The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  He slid beside her and dropped his elbows onto the railing. A heated gust toyed with the strands of hair flying out from under his black scarf. Coarse stubble peppered his chin and neck. “Does my news not bring you joy, milady?”

  “My apologies.” She gave him a curt smile. “I dared not presume you addressed me, since you’ve not said a word to me in nigh two days.”

  “Missed me?”

  Darting her gaze out to the island, Isabel chortled. “Your insolence is ever a source of humor.”

  “Well, at least I provide some service to you.” He stood, straightened his vest, and clamped a hand over the hilt of his cutlass. “I’ll leave you to your reflections, then.” He spun on his heels and sauntered away. With his departure a sudden chill came over her. She glanced over her shoulder. A horde of pirates clustered across the deck. Shaggy, unkempt, and adorned in stained, mismatched attire, they leered at her through rotting teeth. Her gaze shifted to Kent’s retreating form on the quarterdeck. As long as he was present, she’d be safe—from them at least.

  The first small cays that led the way into the harbor at Charles Towne popped up from the sapphire sea. Isabel tensed, whether from nerves or excitement, she didn’t know.

  “Lower tops and gallants.” Kent’s commands echoed across the ship. “Bring her about, Hoornes. Steady.”

  Smithy repeated his orders, adding his own colorful obscenities and sending the filthy men to their duties.

  Shielding her eyes from the noonday sun, Isabel watched the barefooted pirates climb like monkeys up the ratlines into the shrouds and nearly disappear among the billowing sails. Her gaze dropped to find the captain standing on the quarterdeck next to the whipstaff, hands fisted on his hips as if he owned the world. She still found it difficult to believe he was Frederick’s father.

  A blast of heat blew in from the land and struck Isabel. Perspiration dampened her neck and slid down her back. Plucking a fan from the sash of her gown, she snapped it open and fluttered it about her face, wishing the ship would move faster. But the cays and reefs dotting the entrance to the harbor held many hidden dangers. Even the most skilled seaman must navigate them with care.

  Off the port side, the golden shores and green fields of Hog Island came into view—named so for the farm animals that were allowed to roam freely there until they were butchered to feed the settlers. The stench of hog and cow dung roasting in the sweltering heat crashed over Isabel, nearly choking her.

  Holding a hand to her nose, she turned to see the rows of wooden docks punching out into the harbor from the center of Charles Towne. Memories washed over her—agonizing memories of a difficult farewell. As the ship glided past the first dock, visions of her mother weeping as she clung to her husband’s arm sprang into Isabel’s mind. With a stoic face, her father had handed Isabel a sealed envelope. He’d paid for her passage to Port Royal, sending with her a letter to a woman at a boardinghouse with enough money to support Isabel until she bore her child. Afterward she could return home—alone.

  Isabel forced back tears and surveyed the masts. All the sails save the fore and main courses had been lowered and furled. Beyond Kent’s ship, sloops, schooners, brigs, and other ships rocked at their anchors in the simmering bay. She wondered how many of them were pirate ships. Her eyes landed on Kent and hatred burned within her. Because of him, she’d had to forsake home, family, and her dignity.

  Of course, she hadn’t gone to the boardinghouse. Lady Charlisse had given her directions to Reverend Thomas Buchan’s church in case she ever found herself at Port Royal and in need of help. She’d shown up at his cottage—dirty, shabby, in tears, and pregnant. She would never forget the comforting smile on his face as he escorted her inside.

  “Lower all courses,” Kent bellowed. “Anchor away!”

  Isabel glanced over the city. Crowds of people mobbed around the docks and scurried along the streets, weaving around horses and drays loaded with goods. Brick and wooden buildings of varying width and height cropped up behind them and littered the hills beyond.

  “Oh, Frederick,” she whispered. Perhaps he was here. She knew it was too much to hope for, but at least she could finally leave this horrid ship and make some progress in the search for her son.

  The frigate glided to a near stop, and the huge iron anchor struck the water with a splash, its enormous chain clanking against the hull as it sank.

  Cutter approached Isabel with a smile and led her aside while the cockboat was hoisted from its cradle amidships and lowered overboard. Kent disappeared below. He reappeared shortly in a fine satin doublet with silver-laced buttonholes. Atop his head perched a plumed tricorn. After he issued orders to the men, he swaggered toward Isabel.

