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

by Marylu Tyndall

  In fact, everything today was more beautiful, more glorious than she remembered. The warm breeze blew a few wayward curls loose from her bun. She smiled as they tickled her neck. Had the sky always been this incredible shade of cerulean blue? Palm fronds danced in the trade winds, giggling with delight as she passed by.

  An old sea-turtler had just rowed his boat ashore loaded with turtles. Strands of gray hair sprang from beneath a floppy hat to dangle over his stained shirt that was stuffed within tan breeches cut off at the knees. Tipping his hat, he flashed yellow teeth at Charlisse from a face as weather-beaten as his boat.

  Past the docks and up a hill the horse clopped onward. Upon arriving at the gravel courtyard of the governor’s mansion, the reverend assisted Charlisse from the carriage, and arm-in-arm they walked the flower-trimmed path to the front door. The wind picked up, stirring the hem of Charlisse’s gown before setting off a symphony in the wind chimes that hung from the porch. Colorful parrots jumped from branch to branch in the palm trees planted in rows across the luxurious front lawn. Marble stairs extended like a giant fan, forming an elegant entrance to the cream-colored house.

  Inside, they were escorted through a salon, down a long hallway, and through another door, which opened to a bright, spacious office where a man sat behind an oak desk. The servant announced their presence, and the governor looked up. Rising, he rounded his desk to greet them—a tall, corpulent man, exquisitely dressed, and wearing a heavy white periwig that complemented his intelligent, gray eyes.

  While he and the reverend exchanged pleasantries, Charlisse examined the room. The furnishings were of carved oak and walnut. Tapestries and paintings, imported from the old world, hung from every wall, accompanied by two large maps—one of the Caribbean and the other of Europe—drawn with impeccable detail. Shelves lined the back wall, some filled with books and others with weapons. An Italian rug graced the hardwood floor, and two cordovan leather couches offered comfort to visitors.

  She strode to the Caribbean map, noting the location of Port Royal, and glanced over the identified islands to the south, wondering which one, if any, was the wretched spot where she had been marooned.

  “Governor, may I introduce Miss Charlisse Bristol.” The reverend gestured toward her.

  “My pleasure, indeed.” Governor Moodyford bowed with the graciousness of an English gentleman, but allowed his gaze to linger over Charlisse far longer than her comfort permitted.

  The reverend cleared his throat, drawing Moodyford’s attention. “We’ve come concerning Captain Edmund Merrick.”

  “Ah, yes. I’d heard you were acquaintances.” Leaning back on his desk, the governor folded arms over his prominent belly.

  “It is my understanding you were acquainted with him as well?

  “Yes.” The governor snorted. “Some business dealings.”

  “You refer to the letter of marque signed by both you and Merrick, giving him England’s permission to raid upon Spanish vessels, and—”

  “Of course, of course,” the governor interrupted, waving a hand in the air. “But that is not why I had him arrested.”

  The reverend’s jaw clenched. “We understand he has been accused of raiding on British vessels, milord—”

  “Yes, yes, quite disturbing. Merrick was a good man. We had an arrangement.”

  “So I heard. He was to assist you with your piracy problem.”

  “Then you can imagine my bewilderment at his treachery.” The governor adjusted his periwig and sighed.

  “Begging your pardon, Governor, but we believe these charges to be false.”

  “Indeed?”

  Charlisse’s heart swelled in anticipation. She took a step forward.

  “A conspiracy by those who hate Merrick. False evidence was planted on board his ship.”

  “Do you have proof?”

  “Not yet, milord, but we have the word of his quartermaster, an honest, hardworking sailor.”

  Grunting, the governor adjusted his silk doublet and walked to gaze out two French doors to his right. “Why should I take the word of one of his conspirators? He’s but a pirate himself! Perhaps I should have him arrested as well.”

  Alarm spiked through Charlisse. “You speak as though Merrick is already condemned,” she blurted out, ignoring the reverend’s cautioning glance.

