The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  Sawkins nodded. “I’ll see you in a week.”

  Morris grunted and strode away.

  Clutching Kent’s outstretched hand, Isabel stepped into the cockboat once again. This time, she stepped in no longer a lady, no longer possessing title or wealth. Even when she’d been living in Port Royal, she’d always fostered the hope of coming home and regaining her status someday. Yet an hour ago, she’d turned her back on her sobbing mother and the beseeching eyes of her father and walked away.

  But how could she do any less?

  Captain Carlton had been silent on their walk back to the docks. Her parents had treated him miserably, perhaps no more shamefully than she had, but she knew who he was—the wretched pirate who had ravished her. They had judged him merely on appearances. Yet, he had taken their insults with an honor she was unaware he possessed.

  Sitting down in the tottering boat, she drew her shawl over her shoulders against the chill rising from the water and the vulgar gazes of Smithy and the other pirates. Kent jumped in and sat next to her just as Lord Sawkins clomped down the wharf.

  “My apologies. I was delayed.” He leapt into the boat, out of breath.

  “We nearly left without you.” Kent’s voice seeped with disappointment.

  The soft cry of a baby floated on the evening breeze.

  Isabel jumped to her feet. “Frederick!” She knew that wail anywhere. She started toward the dock, but Kent held her back.

  “Milady, there are many babies in town.”

  “No. It’s Frederick.” She struggled. “Let me go.” Wringing from his grasp, she scrambled over the men to get out of the boat.

  “Lady Ashton.” Sawkins grabbed her hand as she passed. “It cannot be your son. I passed a young mother and her babe just moments ago. Besides, I know where your son is. He is not here, I assure you.”

  The strength of his hand comforted her. Concern tightened the lines on his face. He was right. She was overreacting. “Of course.” She sighed, disappointment sapping her sudden burst of energy. “I’m afraid ’tis been a most trying day.”

  Sawkins patted her hand and led her back to her seat.

  Kent’s pained look followed her. Did he realize he was the cause of all her agony—the loss of her innocence, the loss of her child, and now the loss of her status and wealth? Hatred filled her heart, though she knew it was wrong to give in to it. She gazed over the bay. City lights flung clusters of shimmering silver over the black waters. Rays of hope in a dark void.

  Smithy shoved off, and soon the dark hull of Kent’s ship loomed above them. A lantern hung from the taffrail, casting its spooky glow upon the stern of the frigate where the name Restitution stood out in bold black letters. She glanced at Kent. “I thought your ship was the Vanquisher.”

  Kent’s expression was lost in the shadow of his hat, all save his lips, which flattened into a thin line. “I’m done with vanquishing.”

  The cockboat ground against the hull of the frigate in a muted thud of moist wood. Isabel huffed. Did he think he could make amends by merely renaming his ship? “Restitution begins in the heart, not on the side of a ship.” She stood and grabbed the rope ladder.

  “I had to start somewhere.” He grinned, clutching her elbow against a sudden wave that lifted the boat. “After you, milady.”

  Once aboard, Isabel delayed returning to her cabin until she had spoken with Lord Sawkins. While Captain Carlton stormed across the deck shouting orders for the unfurling of courses and mainsails and the weighing of anchor, she waited by the railing for the nobleman to swing himself over the bulwarks. He planted his boots firmly on the deck, straightened his doublet, and scanned the ship with an imperious gaze.

  “Lord Sawkins, may I have a word with you?” Isabel took a step toward him.

  He turned, his features rising into a noble air. “Why, of course, milady. However, I must warn you not to remain unescorted on the deck of this pirate ship.” He glanced toward Kent. “I should have realized a ruffian such as Captain Carlton would not know the proper way to treat a lady.”

  Isabel’s heart fluttered at his protective attitude. Finally, here was a true gentleman. “I remained above only to question you concerning Frederick’s whereabouts. I hope you don’t find me too forward, but I’m sure you can understand how anxious I am for any information. I inquired of the captain, but all he was able to tell me was that Frederick is headed toward Cartagena.”

  “Indeed.” He placed her hand inside the crook of his elbow and led her away from the pirates scurrying over the deck. “My sources in town have informed me that is Captain Morris’s intended destination.”

