting. If the Spanish, he'd be in no better straits in their hands. If another pirate, he might fare slightly better, but--dare he hope--mayhap 'twas his sister come to the rescue?

  Nay. That hope was soon squashed beneath the sound of wood splitting and an ear-piercing explosion.

  Rowan covered his head and ducked.

  ♥♥♥

  Morgan's ears hurt, as if dozens o
f people were beating on her ear drums, muffling all other sounds and causing an ache to fill her head. She covered them and crouched against the wall that led up to the quarterdeck as another volley belched from the Redemption's cannons. The ship trembled. Footsteps pounded. Men shouted. While all through the mayhem, Captain Merrick's steady tone invoked nothing but courage and assurance.

  "Steady now, men. Braces ease, trim your sheets, trim the bowlines! Watch your luff, Rusty!"

  Acrid smoke covered the deck. Holding her breath, Morgan batted it away, rising and trying to peer through the haze at their enemy. To her right, Bloodmoon's ship made a sharp turn away from them, angry foam jetting off its stern and smoke puffing from a hole high on its side. They'd hit her! Good. Or was it? Rowan was on board!

  "The other ship's comin' straight at us, Cap'n!" one man yelled up to Merrick, and Morgan--tripping on her skirts as usual--sped to the railing and squinted into the distance where men hovered around two cannons perched at the oncoming ship's bow. Two ships against one. No, three. She glanced over the other side of the Redemption, where the third pirate ship had turned coming to Bloodmoon's aid. How were they going to fight three pirate ships? Her breath hooked in her throat, and she struggled to release it, lifting up a quick prayer.

  The Redemption lurched, nearly toppling her as sails flapped and sought the wind above.

  Charlisse's voice--a huskier version of it--turned Morgan around to see the lady marching across the main deck, curls tossed in the breeze, hand on the hilt of her sword. "Stand fast, men! Courage! God is with us." Then facing a skinny, soot-faced man beside her, she added, "Load the langrel, Mr. Krane. Aim for her rigging and fire upon my order." The man tipped his hat and rushed off just as her eyes--burning with intensity--met Morgan's.

  "What about Rowan?" Morgan shouted above the din. "We don't want to hit him!"

  "Never fear. He's below decks," Charlisse replied with assurance before she gave Morgan a motherly you-better-do-what-I-say look and gestured for her to return to her spot by the quarterdeck.

  Morgan happily complied, stunned at the sight of the woman commanding these men in battle, while also wondering what it would have been like having a mother like her.

  The thought made Morgan smile.

  The thunder of cannons turned it into a frown.

  Heart racing, Morgan covered her head and braced for impact. The zip and whine of speeding metal filled the air. A splash sounded, followed by the eerie twine of rope snapping. One glance upward told her the shot had ripped through a sail.

  Jackson shouted something she couldn't make out, and men scrambled up to fix the damage.

  Morgan backed against the wall, mind reeling with the reality of where she was and what she was doing. Yet instead of terror that would have debilitated her, she felt a natural fear, but more excitement than she dared to admit. And she wasn't even medicated!

  To her right, Bloodmoon's ship was still making a turn while the other pirate sailed swiftly in their direction, foam curling like a villain's mustache up its bow. To her left, the ship that fired on them was lowering some of their sails and easing closer.

  "Should we lower main and course?" Jackson asked.

  "Nay," came Merrick's reply. "We'll speed right past their shots, then make a swift tack to starboard. Have the men ready at sail and tiller. Charlisse, my love," he shouted down to the lady who turned and shielded her eyes to look up at him. "Do try and hit their rigging this time." His tone taunted.

  Sweeping off her hat, Charlisse bowed before him.

  Were these people kidding? Didn't they know they were outnumbered? Morgan wiped sweat from her brow and watched as Charlisse issued further orders to the crew. Perhaps it was their faith that made them so brave. Like David facing Goliath or Daniel in the lions' den, they confronted danger not knowing the outcome, nor knowing whether God would deliver them. Yet trusting Him with the result. In fact, from what she'd seen and heard these past few days, these people lived their entire lives that way, with no worries for today and no plans for tomorrow.

  Yes, Morgan had been delivered of her anxiety and fear--thanks be to God--but she doubted she could ever live her life so vicariously. She just wasn't wired that way. There was comfort in plans and schedules, and she was sure God agreed.

  Right now, however, a pirate ship sped toward them, intent on sinking them to the depths. A small ship, much like the Redemption, it sported a red flag with a black hourglass on it. As it slowed, gun ports popped open on its hull, and ten harbingers of death poked their charred heads through the holes.

  Morgan was suddenly glad she'd made peace with God.

