The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  Fear and embarrassment mangled Sawkins’s handsome face, and Isabel realized if the captain did not relent soon, the poor man would be utterly humiliated in front of the pirates. Alarm seized her heart. What if the captain hurt him or worse yet, killed him? No affection existed between these two men, to be sure. But this was just a playful parry, was it not? Isabel scratched her arms as she continued watching.

  Kent met Sawkin’s low thrust with a counter-parry that sent him stumbling to the railing, where he labored to catch his breath. The captain studied his opponent, then glanced over the pirates who circled the brawl, wicked delight flickering in their eyes.

  Slowly and deliberately, Kent lowered his point to the deck and cocked his head. “’Tis enough. I grow weary.”

  Sawkins glanced up, confusion storming in his eyes before they brightened. He lengthened his stance and returned his sword to its scabbard with a snap. “Had enough, have you?” Still winded, he ran a hand through his sweaty golden hair.

  “Finish ’im off, Captain.” Moans of disappointment rose among the crowd.

  “I said I was tired.” Kent gritted his teeth, and Isabel got the impression of a bull penned inside a corral. Why would he end a fight when he was clearly the victor?

  “Let your captain be, men, if he cannot handle a simple skirmish with a true baron.” Sawkins smirked.

  Tossing his cutlass to the deck with a clatter, Kent barreled toward Sawkins, who scrambled white faced to retrieve his sword from its scabbard. His fingers fumbled over the hilt.

  Isabel’s heart jumped, for it appeared as though the captain intended to push Sawkins overboard. She leapt from her seat. “No!” Not only was Sawkins the only one who knew where Frederick was, but he was the only gentleman aboard to whom she could entrust her safety.

  The pirates began to cheer, and even Smithy and Cutter looked up from their game of cards. Wide-eyed, Sawkins backed against the railing, holding up both hands as the captain bore toward him.

  Chapter Eleven

  Gods and Gentlemen

  Isabel raced down the quarterdeck ladder. She must stop the captain before he pushed Sawkins to a watery grave.

  His lordship cringed, eyes agape as Kent stormed toward him. The captain halted just inches before Sawkins. He flashed an insolent grin, then sidestepped the baron, jumped up onto the bulwarks, and dove into the sea with a resounding splash, leaving a flurry of chuckles behind him.

  Isabel darted to the railing and combed the surface of the water, not knowing whether it was fear for Kent or annoyance at his action that propelled her. A burst of bubbles cracked the surface of the porcelain blue, but there was no sight of the captain. She gripped the railing, desperate for a glimpse of him. Squinting, she gazed up at the sails and saw them drooping listlessly with nary a wisp of wind to stir them. At least the ship would not sail away without him.

  “Egad, what a fool.” Sawkins composed himself and turned, looking down upon the glassy sea.

  A group of chortling pirates approached the railing.

  “Don’t be worryin’ miss.” Hann stepped beside her. “The captain be a good swimmer.”

  Instantly, Kent’s head popped above the surface. “I wasn’t worried.” Isabel released a breath.

  He grinned and dove back beneath the sea.

  Several pirates flung off their vests, shirts, and belts and tossed them to the deck. They clambered over the railing and dove into the water, splashing and frolicking like a band of dolphins—or rather sharks to be more accurate.

  The captain swam with strength and confidence, and Isabel envied his ability. Thoughts of her frivolous attempt at Port Royal to rescue Frederick weighed upon her. If she had known how to swim, perhaps she would still have her son and wouldn’t be on this pirate ship.

  Soon Smithy, Cutter, and Hoornes joined the others overboard. Truthfully, their merry amusement grated on Isabel. She longed to be on her way to rescue Frederick, but she knew there was nothing to be done about the wind. Lord, give me patience.

  “Seems the captain disapproves of me.” Sawkins grabbed the railing.

  “Whatever happened between you to cause such discord?”

  Sawkins opened his mouth, hesitated, then snapped it shut. “Ah, you know the captain.” He shrugged. “I should rather suppose he finds my presence a threat. I’ve had the opportunity to best him on land and on sea on many occasions.”

  Isabel wondered. She’d seen no indication that Sawkins could outwit or outfight Captain Carlton in any way. “Do you captain your own ship, milord?”

