The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  “I have, and alas, he is nowhere to be found.”

  “Then you have not looked hard enough.” She hugged herself. “I intend to repay you for helping Abilene.”

  The touch of his finger on her cheek snapped her gaze to the mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can think of a number of ways.” He smiled.

  Jerking from his touch, she took a step back. “Money is all I have to offer.” Though she had none at the moment. She started down the street again. A breeze stirred the hair hanging at her neck and brought an odd scent of cinnamon mixed with leather and gunpowder. It reminded her of something … someone. But she didn’t have time to ponder it before a band of colorfully-dressed men approached, spotted Mr. Pirate, and nodded toward him. Tipping their hats at her, they wove around them, one of them slapping Mr. Pirate on the arm. “Comely lass ye got there, milord.”

  Mr. Pirate winced and started to clutch his arm where the man had touched him, but then dropped his hand and acknowledged the men as they passed.

  They walked on in silence. Light from street lamps gleamed off the brass-handled pistols stuffed in the baldric across his chest. His heavy boots crunched the sand. And Juliana desperately sought her mind for ways to be rid of him.

  All the while desperately wanting him to stay.

  “What is wrong with your arm?” she asked to break the silence.

  “A bruise. ’Tis nothing.”

  “No doubt gained from murdering some poor Spanish sailor.”

  “I believe he was French, milady.”

  She knew he was teasing her. Or was he? No matter. It confirmed just how dangerous this man truly was. Something she must never forget.

  She stopped in front of her house and faced him. “What is it you want from me, Mr. Pirate? And how do you know where I live?”

  “I know everything about this town. And I merely seek your friendship.”

  “If you know everything, then you know that friendship is not within my power to give you.”

  He leaned toward her, his warm breath wafting over her cheek. “Ofttimes friendship is not given but merely blossoms unannounced.”

  Stepping back from his nearness, she glanced at her home and released a heavy sigh. “I assure you nothing is blossoming in my life at the moment.”

  “Naught save the pink on your cheeks.” He grinned.

  “Merely from the walk, I assure you, Mr. Pirate.” Though they both knew otherwise. The cocksure man could see how he affected her, just as he no doubt affected every woman in town. And she hated that. She would not be one of the many ladies cooing and vying for a mere glance from the man. Then why was she standing here in front of her house like some lovesick minion unable to pull herself away?

  “I have a gift for you.” He reached within his jerkin.

  She raised a palm to stop him. “Let me be unmistakably clear, Mr. Pirate. You are a thief and a murderer. I am a godly woman espoused to the son of an earl. I cannot—nor will I—accept any gifts from you. In good sooth, I must insist you leave me alone. In the future, should you happen upon me on the street, I beg, do not approach. You must never speak to me again. My reputation and my future insist upon it, sir.”

  Why was the infernal rogue still smiling? “I only wished to give you these.” He pulled out a velvet pouch and handed it to her.

  Setting down her satchel and parasol, she took it and loosened the string to peer inside.

  Her heart stopped beating.

  ’Twas Mr. Kinder’s missing pearls.

  Chapter 24

  The shock, delight, and finally appreciation beaming from Miss Juliana’s face when she saw the pearls made Alex weak in the knees. And he was not a man given to being weak in the knees.

  “Where did you get—” The delight vanished, replaced by reproach. “You!” Her eyes flashed fire. “You’re the pirate who stole from my ship!” She punched him in the chest and then winced. It didn’t stop her, however, from pounding him again and again, her frustration rising amidst groans and grunts and a few choice names such as “scamp!” and “vagabond!” and “miscreant!”

  Alex heaved a sigh and stood his ground, allowing her temper to run its course, barely feeling her blows.

  Which only seemed to infuriate her further.

  “Ohhhhh!” She raised her fist for one more strike, when he caught it in midair.

  “Milady, if you please. Hear me out.”

  “There is nothing to hear, Pirate!” She tore from his grip and grabbed her parasol, leveling it upon him like a sword.

  Enchanting lady. Grinning, he ran a hand through his hair.