  Cartagena. So far away. Isabel’s thoughts raced. “I don’t understand. Why would he take Frederick there?”

  Lord Sawkins leaned on the railing and looked out over the small town fading in the encroaching evening shadows. “I am not sure. But it matters not since we will most likely reach him before he arrives there.” He gave her a reassuring smile and patted her hand.

  Isabel glanced across the deck and found the captain’s piercing gaze upon her. Kent was a good seaman. That knowledge gave a boost to her hopes—hopes that were encouraged as well by the strength of the man beside her. “And Captain Carlton knows how to find him?”

  “Yes. Never fear.”

  Shouts from above drew her attention upward to the masts and riggings as the barefooted pirates, clinging to thin ropes, unfurled and set the sails. Some of them climbed so high, the night seemed to swallow them up. She wondered at their bravery—or was it foolhardiness? Down on deck, five pirates circled the capstan and heaved, groaning, until the anchor lifted and the ship lurched forward.

  Isabel fell against Lord Sawkins. He caught her in a tight embrace—one far too familiar. Wrestled from his grasp, she took a step back.

  He ran a finger over his shiny mustache and grinned. “My apologies, milady. I thought you were falling.”

  Warming under his perusal, Isabel patted her hair and averted her gaze to see Kent storming across the deck toward them, his eyes aglow with fury, jealousy, hatred? She couldn’t tell. He halted before them, every muscle in his jaw flexing. His gaze locked on Sawkins. “I’ll have Smithy show you to your berth.”

  “My berth?” Sawkins chuckled. “Surely you don’t expect me to sleep with the other men?”

  “You’ll sleep where I tell you to sleep.”

  Animosity saturated the air, and Isabel wondered what history existed between these two volatile men.

  Moments passed as Sawkins glared at Kent. “Very well, but I’ll escort Lady Ashton to her quarters first, if you please.”

  “Nay, I do not please.” Kent grabbed Isabel’s arm. She winced and he loosened his grip as he led her down the companionway ladder.

  “You’re hurting me.”

  “Forgive me.” Kent released her after they stepped inside her cabin. He shut the door and glared at her, flicking the hair from his face. A spark of alarm fired through Isabel. “I must insist you stay away from Sawkins,” he said. “Do not allow yourself to be alone with him.”

  “You may insist whatever you please, Captain.” She thrust out her chin. “But I happen to find him quite charming.”

  Kent snorted.

  Isabel searched his face. “Why do you hate him so?”

  “I don’t hate him. I know him, ’tis all. He is not what he appears.”

  “What he appears is every bit the gentleman you are not,” Isabel spat, rubbing her itching arms. “You’re jealous.”

  “Ha!” Kent gave her a sideways glance. “Of that arrogant halfwit? He’s naught but a pompous, spoiled boy who fancies himself strong and clever enough to play the pirate.”

  Fury raged within her as she stared at the man who’d ruined her life. “Why would a man of title and wealth wish to lower himself to the likes of you?”

  Kent’s upper lip twitched. He narrowed his eyes and approached her.

  Isabel flinched and backed away, stumbling into the bed.

  H
alting, he studied her. Then the cold shield fell from his gaze. “Do you not know by now that I will never hurt you again?” He turned away momentarily before he glanced back at her, a sheen glistening in his eyes.

  The hatred that had burned within her only moments before cooled beneath his tender look. She glanced down and wrapped her arms around her chest. Confusion battled against her resolve. When she lifted her gaze again it was to Frederick’s eyes—those brown yearning eyes that dove into her soul, wrapping it with cords of love.

  “Your son resembles you.” The words flew from her mouth before she realized their kind intent. Oh how she wanted to hate this man, but at the moment, his resemblance to Frederick forbade her.

  Kent’s smile reached his eyes.

  A moment of silence passed, then Isabel cleared the emotion from her throat. “Are we sailing toward Cartagena?”

  “For now, yes.”

  “You don’t believe Lord Sawkins?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve found it necessary to use caution when dealing with his lordship.”

