Isabel kissed Frederick’s moist forehead. He giggled and smiled up at her, revealing a new sparkling tooth—one that had sprouted during her absence. She hated that she had not been there to witness it. The sunlight struck his eyes, and he winced and looked away. Isabel squeezed him, thanking God for the time they’d had alone. She’d spent every minute holding him, playing with him, singing to him, and when he slept, she’d pressed him close beside her and breathed in his sweet scent. Though Isabel’s faith had wavered, God had been faithful to return her son. Why should she doubt Him now?
Sloshing sounded behind her, and Isabel turned to see Hann trudging through the water, followed by three more pirates. They’d been prevented from speaking in the longboat, but now as the girl’s eyes met Isabel’s, a flicker of a smile lifted her lips. She wiped the perspiration from her brow and came to stand beside her.
“Ian, Meyers,” Morris yelled toward two men who were still sitting in the boat. “Meet us at this spot in a week. And there’ll be hell to pay if you’re not here.”
Fear darted through Isabel, setting her heart drumming in her chest. A week—only a week to put in place Morris’s grisly plans for them. Her mind reeled with gruesome possibilities. Would Morris leave them alone in the jungle to die? Would he sell them to a passing Spanish ship?
The pirates in the boat nodded, then grabbed the oars and shoved off into the calm, glassy sea back to the Johnny’s Revenge. Anchored just fifty yards from the beach, the vessel was hidden behind the curve of an inlet where she drifted idly, awaiting her master’s return.
Morris turned to discuss something with his first mate—a robust young man named Akers.
Isabel gave Hann a worried glance. “Where is he taking us?” she whispered.
Hann kicked the sand with her soggy boot. She eyed Isabel, agony wrestling in her gaze, then looked away and shook her head.
Isabel gulped. Hann’s silence confirmed her worst fears.
“I’m sorry, milady,” Hann said without facing her.
“Please tell me. I must know, no matter how dreadful it is.”
Hann glanced at her father, still busy talking with Akers and another pirate. She tightened her jaw.
Isabel clutched Hann’s arm. “Please. Surely, ’tis better for me to know beforehand.”
“He aims to sell you to the Caribs,” Hann said. “A small band of Indians he often trades with.”
Alarm chocked Isabel. Sold to Indians? She’d heard stories of the brutality of the savage beasts inhabiting the Spanish Main. A chill coursed through her. What would become of her—of Frederick?
Another bright ray of sun hit Frederick’s face, and he began to fuss. Bouncing him up and down, Isabel gazed over the deserted beach. “Where are we?”
“Somewhere South of Cartagena.”
Isabel snapped her pleading gaze to Hann. “Can I still count on your friendship?” Though she sensed the same rapport between them, she didn’t know if Hann would be willing to defy her father.
“Aye, as always, milady.” Hann glanced at her from the corner of her eyes—eyes that sparkled with sincerity.
Isabel bit her lip. “Please help me escape.”
Hann nodded and opened her mouth to say something when Morris’s booming voice thundered over them “That’ll be enough. I’ll have no conspiring between you two, do you hear me, Annie? I brought you along ’cause I need to keep me eye on you.”
Hann shrugged and returned her father’s stare. “We were only talking, Father. Besides, what could two women possibly do against five strapping pirates?” She cocked her head and grinned.
One of the men chuckled.
Morris snorted and gave her a wry look. “Come along then, daylight’s wasting.” He motioned toward the forest, and the two pirates beside him hoisted packs onto their backs, withdrew machetes, and headed toward the wall of tangled green that circled the cove like an impenetrable fortress. With snaps and cracks they hacked away at the vines and branches, forcing their way into the thicket.
“Warren,” Morris shouted to one of the pirates. A skinny man with hair the color of the sun strode up from behind Isabel. In addition to the pack on his back, his chest was crisscrossed with two baldrics loaded with pistols and axes, and Isabel wondered how such a small frame could hold all that weight.
“Walk between these two cackling hens and keep ’em quiet.” Morris ordered, then gestured for Hann to follow him.
Hann gave Isabel’s hand a squeeze before trudging after her father.
