After checking the bolt on her door three times, she settled on the bed and dissolved into a fitful sleep.
The wail of a baby filled her cabin—at first a low, distant whimper, then pulsating into a grating whine, louder and louder.
Isabel sprang from the bed. “Frederick!”
Hann crept up behind Kent, careful to not make a sound. Although he had removed his boots, the wood beneath his feet creaked with every step. The captain drew another swig of rum and leaned the bottle down on the barrel. That’s it, keep drinking. Cloud your ears and your head to boot. It will only make my job easier.
The ship lurched over a wave, sending a spray of sea over them. Regaining his balance, Hann hesitated. He gripped the knife, and positioned it above his head. He was almost there. Two more steps, a quick plunge of the blade, and then overboard with the murdering scoundrel—to the depths of the sea where he belonged. Then finally, it would be finished and justice would be served.
Grabbing a key, Isabel thrust it into the keyhole and jiggled. Her hands trembled.
The scream of a child filled the air.
The lock wouldn’t catch. She pulled the key out, and it slipped from her hand, clanging to the floor.
The howling grew louder. Sobbing, Isabel knelt, retrieved the key, and inserted it again. This time the lock caught and with one turn, the latch fell. She yanked the door open and darted outside. She glanced down the dark hall, craning her ear. The wailing continued. It came from the deck above. Isabel flew up the stairs. Her bare feet slapped against the cool, moist wood of the main deck. A burst of warm air struck her, nearly shoving her off her feet.
“Frederick!”
Squinting, she scanned the ship, trying to focus in the darkness. A band of pirates huddled by the port railing. She felt their eyes upon her but didn’t care. The wail chimed through the night air.
“Frederick!”
Kent tipped the bottle to his lips and poured a full draught down his throat. The tangy liquid burned his mouth and warmed his gut. He plopped onto a barrel near the foremast and sighed, scanning the black expanse. He loved this sea. And he was her master. Though she was wild and unpredictable, he had tamed her, had made her his slave and stolen her treasure. If only he could do the same with the tempestuous woman below.
“See, dear father. I am not the failure you thought me to be.” He thrust the bottle into the midnight sky. A gust of heavy air smashed into him. Though the storm had passed, strong wind still toyed with the ship. Sails snapped above him in the lingering tempest as the blocks creaked and groaned. The rush of wind through the tackles whined like a siren’s song. He chuckled. He’d always considered the sailors in that story foolish to be so easily lured to their deaths by feminine wiles, and yet now he found himself under the same spell—that of Lady Ashton.
Tossing back his head, he raised the bottle and downed another gulp. He hadn’t meant to drink tonight, but after the infuriating woman had denied his request for her to dine with him, he’d been unable to stop himself—especially when Smithy and some of the other pirates had enticed him to join their party. He’d done so for a while, if only to dull the pain and the anger brewing within him. Lady Ashton. The last person who’d treated him with such disrespect had found himself tied to the keel of the ship.
A chill swirled around him. Are you in command or not? Go down and take her. You’ve done it before. You can do it again.
“Frederick!”
Kent shook his head. Now he was hearing the blasted woman’s voice. Could he not shake her from his thoughts for one night?
“Frederick!”
Kent sprang from the barrel and turned. Something moved behind him. He peered into the shadows. “Hann, is that you?”
The lad emerged into the sparse light from the foremast lantern, a sheepish grin on his lips.
“I didn’t hear you, boy,” Kent chided him. “Don’t be sneaking up on me again.”
A woman screamed and Kent glanced down on the main deck. Isabel darted frantically across the ship, her gown billowing in the wind. A group of pirates were closing in on her.
Isabel raced upon the quarterdeck, her gaze dashing wildly over the frightening shadows. The mizzenmast loomed above her, its tip lost in the darkness. A dark figure stepped out from behind the whipstaff.
“Where’s my baby?” Desperation swallowed her fear.
