The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  Sawkins eyed him cautiously, rubbing his jaw. “So this is the way of things between us?” A brief glimmer of sorrow softened his harsh look.

  “I find you are worth neither my energy nor my time. If Lady Ashton is foolish enough not to see beyond your mawkish façade, there’s naught I can do.” A spire of pain wrenched through Kent at the thought of Isabel in this foppish man’s arms. “You sicken me. You use people to further your own cause, gnaw all the good from them, and then toss them aside like dry bones.” Kent stood and gestured to the door. “Get out.”

  Sawkins lumbered to his feet and threw back his shoulders. “You’re no better than I. How many men have you killed out of anger or greed? How many women have you ravished to satisfy your lust?”

  Memories of Lady Charlisse Hyde stabbed Kent’s conscience. Hadn’t he tried to steal her from Merrick just as Sawkins had done with Isabel? Hadn’t Kent spent his entire life murdering and pillaging? His stomach curdled. Bile rose in his throat. Sawkins was right. Kent was no different.

  Sawkins slid a finger across his slick mustache, a smug look on his face. “I will take my leave then.” He bowed and strode toward the door, casting a glance over his shoulder. “I hope someday you will be happy for Lady Ashton and me. I am the best choice for her, after all.”

  Kent faced the window and swallowed hard. The slam of the door echoed across the cabin.

  Grabbing the bottle of rum, Kent pressed it to his lips and took a full draught.

  Isabel laughed. Cutter’s and Hann’s chuckles joined hers and filled the tiny room. It felt good to laugh again, and to see the joy and love warming Cutter’s and Hann’s eyes, despite the pings of jealousy that pricked Isabel. How she longed for this kind of love.

  Cutter had gone for some dried biscuits and tea, and when he’d returned, the three had spent the stormy afternoon enjoying each other’s company. As Isabel nibbled on her meal, she couldn’t help but wonder what her father would think of her newfound friends: a deformed doctor and a lady pretending to be a pirate. Giggling, she pictured the earl’s aged features scrunched in a reddening knot.

  A knock on the door interrupted their revelry, and Cutter opened it to allow entrance to a pirate Isabel remembered as Murdock.

  “Milady.” The sopping pirate removed his hat, spilling water onto the floor from its brim.

  “Yes?” Isabel stood, alarmed at the nervous expression etching his tanned face.

  “I thought ye should know, miss.” He shifted his glance over the room.

  “Know what?”

  “’Tis the cap’n, miss. He done found out ’bout yer marryin’ Sawkins. He’s turned the ship around and is headin’ back to Port Royal.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Chivalry Is Not Dead

  Anger hammered through Isabel. Going back to Port Royal? She had not felt the ship turn, but perhaps she wouldn’t have sensed its movements in the throes of the storm. Surely Kent would not be so cruel as to abandon the search for their son?

  In one leap, Cutter bounded from his chair. The warmth of his strong hand on her shoulder quelled her rising ire. “Marrying Sawkins, of all the preposterous notions. What foolery is this?” The scar on his upper lip curled as a snicker escaped his mouth.

  Embarrassment stung Isabel’s face. “I’m afraid it is true.”

  Cutter frowned, his brows pinching.

  “I’ll explain later.” Isabel faced Murdock. “Surely you are misinformed. Who told you this?”

  “Lord Sawkins, milady.” His eyes shifted from Cutter to Isabel. “He sent me to tell ye. Said he thought ye should know.”

  Confusion and anger battled within her. The only way the captain could have found out about her betrothal would have been by Sawkins’s own lips. Why would he purposely cause such discord? “Why didn’t his lordship come to tell me himself?”

  “He’s been busy convincin’ the cap’n not t’ abandon the search for yer son.” Murdock looked away and rubbed the back of his neck.

  “Oh he has?” Isabel found that hard to believe. “And where is the captain now?” She would have it out with the traitorous knave herself.

  “Last I heard, he be down in the hold, milady, drinkin’ and carryin’ on like a crazy man.”

  Isabel nodded. “True to character.” She’d known the news of her engagement would not sit well with Kent, but she had no idea he would stoop so low as to put her son’s—his own son’s—life in danger. “I believe I’ll have a word with the captain.”