Warren fell in line behind Hann, and Isabel dropped her shoes onto the sand, lifted her dripping skirts and slid her feet into them, positive the velvet and silver embroidery wouldn’t fare well scraping over the forest floor.
A pirate nudged her from behind, prompting her forward. Wiping beads of perspiration from Frederick’s forehead, she slogged through the sand and hesitated at the threshold of the jungle as she watched Warren’s lanky body swallowed whole in the tangled web of green. Vines whipped out from where he’d disappeared, trying to latch onto Isabel and drag her inside. “Lord, help me,” she prayed. Then taking a deep breath, she shielded Frederick with her arms and dove into the brush.
The Jamaica Merchant sped toward the Restitution in an angry fume of boiling waves.
Kent gestured to Caleb. “Take a few men. Go below and get the chest of treasure we acquired from that Dutch merchantman. You know the one?”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Dump out half the gold and bring the chest to me along with two empty ones.”
The dark man gathered a few of the slaves and disappeared below just as the ship veered to starboard. The sails snapped in the wind. Kent glanced over his shoulder at the setting sun.
The blazing golden orb licked the horizon, flinging crimson and orange tongues across sky and sea. It would be dark within an hour. If Kent could just stave off Morgan’s attack, the Restitution could slip away in the darkness.
Kent turned to Smokes. “Bring up some gunpowder,” he ordered, sending the singed man leaping down the companionway.
The band of ex-slaves circled Kent, determination and courage in their gazes. He needed to give them something to do. “Position yourselves over the ship and be ready to fight if we’re boarded.”
With nods and grunts, they scattered across the deck.
Logan popped his head through the main hatch and grinned when he saw Kent. “Your orders, Cap’n?”
“Ready both batteries and await my command.”
With an “aye” he dove below again.
Kent eyed Morgan’s ship. A burst of orange from the setting sun transformed her sails into snorts of fiery breath from a dragon’s mouth. She angled to larboard, bringing her guns to bear and raised and lowered her flag.
“She signals for surrender, Cap’n,” a pirate yelled down from the crosstrees.
Yes, Morgan would not expect Sawkins to put up much of a fight—which was why he’d probably come alone. No sense in wasting good ships and gunpowder to subdue a pirate as inept as Sawkins.
But Sawkins was no longer in command. “Head straight for her, Hoornes.”
“Straight for her, Cap’n.”
Not only would the bold charge throw Morgan into confusion, but, head on, the Restitution would present a smaller target, and Kent hoped the combination would allow him the extra minutes he needed.
Caleb returned with the three chests and set them on the deck just as Smokes and Graves heaved the barrel of gunpowder up the companionway ladder.
“Listen up, men!” Kent bellowed across the deck, drawing the attention of the crew. A few ambled closer to hear. “Shall we offer our good friend Morgan a gift—a small token of our affection?” He grinned.
“Our treasure, Cap’n?” Osborn scratched his head.
Grumbles rolled through the crowd. “Have ye taken leave of yer senses?” Sparks crowed. “I’ll not be givin’ me share of the gold to that dog!”
Ignoring him, Kent turned to Smokes. “Fill the ches
ts with gunpowder,” he ordered. “Caleb, top them with the gold and load them into a cockboat with their lids open.”
“But, Cap’n, the gold!” Graves protested.
“Do as I say, man!”
Cursing under his breath, Graves pried open the barrel and carefully scooped out the powder.
Caleb’s frown lifted. “I sees where yer goin’ wit’ this, Cap’n.”
Kent pointed to two pirates. “When they’re finished, lower the cockboat and tie a white flag to its bow. He scanned the men, their crinkled looks of confusion smoothing into wide-eyed comprehension.
Kent raised his brows. “Now, what say you to a gift for our dear friend?”
“Aye, let ’im have it, Cap’n,” one man said, followed by chortles of agreement.
“Who is my best swimmer?” Kent marched across the deck.
“I am, Cap’n.” Blake rushed forward.
“I need you to deliver our gift to the Jamaica Merchant. Can you do that?”
