The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  Kent reintroduced Isabel to Smithy, the first mate, and to Cutter, the ship’s doctor, both of whom she’d met on her previous journey. Isabel nodded at Cutter and smiled. She longed to thank him for helping her and lady Charlisse escape the last time she had been aboard Kent’s ship.

  Winking at her, he took his place at the table. His left arm still hung withered by his side, and a hideous red and purple scar twisted his upper lip—both deformities caused by a prior accident unknown to Isabel. Her heart sparked with a glimmer of hope. At least she had one friend on board the ship.

  “Ye look a mite lovely in that gown, milady.” Smithy sat down and poured himself some apricot-colored liquid from a jug. “It be good to ’ave a woman on board again.”

  Snickering, Hann sat beside Cutter.

  Kent motioned for Isabel to sit at his left and waited for her to take her seat before he took his at the head of the table. “And you’ll keep both your eyes and hands off her or answer to me.” He gave Smithy a sideways glance that held more mirth than petulance.

  “Aye, cap’n. Just payin’ the lady a compliment.”

  Cutter plucked an orange from the bowl and began peeling it. “I’ve heard ’tis bad luck to have a lady on board a pirate ship.”

  “Only a foolish superstition,” Hann said without looking up.

  A thin black man entered, sparsely dressed in knee-length breeches and a torn shirt with a silver whistle around his neck. He carried a tray of browned meat and placed it on the table. Isabel’s stomach vaulted as the smell of roasted beef wafted over her.

  “Thank you, Caleb.” Kent nodded toward the man. “Caleb is the best cook and steward I’ve ever come across.” The black man’s eyes grazed over Isabel as he backed out of the room. Memories of him chained at the ankles swabbing the deck sped through her mind. Hadn’t he been a slave before?

  The men pounced on the meal as if it were their last, snatching biscuits, fruit, and pieces of meat with their fingers. Rum and brandy flowed freely among them. Declining the alcohol with a smirk, Isabel sipped her tea and waited for an opportune moment to question Kent. She hoped her stomach would becalm itself enough for her to eat for she must keep up her strength.

  The silver earring in Smithy’s right ear glittered in the candlelight beneath his shaggy wheat-colored hair that hung in strands down his back. The more he drank, the louder his guffaws bounded over the table. Though he was shorter than the other men, save for Hann, an untamed power surged beneath his massive shoulders.

  Next to Smithy, Hann’s frame shrank by comparison—like David beside Goliath. Quiet, the young lad remained absorbed in his food, looking up or commenting only when Cutter addressed him.

  The men conversed, sloshed their drinks about and grabbed food at will—no more cultured than beasts in a barn. They spoke of wind and sails, ports and treasure. Every so often Isabel caught Kent’s intense gaze upon her, and though she tried to return it with equal strength, she more oft than not shifted her eyes away. Her tattered nerves began to fray under the pirates’ inebriant gaiety.

  “Lady Ashton.” Cutter pointed at her with his knife. “You’ve hardly eaten a thing.”

  Anger joined the bitterness in her stomach. “I’m afraid I’ve no appetite”—she glowered at the captain—“not knowing what has become of my son.”

  The men fell silent. “Understandable.” Cutter nodded. “But ’twill do him no good should you die of hunger. Have some meat. It will settle your stomach.” He lifted a tray and held it out toward her.

  “What is it?” Isabel crinkled her nose.

  “Turtle,” Cutter said. “Good for whatever ails you.”

  Her stomach clamped. She turned aside. “No thank you.”

  Shrugging, Cutter replaced the tray.

  Isabel faced Kent. “Captain, please tell me what you know of the man who stole Frederick.”

  Kent slapped down his cup and leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his chest.

  “Ah, good ole Morris.” Smithy chuckled. “Quite an ill-tempered man, says I.”

  Hann looked at Smithy with distain.

  “Morris?” Isabel asked.

  “Aye, John Morris.” Kent eyed her and rubbed the back of his neck. “One of Morgan’s Brethren of the Coast.”

  “A good man.” Cutter added, grabbing another biscuit.

  Isabel scratched the itch rising on her arms. “Pray tell, what did you do to this good man to bring such retribution?”

