The Redemption (Legacy of the King's Pirates Book 1)

by Marylu Tyndall

  When Sloane arrived with lunch, she begged him to ask the captain to allow her to come on deck for a short while. He left shaking his head, telling her not to get her hopes up, but surprisingly, when the pirate returned, he had a smile on his face.

  “Cap’n says it be all right fer jist a few minutes, but I got to escort ye.”

  “I suppose he was none too happy about it,” Charlisse said.

  “That be true, miss.” He led her down the companionway and up the stairs to the main deck.

  The Caribbean breeze, although warm and humid, splashed across her face and neck like a winter chill. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes as it filtered down her dress and caressed her moist skin. It smelled of salt and fish and a hint of sweet tropical flowers.

  If she allowed herself to dream, she could imagine for a moment—a precious, fleeting moment—that she was safely aboard her father’s merchant ship, that she had found him and he loved her.

  But when she opened her eyes, she saw only the leering gaze of a few pirates, working in the shrouds, who had stopped what they were doing to stare at her.

  “Back to work, you jackals,” bellowed a deep voice from above her.

  Grumbling, the pirates returned to their duties. Charlisse found Merrick standing gallantly on the quarterdeck, hands on his hips, face like stone, shirt and hair blowing in the wind. Their gazes locked for a moment before he turned away. She had meant to give him a nod of appreciation for allowing her on deck, but his fierce demeanor dissuaded her.

  “What puts the captain in such a foul mood?” she asked Sloane as they approached the railing.

  “Naw, miss, he’s not in a foul mood.” He looked down, frowning. “He jist gets a bit tough now an’ then. The nature o’ his command, ye know.”

  “Or his personality.”

  “Naw, miss, ye be misjudgin’ him, methinks.”

  Charlisse examined Sloane’s weathered face. His eyes squinted in the bright sunlight, but she could find no insincerity in them. Burly and stout, he reminded Charlisse of Captain Hathaway. Scratching his coarse gray beard, he pointed to something out in the water.

  “Looky there, miss.”

  She followed his gaze to a group of large gray-and-white creatures leaping in the waves only a few yards from the ship.

  “Oh, how wonderful.” She leaned farther over the rail for a better look. “Are they dolphins? I’ve never seen them before.”

  “Aye, miss. Beautiful animals they be, an’ friendly too.”

  The dolphins skipped in and out of the water, keeping pace with the ship. “What are they doing?”

  “I don’t knows much about ’em, miss, but I’d say they was escortin’ us to Port Royal, wouldn’t ye?”

  Charlisse chuckled. “Yes, it does seem so.” It felt good to laugh. Remarkably good. Yet odd in the midst of such perilous circumstances.

  She glanced over the endless sea. No land was in sight, just the vast, blue ocean, calm and deep, extending as far as she could see, its waves twinkling in the sunlight. Small, dark clouds gathered on the eastern horizon. The thought of another storm sent a spike of unease through her.

  Movement drew her attention behind her where a group of pirates loitered by the foredeck ladder, passing a bottle. Rum, no doubt. Others sat on barrels playing cards, while two men mopped the deck. All were armed with swords, knives, and pistols. Most were young—under thirty, she’d guess—and they looked at her as if they hadn’t seen a woman in a lifetime. She shivered.

  One man, who leaned arrogantly against the railing across the deck, kept staring her way. When their eyes met, his mouth curved in a smile. He took off his hat and bowed. Charlisse quickly spun to face the sea.

  “Don’t be worryin’ about none o’ them, miss,” Sloane said. “They’s under strict orders by the cap’n to not be touchin’ ye.”

  “Is that so?” Charlisse felt her stomach clench, but offered Sloane a half-smile. “How does he manage that?”

  “By claimin’ ye fer hisself, miss.”

  Her lips tightened. “Am I mere property to be claimed on some pirate’s whim?” Her face heated. The outright audacity. She belonged to no man—not anymore—and never would again.