  “You pretend to be my friend.” She pressed the tip on his chest. “You pretend to protect and help me, while instead you seek information on the goods aboard my ships so you can pilfer them. Greedy, lowlife, son of a swine!” she seethed.

  “Let’s not bring my father into this, if you please,” Alex remarked coolly. Oh, but she was a wild cat, this one!

  She stabbed him with her parasol—hard—and he snagged it from her grasp. When she picked up her satchel and swung it at him, he ducked and took that from her too. Finally, she clutched the pearls to her chest, spearing him with a fiery gaze.

  “I want nothing more to do with you.” She turned to leave, but he snagged her wrist and held it fast. “Let me go, you beast. Mr. Abbot! Mr. Abbott!” But her home remained as quiet as a grave, the only sign of life a flickering light from an upstairs window.

  “First of all”—Alex began above her protests—“you never told me of your shipment. I heard about it in town. All over town, in fact.”

  “What are you talking about?” She continued to struggle. “Who would know such a thing?”

  “Your dear Captain Nichols, I’m afraid.”

  “Nichols?” She calmed and studied him. “Why would he …?”

  Moonlight shimmered over her moist lips, and Alex licked his own, longing to kiss her. Instead, he released her hand and returned the parasol and satchel to her. She accepted them mutely, her eyes still interrogating him.

  “As to how he obtained the information, I have no clue,” Alex said. “As to the why he released it about town, ’twas to bait me, of course. He’s been trying to catch me for years.” He shrugged. “Some sort of personal vendetta, if you will.”

  “Then why were you the only pirate to attempt to steal the pearls? Surely every greedy thief in town would have converged on my ship that night.”

  “Because pirates may be many things, milady, but we are not bird-wits. Traps are something we can smell oceans away.”

  “Perchance there is something wrong with your nose then, Mr. Pirate?” She smirked.

  “Nay”—he leaned toward her and drew in a breath—“your scent is quite lovely as usual.”

  She backed away while a divot appeared between her eyebrows. “Why take the risk of stealing the pearls only to return them to me?”

  “For the fun, the challenge.” He grinned. “The chance to infuriate that fluff-head Nichols.”

  Her jaw stiffened. “You play games with my family’s future, sir.”

  “Lud, I knew not it was your father’s brig, milady. Not until I had the pearls in hand.”

  A horse and rider trotted by as a burst of wind stirred the golden strands at her neck. She studied him. “What is it between you and Captain Nichols? Why do you hate each other so? It goes beyond his job as a naval officer to capture you.”

  Alex shifted his boots in the sand. “I have many enemies.”

  “Of that I have no doubt.” She gave a ladylike snort, then clutched the pearls to her chest as if her life depended on them. Mayhap it did.

  “Whether you believe me or not, I am glad to see the pearls back in your possession.”

  “What devilry are you about, Mr. Pirate? For I still cannot comprehend why you would return them. What kind of pirate are you?”

  “A gentleman pirate, milady.” He bowed. And one who now must pay his crew out of his own fortune—money he’d had to sell a few
valuables to acquire since he rarely kept that large a sum in his house.

  But it was worth the look on this lovely lady’s face.

  He no sooner rose from his bow when a roar much like thunder sounded, and the ground jolted beneath their feet. He clutched Juliana’s arm. Sand rippled across the street like waves at sea. It lasted but a few seconds, then all was quiet.

  She caught her breath, staring wildly about as if it would happen again. “We’ve been getting quakes a lot lately.”

  “Indeed, ’tis one of the exciting things about living in Port Royal.”

  Her chest rose and fell as she glanced at her house. “I perceive that your view of excitement and mine are quite the opposite, Mr. Pirate.”

  Reluctantly releasing her arm, Alex dared to raise his hand and run the back of his finger over her cheek.

  She jerked back. “Do not presume, Pirate, that returning my pearls will grant you access to my bed.”

  Alex gave her an inviting grin. “Are you sure that is not what you want?”

  “You brazen oaf! Of course not! How dare you!” She turned to leave.

  He stopped her with a touch. A mere touch was all it took. Despite her bluster. And Alex longed to draw her close. To protect her. To comfort her. And to keep her with him forever. Instead, he backed away. “I will be away for a while. Weeks, mayhap a month.”

