Isabel struggled in his grasp.
“Never fear, milady. I’m aiming for her gun decks. Our son would not be there.”
“But what if you miss?” Tears burned in her eyes. Terror forced them down her cheeks.
“Logan is the best gunner I’ve seen. He won’t miss.” Kent eyed his adversary. Ten gun ports snapped open with threatening clanks on the starboard side of Morris’s ship.
“Fire!” Kent’s shout clamored in her ears.
Instantly the world collapsed around Isabel as the reverberating thunder of guns cracked the sky. One by one their powerful explosions roared like angry dragons awakened from their sleep.
Isabel covered her ears, and Kent drew her against his chest, holding her tightly. The Restitution rocked and staggered with each blast. The deafening sound lingered long after the last cannon fired. Backing away from Kent, Isabel peered into the smoky haze. Gunpowder stung her nose and stole her breath.
Desperate to see the damage, she dashed to the railing, swiping away the smoke as a deathly silence overtook the ship. Perspiration beaded on the back of her neck and slid inside her gown. She leaned over, coughing, and tried to quell her rising nausea. Kent appeared beside her. Even the pirates were silent as they waited to see the outcome of their broadside.
The smoke began to clear. Isabel’s breath caught in her throat as bit by bit of Morris’s retreating ship appeared. Several charred, smoking holes lined his hull—all at the gun deck. Relief washed over Isabel. As Morris’s ship veered sharply away, she read the name Johnny’s Revenge painted in bold red letters across the stern. Was Johnny his son—the one who Morris believed Kent had murdered? A sudden ache clamped her heart as a swell of empathy rose to join the anger she felt for this pirate captain. Losing a son was something she could understand.
She gazed at Kent—his eyes focused on the name as well. He winced and drew a heavy breath.
Renewed anger burned through Isabel. Regardless of Kent’s obvious remorse, he was the cause of Morris’s hatred and all the tragedies that had followed. But she didn’t have time to pour out her frustration upon him before a blast of small shot from Morris’s demi-cannons swept the deck like a hailstorm. Isabel dropped and crouched by the railing. Kent covered her head with his arms until the roar of the cannons ceased and Morris’s ship was out of range.
After assisting Isabel to her feet, Kent turned and crossed the deck, bellowing orders. “Hard to larboard, Mr. Hoornes. Trim the sails.”
Smithy repeated the last order, and a mob of pirates leapt into the shrouds.
Isabel clutched the railing as the ship lurched to port, sending a spray of white foam off her starboard quarter. Why were they turning away from Morris? The flap of sails drew her gaze upward. White canvas floundered, searching for a gust of wind. For a moment, silence overtook the Restitution. Even the purling of the sea fell into a gentle hush.
Isabel glanced behind her. Morris was getting away. Fury tore her grip from the railing, and she started toward Kent to demand an explanation. Instantly the sails caught the wind and their white bellies swelled. The ship jerked backward. Isabel tumbled to the deck, scraping her palms.
A hand appeared in her vision, and she looked up to see Cutter, a fretful grin on his lips. “Best to hang on during these skirmishes. Allow me to escort you below? Hann could use the company.”
Taking his hand, Isabel stood, swiping at her gown, heat blossoming on her face. “Thank you, Doctor, but I must see if Frederick is on that ship.”
“Bring her about!” Kent yelled.
Cutter grabbed Isabel as the Restitution veered once again to larboard. He led her back to the railing. “If you insist on putting yourself in danger, at least try not to injure yourself in a fall, milady.”
Isabel gave him a curt smile, then gazed over the ship. Off their larboard quarter, the Johnny’s Revenge had angled toward the right, sails flapping, as the Restitution made her final turn to bear down upon Morris on his damaged side.
The Restitution’s booms and blocks creaked and moaned under the force of wind and sea. Isabel stared ahead at the Johnny’s Revenge, its frame growing larger with each swell they rode. She braced her boots on the deck and clutched the railing. Sea spray showered over her. Shaking it off, her gaze found Kent up on the foredeck, arms crossed over his chest. The wind blew his hair behind him.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Murdock, holding a pistol in one hand and a cutlass in the other, racing up the foredeck ladder. Hadn’t he been locked up below?
