He had not heard from Sloane in two days. Had his friend been able to put his plan to action, or was this truly Merrick’s appointed day to die? If it was, he was ready. He had already committed himself to God’s perfect plan and timing, and he knew without a doubt where his spirit would go when it left his body. It would be a far better place than this—perhaps with even a thousand beautiful oceans to sail.
Yet deep within him there was an intense yearning to stay, a feeling of unfinished business, and an excruciating sense of urgency to find Charlisse and rescue her from the evil clutches of Edward. Not an hour had passed in his dark cell that he had not prayed for her, and not an hour passed in which the Lord had not reassured him she was in his capable hands. Selfishly, Merrick wanted to remain in this world a little longer, just to be with her. But, he realized, the Lord might have plans for her—plans that did not include Merrick. And he knew whatever those plans entailed, God would look after her, now that she had turned her life over to him.
They reached the bottom of a hill and made a sharp turn onto one of Port Royal’s main streets. Crowds of merchants, privateers, and slaves parted to allow the procession, while curious onlookers lined the dusty road, staring at the three prisoners with varying degrees of pity and disgust.
A few pirates removed their hats and bowed. One of them yelled above the noise of the crowd, “Thar goes Cap’n Merrick, one o’ the mightiest pirates e’er to grace our waters. I salute ye, Cap’n.”
“Aye, aye,” others shouted in agreement. Merrick acknowledged them with a nod.
“And I consider it an honor to be hanged next to ye,” Rusty said with all sincerity.
Merrick grinned at the compliment, then shook his head. “There’s not much honor in hanging, mate, nor in dying. The honor is in what kind of life you’ve led.”
“Aye.” Rusty nodded. “’Tis true.”
They rode on in silence, listening to the clip-clop of the soldiers’ horses and the rumbling of the wagon. Merrick glanced down at the irons binding his hands and yanked on them, longing to be free. Passing stores and pubs soon gave way to scattered houses and then to shrubs and greenery. The scenes drifted by the wagon, like visions of an ever-changing horizon from a long sea voyage—a voyage that was soon to end in a deadly storm.
As they neared the final turn that would lead them to Execution Dock, Merrick heard the pounding of drums. Rusty began to sing a pirate’s chant while the beggar, who had not uttered a sound until now, broke into sobs.
Merrick scanned the surroundings, alert for any unusual movement, every sense keen, and every nerve on edge. He said a silent prayer for the Lord’s deliverance.
“I once went a sailing fer fun
With the fierce Cap’n pirate named Dunn
We pillaged and plundered
Oh my thunder
Now, I’m about to be hung.”
Rusty continued his chant. They turned another corner. The gallows came in full view—a tall platform overlooking Kingston Bay where three nooses hung ominously over a crossbeam, swaying in the wind, passing idle moments before they would grab their victims’ necks in torturous ecstasy. A burly man, dressed in black with a hood over his head, stood nearby like the grim reaper waiting to escort the dead to the next world, while four British soldiers—dressed in red-and-white uniforms with glittering gold buttons—flanked the deadly platform.
A noisy crowd of at least a hundred people had gathered to watch the spectacle, including women and children, and several pirate acquaintances of Merrick’s—or gentlemen of fortune, as they preferred to be called—whom he assumed had come solely out of respect for one of their own.
Although still at a distance, Merrick quickly found the compassionate gaze of Reverend Thomas, who stood near the gallows, waiting to pray with the condemned. If Merrick was indeed going to die, he was glad to have his friend by his side.
Everything moved in slow motion. The scorching rays of the sun beat down upon them. A trickle of sweat slowly made its way down his back, taking every available detour around shoulder blade and spine in order to prolong its journey. A myriad of noises brushed his ears—the horses clomping, the old man sobbing, the crowd yelling, Rusty chanting, and the foreboding beat of the execution drums.
To his left, down an incline, the crystal blue waters of Kingston Bay reflected sunlight in sparkling clusters that caused him to squint. Beyond, the freedom of the Caribbean taunted him—beckoned to him. Was the Redemption still in the harbor? He searched for her, but could not find her among the dozens of ships. Ah, for one last glimpse of his mighty vessel!