  “Pirating?” She raised one eyebrow.

  “What else?” He grinned. “Never fear, I shall see you upon my return.”

  “Nay, you shall not, sir! I meant what I said earlier. You are not to speak to me ever again.”

  Yet she remained in place, staring at him as if she wished him to challenge such a ridiculous demand. Was it possible the lady felt something for him? He quickly prolonged the conversation. “Faith now, milady. How are you to reform my dark heart if we remain apart?”

  “That is not my concern.”

  “Yet I thought ’twas a Christian’s duty to save sinners from hell.”

  Her gaze skittered over the street. “For a heathen, you know much about Scripture.”

  Before she could stop him, he brushed fingers over her cheek yet again, murmuring, “I know that you are an angel sent from heaven.”

  To his surprise, she closed her eyes. Her lashes fluttered. He caressed her jaw. She trembled. He eased a lock of hair behind her ear. She gasped. He inched his hand behind her neck and drew her close. She did not resist. Then, leaning over, he gently brushed his lips over hers. Her breath caught. The pulse in her throat thumped madly beneath his hand.

  Abruptly, she tore from him, raised a hand to her mouth, and dashed into her house.

  ♥♥♥

  Juliana burst into her bedchamber and closed the door quietly instead of slamming it like she desired. Leaning back against the sturdy wood, she flung both hands to her heaving chest as she gazed into the darkness. She’d allowed the Pirate Earl to kiss her. The horror! The shame!

  The ecstasy …

  Yes, she’d enjoyed it. More than enjoyed it. Though it was but a whisper of a kiss, a bare touch of their lips, she’d felt like her spirit had left her body and soared through the heavens.

  Falling on her knees beside her bed, she clasped her hands together and begged forgiveness for her wantonness with a heathen pirate while she was betrothed to another. Surely all her good deeds of late would make up for this one tiny mistake? Oh, she must try much harder to be good, to be chaste. How could she expect God to help her when she was so weak? Thank you, Lord, for returning the pearls, but I beg you, please forgive me for my weakness.

  Even as she prayed, her traitorous body tingled in remembrance of the Pirate Earl’s lips brushing against hers. Angry at herself, she rose, lit a candle, and took up a pace over her Turkish carpet, wringing her hands and biting her lip. Finally, she plucked her violin from its stand, grabbed a bow, and began to play—a lively tune she hoped would lift her spirits. But after a while, the melody turned melancholy until tears streamed down her face. She put her violin down and batted them away.

  Sighing heavily, she strode to the window and pulled back the drapes. Clouds obscured the heavenly lights and oppressed the town with a darkness she could feel in her soul. How could she understand her attraction to him? A man whose vile deeds should send her running in the other direction. Not into his arms.

  Thunder growled in the distance, and a burst of rain-spiced wind whipped around her, spinning loose strands of her hair into a frenzy. Street lanterns dotted the city like stars on a night sky. She hugged herself and leaned against the window frame. Confusion spun her thoughts into bedlam. Nothing in her life was going well. A strange ailment afflicted the poor orphans. Regardless of the return of the pearls, Dutton Shipping was failing. Rowan had some nefarious alliance with Captain Nichols that could only spell disaster—she would have to have a word with Nichols about using her ship as bait. And her father was not getting better.

  Worse, Juliana had fallen for a pirate. Not just any pirate, but the most notorious pirate in Port Royal. No wonder God was displeased with her.

  Nay! She stomped her foot. With the huge burden she bore daily, ’twas no wonder her emotions were riotous. Yes, surely that was the reason for her wayward desires. Besides, hadn’t her heart recently softened toward Munthrope? He was a silly fop, to be sure, but nonetheless a gentleman with fortune and good breeding. Perchance her feminine compass was not totally askew.

  Oh, fie, what was she thinking? She had no need of a man at all. Especially not one who would abandon her. And both Lord Munthrope and the Pirate Earl were temperamental enough to do just that. Nay, she could take care of herself. She would make Dutton Shipping successful if it was the last thing she did. Her father would recover soon. And then all would be well.