  At the mention of Sawkins, the captain’s demeanor instantly hardened, and Isabel found she missed the gentle compassion of only a moment ago.

  “Rest assured, milady, I can find Morris. There isn’t a ship in these waters that I cannot locate when I set my sights upon her.”

  His confidence enlivened her hopes, but at the same time, it reminded her that he was a man accustomed to getting what he wanted.

  Turning, he clutched the door handle and glanced at her over his shoulder. “Pray, would you grace us with your presence at dinner?”

  The warm appeal in his eyes, coupled with the growling in her stomach, hastened Isabel’s quick acceptance. Besides, she hoped to see Lord Sawkins again. He intrigued her now more than ever.

  Kent ordered her to lock the door, and then he left.

  The wind filled the sails with a crack, sending the ship lunging forward. Isabel clung to the bedpost and listened to the purling of the ocean against the creaking hull. The ship sped into dark, unknown waters—dark and unknown like her future. Plopping on the window ledge, she smoothed her skirts around her and watched as the flickering light of Charles Towne dissipated like candles snuffed out by one by one. Grief overcame her, and she forced back tears. She would not cry. She’d made her choice. Oh God, what have I done? I am truly an orphan now.

  Words poured over her from the Bible—words she’d heard Reverend Thomas often quote.

  Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.

  Warmth flowed around her. You are my child. I have adopted you.

  “Thank you, Lord.” Isabel sobbed, finally freeing the tears from her eyes.

  An hour later when Isabel entered the captain’s cabin, her mouth watered at the bounty spread across the table: pineapples, guavas, peanuts, maize, yuca root, and steaming crab. Sweet, savory scents filled the air. Her stomach grumbled. A pot of baked pudding sat near the end of the table. She glanced toward the captain as he spoke with Hann. Had he remembered baked pudding was her favorite food? She shook the thought from her mind.

  Lord Sawkins stepped beside her, brushing against her arm.

  Isabel backed away to a more proper distance. “It pleases me to see you here, Lord Sawkins. I feared I would be forced to dine alone with pirates once again.”

  “You poor dear.” He curled a strand of hair behind his ear. “I don’t know how you have endured such hardships.”

  Kent finished his discussion with Hann and turned to face them as Smithy, Cutter, and the helmsman bounded through the door. Cutter winked at Isabel, but when she turned to introduce Lord Sawkins, the nobleman had taken a step back. The features of his face twisted in repulsion.

  Cutter glared at him.

  “Lord Sawkins, are you all right?” Isabel asked.

  Kent’s deep voice interrupted. “Never mind him. He’s always been a bit squeamish. He finds scars grotesque, don’t you Sawkins?”

  Sawkins coughed, then straightened his stance. “Forgive me. I was not expecting—”

  “Lord Sawkins,” Isabel interrupted. “This is Cutter, the ship’s doctor. Cutter, Lord Richard Sawkins.”

  Sawkins gave a brief nod while keeping his eyes glued on Cutter.

  “A pleasure, milord,” the doctor sneered, eyeing him with equal suspicion.

  Hann squeezed through the crowd, his violet eyes storming. “His scars be well earned, milord. I see ye ’ave none to boast about.”

  Smithy chuckled from the table, where he was pouring himself a drink, and Sawkins raised one brow at the short boy.

  After the men drifted to their seats, Isabel turned to Cutter. “My apologies, Doctor.”

  “Ah, ’tis nothing, milady. I’m used to it.”

  Kent insisted Isabel sit next to him while he placed Sawkins at the other side of the table. Smithy sat on Isabel’s right, a rank odor emanating from him, and the helmsman took a chair on his right.

  No sooner had they sat down, then Sawkins shot to his feet, horror etched on his face. “I will not dine with a rat!” He withdrew a handkerchief and held it to his nose, pointing at the helmsman sitting across from him.

  Leaning forward, Isabel spotted the rodent poking its twitching black nose through the helmsman’s hair on his shoulder. Pressing a hand to her stomach to ease her rising nausea, she sat back with a sigh. What did she expect on board this vile ship?

  “Stinking, filthy beast,” Sawkins hissed.

