The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  Grabbing a handkerchief from the table, she dabbed her nose. “How did you discover where I was? How did you know Frederick was taken?”

  Kent leaned back in the chair and stretched his legs before him. “An acquaintance of mine, Richard Sawkins”—just saying the name put a sour taste in his mouth—“He heard Morris bragging about it in a tavern at New Providence.”

  “What did he hear?” Isabel scooted to the edge of the bed, hope widening her reddened eyes.

  “Only that Morris had taken him. Sawkins is the man I spoke of earlier. We will meet him in Charles Towne.” He wished he could offer her more hope—wished more than anything he could bring joy back into those mesmerizing eyes. He dared not tell her that Sawkins, though one of her esteemed noblemen, was nothing but a reckless scoundrel not to be trusted with a single doubloon, let alone a child’s life. But for now, he was the only informant Kent had.

  Isabel scratched her arms and sighed. “How long before we arrive?”

  “Three days.” Seeing her eyes fill with tears again, Kent leaned forward on his knees. “We will find our son.”

  “He is not your son.” She stood and turned her back to him. “You had no part in him save one minute of violence.”

  A muscle began to twitch in Kent’s jaw. How long must he endure this woman’s impudence? He was the captain on board this ship. Rising to his feet, he took a step toward her.

  She faced him.

  Restraining himself, Kent bowed. “I will leave you to your rest, milady.”

  “Captain, before you leave.”

  The sweet tone of her voice lifted his hopes. “Yes?”

  She held out her hand. “The key, if you please.”

  “The key?”

  “The one which gained you entrance into my cabin. The one whose existence you failed to mention”

  With a roguish grin, Kent pulled a key from a pocket in his breeches. He’d hoped she wouldn’t notice. After all, he’d kept a copy only for her protection. Dropping it into her hand, he marched out.

  Kent stormed up onto the foredeck and clutched the main railing. Thrusting his bare chest into the wind, he braced himself against the plunging of the ship as she forged through the sea. Frustration, shame, and anger surged within him like the turbulent waters of the Caribbean. How he’d longed to be near Isabel again. For a year he’d searched for her across this dark expanse. Yet every moment he now spent with her threw his insides into a riotous brawl. He’d envisioned her naught but grateful for his aid in rescuing her son. Perhaps even willing to forgive him—willing to give him another chance. Yet her attitude and demeanor proved to be the opposite. How dare she? Did she know what he could do to her now that she was once again under his dominion? Her sudden belief in this invisible God only made matters worse. Now she’d have even more reason to toss her impudent little nose in the air.

  Footsteps sounded behind him. Had she come to her senses and sought him out to make amends? Nay, the tread was too heavy to be a woman’s. A whiff of tobacco tickled Kent’s nose, and Cutter emerged from the shadows. The tall, lanky man halted beside Kent and stared out over the sea, saying nothing for several minutes.

  He glanced at his captain. “The woman keeps you up at night, eh?”

  “There are many things that disturb my sleep.” Kent crossed his arms over his chest.

  “And yet I have never seen you patrolling these decks at so late an hour.”

  Kent grimaced. “I’ll not deny the woman is an added distraction.” A gust of wind tore up from the sea and blew his hair into his eyes. He flung the strands behind him.

  Lifting his pipe to his mouth, Cutter took a few puffs. “I fear she is more than that. You’ve not quite been yourself since she came aboard.”

  Kent’s stomach clenched. “What is it you want, Doctor?”

  “I seek nothing save company on a lonely night.”

  “I fear you will be disappointed with mine.”

  “Which is precisely what I’ve been saying.”

  Kent gripped the railing again. “She shuns my every kindness.”

  Cutter took a puff from his pipe then lowered it. “Violation is not an easy thing to dismiss—especially when the act produces a child. Perhaps you are not considering what her life has been like this past year?” He gave Kent a questioning glance.

  “And what of my life? Why I’ve done naught but search for her, my only concern being her wellbeing. And all the while I carried the burden of guilt for what I had done—a burden only she can lift. Yet she refuses to do so.”

