The Restitution

by M. L. Tyndall

  Averting her gaze, Isabel stumbled in the other direction and swallowed the clot of terror in her throat. She did not want to consider what atrocities awaited her as the wife of that savage. “Oh Jesus,” she whispered, and took no more than two steps when a sudden feeling of peace folded around her—so strong that she lifted her gaze and looked around, expecting to see an angel of light come to rescue her. But she saw nothing but pirates and Indians, and the hostile world that was about to devour her and Frederick alive. Taking in a deep breath of the moist forest air, she gazed around the camp and knew—despite the horror of her circumstances—that God was with her. For we walk by faith, not by sight.

  Deep in prayer, Isabel ambled forward and bumped into one of the Indian women scurrying away from the fire. She glanced at Isabel and smiled. Frederick began to wail and thrash his arms in the air, and Isabel pointed toward him and gave the woman a pleading look. Her brows scrunched as she stared at the cloth on Frederick’s bottom as if it were the strangest thing she’d ever seen, then her eyes lit up and she sped off. Moments later, she returned with several loincloths and some fruit and coconut milk. Her own child, no older than four, clung to her leg.

  Isabel thanked her and found a clean spot where she could lay Frederick down. The woman followed, watching curiously as Isabel changed his soiled cloth. When she finished, she sat Frederick in her lap and stared at the Indian woman. Her long black hair ran down to her waist, and her brown eyes warmed in innocence. Despite the red stripes painted on her face and the silver ring in her nose, she had a beauty about her. Isabel recognized her as the same woman who’d shown an interest in Isabel’s silver combs when they’d first arrived.

  “Kura,” the woman said, pointing toward herself. She smiled, then glanced at the little girl beside her. “Mekita.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Kura, Mekita.” Isabel nodded at them both, and the little girl snuggled her face into her mother’s hair, peeking at Isabel through the strands.

  Isabel gestured to herself. “Isabel,” she said, and then to Frederick, “Freddy.”

  Kura tried to say their names, and both women laughed at her fumbled attempts. Conviction nipped at Isabel’s conscience. Kura was not a savage. She was a woman just like Isabel; only she had grown up in a different land and culture. Isabel had been born to privilege and raised with excess. But what good had it done her—what happiness had it brought her? Kura had lived in poverty her entire life and seemed content and happy.

  Reaching up, Isabel plucked the combs from either side of her head, allowing her hair to tumble down her back. Holding them in her hands, she watched the firelight sparkle over the silver and set the pearls aglow. Why had she held onto them for so long? She’d thought they were her only link to the wealth and title of her past, but as she stared at them now, she realized they were meaningless trinkets from a man who didn’t know the first thing about love.

  Isabel held them out to Kura, who, after a moment’s hesitation, took them, her eyes sparkling with delight. Giggling, she ran her delicate brown fingers over the combs and then flipped them back and forth in her hands.

  Isabel smiled at the woman’s exuberance, feeling suddenly lighter, as if the combs in some way had held her down. Then she realized all the treasure she needed, all the treasure she would ever need, she had found already in the storehouses of her Father, in His love, His provision, and His protection.

  Kura laid down the combs and took a shell necklace from around her neck and put it around Isabel’s. Isabel examined the glossy shells, and thanked her. A very fair exchange indeed.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Miles heading her way, and grabbed Frederick just as the pirate clutched her arm and hoisted her up. Pain shot through her shoulder, and she cried out.

  “Time fer ye to go, milady. Yer husband’s awaitin’.” He slurped up the spittle that threatened to dribble from his mouth. Tightening her lips, Isabel yanked from his grasp and charged toward Morris and Hann.

  “No, you can’t do this, Father. I’ll never forgive you.” Hann stood before her father, pleading with him.

  “I’ll have to bear that burden, Annie. For Johnny’s sake.”

  Miles shoved Isabel, and she inched closer to Morris and Hann. Hann’s anxious gaze met hers. The girl swallowed hard and dropped her arms in exasperation, then rushed to Isabel.

  “I’m so sorry, Isabel.” Hann said, tears moistening her eyes.

  “’Tis not your fault.” Isabel squeezed her hand. “I’ll be all right. Pray for me.”

  “I don’t know how.”

  “I’m sure you’ll find a way.” Isabel grinned, then looked over Hann’s shoulder at Morris. “Captain.”

  But Morris would not face her.

  “Captain, are you not man enough to face the innocent woman and child you send to a gruesome fate?” Isabel heard the tremble in her voice but wanted Morris to look her in the eye as she and Frederick were led away. She wanted him to see what he was doing, not for revenge’s sake, but because she knew this was not an easy choice for him. She knew there was still a chance he might change his mind.