  “He’s no dirtier than ye are!” The helmsman cupped the creature in his hands and stood. His chair scraped across the wood like a challenge.

  Fingering the hilt of his cutlass, Sawkins glared at him, still holding the cloth to his nose.

  Kent gave the helmsman a judicious look. “Hoornes, I realize there are indeed other beasts present at this table”—His eyes flickered to Sawkins—“but haven’t I asked you not to bring that particular one?”

  “But he needs to be eatin’ too, Cap’n.” Hoornes replied, running his fingers down the rat’s back.

  “Faith, there’s a lady present.” Sawkins waved his hand toward Isabel as if he just remembered her.

  Smithy chuckled. “I don’t see ’er making as much a fuss as ye are.”

  Hann slapped the table and laughed.

  Kent cleared his throat, and Isabel got the impression he suppressed a smile. “Regardless. We need not further reinforce the lady’s opinion of our uncouth behavior.”

  Too late. Isabel thought.

  He gestured toward Hoornes. “Grab some food and be gone with you then.”

  “With pleasure, Cap’n.” Hoornes placed the rat back on his shoulder and snatched a handful of peanuts and a chunk of bread before turning to face Isabel.

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, milady.” Hoornes nodded, then narrowed his eyes upon Sawkins before marching out the door.

  When all were seated again, the men began plunging into the food.

  Isabel cleared her throat and scanned the group, drawing their attention toward her. She’d let their lack of thanksgiving slide before, but no more. “Shouldn’t we give thanks to God for His provision?”

  Incredulous brows raised in her direction. Smithy’s chunk of meat halted in midair on its way to his gaping mouth. One by one, each man dropped his food back onto his plate.

  “I see no point,” Smithy said with a guffaw. “We done provided for ourselves.”

  “Did you, Mr. Smithy?” Isabel glared at him. “Did you create yourself? Did you give yourself two legs, two arms, and a brain so you could acquire what you need?”

  “We aren’t sure about the brain yet, milady.” Hann chimed in with a snicker. Chuckles burst from the other men. Smithy grunted.

  “By all means.” Sawkins gestured toward Isabel. “We should bless the food.”

  Cutter gave her a sideways glance. “Though you’ll be speaking to the air, if it brings you some comfort, I’ll agree to it.”

  “But what i
f I’m not speaking to the air, Doctor. What if you’re wrong?”

  “Then I would insist upon giving thanks where thanks are due, milady.”

  Isabel allowed her gaze to wonder over each man, finally landing on Kent, who with arms crossed over his chest, merely grinned at her.

  “Shall we then, gentlemen?”

  Finally, after a few mumbles, they closed their eyes.

  With a grin, Isabel shut hers as well and bowed her head. “We thank you, Lord, for watching over us and for this food. Amen.”

  “Amen,” the men parroted and dove back into their meal.

  With her appetite restored, Isabel enjoyed sampling each of the delicious fruits and the succulent crab as she listened to the men talk.

  Hann, quiet as usual, poured himself another drink—or was that his third?

  The captain, however, merely sipped his rum. Isabel caught his warm gaze scouring over her more than once, sending her pulse quickening. Am I still afraid of him? Or perhaps ’tis just anger that sets my head to reeling when he looks at me that way?

  “May I ask your forgiveness, sir?” Sawkins directed his question toward Cutter, but his glance made sure he had Isabel’s ear as well. “For my earlier behavior. If you’ll permit me to explain myself.”

  “There’s no need, milord.” Cutter continued eating without looking up.

  Sawkins took a drink. “You see, my father fought in the war with the Spanish in ’54 and was severely injured—crippled for life. It was quite difficult for me to see him suffer so miserably.”

  Kent coughed and pounded his chest.

  “I’m sorry to hear of it, milord,” Cutter said, the look in his eyes belying his words.

  “When I saw you, it brought back those painful memories.” Sawkins dropped his gaze and seemed unable to speak further.

  Hann snorted. “Cutter is not a cripple, your lordship. He is more of a man than most on this ship.”

  All fell silent, eyes agape toward Hann, including Cutter, who with furrowed brow seemed unsure how to respond. Ignoring the comment, he scooted his chair slightly apart from his young friend.