The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  “Egad, men,” Kent continued. “We’ve been made fools of, and we must regain our respect should we ever hope to be considered one of the Brethren. I say we go after Morris and prove ourselves. What say you to that?”

  “All in favor of goin’ after Morris, say aye,” Hoornes shouted.

  A chorus of “ayes” rang across the ship.

  “All opposed, say nay.”

  Two “nays” bellowed forth.

  “Then after Morris it is.” Hoornes turned and winked at Kent.

  Kent nodded. Relief washed over him as the sails caught the evening breeze in a billowing snap and the ship lurched forward. Dripping, Blake clambered over the railing and plopped onto the deck, puddles forming at his feet. His gaze locked with Kent’s and he grinned. Beyond him, the dying embers on board Morgan’s ship flickered before finally fading to black. Just like Kent’s dreams of power and success.

  I told you, you’d never amount to nothing. Weakling. Fool. His father’s voice grated over his heart. Giving up everything for a silly woman.

  Turning his back on the past, Kent planted his boots firmly on the foredeck and thrust his face into the wind. Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps Kent would never amount to anything this world deemed important, but somewhere deep inside, Kent now knew the things his father had valued were not the true measure of success—or of a man.

  The last traces of gray faded on the horizon, blanketing the world in darkness. The Restitution picked up speed and surged over a charcoal swell, tumbling down the other side and spraying foam upon the deck.

  A chill pricked Kent’s skin. Balling his hands on his waist, he clenched his jaw. He must find Isabel. But how? Where?

  Lord, help me find Isabel and my son before it’s too late.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Even to the Ends of the Earth

  Isabel stepped into the steamy jungle. Instantly, her world transformed from one of brisk, salty breezes and sweeping horizons to muggy, stagnant air and a shroud of confining green. An orchestra of birds scolded her as they fluttered from branch to branch, squawking their protests at the intruders who dared to invade their domain.

  Up ahead, the plume on Morris’s tricorn no longer ruffled in the breeze but merely bobbed up and down with each thud of his boots. In front of him, the pirates continued swinging their machetes. Each chop and hack grated over Isabel like the lash of a whip. She wondered how far away these Indians lived. Would they arrive at their camp today? Tomorrow? Apprehension seized her.

  Perspiration beaded on the back of Isabel’s neck and slid beneath her gown. Reaching up, she tucked her wayward curls into her combs and fingered their inlaid pearls—the only thing of value she still owned. Her thoughts drifted to her ex-fiancé, William—Lord Pembroke, as he liked to be called, even by his friends—and wondered how he would respond if he could see her now: filthy, sweaty, tramping through the jungle without a shilling to her name, and about to be sold as a slave. A chuckle escaped her lips, followed by the surprising realization that she no longer felt any pain when she thought of him. In fact, naught but pity lingered around his memory.

  Frederick raised his chubby hand and grabbed her chin. With a gurgle, he tapped his fingers on her cheek and grinned, jumping up and down in his sling. Isabel brushed his hair from his forehead. His brown curls reminded her so much of his father. Fear tore at her heart. Was Kent still in the hold of his ship? What had Sawkins done to him? She pictured the last time she’d seen Kent as he aimed his pistol at Morris’s head, risking his life against incredible odds. Courage and desperation had filled his eyes—the same eyes of the boy who looked so lovingly at her now. She rubbed her thumb over Frederick’s cheek and smiled. Had Kent risked himself only to save his precious ship or did he really care about her and their son? Their son. She’d never willingly used the phrase their son before. Surprisingly, the sound of it no longer repulsed her. In fact, it had quite the opposite effect.

  Lord, please watch over Kent.

  Hours passed. Isabel caught glimpses of the sun as it peeked through narrow gaps in the canopy above. Heat sweltered around her. Even the thick shrubs, ferns, and trees drooped under its oppressive weight. Insects—some too small to see—sped past her, whining in her ears and stinging her skin. Frederick wailed and squirmed to be free of his sling which had become a prison of perspiration. Isabel tried to calm him as best she could and swat the bugs from around his face, but found she could no more comfort him than she could herself. The heavy air squeezed the breath from her lungs, and each step shot arrows of pain across her feet as the dried sand in her shoes scraped her tender skin. Her neck and back ached from the weight of Frederick’s sling, sending burning spasms through her injured shoulder.