  “Was it truly just for her concern that you sought her out? Then why is your ire so kindled when she does not react as you had hoped?”

  Cutter’s calm demeanor belied his sharp words—words that penetrated deep within Kent to a place he preferred to leave untouched. “Only you, good doctor, can make me feel ashamed for doing a good thing.”

  Cutter chuckled.

  Kent fisted his hands on his hips and braced his feet upon the deck as the ship rolled over a lusty swell. A flash of lightning lanced across the sky. “Truth be told, I’m doing this woman a grand service, and if she insists on spitting upon my graces, we shall see what will happen.” He drew in a deep breath, relishing the scent of salt and the sting of rains. “For I am determined to have her one way or another.”

  Thunder roared in agreement, shaking the ship beneath his feet. Rain sprinkled over the two men.

  Drawing his gnarled lips into a straight line, Cutter eyed Kent. “Then I shall leave you to your musings, Captain.”

  Kent nodded as the doctor sauntered away, leaving behind a cloud of disapproval that nearly smothered him. He raised his head and allowed the rain to wash it away, as his father’s words filled his thoughts.

  Failure is for weaklings. You must take what you want from life, be it money, power, success, or women. He struck Kent across the jaw, sending the young boy to his knees. Why can’t you be more like your brother? Never let anyone rule you, you feeble ox. The burly man’s scarred features had twisted into a swollen lump of hate. He spat onto the ground near Kent before he grabbed his cane and limped away.

  Isabel flew to the window and peered out. A sudden burst of rain pelted the glass, startling her backward. Kent’s intrusion upon her evening had aggravated her nerves, sending them teetering with each toss of the ship. Had he really changed? He seemed to be the same haughty, ill-tempered ruffian she’d known before. Yet behind his impertinent stare, she’d detected a hint of warmth.

  Confusion spun her emotions into a whirlwind. Sometimes his gaze raked over her as if he were peering through her gown. Yet other times a true concern and affection flickered in his eyes. She glanced at the chair where he’d sat and a vision of him, bare-chested, appeared in her mind. It did nothing to calm her. She’d hardly been able to keep her eyes from the muscles bulging in his chest and arms. She hugged herself. Her shameless attraction to him frightened her almost as much as his strength did.

  She paced across the cabin, searching for the rest she so desperately needed.

  “Oh Reverend Thomas, I need you. I need a word from God.”

  I am here, Daughter.

  Isabel swung around and gazed over the room. Her eyes landed on the Bible. Reaching for it, she sank to the bed and flipped through the pages. They opened to Isaiah 41:10:

  “Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God: I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.”

  As she drew the Bible to her chest, Isabel’s eyes burned. “Yes, you are with me, Lord.”

  Replacing the holy book with care onto the table, she knelt down beside her bed and clasped her hands together. “Thank you, Father, for your unfailing mercy. Forgive me for my doubts.”

  You must also forgive, beloved.

  The words flowed over her with the sweetness of honey but soured when they reached her heart. Ignoring them, she continued, “And please take care of Frederick, Lord,
please watch over him.”

  She rose and wiped the tears from her cheeks, wondering why the sense of peace she’d felt only moments ago had dissipated. After blowing out the lantern, she crawled into bed.

  A blast of thunder sent a quiver through the ship. Dread tiptoed across her hopes, and she clutched her pillow. She would play the captain’s game until they reached Charles Towne. After she discovered Frederick’s whereabouts from Kent’s informant, she would make her escape to her parents’ estate and beg them for their help. Surely she could persuade them to rescue their only grandson.

  The rain slapped against the window, filling the cabin with the sound of its laughter. She deserved the taunting. What a fool she was to put herself back in the hands of this pirate. Instead of groveling at her feet begging her forgiveness, he grew bolder and angrier each time she saw him. No, he hadn’t changed. He couldn’t be trusted.

  What have I done?

  Chapter Six

  Fate and Wealth

  Isabel pried her eyes open. The Bible stared at her from the table next to her bed, and before her mind fully awoke to the grimness of her situation, a feeling of love surrounded her. God was with her. He would never leave her.