  “I understand your family lives here. Do you wish to see them?”

  Taken aback at his kindness, Isabel studied him, then surveyed the city. Truly, she wasn’t sure she could face another rejection by her father, but as soon as she obtained information on Frederick’s whereabouts, she had to take that risk. “Yes perhaps, but first we must first speak with your informant.”

  “Then, shall we?” Kent gestured to the rope ladder one of the men had flung over the bulwarks.

  A sudden quiver raked over Isabel. Once again, she was putting herself at the mercies of this pirate. She turned toward Cutter. “Will you be joining us?”

  “I’m afraid not.” He winced and glanced over the city. “I rarely expose myself to the public. There are women and children to consider.” Bitterness tainted his short chuckle.

  Isabel replied with an understanding nod, but felt abandoned by her new friend. When she faced the captain again, his jaw flexed. “You may stay on board if you prefer.” He raised his brows.

  “Of course not,” she snapped.

  Grinning, the captain flung himself over the railing and climbed down into the boat. After a wary glance at Cutter, Isabel followed, clumsily scaling the coarse ropes. Kent grabbed her waist and placed her in the boat before she could protest. Smithy and two other pirates joined them.

  The pungent odor of brine, rotting wood, and fish viscera steamed from the shallow water, assaulting Isabel. She pulled out her handkerchief, dabbed at the moisture dotting the back of her neck, and then held the damp cloth to her nose.

  After shoving off the hull, the men snapped the oars in the locks and began rowing toward shore. The sun reflected off the placid water, causing Isabel to squint as she gazed over the scene. Workers swarmed the docks. Bare-chested Caribs and slaves, their bronzed backs glimmering with sweat, unloaded crates and barrels from boats and hauled them to nearby drays. Isabel marveled their strength and perseverance in the sweltering heat.

  Kent sat across from her. Though she tried to avoid his gaze, occasionally their eyes met. She found his silence as unnerving as the sharpness of his tongue. The hilt of a large knife jutted from one of his black Cordovan boots. Through the folds of his doublet she saw the butt of a pistol stuffed into the waist of his breeches. The tip of his cutlass pointed over the side of the boat. Was he expecting trouble? Isabel did not recall Charles Towne being nearly as dangerous as Port Royal.

  Squelching her dismal thoughts, she allowed her hope to rise with each stroke of the oars. The man they were supposed to meet knew where Frederick was. She could feel it. But other feelings vied for her attention—feelings resurging from the familiar scenes surrounding her. She was returning home. Her father and mother were but a few minutes’ carriage ride from the city. She missed them and longed to feel their love and approval once more.

  The cockboat slammed against the dock and splashed water over Isabel’s shoes. One of the pirates leapt onto the wharf and tied the boat. Captain Carlton followed him and turned with hand outstretched for Isabel. After a slight hesitation, she accepted it, for she knew if she tried to lift herself from this teetering boat, she’d surely end up in the bay.

  Clamping his strong hand around hers, he gently brought her beside him. Tiny flecks of gold sparkled in his dark eyes as they swept ov
er her. Had they been there before? She hadn’t noticed. Snatching her hand back, she averted her gaze, but not before seeing his expression fall. He turned and led the way.

  Though she knew he slowed his gait for her, she had a hard time keeping up with him as he wove through the mass of people crowding the streets. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Smithy and the other two men following at a distance. Unease churned in her stomach.

  As they marched down Bay Street, Isabel recognized the familiar shops and taverns. Would she cross paths with anyone she knew? Her gaze fixed on one of the stores. The wooden building seemed to jump out at her from among the rows of them lining the street. Heat sizzled off of it in distorted waves that sent Isabel’s head spinning as feral images blazed through her mind—images of Captain Carlton and his band of miscreants barreling into the mercantile, wielding weapons and bottles of rum. With but one glance upon her, he’d tossed her over his shoulder and dragged her to his ship.

  Kent glanced at her, guilt staining his eyes.

  A chicken squawked and scampered across her path, pulling Isabel from her memories. She shrieked, barely avoiding it, and stepped into a pile of horse dung.