Kent approached the railing. “Alongside their starboard beam!” He roared to Hoornes, still manning the whipstaff behind Isabel. “And ready the langrel shot,” he yelled to Smithy.
Isabel turned to Cutter, fear sparking within her. “What is langrel?”
“A type of cannon shot meant to damage sails and masts. Never fear, milady. He means only to cripple them.”
Isabel studied Morris’s ship. The Restitution was coming up on her damaged side. Could it be? Could she dare hope they would defeat Morris without bloodshed and Frederick could be in her arms within the hour? Elation soared through her. Bracing herself as the ship plummeted over a wave, Isabel squared her shoulders into the wind, caught up in the exhilaration of the chase. She smiled, remembering the last time she’d been on this ship during a sea battle, and how she’d cowered below, shivering in fear.
“Never fear. The captain’s quite skilled in battle. If he weren’t a pirate, he’d be an asset in His Royal Majesty’s Navy,” Cutter shouted over the pounding crash of the waves.
Isabel could only nod as the wind stole her voice. She glanced over at Kent, but something caught her eye down on the main deck. Sawkins huddled amongst a group of pirates, strapped with a brace of pistols, a cutlass, and two massive knives. She’d never seen him so well armed, nor had she’d seen him on deck during a fight. Perhaps she had misjudged him.
With the wind behind them, the Restitution flew through the turquoise waters, swooping over rollers to her prey. The Johnny’s Revenge, unable to catch the full wind, wallowed in the breeze until the Restitution came athwart her starboard quarter.
Bowing her head, Isabel prayed, “Oh Lord, please help us subdue our enemies without bloodshed. Please give Frederick back to me.”
“Amen.” Cutter squeezed her hand, and she smiled up at him.
Leaping onto the main deck, Kent marched to the railing. “Fire!”
Isabel cupped her ears.
Nothing. No sound save the grunts of the pirates and the rush of water against the hull as The Restitution came abreast of the Johnny’s Revenge.
Kent stormed to the main hatchway. “I said fire, Mr. Logan!”
Still nothing.
Isabel darted to the quarterdeck railing, Cutter on her heels. The cock of pistols and muskets cracked from above where musketeers were perched in the shrouds like colorful parrots. An equal number of pirates hung from the ratlines of the Johnny’s Revenge, both sides itching for the command to fire.
Scanning the deck of the Johnny’s Revenge, Isabel squinted, desperate for a glimpse of Frederick, but only the brutal faces of sneering pirates glared back at her.
Smithy emerged from the hatch, a smirk tangling his lips.
“Swounds man, I told you to fire!” Kent charged toward him. “Do it now or I’ll toss you to the sharks!”
Tilting his head, Smithy scratched his thick sideburns and grinned—an icy, evil grin that sent a shiver through Isabel.
The cock of a weapon sounded next to her. Alarm fired up her spine, and she turned to see Lord Sawkins holding a pistol to Cutter’s head.
“You’ll leave Mr. Smithy be, Captain,” Sawkins shouted, drawing Kent’s gaze to him.
A throng of pirates stormed onto the deck from below. Swords drawn and pistols cocked, they leveled their weapons upon Kent’s crew.
Smithy plucked out his pistol and aimed it at Kent’s heart.
Fury smoldered in Kent’s narrowing eyes.
Cale
b charged toward Smithy, but Wolcott slammed the butt of his pistol on the black man’s head. He slumped to the deck.
Kent gripped the hilt of his cutlass. “What is the meaning of this, Sawkins?”
“The meaning, dear brother,” Sawkins sneered, “is that I’m taking over your ship. Now, be a good boy and tell your men to drop their weapons, or I’m afraid I’ll be forced to blast the good doctor’s brains all over the deck.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Enemy Within
Isabel clutched Sawkins’s arm. “What are you doing, you fool?”
Sawkins gave her a cursory glance. “I’m sorry, my love. But ’tis for the best. I will explain later.”
“Have you gone mad?” Isabel yanked on his sleeve, trying to pry his aim away from Cutter’s head. She dared not touch the weapon for fear it would fire accidentally.
“Wolcott, if you please.” Sawkins addressed a man on the main deck as he gestured toward Isabel. The corpulent man lowered his pistol, lumbered up the ladder, and grabbed Isabel, wrenching her away from Sawkins.