  “That I do, Lady Ashton, or did, I should say. She went down in a fierce storm while I was attempting to rescue a merchant vessel.”

  Isabel regarded Sawkins with curiosity. “How noble, milord.”

  “Yes, ’twas a risk I was willing to take to save lives.” His shoulders rose as he spoke. Plucking a handkerchief from his pocket, he dabbed at the moisture on his face and neck. The poor man seemed to be suffering far worse than she was in this heat.

  “Come in, Hann.” Cutter splashed another pirate and beckoned to the young lad who stood beside Isabel.

  Hann took a nervous step back. “Nay, I don’t feel like a swim.”

  “Come on, lad,” another pirate motioned toward him. “The water’ll cool yer humors.”

  Releasing a deep sigh, Hann gave Isabel a nervous look and sauntered away.

  She turned to Sawkins. His hairless chest glistened with perspiration as he stared with envy at the pirates cooling themselves in the water below.

  “Why don’t you join them?” she asked, tugging at her clinging gown. “If I were a man and knew how to swim, I’d jump in as well.”

  He grinned, his cool eyes the same color as the sea. “It thrills me to no end that you are not a man, milady, and I have no intention of leaving you unprotected on board this ship.”

  Isabel dropped her gaze, warmed by his concern. “I cannot tell you how grateful I am for that assurance, milord.”

  He laid his hand over hers and gave it a squeeze. Cringing at his familiarity, she allowed it for now as they stood for several minutes in silence.

  The doctor swung his legs over the bulwark. His bare feet landed with a splash on the deck. Isabel caught his gaze wandering to Hann, who was draped over the larboard railing. Cutter had not removed his shirt, and the sopping white cotton hugged his chest, accentuating the purple scars beneath, rather than hiding them. He sat down on a barrel.

  Isabel detected a shiver run though Sawkins as he averted his gaze.

  “You mentioned your father was injured in the war?” She withdrew her hand from beneath his.

  “Yes. He lost one arm and a leg, and burns much like the doctor’s covered most of his body.”

  “I’m truly sorry.”

  Sawkins gave her a wary smile. “Though still young, he was nothing but a cripple and people looked at him as such—with pity. He could no longer wield a sword, protect his family, nor manage his own business—all because of the Spanish mongrels.”

  “He blamed Spain?”

  “Yes ’twas them he fought. He cursed them to his dying day.” Sawkins lowered his head and clutched the railing. His hair fell in light strands around his strong jaw. “He died a cruel, lonely death, and I vowed never to end my days as he did.”

  “Perhaps, milord, it was bitterness that killed your father. Sometimes God has plans for us that seem harsh at the time, but are for our ultimate good.” Even as she said the words, Isabel thought of her own situation. But what good could possibly come of Frederick’s kidnapping?

  The muscles in Sawkins’s face pinched. “No, I fear God is not to be depended upon. We must make our own way in life.”

  Isabel cringed at his hopeless philosophy. “And what is your way?”

  “To live life to its fullest, milady—take every risk, pursue every adventure.” Sawkins pressed a lock of hair behind his ear and scanned the horizon. “For ’tis better to die young and full of life than to end up a miserable cripple. Shoul
d I find myself in such a disadvantage, I would end my life immediately.”

  Isabel blinked, taken aback at so easy a dismissal of his own life. “This adventurous life you seek, is that what brought you to the Caribbean?” Isabel scanned the pirates below as they dove into the deep waters and dunked each other like little boys on a summer afternoon. He eyes locked upon the captain, holding another pirate in a playful headlock.

  “Yes, adventure, fame and”—he clenched his jaw—“revenge against Spain.”

  “Forgiveness goes a long way to heal the soul, milord. Perhaps if your father had forgiven his enemies, he wouldn’t have died in so miserable a condition. If God has forgiven us so much through the sacrifice of His only Son, who are we not to forgive others?”

  “God is also a God of judgment.” Sawkins mopped his brow. “And ’tis that aspect of His divine nature to which I aspire.”

  “Only God can—”

  “Why didn’t ye go swimmin’, Hann? Yer lover boy was callin’ to ye.” A raspy voice slithered behind her. Isabel wheeled around. One of the pirates who had remained on deck, a short, corpulent beast with a prominent nose, stalked toward Hann.