  Sloane glanced at Merrick up on the quarterdeck, where he stood examining a chart that was lain out before him. “Well, miss, he tells them ye are his, if ye know what I mean. They know better than to touch the cap’n’s woman.” He gave her a sly look.

  Something hard in her began to soften. The sensation felt both awkward and vulnerable. She didn’t like it. As if reading her thoughts, Sloane added, “Don’t ye worry, miss. The cap’n’s will be stronger than most.”

  The statement brought her little comfort. As if sensing her dismay, the clouds blackened overhead, swarming over the ship like vultures, obscuring the sunlight, and riding on a wind that swept Charlisse’s hair behind her. The dolphins left, taking their playful mood with them. Perhaps it was an omen of bad of things to come. Perhaps she should learn all she could about this man who held her captive.

  “Tell me more about the captain, Sloane.”

  He grinned. “With smilin’ pleasure, miss, ye see—”

  “May I interrupt?” The voice was dark and silky.

  Charlisse turned to see the pirate who had bowed to her so courteously from across the deck. His face was as smooth as his voice, and his smile nearly as charming as his manner. He wore brown knee breeches and silk stockings, a shirt trimmed in lace under a doublet of violet taffeta. His dark brown hair fell to his shoulders in a fashionable style. Young, tall, and well-built, he stood with a confidence Charlisse found strangely reassuring.

  Sloane frowned and did not make the expected introduction.

  The pirate took off his hat and bowed. “I don’t believe we’ve been formally introduced, milady. I’m Kent Frederick Carlton.”

  “How do you do, Mr. Carlton.” Charlisse nodded, surprised to find so eloquent a man on board a pirate ship.

  “And you are …?” He held out his hand.

  She offered him hers. “Charlisse Bristol.”

  His lips touched her fingers and lingered there too long. “I trust you have been treated well thus far, milady.” He shifted his eyes, nodding behind him where Merrick stood. A look of apprehension crossed his gaze.

  Sloane cleared his throat.

  “As well as can be expected, I suppose.” Charlisse swerved her gaze to Merrick, then back to Kent. “How kind of you to inquire.” She smiled. Hope flickered within her. Perhaps she had found an ally on board this ship of miscreants.

  Stepping closer, Kent leaned toward her. A heated wave flowed through her as she stared into his dark brown eyes. “If you are in need of anything, please call upon me.” He winked, and Charlisse’s breath quickened.

  “Ah, by thunder.” Sloane snorted. “That’ll do it, Master Kent.” He stepped between them.

  “I was merely being polite.” He donned his hat, still smiling. “Surely, I’m allowed to speak to the lady.”

  Sloane stood his ground, his right hand inching toward his cutlass. “Cap’n’s orders. No one’s to be botherin’ her.”

  Kent’s gaze shifted to Charlisse. “Was I bothering you, miss?”

  She hesitated, flustered by her confusing emotions. “Not at all.”

  A movement behind him caught her attention. Kent turned as Merrick descended the quarterdeck ladder, anger lining his expression. For a moment, the dashing pirate paused, his lips twitching beneath his thin mustache. Then he stepped back.

  “Until later, milady.” He bowed once again and left, nearly bumping into Merrick. The two men’s gazes locked for several seconds before they parted.

  “Take her below,” the captain ordered Sloane, not once glancing toward Charlisse, before he leapt back onto the quarterdeck.

  Down in the cabin, Charlisse questioned Sloane about Kent.

  “He be the first mate. Good sailor. Better at swordplay than any I seen in a while. I’m glad he didn’t draw his
sword.” He grinned at her, and then added in a capricious voice, “Bit o’f a jackanapes, if ye asks me.”

  “I thought he was rather charming.”

  Sloane wrinkled his brow. “Looks can be deceivin’, miss.” He headed for the door. “Ye jist be stayin’ put.”

  ♥♥♥

  A gust of wind whipped up his charts, and Merrick glanced at the approaching storm—just a summer squall, nothing to worry about. Rolling up the parchment, he issued an order to furl the topsails.