“Let me go!” Isabel struggled against his tightening clamp. Pain seared up her arm and across her shoulders, bringing tears to her eyes.
Kent took a step forward, his fists clenching at his sides. “Lay a finger on her and so help me God, I’ll kill you, oath or no oath!”
“You are not in a position to give orders, Captain.” Sawkins’s eyes glimmered with amusement, then he glanced over his shoulder at Wolcott. “Keep her quiet, but do not harm her.”
Wolcott dragged Isabel to the aft railing and forced her against it. She remembered him as the pirate who’d attacked Hann, and disgust rose in her throat. Her gaze scoured over Sawkins, still holding a gun to Cutter’s head, then at the other pirates frozen in a standoff like powder kegs ready to explode. The Johnny’s Revenge drifted by their larboard quarter. A tall man wearing a plumed tricorn stood staunchly upon the quarterdeck, a vicious smirk on his face. A fountain of curses poured from the lips of his pirates, but no shots were fired. Why? Did they see the mutiny taking place? Alarm clamored through Isabel as she watched the ship slip away—and Frederick with it.
“No!” she screamed. “Frederick!” Shoving Wolcott aside, she stormed across the deck, her eyes locked onto the man wearing the tricorn. “Give me my son!” All reason gave way to desperation as she dashed toward the railing with every intention of jumping into the sea and somehow making her way to Morris’s ship.
She would not let another span of water keep her from her child.
But Wolcott quickly recovered his stance and raced after her. His thick fingers coiled around her arm again, jerking her toward him. Spasms fired through her shoulder. “No” she sobbed as he forced her back against the railing with a sneer.
Cutter stared straight ahead, his face like stone. “Let him shoot me, Captain. But whatever you do, don’t let this peacock take over the ship.”
Sawkins shifted his pistol to his left hand, drew his right arm back, and punched Cutter in the stomach.
Isabel gasped as she watched her friend double over, groaning.
“I’ve been wanting to do that for some time.” Sawkins shook his hand, then returned the pistol’s aim upon Cutter.
Kent glared at his brother.
“I said lower your weapons, Captain. If you have no care for your own life, surely you have some concern for the life of the doctor, beastly as he is, and”—his devious gaze shifted to Isabel—“sweet Lady Ashton.”
A rush of heat swept over Isabel. Fury prodded her toward Sawkins, but Wolcott’s burly arm blocked her way. “Why you lying snake,” she spat, chiding herself for thinking him a gentleman, for trusting him, and especially for agreeing to marry him. What a fool she had been.
A wicked chortle rolled over the pirates.
Kent grimaced. “Do as he says.” He glanced over his men. “Drop your weapons.”
Moaning, the pirates lowered their guns and swords and tossed them onto the deck, each clank and clink grating over Isabel. She knew Kent had no choice—not with Cutter’s life at stake.
“Now, if you please, Captain.” Sawkins gestured toward Kent’s hip where his cutlass still rested. “Your weapons as well.” Then he glanced upward. “And order your shooters down from the tops.”
Kent’s distressed gaze drifted to Isabel, then over at the Johnny’s Revenge, which kept pace with them just off the Restitution’s stern. His fingers clenched over the hilt of his cutlass as if he were considering drawing it and taking on the mutineers by himself. Finally, he plucked it from its scabbard and flung it, along with his pistols and knives, onto the growing mound of weapons. He looked above him. “Musketeers down.”
As the men labored down from the shrouds and tossed their muskets onto the heap centering the deck, Kent turned a hard glare upon Sawkins. “Are you planning to battle Captain Morris all by yourself? I doubt you are up to the task.”
Sawkins’s only reply was a wicked chuckle as he directed two of his men to take the weapons and store them below. He lowered his pistol from Cutter’s head, and the doctor wiped the sweat from his brow.
Strutting to the quarterdeck railing, Sawkins gazed down at the band of twenty pirates who’d sided with him. “Keep your weapons upon them.” He studied the rest of the men, their eyes still wide with shock at this sudden turn of events. “Put the helm over. Reef all sails,” he ordered.
Kent’s pirates hesitated, shifting their glances between Sawkins and their captain.
“Do as he says!” Smithy bellowed and glowered over the men.
“By the laws of the sea, I have beaten your captain!” Anger flew like spittle from Sawkins’s lips. “You’ll take your orders from me now!”