  The harsh look in the governor’s eyes softened when his gaze shot to Charlisse. “I’m sorry to inform you, miss, that his trial was held this morning.”

  “And the outcome?” she pressed.

  The governor swung open the doors and gestured for them to follow. With quivering legs, Charlisse stepped into the beautiful garden. She hardly noticed the magnificent rose bushes surrounding them or the gold-and-silver etched fountain in the center. All she could think about was why the governor hesitated in answering her question. Whatever the verdict of the trial, could he be reconsidering his stance?

  “Reverend,” he began, “miss.” He nodded at Charlisse. “Captain Merrick stood out among the rest of his kind. He was not the usual greedy, villainous type you see in most pirates who call these waters their home. He carried himself as a gentleman. Then, when His Majesty ordered me to arrest and hang all known pirates, Merrick offered his assistance.” The governor lowered his nose to one of the roses before continuing, “I assure you, I would not have accepted these traitorous charges so ardently without a great deal of proof. But a great deal of proof is what I received when I sent my men to search his ship.”

  “False evidence,” Charlisse said, her tone desperate.

  The governor lifted an eyebrow. “Perhaps,” he continued, “but nevertheless, I must have proof, or there’s nothing I can do. I know you wouldn’t come here on Merrick’s behalf if you didn’t truly believe him innocent, but if I let him go without proof of such, it would give credence to every buccaneer in the Caribbean to attack British vessels at will. I must keep order among these ruffians, or all is lost.” He looked at Charlisse. “I’m truly sorry.”

  Charlisse wrung her hands. “Pray tell, what is the judgment upon him, milord?”

  A curious expression crossed the governor’s face. “Who is this man to you, miss? You appear too fine a lady to be so distraught over the death of one pirate.”

  “Death?” Charlisse’s heart stopped. The garden spun. If it weren’t for the reverend’s grip on her arm, she would certainly have swooned at the governor’s feet. “Surely, you cannot put a man to death without reviewing all evidence in the case and speaking with all the people involved?”

  “My chief justice has already done that, miss. I’m afraid the evidence against the captain is overwhelming. In addition, we have sworn testimonies of Merrick’s own crew confirming his frequent attacks on British vessels.”

  “They are lying!” Charlisse’s blood grew hot. The reverend gave her hand a squeeze.

  “You must see through these felonious allegations, governor,” the reverend protested. “You, being a man of great character, admitted noting a similar character in Merrick, as I sincerely hope you have in me. Isn’t it obvious the captain has been a victim of the treachery of jealous and deceitful men?”

  “Be that as it may.” The governor shook his head. His eyes carried a look of regret but the lines on his face drew taut. “Without proof clearing Merrick of the charges of piracy against England, I will be forced to hang him at Execution Dock come Friday.”

  Charlisse’s breath caught in her throat. She staggered, and the reverend led her to a bench.

  “My deepest apologies miss, for having upset you,” the governor said. “But I assure you, I have no personal rancor toward this pirate of yours. Surely you understand my position. Bring me the proof I require, and I will readdress this case without delay.”

  A servant arrived to escort them from the mansion. Charlisse clung to the reverend, feeling nauseated.

  “We should have fought harder!” She plopped down in the carriage. “Why didn’t we say more? Why didn’t we do more?” Her throat
burned with emotion.

  “I do not like to waste energy where nothing can be accomplished,” the reverend replied. “The governor is a stubborn man who has the difficult tasks of both maintaining order in this haven of ruffians and appeasing the king. To him, the life of one pirate is expendable if his death proves a lesson to all.”

  “I don’t understand,” she sobbed. “Why does the governor allow so many pirates to roam the streets of his city while he condemns a man who only assisted the British cause?”

  The reverend snapped the reins, sending the horse into a trot. “If the governor captured or chased off all the brigands from Port Royal, he would be defenseless against the Spanish. He needs to only appear to be doing so for the sake of the king. That’s why Merrick’s offer to bring in the most vile pirates was an accord the governor could not forsake.”

  Charlisse dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.