  “Ugg.” She plucked her shoe from the fetid glob and held her handkerchief to her mouth, gagging. Kent stopped only long enough to glance at her over his shoulder and chuckle before continuing on his way.

  “Insolent cad,” she sneered, lifting her skirts as she ran to catch up to him.

  Harpsichord music twanged into the street from a tavern to Isabel’s left. Merchants and sailors with ale in hand crowed the porch, ogling at her as she passed by.

  “Where are we going?” she shouted.

  Grabbing her hand, Kent dodged a wagon. “To meet Sawkins, the man I told you about.”

  Abruptly, the captain froze. Isabel followed his gaze to a handsome, modishly dressed man standing beside a gilded carriage.

  Isabel recognized the family crest engraved on the door. Her heart lurched.

  It was her father’s carriage.

  Chapter Eight

  Home Sweet Home

  Kent marched toward the carriage, gritting his teeth and eyeing the familiar man standing beside it. Sawkins. A wide grin sat upon his insolent lips, revealing sparkling white teeth. Ignoring Kent, he bowed, reached for Isabel’s hand, and raised it to his mouth. Ash-colored hair, slicked back from his face, was gathered in a cavalier tie behind him. “You must be Lady Ashton.”

  A blush consumed Isabel’s creamy skin. She pulled her hand back.

  Kent stepped between them. “We were to meet at the Ship Tavern.”

  “Plans have changed.” The man smirked and shifted his icy gaze back to Isabel. “Since the captain hasn’t the manners to introduce me, I shall take that liberty. Lord Richard Sawkins, at your service.”

  Isabel glanced at Kent. “Is this the man you spoke of?”

  He nodded, disgust curdling in his belly.

  Biting her lip, she stepped toward Sawkins. “I beg you, milord, what news of my son?”

  “He is well, milady.” Sawkins clasped one of her hands and engulfed it between his.

  “Thank God.” She raised her other hand to her bosom and began to sway.

  Kent took the opportunity to wrap an arm around her waist to steady her and wrench her from Sawkin’s grip. Just seeing the man’s hands on hers sent his gut roiling.

  Twisting from Kent’s grasp, Isabel faced Sawkins. “Where is he?”

  “That is what I must discuss with Captain Carlton. I know the direction in which the villain fled. We must make haste and plot our course directly.”

  “Then he is not here?” Isabel wrung her hands.

  “I’m afraid not, milady. But alas, I know where they are taking him.” Sawkins straightened the lace at his sleeves.

  “This is my parents’ carriage, milord.” Isabel wiped a strand of hair from her forehead. “How did you come by it?”

  “They sent me to escort you home. I informed them of your arrival, milady. They are most anxious to see you.”

  A foul stench wafted over Kent, and it wasn’t just from the rotting fish in the bay. “You did not inform me you were acquainted with Lady Ashton’s parents.”

  “I wasn’t until yesterday. The meeting was quite accidental, I assure you. You can imagine my astonishment at running into the grandparents of the child I am seeking.”

  “Astonishing, indeed,” Kent snarled.

  Sawkins raised his elbow toward Isabel. “I promised your parents I would bring you home.”

  Recoiling, Isabel glared at him. “I cannot see them. Not yet. Not until I know where my son is.”

  Apprehension swarmed around Kent. Were Isabel’s parents willing to assist her? If so, she’d have no further need of him. He squinted at Sawkins. The rogue seemed quite taken with Lady Ashton. But how could he blame him? Kent bunched his fists, longing to be rid of this buffoon. “Why delay, Sawkins? As the lady requests, give us the information now and let us be on our way.”

  Sawkins gave an annoyed sigh, then gazed at Isabel. “The captain and I need time to discuss our strategy. Why not take this opportunity to greet your parents and refresh yourself from your long journey. I can only imagine how grueling it must have been for you.” His voice dripped with feigned concern.

  “You have no idea,” Isabel said.

  Kent crossed his arms over his chest. “She was treated with the utmost respect.”

  “My apologies, Captain.” Sawkins bowed “I only meant that a pirate ship is no place for a lady.”

  Smiling, Isabel placed her hand inside Sawkin’s outstretched elbow and raised her chin toward Kent.