  Thorny branches gripped her gown, ripping holes in her sleeves and tearing her skirt. Birds cackled at her from their thrones in the sky as if enjoying her agony. She looked up in time to see a monkey scamper up the trunk of a tall tree to her right. Life teemed all around her, yet she felt as though she were dying.

  The toe of her shoe rammed into something hard, and she stumbled and nearly fell, clinging to Frederick. Throbbing pain radiated up her foot. She glanced over her shoulder to see a massive root crawling across the trail. Frederick broke into a piercing scream, and Isabel paused to becalm him along with the frantic beating of her heat, but the pirate behind her soon gave her a nudge. When she didn’t move, he swatted her behind with a wicked chortle.

  “I’ll be happy to carry ye if ye’d like, yer ladyship.”

  She threw a fierce look over her shoulder that belied the quiver in her belly. Tall, muscular and hairy, he resembled a gorilla she’d seen once in the London Zoo. “You will keep your hands to yourself, sir, or…or…” Isabel stammered and searched for some champion she could summon who would swoop down to defend her honor.

  “Or yer lover, Captain Carlton, will come to yer rescue, mebbe?” He snarled through sullied teeth. “I doubts he’s able to do much o’ anything anymore.”

  “He is not my lo—”

  “Hurry up there!” Morris bellowed, and Isabel smirked at the pirate and stumbled forward. Hugging Frederick, she fought back tears. She’d always had someone to protect her. Her father, Reverend Thomas, even Kent. Now, there was no one to stop these brutes from doing whatever they wanted.

  No one besides God.

  The thought poured into her mind like a tonic—an antidote for fear—and she allowed it to spread throughout her, dispelling the poisons of doubt and anxiety. Yes, she did indeed have a protector—and One who would never leave her.

  With renewed faith, Isabel continued her trek through the green labyrinth, trying to keep her eyes off her surroundings and focused instead on her Father above. But as the day progressed, along with the heat and insects, her body languished. She marveled at the pirates’ stamina—and Hann’s—for they seemed not to tire after hours of tromping through the jungle. They stopped only twice and for only a few minutes, during which time Isabel pulled Frederick from his brace and allowed him to crawl through the leaves littering the trail. Tin canteens filled with water were passed among them along with chunks of dried pork and plantains that one of the men had picked along the path.

  As the afternoon waned, the trail widened and the pirates reduced their hacking to the few branches and vines that intruded upon the path. The hard-packed dirt indicated a well-traveled trail, and a shudder ran through Isabel, for she knew they were too deep within the forest for any civilized wayfarers.

  Her velvet shoes were a mere semblance of their former elegance. Tattered and soiled, their silk embroidery hung in shreds. Each step set Isabel’s feet ablaze. Unable to bear the pain anymore, she kicked them off and tossed them into the greenery lining the trail. Where she was going, she doubted she would need shoes anyway.

  As the light in the forest began to dim, the sound of rushing water filtered through the cacophony of chirps and buzzes, and they soon emerged into a small clearing. A sparkling creek flowed down one s
ide with fruit trees lining its edge. A strange green fruit striped with black lines hung from the branches.

  Much to Isabel’s relief, Morris ordered the men to stop, and she dragged her bleeding, muddy feet into the clearing. Pulling Frederick from his sling, she set him on the mossy creek bank and plopped down beside him. She removed the brace from around her neck and rubbed her aching shoulder as a light breeze cooled her damp gown.

  Frederick flapped his arms and giggled, reveling in his freedom. He grabbed a handful of leaves and crammed them into his mouth.

  “No, no.” Isabel shook Frederick’s hand and ran a finger over his gums, pulling out the foliage. She laid him on his back and removed the sodden cloth from his bottom, cringing at the rash beneath it. After washing the cloth in the creek, she hung it over a branch to dry, hoping she could find something else with which to diaper him. In the meantime, the fresh air would do him good.