  Rubbing her eyes, she sat up. Her breasts ached, reminding her of Frederick, and instantly, terror swooped down, snatching away the momentary peace.

  The ship lunged and nearly tossed her to the floor. Clinging to the bedpost, she stood and gathered her wits and her courage for another day. Rain pelted against the window and though only a gloomy haze drifted into the cabin, Isabel suspected she’d slept long into the morning.

  After donning a gown, she washed her face and combed her hair. As she was pinning up the unruly tresses, a knock sounded on the door.

  “Who is it?”

  “’Tis I, with the doctor.” Kent’s deep voice bore through the oak.

  “I told you I have no need.”

  “Allow Cutter to decide that, milady.”

  With a huff, Isabel snatched one of the keys from the table and unlatched the bolt. Before she could open the door, Kent forced his way in with the doctor on his heels. A burst of humid air spiced with rain surged in behind them. Kent bowed and a waterfall cascaded from his hat. Doffing it, he swung the saturated strands of his hair behind him and gave her one of his dangerous smiles. “I trust you slept well?”

  Isabel tilted her chin up and glanced at Cutter. “Doctor, my stomach seems to ail me only when Captain Carlton is present. Perhaps you could save yourself the trouble of an examination and simply order him to leave.”

  Cutter’s eyebrows rose and a slight smile curved his lips, but one stern look from Kent and his features fell stoic again.

  Scowling, Kent stared at Isabel. “Then so be it. I will take my leave, but the doctor will stay to make sure you are well.” Kent slapped his soggy hat on his head and stormed out.

  Cutter shrugged. “Are you in need of my services, milady?”

  Isabel pressed a hand over her belly. “Truthfully, I believe I could use something to settle my stomach. It has never agreed with sailing, I’m afraid—nor with pirates.”

  “Yes, quite so.” Cutter dropped a satchel onto the table and opened it with his right hand. He drew out a small pouch with fingers that were strong and slender, so unlike the ones on his left hand that hung withered by his side. “Cinnamon and myrrh.” He handed it to Isabel. “I’ll have Hann bring some chamomile tea. Add this to it. It should help you regain your appetite, milady.” He smiled, and despite his mangled upper lip, Isabel noted the genuine concern in his eyes.

  “I never properly thanked you for helping Lady Charlisse and me escape the last time I was on board this ship.”

  “And yet I find you’ve returned of your own free will.” He regarded her with humor.

  Isabel shook her head. “You know as well as I ’tis concern for my son that has dragged me here.”

  Cutter’s lofty bearing and gentlemanly demeanor gave Isabel the impression of an intelligence hidden behind his deformed exterior. He studied her with eyes the color of the sky in the aftermath of a thunderstorm.

  Isabel scratched her arms. “I seem to have developed a rash as well.”

  “Hmm,” Cutter grunted. “Let’s have a look, shall we?” He motioned for her to roll up her sleeves.

  “I’m ashamed to say this rash may be evidence of my lack of faith in God.” Isabel groaned as Cutter examined the red bumps littering her skin. “It began when Frederick went missing. I’ve had it before—the last time I was on this ship.”

  “Do not waste your thoughts on such a trifling pursuit such as faith, milady.” Cutter released her arm. “We shall treat the rash for what it is, a nervous reaction and nothing more. There is no God, at least none that cares about humanity.”

  “What makes you say such a thing?” Isabel studied the doctor as he withdrew a jar of ointment from his bag. Though she did not expect such a declaration from Cutter, she understood it all too well. Not too long ago, she had believed the same thing.

  He shifted his placid gaze to hers. “I fear ’tis the only logical conclusion.”

  “’Tis the only irrational conclusion, Doctor. There is a God, I can assure you. I have spoken with Him, felt His warm presence, seen His mighty hand perform miracles.”

  “You are young and susceptible to foolish notions.” He handed her a cruet filled with oil. “Rub this on both arms twice a day.”

  Isabel squeezed the glass between her fingers. “May I ask what happened to foster such cynicism in your heart?”