  Cutter clasped her arm. “Nay, milady, you can’t go down there alone.”

  Isabel’s legs trembled at the memories of the pirates’ berth, but she had no choice. Frederick’s life was at stake. She offered Cutter a reassuring grin. “With Sawkins and the captain down below, there will be no danger.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea, milady,” Hann interjected. “Allow Cutter to escort you.”

  “It’d be me pleasure to escort ye, miss.” Murdock twisted his hat in his hands. “Sawkins hisself bade me bring ye to the cap’n if ye desired.”

  “Very well.” Isabel raised her brows at Cutter and Hann. “That settles it. Hann needs you more than I do, Doctor.”

  A grin twisted Murdock’s lips, giving her pause. He headed out the door.

  Ignoring Cutter’s protests, Isabel followed Murdock into the dark hallway. Dread sank teeth into her resolve. Could Murdock be trusted? Wasn’t he the one who’d attacked Hann? But surely if Lord Sawkins had sent him, Isabel would be safe. Thoughts of Frederick spurred her on—especially now that with each passing second they sailed farther away from him.

  Darkness enveloped her as Murdock led her down a steep ladder.

  “Shouldn’t we have a lantern?” She clung to the railing, scuffing her shoes across the steps to ensure she didn’t miss one and go tumbling down upon the filthy pirate.

  “Naw, miss, I can sees fine.”

  Wonderful. They passed the gun deck where the massive shadows of sleeping cannons stood poised like snakes ready to strike. The smell of gunpowder still lingered in the acrid air, biting at Isabel’s nose.

  Snores, laughter, and curses swirled around her as they descended to the berth, where most of the men slept and ate—save a few who were housed in the forecastle above. Hammocks swayed in midair like a herd of manatees lumbering through a shallow cay. Clusters of slaves huddled in the corners. Isabel’s heart sank. She doubted they were being treated very well, though any place would be better than a slave ship.

  Eerie lantern light drifted over the men as each one raised his head to eye the intruders. Some lay in their hammocks, others clustered around tables, playing cards amidst mugs of grog, while the unconscious bodies of several were strewn over the floor like refuse. The stench of feces, sweat, and rum smothered her, and she flung a hand to her nose and coughed.

  The ship lurched. Isabel tightened her grip on the railing as she stumbled and nearly careened down the remaining treads. The creaks and groans of the hull matched the catcalls and guffaws from the crew.

  “Well, sink me sails, look what Murdock done caught. A tasty morsel from the sea.”

  “Har, give us a nibble there, mate,” another pirate said, licking his lips.

  Coarse chuckles blared through the murky room. Murdock grunted but offered them no response, and Isabel found herself suddenly thankful for his escort.

  To her left, the table where Cutter had saved Hann’s life sat blood-stained and alone in the shadows. A chill scraped down Isabel as Murdock snagged a lantern from a hook and continued his descent past the berth. If not for the light he now carried, the darkness would have swallowed him up whole, for Isabel could see naught but the tiny bright circle marching before them. When they reached the bottom, she released her tight grip on the railing and rubbed her aching fingers.

  “This way.” The scuffle of Murdock’s boots sounded as he lumbered off toward the aft of the ship.

  Isabel drew a shaky breath, desperate for a whiff of fresh air amidst the r
ank humidity saturating her skin and gown. Following Murdock’s light, she inched along, peering into the inky blackness. Nebulous shadows loomed around her. Her shoe struck something hard. Pain throbbed in her toes. She eased her hands over what felt like a barrel. Sidestepping it, she continued to follow the pirate who had quickened his pace. The squeals of rats sent shivers up her legs. The ship groaned under the strain of the sea.

  Abruptly, Murdock stopped and held the lantern up to his face. A devious grin upturned his lips, made more sinister in the dim light. Drawing a breath, he turned his head toward the lantern and with a puff, Isabel’s world disappeared and darkness enveloped her.

  Boot steps sounded. A door creaked open, and then a coarse chuckle echoed over the room.

  “Murdock?” Isabel’s quivering voice bounced off the walls and was quickly swallowed up by the darkness. Terror crept over her as an ominous silence tore away the remains of her courage. No sounds reached her ears save the creak and moan of timbers, and the screech of rats.