  On Morris’s order, the pirates scattered in search of wood, and soon a fire centered the camp. The men began unpacking dried meat and rum. They filled their canteens with water from the creek and splashed the liquid onto their faces, then hunkered by the fire to eat their meal. Isabel’s stomach growled, and she wondered whether they intended to let her starve. Thankfully, Frederick was too enamored with his surroundings to notice he hadn’t eaten in a few hours. But his silence wouldn’t last long.

  Thunder cracked the sky with an enormous roar, startling Isabel. Frederick shifted his wide eyes to her, and then his face wrinkled as a scream blared from his lips.

  “There, there, Freddy.” She picked him up and held him close, rubbing his back, until he quieted.

  Light sprinkles, almost like a mist, floated down upon them, and Isabel watched as Hann stood, hands on her hips, speaking to her father across camp.

  The pirate who’d walked behind her, Miles she’d discovered his name was, perched on a log across the creek from where she sat. He chomped on a plantain and leered at her, and for a minute, Isabel thought he might pound his chest and confirm her suspicions of his heritage.

  Ignoring him, she sat Frederick beside her and splashed water from the creek over his arms and legs, and then onto her neck. Though the sun retreated, the heat refused to give up its reign. Yanking on a rip in the fabric at her shoulder, she tore off her sleeve. Then ripping off the other sleeve, she splashed water from the creek onto her bare arms. The cool liquid sponged the heat from her skin, leaving it tingling. Wait. She looked down at her arms in surprise. Her rash had cleared. When had it stopped itching? She couldn’t remember.

  Isabel dipped the torn fabric into the water and ran it over Frederick’s forehead and neck, and then inside his nightdress. He cooed and gurgled and clutched the cloth, bringing it to his mouth.

  Morris howled an obscenity, then threw himself down beside his men. He glared Isabel’s way as he bit into a hunk of meat and took a swig of rum. Hann sat a short distance away from the men and nodded toward Isabel.

  Isabel attempted a smile, battling feelings of mistrust for the pirate’s daughter. She longed to speak with her. Hann had said she’d help Isabel. Had she meant it?

  Soon the sun sank behind the thicket of shrubbery, painting a canvas of sinister shadows over the forest. The mist had ceased, but thunder still threatened in the distance. The pirates were well into their drinks, shouting boastful tales of their conquests at sea and on land. Isabel thought of covering Frederick’s ears and hoped his innocent mind wouldn’t remember the obscenities spewing from their rum-laden lips.

  Hann slipped from her seat and crept over to Isabel, her arms full of fruit. She sat beside her and handed her one of the green melons and a clean cloth for Frederick’s bottom.

  “Can you talk?” Isabel asked

  “Aye, just keep it to a whisper.” Hann glanced at her father, who was engrossed in the telling of a recent sea battle. “You can trust me, milady.” She gave Isabel a reassuring look as if she knew what Isabel had been thinking.

  “Heavens, he’s your father. All this time you knew he’d kidnapped my son?” Isabel hissed as she began to peel the fruit that looked like a giant green pinecone.

  “I didn’t know he’d taken your son until it was too late.” Hann drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them, and looked down. “By then it would have only invoked further suspicions if I’d revealed my identity.”

  Isabel gave some of the moist white pulp to Frederick, who opened his mouth, allowing her to plop it inside. His eyes sparkled as they gazed at her, and Isabel felt tears rising to hers. She had missed him so. Terror struck her at the thought that he’d be taken from her again.

  “You had no idea Lord Sawkins and your father had an accord?” she asked Hann.

  Frederick got on all fours, a chunk of fruit sliding down his chin, and headed toward the creek. Isabel grabbed him by the waist and set him on her lap. He began to whimper, stretching his arms out toward the bubbling water, now a slick glaze in the fading light.

  Hann shook her hear, her eyes clouding. “Nay, milady. I did not. I assure you I would have told you had I known. Especially with that vermin Sawkins involved.”

  “Yes, he fooled us all, I’m afraid.” A chill gripped Isabel as she thought of their brief engagement.

  “Please believe me,” Hann said, sincerity and concern flowing from her gaze.

