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

by Marylu Tyndall

  Charlisse had never heard anyone speak of God like this before, not in all her uncle’s eloquent speeches, nor all the hundreds of sermons she had heard at church. “You’re not from the Anglican church, are you?”

  “I’m a Presbyterian,” he said proudly. “We believe in this.” He walked over and held up a black leather-bound book, which Charlisse recognized as a Bible—the same type Merrick had in his cabin.

  Charlisse huffed. The reverend made it sound as though God wanted an intimate relationship with his children—that he wanted to work individually in their lives to make them better people. It was so unlike the cold, foreboding God she had been taught about all her life.

  She had not known Merrick before his transformation, but she could not deny that he was now a man of integrity and kindness. Nor could she deny that Reverend Buchan was unlike any man of God she had known. A genuine love emanated from him, so much so, that it shone through his eyes as if his very spirit could not contain it.

  A pounding on the door startled her from her thoughts. “Merrick,” she cried, rushing to open it. The reverend jumped in front of her, motioning her to be quiet. He glanced around the room, flung open a cabinet, and grabbed a shovel. Holding it above his head, he crept toward the door. The pounding resumed.

  “Rev, let me in!” a hoarse whisper sounded from outside.

  Cracking the door, the reverend peered out and lowered the shovel just as Sloane burst into the room.

  “The cap’n’s been arrested!” His eyes blazed.

  Charlisse’s heart skipped a beat.

  “They’re goin’ to hang him.” Sloane added, still breathing hard. “At Execution Dock.”

  Chapter 25: The Prison

  “When?” Charlisse demanded. “When are they going to hang him?”

  “Don’t rightly know, miss,” Sloane spat between breaths. “More ’n likely not till next Friday. Friday’s be hangin’ days here in Port Royal.”

  “Who arrested him?” the reverend asked.

  “The gov’nor. Chained an’ taken away by a band o’ British troops not an hour ago.”

  The reverend peered into the darkness before shutting the door. “Have a seat, Mr. Sloane.” He gestured toward a chair. “Let’s calm down and hear the whole story.”

  “There be nothin’ much to tell, Rev.” Sloane remained standing. “The cap’n got in a bit o’ a brawl with Edward the Terror down at the Dead Reckonin’.” He cast an apprehensive glance at Charlisse.

  “My father?”

  “Aye, miss.”

  Charlisse clenched her jaw. “He knew where my father was, and he didn’t tell me!”

  The reverend took a step toward her. “It was for your protection, Miss Bristol.”

  Charlisse swerved to face him. “You knew about this too? Are there no trustworthy men to be found anywhere?”

  “Naw, miss. Ye be misunderstandin’, methinks.”

  “Then, please do explain, Mr. Sloane.” Heat seared up her neck. “Better yet, I shall go see for myself.” She started for the door. “Is my father still at this place—what did you call it—the Dead Reckoning?”

  “Aye, but I wouldn’t be goin’ down there if I was you.”

  The reverend grabbed her arm. “Miss Bristol.”

  Charlisse tugged. “You can’t keep me here!” Tears flooded her eyes. Her father was right down the street. So close! She had to see him.

  “Please sit and hear what happened first.” The reverend’s voice was remarkably calm. “I will not keep you here if you truly wish to go. All I ask is that you hear what Mr. Sloane has to say.”

  Not a trace of anger or insincerity lurked in the reverend’s eyes. She shifted her glance to Sloane.

  “Please, miss. Ye needs to hear this.” Concern folded his weathered features.

  Her resolve weakened. She allowed the reverend to lead her to a chair, and was thankful for the support it brought her wobbly legs.

  The old pirate shifted his boots. “The cap’n wanted to see fer hisself if yer father had changed. He didn’t want ye to meet him if he were still the varmint he always were.”

  “But why didn’t he tell me what he was doing?”

  “’Cause he knows ye would’ve wanted to come along.” Sympathy softened his scratchy voice, and she realized he was right.

  “By the powers, if ole Edward was a better man, Merrick would not a planned to capture him.”