  “Captain?” Her voice sounded so small and insignificant in the deep bowels of the ship.

  “Murdock, I insist you show yourself at once!” She bellowed in a final surge of bravery.

  The patter of tiny feet answered her from all around. Pairs of red eyes peered at her from the corners. Isabel’s breath caught in her throat. Afraid to step forward, she glanced over her shoulder. A flicker of light shone from the bottom of the ladder. Turning, she sped toward it.

  She must keep her eye on the light.

  Then it was gone. She ran into something warm and solid. With a scream, she stumbled backward. A chuckle grated over her nerves, and two strong hands clutched her arms, slamming pain through her injured shoulder.

  She pounded her fists on the man’s chest. “Let me go this instant!” He was tall and muscular, but the darkness hid his face.

  He shoved her.

  Isabel’s blood pounded into her head. Her heart crashed against her ribs. “Who are you? What do you want?”

  The man remained silent, but she could feel his wicked grin upon her. Her mind reeled. Where was the captain? Where was Lord Sawkins? She’d come down into a trap. Why had she been so foolish? A wave of panic crashed over her.

  Stumbling, Isabel retreated, flailing her arms behind her to guide her way. She tumbled into a barrel, a crate, and tripped over a sack, toppling to the hard sodden floor.

  Boot steps, confident and menacing, followed her—the outline of a man barely discernable in the thick shadows.

  A light suddenly appeared from her left.

  The man halted. The scent of cedar crashed through the stench of the bilge that permeated the hold.

  “Lady Ashton?” Kent’s commanding voice filled the darkness like a beacon of hope.

  Isabel heard the creak of a door and the pounding of boots fading away.

  Struggling to sit up, she held her hand to her chest, hoping to still the wild thrashing of her heart. Tears swarmed into her eyes.

  “Isabel?” The captain’s voice echoed. “Are you down here?”

  “Over here,” she managed.

  Light advanced upon the scene, sending the darkness cowering to the corners as Kent emerged from the black shroud, lantern in hand. When he saw her, he set the light down on a cask and rushed to her side.

  “Milady, are you hurt?” He knelt, putting one arm around her waist, and assisted her to her feet. “Who did this to you?”

  Isabel fell into him, burying her face in his chest. His powerful arms encircled her. “Kent,” she sobbed, unable to say anything further. The strength and warmth of him seeped through her, like a soothing ointment, becalming her heart, and settling like a blanket over her fears.

  Pulling back, he gazed down at her, his brow creased, “How did you get down here? Who was here with you?”

  “I don’t know.” Isabel sobbed. “I couldn’t see him. Murdock—Murdock told me you were here. I came to talk to you.”

  “Murdock. Why would he say that? Why, I’ll have his lying heart for supper,” Kent stormed. “Where is he now?”

  “I don’t know.” Isabel swayed and clutched Kent’s arm to keep from falling.

  “I’ll kill him!” Kent stomped to a barrel, gripped the hilt of his cutlass, and peered into the darkness.

  “Nay. It wasn’t him.” Sniffing, Isabel dropped her gaze. “The other man was much taller.”

  Grabbing the lantern, Kent held it above his head. The light revealed a large room filled with crates and sacks and a half-open door to her right. “He must have gone this way.” He shoved the door farther open with a creak, and took a step inside.

  The darkness emerged from the corners once again and crept toward Isabel. “Please don’t leave me,” she called after Kent, ashamed at her weakness, but overcome by fears more powerful than her dignity.

  Poking his head back into the room, Kent gave her a half smile. “I have no intention of doing so, milady.” He approached her and set the lantern down again. “Pray tell, why were you seeking me?”

  “Murdock told me you’d turned the ship around—that you were no longer going to search for Frederick.” Despair muddled her voice.

  “Why would I do that?” Kent gave her a questioning look.

  Isabel bit her lip. Perhaps he didn’t know about her betrothal. She thought it better not to tell him now and risk his fury. “So you haven’t turned the ship back to Port Royal?”

  Kent shook his head. “Of course not.” His eyes softened and he reached for her. “Are you hurt? Did he touch you?”

  “Nay.” Tears spilled down her cheeks. “Just a bit frightened.”