To his right, a thick layer of tropical vegetation grew untamed and, up ahead, a large tree spread its lush boughs over the trail. He would be glad for its relief from the merciless rays of the sun.
Merrick heard the chattering of a monkey. The wagon entered the shade of the tree, and instantly, a small, wiry creature dropped onto the shoulder of the man holding the reins. The tiny animal wrapped its hands around the driver’s eyes. Shouting, the soldier furiously clawed at the creature, trying to dislodge it.
Several bulky, round objects that looked like cannon balls lit with fuses, flew at them from beyond the foliage. One landed in the wagon next to Merrick’s boots. He quickly tossed it to the ground and barreled into his fellow prisoners, knocking them down.
The balls discharged with soft hissing sounds. Instead of exploding, they sprayed large plumes of white smoke that flooded the area with a cloud of dense fog.
Shouts came from every direction. And other sounds—the neigh and buck of horses and the scuffling of boots in the dirt. One of the soldiers issued orders in a panic-stricken voice. Coughing, Merrick peered through the smoke. Curses and howls penetrated the thick vapor. He knew those war screams. It was his men. He stood as the sounds of battle penetrated the white haze—thuds, shouts, and the clash of swords.
The smoke dissipated and his crew came into view. One was clinging to a soldier on the back of a horse, struggling to push him from the beast. Another was in a heated sword fight on the ground. Jackson had one man in a headlock, and two more of his crew had another soldier surrounded.
Merrick was about to jump down and join the fray when he heard the cock of a pistol. He turned to find a British soldier pointing the weapon at his chest.
“You aren’t going anywhere, pirate!” The man sneered. “Tell your men to stop fighting, or I’ll shoot you where you stand.”
Merrick glared at the soldier. Barely a few whiskers sprouted on his smooth chin. Sweat glistened on his forehead. The gun shook in his hand. The young man shifted his eyes between Merrick and the ensuing battle. Perspiration dripped into his eyes. He blinked. Merrick twisted his shackles around the pistol and snapped the weapon from the soldier’s hands. It landed in the wagon next to the beggar. Shock registered on the soldier’s face. Before he could react, Merrick slammed his forehead onto the man’s head and pushed him over the side of the wagon.
Rusty stood. “By thunder, that be ’ow to do it!”
Sloane jumped into the cart. “Hey thar, Cap’n! We come to rescue ye!” A broad grin split his whiskery face.
Merrick chuckled. “And a fine job you’re doing, my friend.”
A pistol blasted. Merrick heard a groan and the thud of a body landing on the ground. He swerved to see the old man, smoking weapon in hand, and followed his gaze to where a soldier lay wounded beside the wagon.
“He was going to shoot you,” the beggar said with a Spanish accent. He dropped the gun in the wagon where he had found it.
Merrick nodded his thanks and looked to see how his other men were doing.
The soldier who had been battling for his horse with one of Merrick’s men now went tumbling down a slope. The other three soldiers were well subdued.
“Don’t kill them,” Merrick bellowed. “Just take their weapons and shove them down the hill.”
The smoke had nearly cleared. Commotion rose from Execution Dock. Soldiers mounted their horses and galloped
their way.
“Time to go, men,” he shouted. Then lifting his shackled hands, he jumped awkwardly onto the back of a skittish horse.
Brighton bound the last soldier and pushed him down the slope, then sheathing his cutlass, he flung himself onto a nearby steed and reined the fiery horse behind Merrick’s. The other men doubled up on the remaining horses while Merrick gestured for Rusty to jump behind him.
“Why thank ye, thank ye. I knew ye was a good man, Cap’n,” he exclaimed.
“Take the old man. Merrick pointed to his fellow prisoner.
“But, Cap’n, we don’t have time. He’ll be slowin’ us down,” Sloane complained, his horse chomping at the bit.
Merrick glanced at the beggar. He was not pleading for his life as most people in his position would be doing, rather he returned Merrick’s gaze with strength and understanding. “He comes with us,” Merrick said.
