The gray-haired pirate returned with food. and Charlisse ate as much as her shrunken stomach could tolerate. For the first time in over a month, the gnawing ache of hunger ceased. She knew her strength would return soon. When it did, she would formulate a plan of escape.
The pirate captain avoided Charlisse for the rest of that day. She spent her time resting as much as she could and eating whatever the man—whose name, she discovered, was Sloane—offered her. By midday of the following day, she felt much better, her strength almost completely restored. But her fear had not subsided. In fact it had only intensified as her peril became clear.
Still clothed in a ragged petticoat, she became increasingly uneasy at the bawdy looks shot her way from the pirate camp not more than ten yards from where she lay. As the work on the ship neared completion, the large brigantine was brought upright and anchored offshore, and without anything further to do, the pirates sauntered aimlessly about camp and spent most of their time drinking rum.
Charlisse had no idea what her course of action should be—no brilliant escape plan had formed in her mind. Sloane, who had apparently been assigned the duty of guarding and tending her, was as amiable as she supposed any pirate could be. Yet she became increasingly anxious as time passed, wishing that fate would simply proceed with whatever hideous plan it had devised.
The sun aimed its golden rays between the gaps of swaying palm fronds above her, casting patches of dancing light across her petticoat. Momentarily mesmerized by their exotic ballet, Charlisse stared at them, unable to think clearly. She looked at the pirates that milled about the camp. A few glanced her way. Averting her eyes, she gazed at the soothing, familiar sight of the turquoise waves that caressed the shore, hoping to find solace there.
She felt a fleeting spark of hope—one she dared not cling to—brought on by the surprising civility of the captain. However, she had discovered kindness was often a mask behind which people hid selfish motives. How could that not be true in this case, with a man who made piracy his profession?
She felt his piercing stare upon her even before she looked up. Their gazes locked. Though he stood on the other side of camp, she felt violated—as if he were reading her every thought. Another pirate called him and he turned away, leaving Charlisse flustered. Was it only fear or something else that caused her whirlwind of emotions?
Struggling to rise, she finally managed to balance on wobbly legs. It felt good to be on her feet again—to regain some measure of control. All eyes shifted in her direction, and Sloane appeared instantly at her side.
“Where be ye goin’, miss?” he asked.
“What does it matter?” she snapped. “I can’t escape you and your fiendish friends.” She slapped sand from her petticoat and glared at Sloane, who stood, silently regarding her. A breeze picked up, fluttering through her hair. Though the sky was clear, the spicy sting of rain filled her nostrils. She sighed, giving the pirate her best pleading look. “I need to take a short walk.”
“It be best if ye stay close to the cap’n, miss.”
“Indeed? Why is that?”
Sloane cast an apprehensive look toward the camp. “I don’t mean to be worryin’ ye none, miss, but some o’ the other men ain’t as chivalrous as the cap’n, if ye know what I mean.”
“Chivalrous, you say?” She smirked, glancing at the captain who was again glaring at her from across the camp. She held her hand out to Sloane. “Might you escort me to the water’s edge, sir?”
Sloane chuckled. “Not many ladies ever called me sir.” He hesitated, grinning at her, his face reddening. After glancing toward Merrick—who nodded—Sloane offered her his arm.
The water was an artistic blend of turquoise and jade green with waves that glittered like precious jewels before dissipating on shore into a million shimmering pieces of crystal. Palm fronds danced gleefully in the wind, rejoicing in the magnificent view nature had given them.
Charlisse dipped a foot into the warm water. A myriad of colorful fish darted to and fro among the coral reefs, and she watched them with the curiosity of a child seeing something extraordinary for the first time. Envying their carefree life, she wished more than anything that she could transform into one and swim away … away from the pirates, away from her life, away from her past.