A deep chortle drifted to her on the wind. “I dunno, miss, but I’ll be yer baby, if ye wants.” A pirate groped at her shoulder.
Howling chimed across the deck. Isabel glanced up. It came from above. “Frederick!” She bolted back down the ladder, tripped over a hatch coaming, and crashed to the deck. Pain stung her arm. She crawled to the railing and clutched the wood, sobbing. “Frederick, where are you?”
The shuffle of boots sounded behind her. “Can we help ye with somthin’, young missy?”
Snickers followed, and Isabel recognized Smithy’s voice. Tainted with rum, however, it did not seem as solicitous as it had before. She dared not look around, but kept her gaze on the inky sea foaming below her. How could she be so close to her crying child, yet be unable to find him?
The thump of another set of boots joined them, and Isabel heard the pirates scramble away.
Strong arms reached from behind her and lifted her to her feet. Struggling, she swung around and glared into Kent’s darkened face. Though his eyes were obscured in a shadow, a slight smirk sat upon his lips.
“If you longed for the pleasure of my company, you might have joined me at dinner.” His tone was mocking. The tangy scent of rum flooded her nostrils.
Pushing against him, she backed away. “I do not seek you, you fool.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I heard Frederick crying. You have him here, don’t you?” She charged him and beat her fists on his chest. “Why do you keep him from me?”
“Milady.” He grabbed her arms. “I do not have him. Do you think me so cruel?”
She struggled to be free, but his firm grip tightened. The crying pierced the air again.
“See, do you not hear him?” She yanked her arms free. “Let me go to him!” Her voice cracked as tears gushed down her face.
Kent sighed and clutched her shoulders, forcing her to face him. “’Tis only the wind whistling through the tackles, milady.” He glanced upward then loosened his hold on her. “Though I admit it does sound a bit like a child. I assure you, your son is not on board. I may be many things, but I am not a man who steals babes from their mothers.”
Hesitating, Isabel listened as the whimpering eased and finally ceased along with the wind. Despondency once again weighed upon her heart. Her stomach lurched, and she hung her head and sobbed.
Kent pulled her to him. For a brief moment, the strength and warmth of his embrace soothed Isabel, but his spicy odor sent fury and fear clamoring through her. She shoved away from him.
“How dare you? Trying to take advantage of my weakness. Trying to comfort me when you are the one who has caused me this pain.”
Kent growled. “Woman, you try my patience. Have I not assured you I will make amends? Where is your faith?”
“My faith is in God, not in a pirate.”
“This pirate can bring you more happiness than any God.” A cloud dislodged its hold on the moon, allowing light to filter down upon the ship. Kent waved a hand in the air. “Do you not see what I have accomplished? Success, power. I am king of all I see, and”—he leaned toward her—“I have a vast amount of treasure hidden away. Once we find our son, we can live out our days in wealth and luxury.” His voice rose in excitement.
“All I see is a drunken fool, a man without honor.” Isabel jutted her chin in the air.
“Aye, yes, I did have a drink. May your piousness forgive me.” He bowed mockingly. “I was informed I would not be seeing you this evening, but alas, you have surprised me. Now what of my offer, milady? ’Tis what you’ve always wanted—wealth, success.”
Isabel sneered. “Wealth without title, withou
t position, is meaningless. Honor and integrity cannot be bought, and you sir, are without both.”
A cloud obscured the moonlight again, shrouding Kent’s face in shadows, but not before she saw the pain in his eyes. All was silent save his deep breaths and the groan of the ship. Guilt pricked at her conscience. Had she been too cruel? Was this the way a true Christian woman behaved? She could almost feel his agony leeching through the darkness. Then he growled, and in one swoop, hoisted her over his shoulder. “Swounds woman, I would that it did not come to this, but your impudence is not to be borne.”
Chapter Seven
New Providence
Kent staggered, nearly dropping Isabel, before marching across the deck and down the companionway.
“What are you doing? Put me down at once!” Isabel pounded his back. Then her voice softened. “Please, I beg you.”