  “Capture him?” Charlisse jumped to her feet. “What are you saying?”

  Sloane and the reverend exchanged glances.

  The reverend motioned Charlisse to sit. “Merrick’s history with your father goes way back.”

  “I know. He told me he sailed under my father’s command.”

  “Well, thar’s more to it than that, miss,” Sloane piped up. “But it don’t make no difference now. Merrick was willin’ to forego his schemes against Edward fer yer sake—that was if there were any spark of decency found in him.”

  “How noble,” Charlisse spat.

  Taking a seat, Sloane scratched his beard. “Har, it be noble. Ye don’t understand. The cap’n put hisself in grave danger by confrontin’ Edward at the Dead Reckonin’. But he knew he had to do it, seein’ as ye would go lookin’ fer him in the mornin’. It woulda been far better to grab Edward durin’ the day when he would be sleepin’ off the night’s drink, don’t ye see?”

  No. She didn’t. But what she did see was kindness in Sloane’s eyes. And truth. When she had thought Merrick was out chasing women, he had gone instead to confront her father. There was bad blood between them, that was sure. Had he truly put himself in harm’s way for her sake?

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Methinks Edward and Kent—”

  “Kent? He was there?”

  “Aye, miss.” Sloane nodded. “Methinks they were expectin’ Merrick and set a trap fer ’im.”

  Charlisse grabbed a lock of hair and began pacing the room.

  “On what charge did they arrest him?” the reverend inquired.

  “Not rightly sure, Rev.” Sloane wiped the sweat from his brow and fidgeted. “From what I heard, they say he was piratin’ on British ships, which I know ain’t true, ’cause I’ve bin with him fer nigh three years now. After he signed them articles with the gov’nor, he ain’t attacked nothin’ but the Spanish.”

  The reverend released a heavy sigh. “What evidence do they have?”

  “I dunno, Rev.” Sloane shook his head. “I came here soon as I saw where they took him.”

  “I’m sure it’s all just a misunderstanding.” The reverend’s voice betrayed his fear.

  Charlisse’s thoughts swam in a pool of confusion. She didn’t know who or what to believe. Was her father the raffish vermin everyone said he was, or was he the kind, loving man her mother had adored? Why did Merrick hate him so much? What had happened between them? Or was Merrick just trying to keep her for himself? No, she didn’t believe that anymore. Panic shot through her at the thought of him dangling from a hangman’s noose like a common pirate.

  “Reverend, we must go to him.” Grabbing her cloak, she headed toward the door. “Sloane, take me to the prison.”

  “That’s not possible, Miss Bristol.” The reverend gently took her arm. “They do not allow visitors after dark. We must wait until morning.”

  Charlisse stared at him for a moment, then sighed and trudged back to her seat.

  The reverend offered Sloane some tea and biscuits, which he readily accepted.

  As she watched him devour his evening repast, Charlisse wondered how he could eat with such a crisis afoot, while her own stomach was wrought with queasiness. Merrick was in jail, and her father was so near she could feel him. Yet she was powerless to do anything about either situation.

  Charlisse accepted another cup of tea from the reverend and forced a smile, trying to hide her torment. It was going to be a long night.

  ♥♥♥

  Dawn cast sparkling ripples over Kingston Bay, bringing an
undeserved beauty to a town still simmering in a drunken stupor. The reverend’s carriage rumbled along the deserted streets, the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves echoing through the alleyways.

  Charlisse had spent a restless night, fitfully tossing on the reverend’s cot in the back room, while he and Sloane slept on couches in the front salon. The thought of Merrick alone in a cold prison cell upset her more than she would have dreamed possible. Even more distressing was the news that her father had put him there.

  She gazed over the quiet streets. He was here in Port Royal—the man who had loved her mother, the man whom her mother had loved more than her own life. He was so close, she felt his presence in the thick air, his embrace in the wind.

  Peering into the dark windows of taverns and boarding houses lining the street, she wondered if he was in one of them. Or perhaps—the thought occurred as she glanced over the bay—he was on his ship. Several rocked idly in the calm waters, and she allowed her gaze to wander over each one, trying to guess which of them might be his.