Holding up her petticoat, she waded out to her knees and splashed the saltwater onto her arms and face. With her eyes closed and the warmth of the sun and waves massaging her tense muscles, she dreamed she was happy and safe—if only for a moment. But the sounds of the pirate camp broke her trance, and she knew that happiness was but a fleeting dream, not something to ever be realized.
The sky darkened, the wind picked up, and soon heavy droplets pounded the water like pebbles. Still she remained, allowing the warm rain to wash away the grime and dirt of the past month. She remained until her hair was drenched and rivulets of water ran down her body. She remained even as the waves grew larger and threatened to pull her out to sea. She remained because she didn’t want to return and face the horrors awaiting her. But the only thing in front of her was the raging ocean. And she knew that horror all too well.
She turned toward Sloane, who looked like an overweight, drowning rat, and saw the captain standing on shore beside him, watching her intently. He held out a brown tunic in her direction, motioning her to come ashore. With no other option, Charlisse reluctantly splashed through the surf toward them, bracing against the waves slamming her from behind. Only when she reached shore did she realize that the rain had not only glued her thin petticoat to her body, accentuating her curves, but it also made those curves quite visible. Mortified, she grabbed the tunic, but the captain refused to let it go. His playful glance skimmed her from head to toe as a smile lifted one corner of his mouth.
Charlisse yanked the fabric from his grasp. “You cad,” she exclaimed, holding it up to her chest.
“At your service, milady.” He tipped his hat, bowed gracefully, and strode off.
“So this is your chivalrous captain?” she huffed, quickly donning the oversized tunic.
Sloane scratched his head. “Well, miss, he did get ye the shirt, eh?”
Chapter 8: Captain Merrick
The rain soon stopped, and Charlisse spent the afternoon sitting under the palm trees, examining her captors with a mixture of interest and trepidation. Most of them busied themselves hoisting barrels, crates, and furniture into cockboats, which they then rowed out to the ship.
Back and forth they went, returning all the ship’s supplies in preparation for what Charlisse assumed to be its imminent departure. She gulped and grabbed a strand of her hair—still wet from the ocean—twisting it between her fingers. What will they do with me? They had fed her and nursed her back to health, but for what purpose? Would they take her with them, or leave her here to die alone?
She thought of her father. As her strength returned, her quest to find him resurfaced with renewed fervor. Yet her only hope of achieving her goal seemed to be in the hands of these pirates and their enigmatic captain.
She had never seen such men. Some walked around with sweat glistening on their bare chests; some clothed themselves in silks, taffetas, and velvet in a mismatched array that was obnoxious to her fashion sensibilities; some had long shaggy hair, while others were bald; some were thin, some stout. Most were dirty, both in appearance and in the vulgarity that proceeded from their mouths. One man—the one they called the doctor—had only one eye. Another man was missing a leg below the knee, but with the help of a cane, he moved around as well as any of the others.
The man who caught her attention, however, was the captain. She watched him stride about the beach, talking with the men, helping them load supplies into the boats. He carried himself with the easy assurance of a man of power—a natural leader who had obviously earned the respect of his men. Pirate or not, he was a most handsome man. She felt drawn to him and hated herself for it. This silly attraction could only be due to insanity brought on by weeks of hunger and lonel
iness, coupled with a fever that had plainly eaten away half her brain. For according to his profession, he could be nothing but a scoundrel, a thief, and a rogue.
Darkness dropped its shroud over the tiny island. Though her day had not been strenuous, exhaustion weighed upon her. After a meal of dried beef and biscuits, Charlisse sank to her blankets, but found her slumber hounded by familiar nightmares that tormented her by night and haunted her by day.
♥♥♥
Merrick lay by the fire, desperately seeking rest before dawn. The new day would bring an abundance of work and many challenges as they sailed from this island haven. The pirates had retired from their drinking unusually early. Most were already asleep. Envious of their peace, Merrick could not find a way to join them. It was the girl. He could not get her out of his mind.