  Sighing, Kent looked down at his boots. “I’m afraid I may have caused the death of his son.”

  Hann jumped to his feet. He hacked and banged on his chest, his face reddening. Grabbing his mug, he tried to lift it to his lips, then dropped it onto the table, spilling its contents. Cutter stood and slapped him on the back, and Hann spewed a chunk of meat into the air. It landed with a plop onto a plate of cheese.

  Averting her eyes from the disgusting display, Isabel stared at Kent, alarmed at his declaration. Killed his son? Hope spilled from her like the liquor now dripping from the table. Surely the man would execute quick retribution on Frederick—an eye for an eye. It was the law these pirates lived by.

  Smithy belched and grabbed the pitcher of brandy. “Aye. He blew up the ship young Morris was on.”

  “Not just any ship,” Cutter added. “Our illustrious captain had to blow up a British Royal Navy warship, the HMS Oxford.”

  Isabel furrowed her brow. “What was the son of a pirate doing on a British warship?”

  “’Twas Morgan’s flagship,” Kent said, “commissioned by Britain for an attack on Cartagena. Nigh ten ships had gathered that night off the coast of Hispaniola to plan their strategy. I was privileged to be included.” His voice glinted with pride but quickly soured when he added, “Things got out of hand.”

  “’Twas quite a party, if yes ask me,” Smithy said.

  With a scowl, Hann righted his mug and poured himself another drink.

  Isabel tugged a tendril of hair tickling her neck. “Why would you destroy one of Morgan’s ships? Isn’t he an ally of yours?”

  “Not anymore.” Agony wrenched Kent’s cloudy gaze. “I’m not sure it was I who caused the accident. That night remains a blur. We all had too much to drink.” He leaned forward and looked down at his plate. “Shots were fired in celebration. The next thing I knew, I was thrown into the water and the ship was ablaze.” He frowned. “Two hundred men died that night. John Morris’s son was one of them.”

  “It was merely a mishap of fate,” Cutter announced. “No one is to blame.”

  Hann tipped his mug to his lips and leveled a fierce gaze at Kent over the rim.

  “Word spread that it was by my hand.” Kent flung his head back. An unseen weight tugged upon his features.

  “Sure ruined yer plans to take Morgan’s spot as Admiral, didn’t it?” Smithy jeered. “Got ye banished from the Brethren fer good.”

  Kent’s smoldering eyes narrowed upon Smithy, and the conversation fell abruptly silent.

  Isabel’s momentary twinge of pity was smothered by a surge of fury. “Your drunken foolishness has quite possibly cost my son his life!” Though she tried to force back her tears, they filled her eyes nonetheless. She sprang to her feet. “What’s to stop this pirate from killing Frederick? Perhaps he’s already done so.” She pressed a hand over her stomach.

  Kent rose, a pleading look in his eyes. “’Tis not in Morris’s best interest to do that, milady. He wishes only to torment me. We will get Frederick back. You have my word.”

  “The word of a pirate means nothing.” Wiping a tear aside, she glanced at the men. “If you’ll excuse me, gentlemen.” Then she marched from the room.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. “I can find my way, Hann.”

  “I ’ave no doubt, milady.” But still he followed until Isabel stormed into her room and slammed the door in his face.

  The wind sang a mournful song against her window as faint moonlight gave the room a hazy glow. Isabel locked the door, t
hen paced, unable to sleep. The rush of water against the hull accompanied the shouts of men up late with their drink. A seedy ballad floated through the walls from a distant part of the ship. Wrapping her arms about her, emptiness consumed Isabel. Her breasts ached, still full with milk. How she longed to hold her baby.

  She knelt. “Oh Lord, please be with my son. Please protect him.”

  Nausea rose within her, and she turned and heaved into her chamber pot. After placing the key on the bedside table, she crawled into her bed, curled into a ball, and drew a pillow to her chest.

  Never fear. I am with you always.