“Ah, now you beg me, but ’tis too late. You need to be taught who is master aboard this ship.”
He kicked open the door to her cabin and swung inside.
Isabel began to sob, then fell silent. She ceased struggling.
Kent laid her limp body gently on the bed and took a step back. Blast, the woman had swooned. He hadn’t meant to frighten her so badly—scare her into submission perhaps—but he’d had no intention of hurting her. Didn’t she realize he could never force himself on her again? Kent rubbed the back of his neck and thumped his forehead against the bedpost as the rum cavorted in a lawless dance in his head. The woman’s sharp tongue had lit the fuse of his liquored mind and blasted his reason to bits—once again.
Sinking into a chair, Kent planted his elbows on his knees and stared at the beauty who’d caused him more pain than any enemy had. Would she ever see him for the man he longed to be, not the man she remembered? Even with a noble title, he knew he would always fall short of what she desired. And deserved.
Dizziness overtook him, and he bowed his head. “Am I truly the vile rogue she believes I am?”
Silence echoed his answer, and he grunted. What God would answer him?
Regardless of whether she forgave him, he would help her find their son. Then if she wished, he would leave her be. How could he do any less?
Standing, he allowed his gaze to peruse her—something he dared not do so boldly while she was awake. Silky auburn hair cascaded over her shoulder and sparkled like rubies in the lantern light. Long lashes cast shadows onto her creamy cheek, still stained with tears. His pulse rose at her nearness and vulnerability. Grabbing a blanket, he covered her and retrieved a key from the table before forcing himself to leave.
Boom!
Isabel shot up, clutching the blanket to her chest.
Boom!
A tremble ran through the ship, threatening to tear its timbers asunder.
She dashed to the window, craning to see who they fired upon. No ship was in sight, at least not in the small angle of vision afforded her.
A knock and Hann’s voice summoned her to the door.
“The captain wishes me to inform ye that he’s testin’ the cannons this morning, and that we will arrive at New Providence within the hour.” Hann entered and set a tray of tea on the table. He hesitated, glancing across the room before his dark violet gaze rested on Isabel.
“Thank you Hann.” She regarded the lad, sensing an unusual empathy in his eyes. Dirt smudged his chin and cheeks. In fact, Isabel couldn’t recall ever seeing the boy’s face clean.
“I best be goin’.” He shuffled his boots yet made no move to leave.
“Was there something else, Hann?”
He shook his head and scurried out.
Isabel couldn’t wait to get out of this tiny cabin. For two days, she’d been cooped up within its confining walls, trying to remain calm amidst the stifling air. Where was the peace God had promised to those who followed Christ? Hers had been chased away by fear and anxiety that hovered around her like monsters ready to pounce. With her faith so weak, she wondered whether God heard any of her prayers.
After donning a fresh gown and washing her face, Isabel braved to venture up on deck, excitement squelching her fears. So far, none of the other pirates had paid her much attention. The only one she had to cause fear was Captain Carlton. He’d had the perfect opportunity the other night, yet he’d not touched her. Perhaps he had changed.
Isabel darted across the deck to the railing as warm, moist air rose from the sea and showered her with its salty, sweet fragrance. Off in the distance, land sprang from a shimmering turquoise mirror like an oasis, beckoning her to safe shores. She recognized the shape of the island. New Providence—her home.
Smithy stomped across the deck, barking orders, and stopped to tip his hat in her direction. The gleam in his eyes disquieted her. She glanced over the ship. Men swayed in the ratlines and shrouds, adjusting sails. Others scurried about, hauling ropes and measuring depth. Some loitered, their glances snaking her way. The helmsman gripped the whipstaff in one hand, but in the other he held a squirming white rat. Isabel cringed and averted her eyes to where the captain stood, perched up on the foredeck with spyglass to his eye. He’d left her alone for over a day. Perhaps he’d given up on winning her affections.
“We are nearly arrived, milady.” A loud voice startled Isabel, and she looked over to see Cutter standing beside her, pipe jutting from his mouth.