  “I do believe you. You’ve been a good friend to me. And you saved my Frederick”—Isabel hugged him and leaned her chin atop his head—“when you didn’t have to.”

  Hann snorted. “’Twas the least I could do.” She faced Isabel. “He’s not a cruel man, my father.”

  “At the moment, you’ll forgive me if I don’t agree.”

  Nodding, Hann looked away.

  “So you intended to kill Captain Carlton?” Isabel asked, still shocked by Hann’s confession.

  “Aye, at first.” Hann gave a crooked grin, then swallowed. “I loved my brother. Someone had to pay for his death.”

  “And now?”

  “Someone still must pay. But it shouldn’t be the captain—or you.”

  Isabel gave Frederick another chunk of fruit, thinking about revenge. Although she had not sought after it for what Kent had done to her, her heart had been filled with the same kind of hatred that fueled it. Frederick took the juicy pulp in his hands and squeezed it through his fingers before shoving it into his mouth.

  “How long before we get to the Indian camp?” Isabel darted her gaze to the pirates.

  “Tomorrow.” Hann glanced at her father. He took a swig of rum, slapped his knee and then spewed out a spray of liquor in a fit of laughter.

  “I’m going to try and talk to my father tonight. If he won’t listen to reason, we will wait until the rum knocks them unconscious and make our escape then.” Hann grabbed a twig and flipped it in her fingers.

  “Do you know the way back?”

  “Aye.”

  “In the dark?” Isabel asked as Frederick batted his arms up and down and grabbed her gown.

  Hann sighed. “Let’s hope so.”

  Isabel pulled her gown from Frederick’s grip lest he tear it further. The last thing she needed was to expose any more bare skin to these pirates. “It cannot be that simple. Surely he will post a guard.” Frederick let out a wail and squirmed, and Isabel plopped more fruit into his mouth.

  “No doubt, milady, but you forget, I, too, am a pirate.” Hann raised a sly brow.

  Isabel dipped her sleeve into the water and ran the cloth over Frederick’s forehead and neck. Then dunking it again, she washed his mouth. He flung his arms and legs through the air, then reached up and grabbed a lock of her wayward hair and tugged on it

  Hann cocked her head, and a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

  “Why do you stare at me?” Isabel asked.

  “Where is the fearful, trembling lady I knew aboard the Restitution? You are in more dire straights than ever, yet there is a peace about you I cannot deny.”

  Isabel blinked, taken aback by t
he compliment. “I am afraid, to be sure.” She doused her sleeve into the gurgling water again and handed it to Frederick. He grabbed it, threw it into his mouth, and began to suck the water from it. “But I am trying to trust God. I know He is with me. He has delivered my son into my arms out of an impossible situation. There’s naught He cannot do.” Declaring her faith aloud seemed to strengthen it in her heart.

  Minutes passed in silence. Isabel glanced at the pirates, so absorbed in their drinking and boasting that they seemed to have forgotten the women. The firelight contorted their features in hideous shadows, and Isabel looked away.

  Even if they got lost in the dark, it would be a better fate than the one Morris had planned for her and Frederick. “You risk your life for me—and you defy your father.” Isabel turned to Hann “Thank you. You wouldn’t even be in this jungle if it weren’t for me.”

  “As far as risking my life, I do not. And I’ve defied my father before.” Hann swatted a mosquito that landed on her neck. “The sooner we get out of this bug-infested oven, the better. I miss the sea.” Wincing, she placed a hand over her side.

  “How is your wound?”

  “’Tis better every day. Cutter is a good doctor.” Hann stared into the shadows of the jungle, and seemed lost in another place.

  “You’re thinking of him.” Isabel wiped the fruit drool sliding down Frederick’s chin and gave him another chunk.

  “Aye, I was.” A flicker of a smile tilted her lips. “I fear I’ll never see him again.”

  “Of course you will.” Isabel laid a gentle hand on her arm. “He said he’d find you. He’s a man of his word.”

  “Perhaps he’ll change his mind now that he knows I’m Morris’s daughter, and”—Hann hung her head—“that I was once married.”

  “If I recall, ’twas after those two facts were revealed that he promised to come after you, was it not?”