  Cutter’s lips flattened. “Fate happened. She is the only controller of this world, and a rather unjust one at that.” He tied his satchel and flung it over his shoulder. “It comforts me knowing I cannot pray to her, nor that I need to please her in order to appeal to her mercy. She does not listen to men but does as she pleases. Once I accepted that, I felt at peace.”

  Isabel’s heart sank. She liked Cutter and didn’t want to see him so unhappy and so alone—especially when he didn’t have to be.

  “Did you ever believe in God?”

  He grinned. “Yes, many years ago.” He raised his withered arm. “And see how I was paid for my devotion?”

  Isabel’s eyes burned at the agony and bitterness in his gaze. “Please forgive my boldness, but may I ask what happened to you?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest, placing the withered one beneath the stronger one and regarded her, a battle brewing behind his stormy gray eyes.

  A tap on the open door drew their attention. Hann stood with a tray of food, staring at Cutter as if he’d never seen him before. His tremble reached the tray with a clatter of cup, saucer, and spoon as he set it down on the table. “I’m sorry, milady. I did not know you had a guest. With the captain’s compliments, your lunch.”

  “Can you bring Lady Ashton some chamomile tea, Hann?”

  Hann shifted his gaze from Cutter to the floor. “I ’ave some right here, sir.” A pinkish hue blossomed up his face.

  Cutter scratched his head, then faced Isabel. “By your leave, milady. I have other duties to attend to.”

  “Of course. Thank you, Doctor.”

  As soon as Cutter left, Hann let out a deep breath.

  Isabel studied the boy curiously. “Something troubles you about the doctor?”

  Hann’s wide-eyed gaze darted to hers. “Nay, milady. What makes ye say that?” He poured some tea and handed the steaming cup to Isabel.

  “You seem quite uneasy in his presence. Has he hurt you?” Taking the cup, Isabel took a sip and set it down on the table.

  “No, never. T’aint nothin’ like that, milady. Now if that be all miss. Captain suggests ye stay in yer cabin during the squall. He says fer me to come get ye for dinner when the time comes.”

  “You may tell the captain I have no intention of dining with him tonight.” Isabel threw her shoulders back.

  Hann crinkled his nose, and a tenuous grin flickered on his lips. He turned to leave.

>   “And Hann?”

  “Aye, milady?”

  “Do you perchance have any more pillows on board? These two will not suffice.”

  “Them’s the only two we got.” Hann gave a disapproving chortle. “And those the captain had to purchase special at New Providence.”

  Isabel nodded and the young boy left, closing the door after him.

  Kent had remembered she loved lots of pillows. Puzzling. An uncomfortable feeling of being cared for came over her as she locked the bolt and sat in one of the chairs. Opening the pouch Cutter had given her, she sprinkled some of the mixture into her tea and prayed it would not only sooth her stomach but her whirling emotions as well.

  Hours later, Isabel sat by the window and watched the sun set upon a sea that seethed and frothed just like the raging of her heart.

  Dinnertime came and went, and Isabel thanked God Captain Carlton had not summoned her, although she received no food either. Instead, she devoured the two buttery biscuits Hann had brought earlier, lit a lamp, and opened her Bible.

  “I don’t know what to do, Lord. I feel so alone and surrounded by enemies.”

  No voice came to reassure her, but as she scanned the Scriptures, comforting words fell from the pages into her heart as if they were meant just for her:

  “I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in Him will I trust. Surely He shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with His feathers, and under His wings shalt thou trust: His truth shall be thy shield and buckler. Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day.”

  “Thank you, Father.” Yet no sooner had she closed the holy book than a black shroud fell over her window and fear slithered back around her heart. Isabel lit another lantern to stave off the encroaching darkness. The wind howled an eerie chant as it rushed against the hull in a violent dance, accompanied by the creak and groan of the ship charging through the churning sea.

  As night fell, the sounds of evening reverie arose. Shouts, curses, challenges, and risqué ballads bombarded her through the cabin’s thin walls. A pistol shot rang through the air. Isabel jumped from her chair.