Sloane huffed but quickly helped the aged man on behind him. The monkey slid down from the tree onto Sloane’s shoulders just as he shouted, “Follow me, Cap’n” and sped off, spraying a dust cloud behind him.
Clumsily grabbing the reins, Merrick nudged his horse and galloped after Sloane. The crack of a musket sounded. He ducked and veered the horse around a bend in the road just as the bullet pierced his skin and searing pain radiated through his body.
Chapter 36: Kent’s Prize
Time passed in a blur. Starving and dehydrated, Charlisse grew weak. She spent her days lying within her circle, drifting in and out of consciousness, praying God would not abandon her.
Each afternoon, when Charlisse felt as though she were being roasted alive, she sat and tried to pray. On one such afternoon, as soon as she had finished her petitions, the circle of divine light vanished.
The sound of footsteps and the jingle of keys came to her ears, and she looked up to see Kent’s arrogant smile flashing at her from the bottom of the ladder.
“I’ve reconsidered my ungentlemanly behavior and have come to show mercy and rescue you from this place.” He fumbled with the keys and unlocked her cell.
Every nerve in Charlisse’s body coiled in alarm. Her heart thumped wildly. She tried to stand, but could not. Instead, she scooted herself backward as far as she could into the dark cell. “Please, just leave me be.”
Kent approached her. “Now that wouldn’t be very chivalrous of me, would it?”
He scooped her in his arms without effort and carried her up the ladder and through the companionway. Charlisse had no strength to resist. Muttering something about her needing a bath, Kent kicked his way into his tiny cabin, laid her on a cot, and left, locking the door behind him.
A tray of food—real food, not the slop they had given her below—sat on a small table, and she made her way there, grabbed the plate, and gobbled it down faster than she had ever eaten anything. Then leaning back against the bulkhead, she tried to keep the food in her stomach while she examined her surroundings. The cabin was so small it did not allow more than one step in any direction. Besides the cot, there was only one chair, a table, and a set of shelves built into the opposite wall. No weapons were in sight. A round window let in a shaft of sunlight—a ray of golden warmth that brightened Charlisse’s soul after having been locked in the darkness for so long.
Commotion rang above her. Pirates scurried about, yelling and cursing. Whatever was happening, she was thankful it was occupying Kent’s time.
After washing her face and neck with water from a small basin, she laid down to rest. She prayed to the Lord for protection before she fell into a riotous sleep filled with nightmares from her past.
When she awoke, darkness cloaked the tiny room save for a beam of moonlight streaming in through the window. She had no way of knowing how late it was, but an eerie silence lurking through the ship set her nerves on edge. Could she have slept through the nightly drunken revelry? Creeping to the door, she turned the handle—still locked.
Heavy boots thudded in the hallway, followed by the clank of keys. Backing away, she sank onto the bed. The door burst open and a man’s bulky form entered. He stumbled across the floor and ran into the table. His foul curses burned her ears. After several attempts, he lit the lantern, and held it over his head, looking her way. Kent’s leering smile gleamed like shark’s teeth in the darkened room. Barely able to stand, he hooked the lantern above him and attempted to remove his baldric and sword. “I know you’ve been anxiously awaiting me, missss,” he slurred. “Unfortunately, I’ve been indisposed.” He fumbled with his brace of pistols and threw them into the corner, then staggered toward her.
He tried to unbutton his shirt as he swayed with the rocking of the ship. After several tries, he gave up and leaned on the cot, flanking her with his arms. His eyes floated in a haze of rum and lust. “Shall we?” He grabbed the front of her gown.
Oh, God, help me, Charlisse said a silent prayer and did the only thing she could think to do. Lifting her feet, she thrust them into Kent’s stomach. Arms flailing, he barreled backward, scrambling to maintain his balance. His head slammed against the shelves before he hit the ground. A moan escaped his lips. Then all went silent.
Trembling, Charlisse stared at the fallen pirate, waiting for any sign of life. Had she killed him? The ship creaked under the roll of a wave. Water crashed against the hull. The lantern swayed on its hook, casting eerie shadows over Kent. Still, he did not move. His muscular body lay motionless, like a sack of flour, taking up the whole floor of the tiny room.