“My apologies,” he said, the smoking tube flapping with his lips. “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”
“I didn’t hear you approaching.” She looked toward the island and rubbed her arms. “I’m quite excited to finally be here.”
“Aye, ’tis been a trying voyage for you, to be sure.”
“And it isn’t over yet, but at least I should receive some news of Frederick soon.”
“Your family comes from New Providence, do they not?”
“Yes, how did you know?”
“The captain searched for you here after you left him.”
So Kent had looked for her. She couldn’t remember telling him of her family but must have disclosed that information during the long hours she’d been forced to endure his company.
“My father is Brenton Ashton, Earl of Dunlope.” She heard the pride in her voice, and a burst of nausea rose in her throat. How could she still esteem the man who’d so cruelly rejected her child? “We had a grand estate in Hertfordshire. But after the plague took my baby brother and the fire ravished London, we lost all our holdings and made the crossing to the West Indies to start anew.”
Cutter grabbed the rail with his left hand. Only two fingers clutched the wood; the other three lay inept on the railing. Red and blue patches curdled over his skin, reaching under the lacy cuffs of his shirt.
He glanced at her. “You were not pleased with the move?”
Isabel flinched, remembering the agony of those years. “I would have preferred to stay in England. These islands are most uncivilized.” She patted the combs in her hair. “And I was to be married to William Herbert, Earl of Pembroke.” Embarrassment warmed her face at the personal disclosure. She gazed into Cutter’s gray eyes, so filled with unfeigned regard that they seemed to lure from her the intimate details of her life. Perhaps she simply longed for a sympathetic ear aboard this frightening ship
Cutter puffed his pipe. The sweet, musky smell clouded over her, reminding her of her father. She missed him, missed his strength and protection. Brenton Ashton was a strong, commanding man, both in stature and personality, and he guarded and coddled the woman in his family as if they were precious jewels. Though from time to time Isabel feared his wrath, she had always felt cherished and loved. Maybe that’s why she found it so easy to talk with the doctor.
“What happened with your engagement?” Cutter asked.
“When my father lost everything, including my dowry, I was no longer of value to William.”
Cutter leaned on the rail. “Then why do you mourn such a shallow man?”
“I do not mourn him.” She glanced away and raised her nose.
“I beg your pardon.” Cutter grinned.
“I mourn only the loss of our status.” Isabel closed her eyes and allowed the warm breeze to caress her skin. “But my father has done well in Charles Towne.”
“Yet you do not live with him.”
“Nay, he does not approve of Frederick.”
“I see.” He nodded. “I too am quite familiar with being rejected for something you could not avoid—for something you once had, but lost against your will.”
Isabel gazed at Cutter, shielding her eyes from the sun. A lonely shroud hovered over him, yet he hid his sorrow well. She tried to picture him without the scars and realized he had been a handsome man once. How he must have suffered. “Yes, I believe you do understand.”
Pulling a locket from his waistcoat, he flipped it open to reveal a tiny portrait of a woman. Curly blonde ringlets surrounded an angelic face, sparkling with blue eyes.
“My fiancé,” he said. “I had this painted just before we were to be married.”
“She’s very beautiful.”
“Yes but apparently I was not so to her—at least not after my accident.” He uttered a bitter laugh.
Although no sheen of moisture tinted his gaze, Isabel could feel unshed tears burning behind her own eyes. She offered him what she hoped was a comforting smile. “It seems we have more in common than we thought.”
Cutter’s attention flickered behind her, and he straightened his stance.
A shadow crept over her, bringing first relief from the heat and then a waft of leather and salt.
“We should arrive in Charles Towne in less than an hour.” Kent’s deep voice sent a strange flutter in her stomach.
The doctor bowed. “Milady.” He nodded toward Kent. “Captain.” Then with a puff of his pipe, he strode off.
Isabel did not turn around. She hoped the captain would leave.
The Restitution Page 7