  She spotted the Redemption, and a twinge of pain struck her heart. The mighty ship seemed empty as she bobbed forlornly, waiting for her master to return.

  The reverend snapped the reins to spur the horses onward as they came upon the wharves. While half the city slept well into the morning, the hardy dockworkers and shipmen were already receiving the cargo from a new arrival. Bells chimed and merchants unloaded their goods from cockboats gliding to the quay. Slaves carried heavy loads on their backs and heads. Odors of fish, sweat, and saltwater wafted over Charlisse. A few seamen looked up and took off their hats, nodding politely to her as the carriage passed.

  Beyond the docks, they ascended a hill and passed several tall brick buildings bordering a narrow street. The day grew warm, and the chiffon dress Charlisse still wore clung uncomfortably to her skin. She grabbed a fan the reverend had given her and fluttered it about her face, trying to alleviate the heat as well as calm the nerves knotting in the pit of her stomach. It did nothing, however, to assist either cause, and she dropped it to her lap in frustration. She had so many questions about her father that only Merrick could answer.

  The carriage jolted forward and Charlisse wondered what progress Sloane was making. Much to the reverend’s dismay, the pirate had headed off shortly after dawn to gather as many men as he could who were still loyal to Merrick—should more drastic measures be required to release him from prison. She shivered, thinking of the violence and possible loss of life those drastic measures would entail.

  They rounded a corner and the iron gate of Fort Charles loomed before them, jarring Charlisse from her thoughts. The British soldiers standing guard smiled at the reverend and waved them through without question.

  Beyond the entrance, a courtyard stretched in a sandy circle surrounded by thick walls of stone. To the left, gun turrets rose menacingly into the blue sky, pointing their thirty cannons over the bay, defending the harbor from enemies and pirates alike. Gray brick structures lined the inner walls in a semicircle with the exception of three white buildings with pointed brown roofs that stood off to their right.

  British officers in crisp red-and-white uniforms marched in formation across the dusty grounds as the reverend pulled up next to one of the white buildings and assisted Charlisse from the carriage.

  A surprising wave of cool air struck Charlisse as she and the reverend entered the building. Squinting in the dim light, she finally spotted a man in a lieutenant’s uniform sitting behind a desk, his head bowed over a stack of parchments. A bench stretched next to the door, and a narrow table, layered with books, stood to one side. On the wall to the left hung a painting of a British regiment clustered around a cannon. Their commander perched haughtily on his white stallion behind the action, frosty air puffing from his horse’s nostrils. On the wall behind the man, hung four large muskets on hooks, one on top of the other.

  “Have a seat, I’ll be with you momentarily.” The man gestured toward the wooden bench without looking up.

  The reverend and Charlisse remained standing. The officer busied himself with the documents, stopping only to dip his pen into a bottle of ink and scratch something across one before shifting his attention to the next.

  After several minutes, he sighed and lifted his head. Recognition flickered in his eyes when he saw the reverend. His gaze moved to Charlisse and immediately he stood and bowed, buttoning his red waistcoat and running his hands through his hair.

  “Which prisoner have you come to save from the gates of hell today, Reverend?” His gaze scanned Charlisse. “He must be an important one to have brought such an angel to assist you.”

  “May I introduce Miss Charlisse Bristol, visiting from London.”

  “My pleasure, miss.” Circling his desk, the lieutenant took her hand and kissed it.

  Charlisse nodded politely.

  “I have not come to save any from eternal doom,” the reverend said, “but to save one innocent man from false imprisonment.”

  “Indeed.” The officer huffed. “And who might that be?”

  “Edmund Merrick. He was brought in last night.”

  One of the two doors opened behind the man, and another soldier entered. He stood at attention briefly, gave a brisk salute, and handed the lieutenant more documents. Without looking at the papers, he tossed them onto his desk.

  At one time, the lieutenant must have been handsome, but the scourge of hard work and time had left deep impressions in his face. And although he couldn’t be older than forty, he carried himself like a man weary from life. His periwig lay haphazardly on a chair, and his uniform was wrinkled and stained—unheard of for an officer of the crown.