Blake studied the cockboat. “Aye.” He gave a toothless smile and pushed his headscarf further down on his head. Tall and scrawny, he appeared unfit for the task, but Kent had once seen him swim fifty yards underwater without coming up for air.
A thunderous boom shook the air and a volcano of grapeshot erupted over them. A shot punched through the outer jib leaving a ragged hole in the sail while others ricocheted over the ship, tearing through timber, masts, sails, and riggings. A scream joined the clamorous uproar. Curses flew.
Kent faced Blake. “When you get within five yards, jump. Then swim back to the ship as fast as you can.”
“Aye.” He nodded. Kent detected no fear in his blue eyes. He clapped him on the back and ordered the boat lowered, then marched across the deck, nearly tripping over an injured pirate. Kneeling, Kent saw the wound was not serious and motioned for two of the slaves to take him below.
“Sparks.” Kent scanned the mob, looking for the boy with the eye patch. The pirate darted up beside him. “Aye, Cap’n.”
Kent leaned and whispered in his ear. A jeering smile widened upon the boy’s lips, and he raced across the deck and flung himself into the ratlines.
“Strike tops and mains!” Kent shouted aloft. He must slow the ship to a near stop.
“Why is we slowin’?” one pirate asked.
“We’ll be sittin’ ducks,” another man yelled.
“Steady, men.” Kent hoped to calm them with his confident tone—a confidence that belied the fear broiling in his gut.
He jumped onto the foredeck, ignoring further grumblings behind him. It would take Blake at least five minutes to row halfway between the ships—close enough for Morgan to take an interest. He glared at the Jamaica Merchant. She’d be in position to loose a broadside upon them in under three. He must try to delay them. “Fire the swivels!”
The thundering of guns cracked through the darkening skies. Kent’s ears rang and smoke clouded the bow. He snapped his gaze to the Jamaica Merchant. Her pirates bolted over the decks. Lifting his spyglass, he leveled it across the sails. Only the fore course had been struck. Not enough to deter Morgan. The ship abruptly swerved to larboard so as to come up on the leeward side of the Restitution. Morgan lowered his sails as two of his big guns roared and flung their deadly shot into the sea just beyond the Restitution’s bow.
The pirates gaped at the oncoming ship as she slowed and came up beside them. Another minute, and they would be within range of her broadside. “Raise our whites,” Kent shouted aloft.
“Raisin’ the white,” came the sharp reply.
Graves appeared at Kent’s side. “We’re not surrenderin’, are we, Cap’n?”
“No.” Kent stormed to the railing and peered over. Blake had rowed twenty yards from the Restitution and was nearing the midpoint betwixt the two enemies. The gold in the chests glittered as the sun cast its farewell rays over the sea. Kent prayed it would not set before the reflection glinted in Morgan’s eye.
The black muzzles of ten cannons thrust from the holes of the Jamaica Merchant as her bow crossed within range. If Kent opened his gun ports, Morgan would consider it a hostile act and begin firing. He turned to Graves. “Go below and tell Logan not to open the ports until my command.”
“Aye, Cap’n.” Graves sped away.
Dear God, please. Kent hung his head. Please protect Blake and allow Morgan’s lust for treasure to overcome his senses.
The Jamaica Merchant swung beside the Restitution. Kent waited for the thunderous cannons to belch, but the giant muzzles only stared at them in silence. Blake continued his furious rowing and now drifted within twenty yards of Morgan’s ship.
Still no thunderous boom.
Kent leveled the glass upon his eye and scanned the ship. He spotted Morgan. He’d know him anywhere. His tall, corpulent frame swaggered across his deck as if he owned the world—or the seas at least. Kent supposed he had earned the right, being commodore of his own fleet, albeit a pirate fleet. The commodore strutted to the railing and lifted a glass toward Blake in the cockboat. He hesitated for a moment, lowered his scope, then turned and spoke to a man beside him. He waved Blake toward the ship.
The prey had taken the bait.
Kent could almost see the drool dripping from Morgan’s lips as he eyed the treasure.