  Merrick knew it was a bad idea to allow the girl on deck. It was a bad idea to have a woman on board in the first place. She was a distraction that would only cause dissension among the men. He recalled the sight of her leaning on the rail, her waist-length golden curls blowing in the wind, the sound of her feminine, childlike laugher as she watched the dolphins. He could hardly keep his eyes off her. How could he captain a ship and keep his men in line with such beauty flashing before their eyes like a sparkling diamond within reach … yet untouchable?

  Kent. The boy reminded him of himself not long ago—hotheaded, lecherous, and arrogant. If anyone was a threat on this ship, if anyone would dare challenge Merrick’s authority, it was Master Kent. He knew this, because Merrick had done precisely that, nigh three years ago, on another ship, to his own captain.

  Chapter 11: The Storm Within

  The rain came in torrents, pounding mercilessly on the window of the cabin, trying to reach in and grab Charlisse and plunge her into the sea once again. With each crashing wave, the ship bucked feverishly. Charlisse clung to her bed, sick to her stomach—not sure whether her sudden illness was caused by the rolling of the ship or her nerves.

  A flash of lightning streaked the darkened sky, followed by an enormous boom that rumbled through the ship, testing each timber and bolt with its fury.

  The cabin door opened, and she looked up to see Merrick removing his hat. Water poured from its brim onto the floor.

  He looked at her. “Merely a summer storm, milady. It should be over soon.”

  “We will not go down?” Her voice quavered.

  A smile curved his lips. “One never knows with these squalls.” He shrugged off his drenched waistcoat and threw it on a chair.

  The drip drip accompanied the awkward silence filling the room as Charlisse felt her panic rise. But then she saw the teasing lift of his eyebrow, and anger replaced her fear.

  She worked to unclench her hands and tried to sound as unconcerned as he. “When will we get to Port Royal?”

  Removing his baldric and cutlass, he sank into one of the leather chairs and shook his wet hair, raking a hand through it before fixing her with an intense gaze.

  Charlisse shifted her eyes away.

  “About two days,” he finally answered.

  She nodded, glancing out the window. Another burst of thunder trembled the sky.

  She jumped.

  “I assure you, milady, you are quite safe.”

  She snapped her gaze to his. “Am I?”

  A playful twinkle crossed his eyes. “From the storm, at least.” Eerie shadows swayed across the cabin from the lantern overhead as Merrick rose and poured rum into a dirty glass.

  Someone tapped on the door, and Sloane entered carrying a tray of tea. “Jist some dried beef an’ old biscuits tonight, I’m afraid, due to the storm.” He set it down and looked from Merrick to Charlisse.

  The captain slammed the rum to the back of his throat then sat back down. “Sit, eat with us,” he insisted.

  “Why, thank ye, Cap’n. Don’t mind if I do.” Sloane offered a biscuit to Charlisse and plopped into a chair beside Merrick.

  The ship continued its chaotic rolling, and she wondered how anyone could eat anything at all. Yet the two pirates consumed biscuits as if they were enjoying a picnic on dry land.

  Another clap of thunder bellowed. Charlisse sprang from the bed and began pacing, her silk skirt swooshing with each step. Her head spun and her stomach churned. The ship lurched to port. She stumbled but caught herself on the bedpost.

  “You’ll get used to it after a while.” Merrick chuckled. “Maybe you should sit down.” He pointed to the bed.

  “I prefer to walk.”

  “Some tea might settle yer belly,” Sloane offered.

  Yet after several minutes of barely keeping balance on the heaving ship, along with a terrifying vision of herself sprawled on the deck in front of these two men, skirts flung over her head, she finally sat and accepted the cup from Sloane’s outstretched hand.

  The warm tea soothed her throat. She hoped she would keep it down.

  Leaning back in his chair, Merrick propped his boots on the table, while Sloane continued to devour biscuits. Charlisse could see where the old sailor got his corpulent figure.

  “Do tell, Miss Bristol, what draws you to Port Royal?” Merrick asked.

  She hesitated, wondering whether he was searching for information or just passing idle moments. “My father is there.” Before the words left her lips, it occurred to her that claiming to have a strong, protective father waiting for her in Port Royal may keep this pirate captain at bay.