In the past few days, she had blossomed before his eyes, regaining her health and beauty with each passing minute. He cursed himself for behaving the lecherous cur that afternoon. When he’d seen her standing there, dripping wet and looking so . . . so . . .—even now his body warmed at the thought—alluring, he’d wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms. To have slipped back into his old salacious self—if only for a moment—was discouraging. And it made him wish all the more for the moment of their departure. Then he could deposit her in some civilized port, where she would be safe, away from him, and away from his unruly crew.
Merrick sighed. There was more to this girl than just a comely face. She had a strength in her. He saw it in her eyes—a courage and fortitude that could not be hidden behind her timid exterior.
He prayed silently, thanking the Lord for all his blessings and asking for strength and wisdom.
♥♥♥
Charlisse sensed someone staring at her, even in her half-conscious state—even in the darkness that still held the island in slumber. Thick clouds meandered across the sky, allowing choice beams of a bright moon to filter down between them. A chill ran down her spine and she sat up, peering into the blackness. The shadowy outline of the captain came into focus.
“What do you want?” She clutched the blanket to her chest, fearing the worst.
Merrick remained in the shadows, silent, examining her.
Finally he spoke, his voice calm and deep. “You were having nightmares.”
What had he heard? She hid her anxiety with harshness. “And what concern is that to you?”
He shifted in the sand. “I’m wondering …” He hesitated. “What circumstances brought you to this island all alone?”
She sighed, remembering the shipwreck, the terror of her ordeal of the past month, the starvation, the loneliness, the yearning for a death that never came.
And then being captured by pirates—rumored to be men without morals or decency. Now this man, their captain, what did he want? What sort of slippery charade was he playing?
“It should make no difference to you,” she said.
“Why must you be so difficult, miss? It makes a great deal of difference to me, since you have put me in the rather precarious position of defending your honor.”
Charlisse grabbed a lock of her hair. “And what would you know of honor, pirate?”
She sensed him smiling and it only emboldened her further. “It is neither my desire nor my request that you defend my honor, or anything else of mine. In fact, I can only assume I am your prisoner.” She studied him, but he did not flinch, made no comment.
The wind picked up, and a burst of moist air blew over her, softening her mood. She reconsidered her harsh tone. Despite his chosen profession—and the degradation that went with it—he had saved her life, and hadn’t allowed his men to ravish her.
“However, sir,” she added more softly, “I am very thankful for your care.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard,” he taunted.
“What?”
“Being courteous.”
Charlisse gazed into the night, anywhere but at his handsome face. Moonlight sprinkled silvery foam on waves as they crashed ashore, the sound so familiar to her now that it was almost soothing. In the midst of the camp, the fire had nearly died down and the pirates’ revelry with it, bringing an ill-suited, peaceful mood over the whole scene. Except for the dangerous man beside her.
“If you must know, I booked passage on a merchant ship from London to Port Royal,” she said. “We went down in a storm, and somehow I ended up here.” She thought of Captain Hathaway. “I don’t know what happened to the rest of the crew.”
“How long have you been here?”
“I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “Four or five weeks, perhaps. I lost track of everything after a while. I thought I was going to die.”
Merrick glanced at the ocean, and then over to the dark jungle beyond the beach. A sliver of moonlight escaped the clouds and lined the firm planes of his face. “You must have been horrified, a lady all alone in such a frightening place.”
It was a strange thing for a pirate to say. Why would he care how she felt? He had called her a lady. She had been raised as one, to be sure, but had never really felt the part. “Who says I’m a lady?” The words were out before she realized it might be more advantageous to assume the role among these men.
The captain’s eyes widened.
“You hold yourself as a lady, miss. ’Tis obvious from your speech and your mannerisms. But if you wish me not to treat you as such, I’d be happy to oblige.” A ruthless smile lifted his lips.
Ignoring his barb, she let the silence hang between them, confused at his wavering moods—one minute kind, the next threatening.
“What was your business in Port Royal, if I may ask? It’s unusual for a lady to be traveling alone.”