  “Why, yer as pretty a boy as e’re I seen.” The pirate snickered and flashed a glance over his shoulder at his comrades, who chortled in agreement.

  “That’ll be all, Mr. Wolcott.” Cutter rose slowly from his seat and moved toward him.

  Wolcott plucked the pistol from his breeches and held it to Cutter’s head. “Stay back, ye jackal. I’m talkin’ to the boy here.”

  “What do ye want?” Hann gripped the hilt of his sword, glancing at Cutter.

  Fear coursed through Isabel—fear for the lad who had been so kind to her—and for Cutter, who stood, frozen in place by the pistol pressed upon his forehead.

  Two more pirates swaggered toward the group, their yellow-toothed grins dripping with mischief.

  Leaning over the railing, Isabel darted her gaze over the pirates in the water, searching for the captain. His head popped above the blue surface, but he did not look her way before he dove beneath the water again. Isabel turned back around.

  “Methinks ye favor men.” Wolcott spit a black glob onto the deck. “And ’tis bad luck to have one of yer kind on board, says I.” Wolcott’s vile glance raked over Hann from head to toe, then over the pirates standing nearby. “Ain’t that true, boys?”

  “Aye, I says he’s the cause of the wind leavin’ us, to be sure,” one pirate said.

  “Har, tie a cannon ball to his boots and toss ’im overboard,” another shouted. “Then the wind’ll fill our sails again.”

  Hann’s face blanched. Drawing his cutlass, he swung it out in front of him. “I’ll slice the first man in half who touches me.”

  “Leave him alone.” Caleb’s head popped up through the main hatch. He jumped onto the deck and took a hesitant step forward.

  Isabel let out a breath. Finally, someone who’ll stand up for Hann. She gazed down at the water again. Still no sign of the captain.

  “Well, if it don’t be the cap’n’s personal slave.” Wolcott grinned, showing no fear at the intruder. “Ye don’t have the cap’n to protect ye now. Mebbe we should toss ye over wit the pretty boy.”

  Caleb grimaced but remained where he stood. His breeches and vest hung loose on his tall, skinny frame. He carried no weapons, and Isabel sensed his fear from where she stood.

  Chuckling, the other pirate drew his sword and both he and Wolcott advanced toward Hann. “Go ahead and fight us, boy. Either way yer goin’ over.”

  Cutter flinched, but the man cocked his pistol and held it firmly to his head.

  Isabel glanced at Sawkins. “Aren’t you going to do something?”

  Sawkins’s gaze took in the proceedings with no more interest than if he were watching a play. He fingered his mustache. “’Tis none of our business, milady. These barbarians will work it out among themselves or die in the attempt. What is it to me?”

  The pirate lunged toward Hann. The glare of the setting sun gleamed off his sword and nearly blinded Isabel. She squinted as the clank of metal rang in her ears. Hann swung his cutlass up, his face bunching with the strain, and met his slash with a feeble thrust. The force knocked him back into the railing. As he bumbled, attempting to regain his footing, the pirate attacked, this time slashing Hann’s wrist and flinging his cutlass to the deck with an ominous clunk.

  Terror squirmed on the young boy’s features. He glanced over the railing as if he contemplated jumping.

  In a burst of courage that faltered with each step, Isabel marched toward the pirates. “Leave the boy alone at once, you…you repugnant fiends.” Her heart pounded in her chest, sending a gush of blood to her head. “You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

  The startled men gazed at her for a minute before breaking into wicked chortles.

  Incensed by their insolence, Isabel stomped her foot and threw her hands to her hips. “How dare you?” She glared at them, but with each passing second, their leering grins only widened. What am I doing? Why can’t I keep my mouth shut? Straining, she listened for the sound of Sawkins’s footsteps behind her. Surely he would come to her rescue.

  Fear skipped across Cutter’s wide eyes as they met hers. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead and slid down to the muzzle of Wolcott’s pistol digging into his skin. Hann stepped forward. The tip of a sword held him in place.

  “Do as the lady says!” Caleb bellowed, coming up behind Wolcott.

  Ignoring him, one of the pirates made a move toward Isabel. “Ye’ve a bit of pluck in ye, don’t ye?”

  Isabel’s heart seized.