  “Ah, yer father,” Sloane exclaimed. “That be good, miss.”

  “Is he awaiting your arrival?” Merrick asked, his tone suspicious.

  “Of course he is. And if I am delayed,” she added for good measure, “I assure you, he will spare no expense to search for me and exact revenge on those who kept me from him.”

  “Is that so?” Merrick smirked. “Then I expect he’s out looking for you now since your arrival has already been delayed by a shipwreck?”

  Ignoring him, she fingered a lock of hair that had fallen in her lap, wishing she had pins with which to put it up properly. How improper and undignified to have her long curls flowing in abandon around her—especially in front of these men.

  “What does your father do?”

  She fixed him with a cold eye. “He’s a merchantman, if you must know, based in Port Royal. He sent for me to come and live with him.”

  “Hmm.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “I believe ye, miss,” Sloane announced between bites.

  Merrick chuckled. “You’d believe her if she said she was the queen of England, you gullible old fool.”

  Sloane grinned and offered Charlisse more tea.

  She declined, her stomach still uneasy.

  “You’re from London, then?” Merrick continued his questioning.

  “Yes.”

  “Where in London?”

  She searched the captain’s face. His lips wore naught but the insolent smirk that frequently played there. What mischief was he about? “Hampstead.”

  Merrick sipped his tea, nodding. “I know the area.”

  “What of it?”

  “You come from a noble family.”

  Charlisse said nothing.

  “Fine gowns, jewels, balls to attend, the best tutors?”

  Charlisse lifted her chin. “What is it to you?”

  Merrick sighed, his brow furrowing.

  “Something troubles you, Captain?”

  He tore off a bite of dried beef and lay back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her. “So you left the comforts of home, bartered passage on a lowly merchant vessel—without benefit of escort—and embarked on the dangerous crossing from England all by yourself?” One dark brow rose.

  “That I did. And I don’t see how it is any business of yours.” She met his stare defiantly. What would he do when he discovered she had no sheltering father waiting for her in Port Royal? Every ounce of her hoped that she did. It could be true, after all. But this pirate was not dull of wit.

  “’Tis mighty dangerous to be travelin’ alone, miss,” Sloane added. “Especially a lady as young as yerself.” He stuffed a clump of beef into his mouth.

  “With that I will agree.” Merrick set down his tea. “Whatever the reason, you have my utmost regard for attempting such a
precarious journey. I know of no other lady who would have been so brave and resourceful.”

  The esteem in his gaze and sincerity in his tone both shocked and unnerved Charlisse. She shifted on the bed. “What do you mean whatever the reason? I told you my reason.”

  “Do you know what I think?” Merrick leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, looking at her with those imperious eyes.

  No, she actually didn’t wish to know what he thought.

  “I think you’re running away from something.”

  “Your opinions are of no interest to me, Captain.”

  Merrick leaned back, a faint smirk on his mouth.

  “If you must know, my mother died,” she uttered in a shaky voice. Well, it was true, though it happened twelve years ago. “And as I have said, my father sent for me.”

  “He sent for you but provided no means for you to get there, nor a proper escort for your protection?”

  “How dare you insult the honor and intentions of my father, sir!” Charlisse’s stomach clenched and made a gurgling sound she feared would give away her nervousness.

  “I beg your pardon, milady.” Merrick dipped his head. “That was not my intention. I was only inferring that if you were my daughter, I would not let such a precious creature travel these dangerous waters alone.”

  “I assure you, sir, I can take care of myself,” she snapped, not missing his compliment.

  “Indeed, so you have shown.”

  Charlisse sighed and looked toward the window. The rain had stopped, but a sudden chill came over her. She rubbed her arms. Was this the price of her passage to Port Royal, to endure these probing and insulting questions? She had never met such a pompous and infuriating man. It was as if he could see right through every lie she uttered, only to toss each one back in her face. Yet, if these childish banters were the only cost of the voyage, she resolved herself to endure them. She feared, however, she would pay a much higher price before reaching her destination.