The sun fled below the horizon, transforming the remaining blue of the sky to gray. Water gushed against the hull, and the ship creaked with each passing wave.
Ten yards.
Kent clenched his fists. The shadows of night crept out of hiding and hovered over the sea.
Seven yards.
Kent rubbed the back of his neck. Caleb came and stood beside him
Five yards.
Blake plunged into the sea, the motion of his body pushing the cockboat even farther toward Morgan’s ship. Morgan stared at the treasure for a moment, then glanced over the water where Blake had disappeared.
“Now Sparks!” Kent yelled. And Sparks fired his musket from the main top. The sound of the blast echoed across the sky. What seemed like minutes passed, and Kent thought perhaps the boy had missed and they were doomed. Instantly, the cockboat exploded in a fiery ball of red and orange. Chunks of wood and gold shot high into the sky as a billowing cloud of smoke and flames enveloped the Jamaica Merchant.
The pirates cheered and hurled themselves into the ratlines, making obscene gestures toward their enemy.
Kent stomped down onto the main deck and peered across the water, searching for Blake. Had he survived? There was no sign of him. He swept his gaze over the choppy waves littered with flaming debris.
Nothing. God, please no.
Finally, a head popped above the dark water. He glanced at the burning ship, then smiled back at Kent and continued swimming toward him.
As they waited for Blake to board, Kent peered through the smoke at the Jamaica Merchant. Her larboard beam was on fire. Flames licked up toward the main sails, and Morgan’s men raced back and forth dipping buckets into the sea and pouring them over the blaze. Gray smoke curled into the darkening sky. Seven of the cannons had disappeared from the ports, the others sat impotent in their caves. Kent found Morgan, unscathed up on the foredeck, barking orders to his men.
Osborn and Logan appeared next to Kent. “Ye can finish him off, Cap’n,” Osborn said.
“Yeah, takin’ Morgan would make ye the new commodore, wouldn’t it?” Logan spouted proudly. “The new leader of the Brethren, eh?”
The leader of the Brethren of the Coast. It was what Kent had always wanted—to be the best of the best. He had never presumed he’d have the opportunity to take down Morgan. But it would require time to finish him off, and drag him and his men to the Brethren as proof—time that Kent didn’t have. Every minute he spent here, Isabel and Frederick were getting farther away. Every minute wasted meant less time to find them and more time in which they suffered.
Yet, he doubted he’d ever have another chance to fulfill the dream he’d pursued his entire life.
/> Gritting his teeth, Kent eyed his prey, lusting for the power that was within his reach.
What do I do, Lord? He glanced up into the gray sky where tiny stars were beginning to twinkle.
You know, My son.
Son. He gripped the railing and gazed at the burning embers of the Jamaica Merchant and at her pirates shaking fists and weapons in his direction—daring him to finish the job.
He spun around. “Make all sail!” He nodded to two men hovering over the railing. “You men there, assist Blake on board.” Then turning, “Caleb, you’re the new first mate. Gather men to repair the mizzen top.”
Caleb’s shocked expression gave way to a beaming white smile before he turned and began barking orders.
“But Cap’n,” Mac protested.
“What ’bout Morgan?” another complained.
“I says we blast him to the depths!” Osborn added.
“Leave Morgan.” Kent marched across the deck and barreled up the foredeck stairs. “We’ve done him enough damage,” he yelled over his shoulder. “After all, ’twas Captain Morris who put him up to this. He’s the one we want.”
“I says we put it to a vote,” Graves said, scanning the pirates. “Morgan may have treasure aboard.”
Kent had feared this would happen. But how could he convince his crew to go after Isabel? How could he convince them to follow his lead when suddenly all the wealth and power in the world meant nothing to him without her? Bracing his hands on his hips, he looked down from the foredeck railing upon the crowd of men forming on the main deck. “Even if we took the Jamaica Merchant, do you think the Brethren will allow us to join their fleet again when word gets out that we were swindled by that fool, Sawkins, and allowed Captain Morris to steal a woman and a baby from our ship?” Murmurs spread throughout the mob. It was a dangerous game he played, this affront to their pride—and to their esteem of him as their leader.
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