  Pulling her toward him, he wrapped his arms around her and slid his fingers through her hair. “You are safe now, milady.” He kissed her forehead. “Come, allow me to take you back to your cabin.”

  With a nod, she took his arm, amazed at how safe she felt with him. Kent grabbed the lantern and escorted her up the ladders, opened the door to her cabin, and led her inside.

  Isabel entered on shaky legs as Kent helped her to a chair and eased her into it. Setting the lantern on the table, he shut the door and marched to the window. The rain had ceased, leaving a gray haze to mark its passing, brightened only by a swath of orange over the bottom of the window. The sun was setting. What had started out being such a joyous day with her friends had ended in horror.

  Snatching her handkerchief from the table, Isabel dabbed her cheeks. “How did you know where I was?”

  “Cutter.” Kent glanced over his shoulder. “He came to my cabin and told me you’d gone down to the hold looking for me. He was concerned for your safety.” He trudged toward her. “Seems he was correct.”

  New tears burned in Isabel’s eyes. If it hadn’t been for Cutter’s wisdom and concern, she’d not be sitting here safe in her cabin. Silently, she thanked God for the doctor’s friendship, and raised her gaze to meet Kent’s. He stared at her, his dark eyes burning with concern.

  “It would please me greatly, milady, if you would not be so daft as to follow any old pirate around my ship.” He raised his scarred brow and gave her a sardonic grin.

  “Daft?” Isabel’s ire pricked, yet how could she deny how foolish she’d been? “My only thought was for Frederick.” She folded her shaky hands together on her lap.

  “What little faith you have in me. Do you really believe I would give up the search for our son?” He snapped his hair behind him and crossed his arms over his chest. “For any reason,” he added sternly.

  Isabel studied him. Did he know about her and Sawkins? His upper lip twitched as it always did when he was either furious or nervous—or both. She envisioned throwing herself at him in the hold and how safe and warm she’d felt in the fortress of his arms. Heat blossomed on her cheeks. She’d been so frightened, so happy to see him, she’d tossed all propriety aside. Yet, it wasn’t so much the action itself that bothered her—an action of gratitude certainly understandable from a woman in her situation—it was the warm tingle now fl
uttering in her stomach as she remembered the way he made her feel.

  Rising to her feet, Isabel patted the combs still clinging to her tousled hair and met his gaze. How could she feel so safe and comforted in the arms of a man who’d once ravished her? Yet as she searched his eyes, she did not see the same man within them. Where before there had been fury, lust, and a callous evil, now all she saw was concern, devotion, and something else—remorse?

  Her stomach churned in a whirlwind of confusion, and she laid a weary hand upon it.

  “You gave our son my middle name,” Kent announced, his voice cracking.

  Isabel shifted her feet and looked down. So he’d noticed. She couldn’t say why she’d done it, really. But somehow she thought the boy should carry some part of his heritage. Kent’s middle name was not often used or well known. But still…“’Tis but a coincidence, I assure you. I simply like the name Frederick.” She didn’t dare raise her gaze to his, lest her eyes betray the truth.

  He took a step toward her. Her breath quickened. The smell of spice and leather wafted around her, setting her senses aflame. “If you please, Captain. ’Tis been a trying day, and I fear I’m not feeling well.”

  Reaching up, he brushed a tendril of her hair away from her face. His lips curved in a gentle smile. “Then I will leave you to your rest.”

  The room swirled around Isabel, and she felt her legs give way beneath her.

  Catching her by the waist, Kent led her to the bed and eased her down onto the quilt. “May I get you something? Water, perhaps?”

  Raising a hand to her neck, Isabel shook her head. What was wrong with her? Nausea and elation clamored together in her stomach, creating havoc with her senses. The heat from Kent’s body steamed over her. “Nay, I am quite all right. Thank you, Captain.” She gazed into his eyes, just inches from hers. His sultry gaze lowered to her mouth.

  He leaned toward her and hesitated. His warm, rum-laced breath wafted over her. Isabel’s heart flopped in her chest. He leaned nearer. Isabel closed her eyes, unable to move. His lips touched hers. The room exploded in burst of heat as his kiss, gentle at first, grew hungrier, searching, exploring—like a parched lion drinking from a newfound spring. Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed her against him, and for a moment, Isabel melted into him, unable to resist.