  “Let us not give up hope, miss. God is still in control,” the reverend added.

  Charlisse turned to look at the passing scenery, no longer enjoying its delights, seeing only shapeless forms through the moisture that clouded her eyes. How could a loving God assign Merrick to such a hideous fate? It didn’t make sense. Her newfound faith, so strong only an hour ago, was weakening by the minute.

  Instead of heading back to the cottage, the reverend guided the carriage to the thick iron gates of Fort Charles. In her distress, Charlisse had forgotten they had planned to see Merrick today. She quickly wiped her face and took a deep breath to calm her shattered nerves, not wanting him to see her anguish.

  “Courage, my dear.” The reverend said as they made their way through the dank prison once again.

  When they approached Merrick’s cell, Charlisse grabbed the bars, desperately searching the shadows. Finally, he emerged. Black hair hung to his shoulders in disarray, four days of stubble shadowed his face and neck, and he smelled of mold and sweat. But all Charlisse wanted to do was break through the bars and run into his arms.

  When he lifted his eyes to hers, urgency burned within them. He flashed an angry look at the reverend. “I must get out of here, Thomas.” His jaw clenched. He clutched the bars. “I cannot bear being locked up.”

  The reverend nodded. “I know, son. But you must let go.”

  “Let go!” Merrick stormed. Turning, he paced, tearing at his hair. “Let go of her?” He waved his hand toward Charlisse. “Let that villain Edward go free to continue his murderous rampage?” He cast an uneasy glance at Charlisse.

  She stepped back from the bars, finger tangled in her hair, frightened at his sudden outburst. But how could she blame him? How could she expect him to maintain his calm demeanor under such affliction?

  “Give God the control,” the reverend answered.

  Merrick huffed and looked down, shaking his head. When he looked up once again, the anger had faded from his face. He let out a deep, ragged sigh.

  “Quit playing with your hair and come here.” He motioned to Charlisse.

  Taking her hands in his, he kissed them. A playful smile danced across his lips, but quickly faded when he noticed Charlisse’s red-rimmed eyes. “What ails you, milady?”

  She tried to smile. “It’s been a trying morning.”

  Merrick studied her, rubbing his chin. “How so? Name the rogue that has caused your tears, and I’ll run him through.”

  Charlisse glanced at the reverend.

  “They plan to hang you on Friday,” he said.

  Unable to control herself, Charlisse burst into sobs.

  Reaching through the bars, Merrick wiped tears from her cheek. “Is that all?”

  “Merrick, this is serious.” She glared at him. “How can you be so cavalier?”

  “We went to see the governor today.” The reverend stepped forward. “He insists there is nothing he can do without proof, and Sloane has come up empty thus far.”

  “Thank you for trying, Thomas. I knew Kent and Edward would have covered their tracks well, and the governor is a strict man. I’ve dealt with him on many occasions.” He faced Charlisse again. “It’s going to be all right, sweetheart.”

  “I don’t see how.” Her eyes filled with tears again.

  Merrick took her shaking hands in his and settled them with his warmth and strength. “I don’t believe it is time for me to die.” His glance swerved to the reverend. “I believe God still has more for me to do. But if I’m wrong and he takes me home, ’tis a far better place I’ll be going to.”

  Charlisse searched his dark eyes, longing for that same assurance. “I cannot face that possibility. If God intends to get you out of here, I wish he would tell us how.”

  Merrick shrugged then gave her a serious look. “Perhaps he will, if you will only listen.”

  “And a much better chance she’ll have at that now.” The reverend seemed to stand a bit taller.

  Merrick glanced from him to Charlisse, a puzzled look on his face. Charlisse smiled at the reverend. Merrick crossed his arms over his chest. “What, pray tell, have you been doing with my beloved Charlisse, Thomas, while I’ve been locked in this prison?” The glimmer in his eyes betrayed his stern voice. “There appears to be a glow about her, a sparkle in her smile.”