  Allowing the soothing voice to comfort her, Isabel succumbed to exhaustion. Yet nightmares soon arose to disturb her peace. She was in Kent’s cabin again. But this time, no table laden with delicious food stood in the center, no laughter or idle chatter filled the room, only Kent’s muscular figure creeping toward her. His lecherous gaze scoured her. Her eyes darted over the room, searching for an escape. She screamed, but he only laughed. This can’t be happening to me. Terror trembled through her in waves. He tossed her to the bed and pounced upon her, clawing at her gown. “No! No! I beg you,” she screamed and kept screaming until her voice cracked under the strain. Then Kent’s face loomed above her, his expression intent and impassioned. He wiped the hair from her face and…

  Isabel bolted up. She dashed a glance over the room, panting. All was still, save for the slight creak of the bolt on her door. The key still sat on the table beside the bed. Terror pricked up her spine. She tiptoed from the bed and grabbed a silver tray from the table.

  The lock clanked.

  Isabel rushed to stand behind the door. Heart pounding, she raised the tray above her head.

  The door creaked open, and a booted foot stepped inside.

  Chapter Five

  Sins of the Fathers

  Kent crept into the room, not wanting to alert the attacker. The empty bed glared at him in the moonlight. Where was Isabel?

  CLANK!

  Pain radiated through his head and down his neck. He tumbled to the floor and flipped over to face his assailant. A shimmer of silver filled his vision. He lurched to his left. The oval platter clanged onto the wood where his head had been. A flash of white sped in front of him, and Kent threw out his legs and swept the attacker to his knees. He plunged atop the writhing figure and pinned his arms to the floor.

  “Get off of me, you fiend!”

  Isabel’s sweet vanilla scent wafted over him. Her auburn hair spread on the floor like a halo as she struggled beneath his weight. Each thrash brought her curves crushing against Kent. Every muscle in his body tensed with heat.

  “I knew you couldn’t be trusted.” Isabel’s voice quavered. “You are still the lecherous cad you always were.” Panting, she ceased struggling.

  He knew he should release her, but he also knew he would most likely not have the opportunity soon, if ever, to be this close to her again. Perhaps he was the villain she assumed him to be.

  Fear flickered in her eyes as they filled with tears, and Kent’s passion shriveled. He jumped from her and offered her his hand. Trembling, she scooted away from him, rose, and stood in the corner.

  “Egad, woman, ’twas you who attacked me.”

  She wrapped her arms about her chest and hid in the shadows. “Whatever do you expect when you break into my room in the middle of the night?” Her stuttering voice etched furrows into his conscience.

  Kent lit the lantern hanging on the wall and turned to face her. “I heard you scream.” He sank into one of the leather chairs and rubbed his head. A knot rose on his scalp, and a lance of pain shot from his head down his back. “I thought you were being attacked, milady.” He motioned for her to come forward. “I did not come to hurt you.”

  “As evidenced by you forcing yourself atop me,” she snorted.

  A warmth showered over him as he remembered the feel of her writhing beneath him. “I didn’t know ’twas you.”

  “Who else would be here, you fool?” Sarcasm brought strength back into her voice.

  “Precisely.” Kent gritted his teeth. “Which is why I came to your aid.”

  Isabel stepped from the shadows, grabbed a blanket from the bed, and tossed it over her nightdress, freeing her hair from beneath it. “Well as you can see, I have no need of your gallant rescue. You may go now.”

  He didn’t want to frighten her further by staring at her, but he couldn’t pull his eyes from the vision before him. Her silky hair flowed over the blanket to her waist like a waterfall of cinnamon, contrasted by the satiny skin on her face and neck—the color of pearls. She stared at him with wide, jade green eyes that never failed to melt his heart.

  “May I ask what caused you to scream?”

  She looked away, her eyes moistening. “This ship holds many vile memories.”

  Kent swallowed a burst of guilt. How could he ever have hurt such a precious creature? Would she ever forgive him? He wanted to tell her how sorry he was, but such words did not come naturally to him. Being sorry was a sign of weakness—of subservience—a failing his father had never allowed.

  In this life, boy, all that is important is being the best, the strongest, to be in command of everyone and everything you see.

  Hadn’t Kent achieved that? Truly, he was the fiercest pirate in the Caribbean. Then why did he feel so weak whenever he was in Isabel’s presence?

  He tore his eyes from her, sensing her unease and noticed the Bible sitting on the table by her bed. “Taken up religion, have you?”