“You may ask,” she replied curtly. “But it’s my turn to ask a question of you.”
”Very well.”
“What do you intend to do with me, Captain? I know who you are and what you do. I’ve heard the stories—”
“You’ve heard stories about me?” He snickered. “I’m flattered.”
“Not about you, specifically, Captain … Merrick, is it?”
He nodded. “At your service, milady.”
“But about pirates in general.”
“Well then, maybe you should tell me what I should do with you.”
Charlisse searched his eyes. A sea breeze toyed with strands of his hair. It was as black as the night, as wild as the man who wore it.
Why was he being so obstinate? But what did she expect from a pirate, or from any man? Hadn’t her uncle done the same thing?
His voice suddenly softened. “May I ask your name, milady?”
She hesitated, unsure. “Charlisse Bristol.”
“Charlisse …” He nodded. “It has a beautiful sound to it.”
A cloud passed overhead, consuming him once again in shadow, and she wondered at the sudden sense of loss she felt. No longer able to see his eyes, she looked away.
He took a step. She flinched. “Have no fear. I’m simply moving myself to a more respectable distance, for I perceive I’m not only keeping you from your sleep, but causing you some distress as well.” He bowed. “Please rest. You will need it for the trip tomorrow.”
“Trip? What trip?”
“We’re to set sail,” he announced.
“Where to?” Fear crowded in her throat as his words sank in. “I can’t go on a pirate ship!”
“I’m sorry, milady, but ’tis the only ship I have, so you’ll have to make do. And as far as where we are going, rest assured, I will drop you off at your port of choice—Port Royal, wasn’t it?—as soon as possible. Your presence is as much a burden to me, as mine undoubtedly is to you.”
Chapter 9: Aboard the Redemption
Charlisse entered the captain’s cabin, her bare toes sinking into the soft fibers of a Persian rug. Sloane followed close behind. The cabin carried a dark and mysterious atmosphere and smelled of spices and wood. The décor was masculine and austere like its master, yet expressed a taste of nobility,
which seemed at odds with its owner. A grand mahogany desk stood to one side, covered with maps and books in disarray. Brass candlesticks, silver trinkets, and a small gold chest filled with glowing pearls also sat haphazardly upon it.
A bookcase made up one wall, filled with all manner of scholarly tomes. Next to it rested a beautifully-crafted armoire. A small bed, framed in carved oak, filled the left corner. Beside it, a large stained-glass window showered myriad delicate colors across the oak floor. A teakwood trunk lay open next to the bed, overflowing with vests and doublets, black suits, and fine ruffled Holland shirts.
Exhausted, Charlisse sunk into one of two cushioned leather chairs.
“Cap’n says ye best stay here, miss, fer yer own protection,” Sloane said. “I’ll bring ye some tea after we set sail.” He closed the sturdy oak door with a thud.
Charlisse snuggled into the soft leather, enjoying the feel of a chair beneath her again. She sighed. She had simply gone from one prison to another—from the deserted island to a cage with four walls. At this point, she had no idea which one she preferred, although at least this prison moved and could possibly take her to Port Royal. No matter what she faced along the way, she must survive—if only to look into her father’s eyes just once.
Scanning the room for a weapon, her eyes landed on a leather-bound book on the desk. A Bible? She got up to examine it. Indeed, it was a Bible. Puzzled, she picked it up and shuffled through the pages. A pirate who was a man of faith? What a dichotomy. Or perhaps he simply possessed the holy book in the hopes of gaining favor with God. Thoughts of her uncle instantly flooded her mind: a bishop in the Church of England, complete with flowing robes and a golden crucifix. A perfect picture of sacred piety. Yet inside he was naught but a twisted, enraged man. Why, when she was thousands of miles away, could she not forget him and the horror he had inflicted on her? “Hypocrites, all of them,” she spat, tossing the book back on the desk.
The Redemption (Legacy of the King's Pirates Book 1) Page 5