  Charlisse stood at the head of the companionway as calm as if she were attending church, her gaze fierce upon their enemy, her focus intent. "Fire on the upsweep, Gentlemen!"

  Morgan had no idea what that meant, but within seconds the air reverberated with the roar of several cannons. Again smoke suffocated her. Coughing, she covered her face with her arms as Merrick bellowed a string of orders--something about raising tacks and sheets and helm's a lee.

  The Redemption tilted so far to the right, seawater rushed onto the deck, and it took all of Morgan's dwindling strength to not tumble back out to sea along with it.

  Distant guns pounded the air. Morgan tensed, her breath coming hard and fast. The foreboding whiz of cannonballs chimed, then the jarring crunch of wood, the stomp of feet and shouts of fear. The ship staggered beneath the blow. Terror buzzed through her as thoughts of sinking into the sea--or worse, being captured by Bloodmoon--wrangled her mind. But she heard no water gushing and finally dared to peek through the haze. Merrick leapt down from the quarterdeck and joined Charlisse.

  "What damage?" he yelled as he leaned over the railing to inspect for himself.

  "Larboard timbers crushed at the water line, Cap'n," a sailor replied, "and bulwarks smashed on the foredeck."

  Morgan hoped that wasn't a bad thing. Even so, it seemed their enemy had fared much worse. One of their masts was broken, and ropes and sails had fallen to the deck. Merrick's men cheered at the sight as their enemy turned and slowly sailed away.

  "Blake, Surk, take some men and get below to patch that hole," Merrick ordered.

  "Aye, Cap'n."

  As they sped off, Morgan made her way to the railing and peered over the side. Smoke sizzled from a blackened hole the size of her head about three yards down. The only problem was that each time the ship rocked, seawater poured through it into the hold.

  "She's sluggish." Charlisse gazed up at the sails.

  "Aye," Merrick said. "We lost the foretops and now with this rent in the hull."

  Jackson marched across the deck toward them, the three earrings in his ear glittering in the bright sun. "Orders, Cap'n?"

  Charlisse plucked the scope from her husband's belt and held it to her eye. But Morgan didn't need it to see that the two other pirate ships were heading straight for them. Bloodmoon's was slightly behind the other one, which had three masts and was much larger than the Redemption.

  "Load musket shot in the bow swivels and rake them as she approaches." Merrick ran a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "Then veer to port. We'll take on Bloodmoon. He's the one we want." He surveyed the horizon. "Egad, where is Alex?"

  Jackson nodded and marched away. "Stations for wearing ship! Clear away head bowlines!"

  Morgan inched up beside Merrick, hesitant to disturb him in the middle of a battle. "But we have to be careful, right? Rowan's on board."

  Without looking her way, Merrick nodded, but Charlisse smiled, instantly transforming from warrior to mother. "My husband knows what he's doing. My, but you're a brave little thing to stay above."

  Brave? No one had ever called Morgan that. And for some reason coming from this woman, it meant the world to her.

  Merrick instantly stiffened, and Morgan followed his gaze to the pirate ship that was now only thirty yards off their bow. A flame shot from one of her cannons. Charlisse forced Morgan to the deck.

 
; "All hands down!" Merrick shouted, though he remained standing.

  The shot splashed into the sea just feet from them, and Morgan returned to her spot, allowing Merrick and Charlisse to do their work. She wanted to pray but couldn't form a coherent thought, much less the right words. Besides, God knew their situation. And He was here. She could feel Him--like she never had before.

  Tension strung tight across the Redemption as sailors darted this way and that, obeying their captain and his lady's orders. Above, men adjusted sails as the thick canvas fluttered and then caught the wind in a loud snap. A flash of blond hair drew Morgan's gaze to the foredeck where Charlisse stood behind a group of men manning two cannons.

  "FIRE!" Her voice boomeranged and a volcano spewed from the iron beasts.

  Whatever damage the shots did to the approaching ship, it wasn't enough to stop their reply as another ear-piercing boom echoed across the sky. Sweat slid beneath Morgan's gown as she waited for the impact, praying to God it didn't land on her and blow her guts all over the place. Not exactly a great visual. Or the way she wanted to end up. But the cannonball whipped past just feet from where she stood and crashed into the left railing before plummeting into the sea.

  She expelled a ragged breath and stared at the smoking spikes of wood that could have been her bones. Far too close for comfort.

  Morgan didn't have to be a sailor to know that if that shot had hit one of the masts or crashed into the hull below the waterline, they'd be done for.

  Merrick bowed his head, lips moving, before he lifted his gaze and shouted orders that brought the Redemption into a sharp turn. Bracing herself, Morgan held onto the post as the deck slanted high and seawater gorged over the side.