“You have not bested me man to man.” A smirk played on Kent’s lips. “Come down. Bring your sword. It’s time you learned how to fight like a real pirate.”
Sawkins pressed a strand of hair behind his ear. “Some other time, perhaps, dear brother?” He nodded toward Smithy. “Tie him up. And watch him. We wouldn’t want him getting any heroic ideas.”
Although Sawkins’s tone was caustic, Isabel detected a quiver running through him. He wiped the sweat from the back of his neck and then tore off his violet doublet and hung it on the railing. His white satin shirt shimmered in the blaring sun.
Smithy and another pirate inched toward Kent, rope in hand. The captain glanced at Isabel, and she knew by the look in his eyes that he would allow himself to be bound rather than risk her safety. As the men yanked his arms behind him and knotted his wrists together, Kent stared straight ahead.
Sawkins scanned the crew, his eyes sparking fire. “Now put the helm over and furl the sails or”—He leveled his pistol at Kent—“I’ll kill him where he stands!”
Isabel let out a tiny shriek. Would Sawkins kill his own brother?
The pirates still did not move.
Withdrawing a handkerchief from his pocket, Sawkins flapped it in the breeze and wiped his brow with a shaky hand. He gritted his teeth. “Do as I say or I’ll tie the lot of you to the rudder and drag your rotting carcasses across the Caribbean!” He glanced over his shoulder at the Johnny’s Revenge. “With Captain Morris’s compliments, I assure you.” His lips curled in a wicked sneer.
Kent’s crew shifted their dauntless gazes from Sawkins to Morris’s ship. As the realization hit them, terror twisted the defiance from their faces.
Shock coursed through Isabel. What association did Lord Sawkins have with Morris?
As if in answer to her question, Sawkins crossed his arms over his swelling chest. “Yes gentlemen, Captain Morris is with me, so I’d be obeying my orders if I was you.”
Moaning, the pirates scuffled off to do their new captain’s bidding.
Fury smoldered within Isabel. Had Sawkins taken part in Frederick’s kidnapping as well?
Clenching her jaw, she resisted the urge to run and push him over the railing. Besides, Wolcott still hunched over her like a guard dog. Cutter was r
ight. Sawkins was naught but a peacock strutting about in his fancy clothes.
Cutter edged beside her and fumbled in his pocket. His usual calm demeanor had given way to a look of anxiety. Isabel had to agree. She could not see how things could turn out well. Lord, forgive my lack of faith. Please help us. Please let no harm come to Kent, or any of us, and please save Frederick.
In minutes, with all sails shortened, the Restitution eased into a slow drift. The Johnny’s Revenge abruptly slipped from behind and sailed beside them off their larboard beam.
Frederick was on that vessel. Isabel knew it—could feel it in her mother’s heart.
Sawkins flew down the quarterdeck, passed Kent with a sneer, and waved to the man with the plumed tricorn. “Hail, Captain Morris. Good day to you.”
The man grunted in return and motioned to his crew. Ten men tossed ropes over to the Restitution, where Sawkins’s men caught them and heaved the two ships together in a stammering crunch.
Wolcott abandoned his post and followed Sawkins to the main deck, allowing Cutter and Isabel to do the same. They inched behind Kent, who stood flanked by two pirates.
Tension seeped from the captain and saturated the air around him. He toiled at the ropes binding his wrists and shot an anxious glance over his shoulder at Isabel. “Stay behind me.” He looked at Cutter. “Watch over her.”
Gibbons and another pirate standing nearby chuckled. “Don’t be worryin’ none, Cap’n. They ain’t goin’ no wheres.”
Sawkins’s men stationed themselves across the main deck, up on the fore- and quarterdecks, and up in the ratlines, where they aimed their weapons at Kent and his pirates.
A baby cried—a tiny wail at first which soon heightened into a blubbering howl.
Clutching her chest, Isabel pushed past Kent, ignoring his warning for her to stay back. “Frederick!” Weaving through the mob of pirates, she dashed to the railing and scanned the deck of the Johnny’s Revenge. Tears pooled in her eyes. “Frederick!” She saw nothing save ropes, tackles, barrels, and a throng of brutal pirates laughing at her.
The Restitution Page 25