  She gazed up at the dark, broiling clouds hanging so low she could almost touch them. “God Almighty, I promise to do better. I promise to care more for others, to be a better daughter and sister and friend and to help those in need. And I promise never again to … to speak to the Pirate Earl.”

  Movement below drew her gaze. A man dressed in leather stepped from beneath a tree into the light of a street lantern. Even from where she stood, she could feel his penetrating gaze upon her before he flipped his hat atop his head and strode away.

  ♥♥♥

  “Miss Juliana! Miss Juliana!” A voice, distant and hollow, pierced Juliana’s blissful fog of sleep. She ignored it. She preferred the fog—the peace, the serenity of unconsciousness to whatever she would face when the day dawned.

  Still the shouts persisted … desperate … tormented. Someone grabbed her shoulder and shook her, whisking the fog away and sparking her mind to life. What she wouldn’t give for a few more moments, just a few precious seconds in which she didn’t carry the weight of the world.

  “Miss Juliana! He’s dying. Get up. You must get up.” Miss Ellie’s frantic tone snapped Juliana’s eyes open. The maid’s face hovered over her—a round specter haloed by a candlelit mob cap. Shoving her quilt aside, Juliana flung on her robe and dashed to her father’s room, Miss Ellie whimpering behind her.

  The chamber smelled of death. Sour and rot and hopelessness. She knew the scent well. It had hovered over her mother for days before she passed. On one side of her father’s bed stood Mr. Abbot, a mournful look on his face. On the other, stood Cook, wringing her hands. And in the middle, shriveled up like a used rag, lay her father, the slight rise and fall of his bony chest the only indication that he still hung onto life.

  Miss Ellie ran to kneel beside him, gripping his hand and sobbing.

  Horror numbed Juliana. All she could manage was, “Where’s Rowan?”

  “He’s not come home yet, miss,” Abbot said. “Shall I go look for him?”

  “Nay.” There was no point. Rowan would come home when Rowan was ready to come home.

  Candlelight angled over Cook’s face as she passed Juliana and murmured, “I’ll brew some tea, miss.” As if a cup of tea would make the world right again.


  Juliana swallowed and approached her father, easing onto the bed beside him, expecting the usual castigation—and oddly feeling sad when it didn’t come. Instead, he struggled to open his eyes and turned toward Ellie. “Ah, stop your crying, sweet Ellie. We knew a cantankerous old sod like me wouldn’t live out his days.” His voice sounded so very weak.

  “Don’t be sayin’ sich things, sir.”

  “Henry. Please use my Christian name.” He rasped out a cough that seemed to pain him. “Just once.”

  Juliana was stunned by the affection between the maid and her father.

  “Henry.” Ellie said the word with reverence, then took his hand and pressed her cheek against it, tears slipping from her eyes. “You cannot leave. I won’t stand for it.”

  He squeezed her hand. “A man knows when he’s done for.” He coughed again, the effort exhausting him. He closed his eyes and his shallow breathing became hoarse and labored. Blood trickled from one side of his mouth, and Juliana dabbed it with a rag, forcing back her tears.

  He slowly turned and faced her, surprise flickering across his expression as if he hadn’t realized she was there. “Juliana.”

  “Yes, Papa. I’m here,” she choked out as emotion seared her throat.

  “’Twould seem you and Abbot got what you wanted.” He snorted with his usual disdain.

  “Papa, don’t say such things. All we wanted was for you to get well.”

  He seemed ready to argue, but released a sigh instead as if he had no fight left in him. “I’ve not been a good father to you,” he finally whispered and closed his eyes again.

  Now the tears came, spilling down her cheeks and dripping from her jaw into her lap. All her life she’d waited to hear those words. All her life she’d desperately longed to hear his admission of guilt—that he’d treated her and Rowan terribly and was sorry for it, that mayhap somewhere deep inside, he loved them. But hearing the words now brought her no comfort.

  “It doesn’t matter, Papa. All that matters is that you ask forgiveness from God and go to him in peace.”

  He closed his eyes and frowned. “Never was much for religion.”