  Wolcott’s fat lips lifted in a wicked sneer. “Murdock likes his women with a bit o’ fire in them, littl’ missy. Now, stand off, or by the powers, I’ll let him have ye.” He glanced nervously toward the railing. Sounds of splashing bubbled up from below. “Be on wit’ it, toss the boy overboard,” he ordered his men with a stern glance.

  Isabel gazed over her shoulder at Sawkins, who, clearly flustered, seemed to be searching for a weapon. The pirates slunk toward Hann, cannon ball in hand.

  A thump sounded from the other side of the ship, and out of the corner of her eye Isabel saw Kent’s muscular, dripping form bounding on deck behind Wolcott.

  The pirates instantly halted. Wolcott’s eyes darted to the powerful, half-clad form of the captain.

  Kent marched toward them, stopping only to pluck a pistol free from a belt one of the men had tossed to the deck. He cocked it and pointed it at Wolcott. “Drop your weapon and stand down.”

  Wolcott’s rum-glazed eyes focused on the barrel of the captain’s pistol. Narrowing his eyes, he flexed his jaw.

  Kent glanced at the other two men. “You’ll be next, Zeke, Murdock, if you don’t lower your weapons forthwith.”

  With great effort, Isabel tried to back away from the ensuing battle, but her legs would not move. Trembling, she surveyed the three men, two with pistols drawn and the other with a sword, and wondered how Kent would handle them if they all decided to disobey him. Yet the only fear she detected was the fear bristling in their gazes. None emanated from Kent’s hardened glare.

  Slowly, the two men dropped their weapons. “We’s just havin’ a bit o fun, Cap’n. No harm done,” Murdock said as they both backed away.

  Caleb snatched Zeke’s weapon out of his hand and shoved him forward.

  Wolcott lowered his pistol. “Aye, Cap’n. Thar’s naught to concern ye.”

  “I believe there’s much to concern me when you dare to challenge my quartermaster without cause.” Kent motioned with his gun for them to drop theirs. “And then you insult our guest, Lady Ashton with your crude threats.”

  Hann eyed the captain, her brow wrinkling, as the three pirates tossed their weapons to the deck.

  Commotion below drew Isabel’s attention as pirates began climbing up the rope ladder. One by one, they swung on deck, shaking themselves like wild dogs.

  Kent glowered at Wol
cott and motioned to two of his men. “Lock them up below. Two days in the hold without food should give them a new perspective.” In a rush, they swarmed the three pirates, disarmed them, and escorted them out of sight.

  Feeling returned to Isabel’s legs, and she glanced at Cutter. The doctor approached Hann, but in a heated rush, the lad dropped down a hatch and disappeared below.

  Kent turned to Isabel. “I’m sorry they frightened you, milady.” He raised a mocking brow. “Were you planning on taking on the whole crew by yourself?”

  “If I had to, Captain.” She fanned herself with one hand. “I will not stand by and watch another person be attacked aboard this ship.”

  Searching his eyes, she expected to see pain from her snide quip, but only regard shone from their depths. He gazed over the sea. Despite her ardent attempt to quell it, Isabel found her own admiration rising for this fierce pirate captain.

  Sawkins glanced up to the foredeck where a pirate had confiscated his ruffled shirt. “No. No! You there.” Sawkins yelled, then turned to Isabel to excuse himself. “Put that down. Don’t you know what that costs, man?”

  Isabel watched him race off to confront the pirate, then she faced Kent. “Why did you stop your parry with Lord Sawkins?”

  Kent ran both hands through his slick hair and gave her a sideways glance. “There’s no honor in disgracing another man.”

  Isabel searched his eyes for a hint of sarcasm, enjoying the way the sun lit up the golden flecks floating in their umber pools. Yet only sincerity rested within them. Her gaze drifted down to his drenched breeches, clinging tightly to his firm thighs and waist. Disturbed by an unusual tingle in her belly, she pulled her eyes away.

  Though beginning its descent, the sun still shot its unflinching rays upon the ship. Isabel didn’t have to look up to know the wind had not risen, for no respite from the heat cooled the sting of her skin. Tugging at her gown to admit a breath of air, she sighed in frustration. Was she destined to remain endlessly on this godforsaken pirate ship?