  Was the woman so daft as to fall for this insolent man’s charms?

  “We will return my parents’ carriage to them,” Isabel huffed. “This will allow me to make one final appeal for their help.” She glowered at Kent. “But I have no wish to linger. We must be after Frederick immediately.”

  “My sentiments exactly.” Sawkins patted her hand and led her to the carriage.

  Groaning, Kent released Smithy and the other men, ordering them to meet him back at the ship by nightfall. When he turned back around, he watched Sawkins fondle Isabel’s hand as the lecherous cur assisted her inside the carriage. Wiping sweat from his brow, Kent marched toward them.

  He had no desire to meet Isabel’s parents, but he also had no desire to leave her alone with Sawkins. When he climbed into the carriage, Sawkins had already taken the spot next to Isabel and was inching closer to her. Plunging onto the seat across from them, Kent resisted the urge to draw his sword and plunge it into the knave’s heart. But that certainly would do naught to improve Isabel’s opinion of him, nor aid in the search for their son. And finding the boy was far more important than Kent’s desire to win Isabel’s affections. A truth that dwindled as Kent was forced to listen to the clamor of Sawkins’s voice oozing its venomous charm over Isabel. Thankfully the ride was a short one.

  A servant swung open an iron gate, admitting the carriage, as Kent poked his head out the window to see a two-story white house beaming in the bright sun. Rays of blinding light bounced off multi-paned windows that sat above wide balconies on the second floor. Below, a huge porch covered with cushioned furniture angled out from a broad paneled door. Flowers of all shapes and colors surrounded the house like dabs of paint on a white canvas. Cedar and rosewood trees dotted the landscape. A large barn and grazing land spread out to the right. Isabel’s father must be doing well indeed.

  Envy burned within Kent. His father had been a merchant with high hopes his son would take over the family business, but Kent found the work grueling and dull, and he had no mind for numbers—another failure in his father’s eyes. So the old man had given the business to Kent’s half-brother, the product of one of his father’s many affairs. Kent directed a squinted gaze at Sawkins, still blubbering over Isabel. What great pleasure it had brought Kent as he’d watched his lame-brained brother run the business into the ground with gambling
debts.

  The carriage jolted to a stop in front of the house. A rare fear constricted his throat. He was about to meet the parents of the woman he’d ravished. Would she tell them? If so, he must be prepared. He hoped her father would not be so foolish as to challenge Kent to a duel.

  For the last thing Kent wanted to do was kill Isabel’s father.

  Isabel patted her hair in place and took a shaky step up the stairs to her home. How would her parents react to seeing her face to face? Perhaps they would reconsider and be willing to help her? Just the sight of the huge house where she’d once lived revived a tempest of emotions within her—relief and comfort, confusion, and heartache.

  Home.

  If they’d been so anxious to see her, why hadn’t her parents met her in town? Could they truly have had a change of heart? With Sawkins’s information and one of her father’s ships, she’d have no further need of Captain Carlton. She glanced at him as he came up on her left. His brown eyes swung to hers, and he seemed to smile at her without even a lift of his lips. Somehow she didn’t think he’d be so easily put aside.

  The front door swung open, and in a swish of silk and lace, her mother glided toward her. “Oh, my darling.”

  Joy and uncertainty bubbled within Isabel. Yet she couldn’t help but grin at the gleeful expression lighting up her mother’s flawless face. Truly she must love her after all, despite the shame Isabel had brought to the family.

  The need to feel safe again in her mother’s embrace overwhelmed her, and Isabel rushed and flung her arms around her mother’s neck. The sweet fragrance of rose and lavender blanketed Isabel with warm memories of love and sanctuary. Closing her eyes, she released a sigh.

  With a huff, her mother pushed her back, then leaned in to whisper, “My dear, you know ladies never run, nor display such affection in public. ’Tis most improper.”

  Isabel glanced down, suddenly feeling like a little girl all over again.

  Her mother wiped wayward strands from Isabel’s face. “Oh, look at you.” Disappointment stained her voice. She stepped back, placing her hands on her hips. “You are an absolute disaster.” She clicked her tongue. “Filthy, and”—she tugged at Isabel’s gown—“this horrid rag. Wherever did you get it?”