  She inched her way to the bedpost and clung to it. Her gaze took in his bare chest. In his haste to rush to her aid, he’d barely remembered to don his breeches. When his eyes met hers, she glanced away. “Please leave.”

  He knew he made her uncomfortable, but he couldn’t pull himself from her company quite yet. “When my dizziness passes, I assure you I will depart.” He rubbed his eyes, feigning light-headedness. “But what of the Bible?”

  Isabel sat on the bed and glanced at the holy book. “Yes, I believe God exists. I believe in His Son, Jesus, who came and died for me. And I believe He loves me. He’s quite possibly the only one who ever has.” Sorrow lowered the tone of her voice.

  No, not the only one. Kent longed to tell her how he felt, but he didn’t think he could handle her derision, her disgust. “This is Merrick and Charlisse’s doing—this foolish notion of a loving God.”

  Isabel cocked her head. “They opened my eyes to the truth, to be sure, but it was God who touched my heart and revealed Himself to me.”

  The sincerity in her voice alarmed Kent. He’d thought her smarter than those uptight buffoons, Merrick and Charlisse. Kent had no need for a God. That would require admitting there was someone stronger and better than he was. Unthinkable. He hadn’t spent the past ten years defeating enemies and acquiring wealth to bend his knee to anyone, God or not. “And what has this God done for you? Seems you were better off without Him.”

  “The tragedies in my life are your fault, not God’s,” she snapped, clasping her hands together.

  Kent stretched his bare feet out in front of him, ignoring the bite of her remark. “How powerful could this God of yours be if He cannot control one pirate?”

  Isabel pinched her lips together and laid a hand over her abdomen. Her silence proved him right. God was not in control—especially not over him.

  Kent noticed a greenish pallor rising on her face. “I’ll send the doctor by tomorrow. It seems sailing still does not agree with you.”

  “The nausea occurs only when you are present.” She darted a chilled look his way. “If you would do me the favor of leaving, I can assure you of my quick recovery.”

  A twinge of pain plucked at his heart. Kent thought of Frederick.

  “Tell me of our son,” he said, hoping to delay his departure. Not that he wasn’t curious about the boy, but truth be told, his interests at the moment lay in proving to Isabel she could trust him. It was the first step in his plan to
win her heart.

  Isabel drew the blanket more tightly around her. “He is the most adorable creature that ever graced this world.”

  Kent studied her, delighting in the way her face lit at the mention of their son. “What color is his hair?”

  “The same shade and texture as yours.” Disappointment tainted her voice.

  A warmth settled over Kent. “His eyes, are they green like yours?”

  “Nay,” she sighed. “They are dark like yours.”

  Kent chuckled. “How daunting for you.”

  “But he is not like you in any other way.” She raised her chin. “He has a sweet, kind spirit, full of joy. His laugher fills a room like sunshine.” She smiled. “He makes gurgling noises in his sleep.”

  The glow from Isabel’s face brightened the dim room and lightened Kent’s heavy heart.

  “He’s big for his age and already has two teeth,” she added.

  “He’ll make a fine pirate,” Kent growled, enjoying the appalled look on Isabel’s face.

  “He shall be none of the kind,” she raged. “He will be a gentleman, a nobleman. A man after God’s own heart—like David in the Bible.”

  “Ha!” Kent raised his brows. “You forget, milady, from whose seed he sprang.”

  “How could I forget?” Her bitter eyes snapped to his. “Yet honor and integrity bloom from a good heart, not from name or fortune.”

  “As I recall, you require both good name and fortune in any suitor.”

  “That is different.”

  “I do not see how.”

  “You wouldn’t understand.” Isabel gave Kent a sideways glance and squeezed her eyes shut. “I miss him so much. I cannot bear the thought that he may be suffering” Tears fell from her lashes onto the blanket.

  Kent approached her, wanting to taker her in his arms, but she opened her eyes and thrust out her hand. “Please. Stay away from me.”

  Returning to his chair, he dropped his head into his hands. He would show her. He would find the boy and deliver him safely back into her arms. Then she would forgive him. Then maybe, just maybe, she would learn to care for him.