  The reverend’s face lit. “Nothing but good things, I assure you.” He looked at Charlisse. “Truth be known, Charlisse committed her life to Christ only last night.”

  Merrick’s eyes locked on Charlisse’s. She nodded. He held her hands while she relayed the entire story to him—the crow, the man in the light, and the incredible peace and love she’d felt in God’s presence. Merrick’s smile spread wider and wider with each word she spoke, and Charlisse thought she saw a hint of moisture in his eyes.

  “This is the grandest news I have ever heard,” he said.

  “Nay, it would have been much better if the reverend and I had come with news of your release.”

  “No.” He shook his head. “This is far more important. I prayed for this very thing just last night. In fact,”—his gaze darted to the reverend—“the Lord may have been answering my prayer just as I was saying it.”

  Releasing his hands, Charlisse coiled a strand of hair around her finger. “I fail to understand why God allows you to remain imprisoned.”

  “Who can know the mind of God?” the reverend said. “His ways are not our ways, and His thoughts are not ours. It’s not for us to understand, but to believe.”

  Charlisse frowned. “Still, I cannot accept that he expects us to do nothing.”

  “We have done all he has afforded us to do. Now, it is in his hands,” the reverend said.

  Taking her face in his hands, Merrick placed a kiss on her forehead. “Pray for me, Charlisse. Will you do that?”

  “I’ll try.” She nodded, forcing a smile.

  The guard motioned for them to go.

  “I shall visit you every day,” Charlisse whispered. Then tearing her gaze from his, she allowed the reverend to escort her out before the tears she had so bravely held back came gushing in a torrent.

  She would not sit by and do nothing while the man she loved was hanged. As she walked down the dark corridor, an idea formed in her mind. She knew exactly what she must do.

  Chapter 29: In Her Own Hands

  Charlisse spent the rest of the day pacing the reverend’s cottage while he attended to his duties at the church. Why didn’t God do something? Her fears returned like vultures, pecking away at her withering faith and sending her hope adrift.

  Sloane came by early in the evening to give his progress report, and at the reverend’s bidding, he stayed for dinner. As all three sat dourly down to a meal of wild pork, mangoes, and corn, Sloane admitted in frustration he had nothing positive to report.

  The reverend’s news about Merrick’s appointment at the gallows only increased the aged pirate’s distress, causing the weathered lines on his face to deepen before Charlisse’s eyes.

  “The audacity o’ that dawcock gov’nor,” he grunted. “After all the cap’n�
��s done fer him.” He threw his fork down and stood. “Beggin’ yer pardon, miss.”

  “It’s perfectly all right, Sloane. I feel the same way.” It was the first time she had seen him lose his voracious appetite.

  “I’ve a mind to scurry down to the Dead Reckonin’, rip those two jackanapes to pieces, an’ feed their innards to the crocs, says I!”

  Beggin’ yer pardon again, m—”

  Charlisse shot to her feet. “Are you saying that Edward and Kent are at the Dead Reckoning this very moment?”

  “Aye, I dare say they’ve bin there e’er night drinkin’ and laughin’ ’bout what they done to Merrick.”

  “Now, Charlisse, there’s nothing to be done about it,” the reverend said.

  Charlisse cast him a glance of disapproval and marched to the window. “It angers me that they run about free while Merrick sits in a cell. Where is God’s justice?”

  “You can be sure that the Lord will have his justice, and these men will reap what they have sown.” The reverend rose and began clearing away the uneaten food. “We must forgive our enemies.”

  “I cannot,” Charlisse spat.

  “God forgives us only to the extent we are willing to forgive those who have harmed us.”

  Charlisse was too angry to reply, too frustrated and overwhelmed to even think clearly. How could he be so calm when Merrick’s life was in jeopardy?

  Sloane straightened his headscarf and strapped on his baldric and pistols. “Maybe tonight be me lucky night,” he remarked. “I best be out there seein’ what I kin find out. Keep yer hopes up, miss.” He smiled at Charlisse, nodded at the reverend, and gestured toward the door. Charlisse opened it for him.