  “Who did you say?” he asked again.

  “Edmund Merrick,” the reverend and Charlisse said in unison.

  The lieutenant shuffled through a pile of papers on his desk and finally pulled one out. “Ah yes, the pirate.”

  “He’s not a pirate,” Charlisse stated.

  “Begging your pardon, miss, but that’s what it says here.” The lieutenant glanced again at the document. “Got the governor’s signature and everything.”

  “The governor is mistaken.” Charlisse felt the reverend’s light touch on her arm.

  The man’s eyebrows shot up.

  “What she means,” the reverend interjected, “is that we have reason to believe the evidence in this case is false. What do we need to do to have the charges against Merrick revisited?”

  “You’d have to go see the governor himself,” the officer replied, tossing the paper down and sitting back in his chair. “This particular arrest came directly from His Lordship.”

  The reverend lowered his chin, folding his hands in front of him. Charlisse fidgeted at his side, wondering why he didn’t do something. Anything.

  “May we at least view the evidence presented against Captain Merrick?” the reverend asked.

  The lieutenant shook his head. “Not unless you are his relation.”

  “May we see him?” Charlisse took an anxious step forward, wearing her sweetest smile.

  The officer’s studied her, then flattened his lips and drew a deep breath. “You can see him, Reverend, but it’s not safe for Miss Bristol.”

  “Please, Lieutenant. I simply must see him.” Charlisse hoped the man could not hear the desperation in her voice. How could she be so close to Merrick and not see him? If only to find out the truth of what had happened with her father, of course. “Surely you and your men are capable of protecting one woman?” She gave him a coy smile.

  The man stood, clearing his throat. “Yes, quite so, miss. We are more than capable. But I fear the prison would be too much for you. ’Tis not the place for a delicate lady.”

  “Make an exception,” the reverend said, “as a favor to me, Lieutenant.”

  The soldier paused, gazing first at Charlisse and then at the reverend, the stern resolve melting from his eyes.

  “As you wish. But one of my men will accompany you.” He nodd
ed at the man who remained at attention beside him.

  “Absolutely.” The reverend smiled, squeezing Charlisse’s hand.

  Mold and decay dripped from stone walls like beads of sweat on a condemned man. Torch held high, the soldier led them through a bolted door and down a stairway. A tortured scream echoed in the distance, sending a chill down Charlisse. The putrid stench of urine, sweat, and disease assailed her. Holding a handkerchief to her nose, she clutched the reverend’s hand for support as they reached the bottom of the stairs and began walking down a long aisle.

  The first cells appeared empty, but then prisoners began to scramble forward, shaking the iron bars and grinning maliciously at the passing party.

  Although Charlisse did her best to hide behind the reverend, she did not escape the attention of inmates who flooded her with perverse entreaties. The largest cockroach she had ever seen scampered boldly on the floor in front of them, barely avoiding her right shoe. She shrieked. The reverend patted her hand. They proceeded around a corner and down another row of cells until the guard halted before an empty one.

  Or at least it appeared empty at first. But then something stirred in the shadows and out sauntered Merrick. By the swagger in his step, the lift of his chin, and the imposing look in his eyes, Charlisse would’ve thought he marched across the deck of his ship issuing commands, instead of across a tiny, dank cell awaiting his trial. “Should have known it was you causing all that commotion.” His lips curved.

  Seeing him behind bars, Charlisse’s heart sank. What would happen if they could not procure his release? As she gazed upon him, the thought of losing him caused dread to spiral through her. He regarded her with tenderness. And she realized for the first time how much she’d come to depend on him—perhaps even to trust him.

  Abandoning all pretense, Charlisse rushed to him, pushing her hands through the bars into his. He lifted them to his lips. “Miss me?”

  His dark eyes examined her, overflowing with love and longing. The strength of his hand, his musky smell, the spark of playfulness in his smile, all brought the fears of her sleepless night back to life. A tear slid down her cheek.