Several minutes passed before Charlisse got up the courage to approach him. Terrified that he would jump at her, she tentatively knelt beside him and poked him with a finger. She shook him. Nothing. He was alive, however, for his chest still rose and fell.
Despite the warmth of the room, Charlisse began to shiver. Tears flowed down her cheeks. Kent looked peaceful enough in his sleep, but how long before he gained consciousness and the angelic façade faded back into that of a monster?
She glanced at the door. His massive frame lay wedged beside it. Standing, she yanked on the knob, but it would not budge. She tried pushing him out of the way, but after a week of starvation, her strength was spent.
Frustrated, she sank back onto the cot, out of breath, and wishing with everything in her that Merrick were here. Tears pooled in her eyes at the thought that he was gone from this world—that she would not see him again until the next. Please, God, take my life too. For without Merrick, what reason did she have to live?
Hours passed while Charlisse waited for Kent to come out of his stupor. She thought of tying him up, but could find no rope. She picked up his pistol and smiled, remembering the time she had pointed one at Merrick in his cabin. Loading it, she sat on the cot and stared at the unconscious pirate, alert for any signs of movement. Only once and very briefly did the thought of killing him cross her mind, but deep down, she knew it was wrong, and doubted she had the stomach for it. Well into the night she kept her vigil, but sometime before dawn, she dozed off.
Two strong hands grabbed her arms and shook her violently. Charlisse opened her eyes to find Kent’s fierce gaze upon her, a lion’s mane of black hair framing his reddened face. He was sober, he was awake, and he was livid. And she could tell he was finally going to take what he considered his. Frantically, she searched for the pistol but her hands came up empty.
A whistle blew and her father’s voice bellowed from the deck. “Kent, come aloft!”
Kent slammed his hand over Charlisse’s mouth, listening. Edward’s thunderous voice echoed down the hallway again. For a minute, it seemed Kent contemplated disobeying the order, but then, frustration twisting his face, he shoved off her and grabbed the pistol from the cot. After pausing to tie back his hair, he gathered his other weapons and opened the door, turning to face her. “I shall return, cousin,” he said before he left, locking her in the cabin once again.
Charlisse thanked God for yet another rescue and released her tension with an outpouring of tears. She spent the rest of the day a
lone, without a drop of water or morsel of food. Yet she felt her health returning. She had been able to get some much-needed sleep, and the last meal she had eaten was more than enough to stimulate her waning strength.
Later in the afternoon, the wind picked up, and thick, black clouds overshadowed the sun. The ship began to buck under the mighty waves of an approaching storm. Soon torrential rain pelted the deck above like grapeshot, as blast after blast of furious waves pounded the window. Hours passed as Charlisse was tossed back and forth like a stuffed doll. Memories of being thrown into the sea gripped her heart in terror. By the time Kent returned with water and salted meat, the last thing Charlisse wanted was food in her unsettled stomach. He handed her a jug of water. A flash of lightning illuminated his face, twisting his wicked expression.
“Are we to sink?” she asked above the roar of the storm.
He smiled, and for a moment she thought she saw a trace of kindness in his eyes. “Nay, ’tis unlikely,” he answered, bracing himself against the bulkhead as the ship canted to larboard. “I’ve seen much worse storms than this. And Edward is a good captain.”
As instantly as it had come over him, his look of concern melted back to one of licentiousness. His gaze feasted on her as his lips curved in a wanton grin. Only the smoothness of his face betrayed his youth, for there was a confident sophistication in his eyes that bespoke of years of hardened experience.
He took a step toward her.
“Are you the son of my father’s brother or of his sister?” Charlisse blurted in an attempt to divert his thoughts.
Kent’s brow darkened. “I am the unfortunate offspring of Edward’s brother, James.”
“Unfortunate? How so?” she pressed him, noting his aggrieved expression.
His mustache twitched above a surly mouth. His hand clenched the hilt of his cutlass. “My father is much like Uncle Edward—a hard man to please.”
“Is he a pirate also?”
The Redemption (Legacy of the King's Pirates Book 1) Page 26