  He swerved around and jerked his chin in the air.

  A volley of guttural, angry words pelted Isabel’s back, and she turned to see Murato motioning for her to join him. He and his five companions waited at the head of the trail, ready to leave. His fierce gaze raked over her, the gold from his nose plate reflecting fire in his eyes. Though he stood no more than five feet tall, he appeared as solid as a tree. Isabel was sure if anything struck him, it would be crushed. He continued his perusal of her and grunted another word. There was something cold and harsh behind his savage stare.

  Isabel slowly turned back around. Frederick screamed, fighting to be free of her grasp. Her legs went numb. I can’t do this, Lord. Where are You?

  “Is this truly what Johnny would have wanted?” Hann sobbed, glancing at her father.

  Morris’s gaze dropped to Frederick, and a glimmer of sorrow flashed in his eyes. He swiped at the sweat forming on his brow, then narrowed his eyes upon Hann. “It must be done, girl. It’s the only way.” He clenched his jaw, nodded at Murato, then turned away.

  Footsteps sounded behind Isabel. She squeezed her eyes shut. Strong fingers clamped her arm and dragged her over the dirt.

  A shrill whistle pierced the air.

  Isabel opened her eyes. Murato released his grip on her as he and the other men grabbed spears and stood on alert, scanning the surrounding jungle. One of them cupped a hand around his mouth and piped the trill of a bird in reply. Another whistle answered, and the Indians lowered their spears.

  The green thicket parted, and three natives emerged from the jungle, followed by Hoornes, then Sawkins and another Indian.

  Isabel’s breath froze and her eyes widened. What were Hoornes and Sawkins doing here? Sawkins’s blue eyes met hers, and he gave her a pained look of appeal.

  The leaves rustled again, and Cutter appeared. Hann gasped and threw a hand to her mouth then ran into his arms, nearly knocking him over. He wrapped his good arm around her, relief softening the taut lines on his face. He glanced at Isabel.

  Hope sparked in Isabel’s heart. If Cutter and Sawkins were here… maybe?

  She focused on the spot from which the others had emerged, and tried to peer through the crowd of Indians forming around the newcomers. Her heart thundered in her chest. Frederick had stopped his fussing and plugged his thumb into his mouth. The hair on Isabel’s arms stood on end.

  Hann gazed up at the doctor. “What? How?”

  “’Tis a long story.” Cutter brushed the hair from her forehead and lowered his lips to hers.

  “What in the devil is going on here?” Morris headed toward the couple with the fury of a wild boar. “How dare you touch my daughter?” He shoved his face into Cutter’s. “I knew I shoulda killed—”

  The captain’s threats were instantly silenced when the foliage again parted in a swoosh of leaves.

  Kent marched into the clea
ring.

  Wearing nothing but breeches, his bare chest dotted with perspiration, he stormed into the camp with the same confidence as if he strutted across the deck of his ship. His glance passed over Morris and his pirates with no more than a flicker of interest, then over the mob of Indians, until his eyes finally locked upon Isabel’s. A grin lifted one corner of his mouth, and he headed her way.

  Isabel’s heart flipped in her chest.

  “Not so fast!” Morris drew his sword and rushed to thrust it in Kent’s path.

  Sparks and another Indian sprang from the greenery. The Indian wore Kent’s shirt and baldric.

  Kent halted before Morris’s shiny blade, his eyes never leaving Isabel. She lowered her gaze as heat blossomed up her neck and onto her face at the intensity, the depth of feeling that flowed from his dark eyes. He’s alive! He came to rescue me. Her heart struggled to believe it. Raising her gaze again, she found his eyes still focused on her, and realization blossomed over her. She loved him—she truly loved him.

  The men from the tribe began conversing with the newcomers. The chief, decked in his long white robe, came charging out of his hut, his eyes puffy with sleep. He spoke briefly with the Indians who had arrived with Kent, and then approached Morris with shouts and loud gestures.

  Still holding his sword to Kent’s chest, Morris responded with equal intensity, then turned to Kent. “The chief says his hunting party found you sleeping like babes in the woods. And thinking you were perhaps on my trail, they brought you to me.” He pushed the blade of his sword against Kent, forcing him back.

  “Then I should thank them for their assistance,” Kent said.

  Morris frowned and glared over his shoulder at Sawkins. “I figured you and your ship—along with this mongrel—would be at the bottom of the Caribbean by now.”

  Sawkins wiped the back of his neck with his handkerchief and grunted. Jagged red stripes circled his wrists. “Perhaps next time you’ll not send that minnow, Morgan, to silence the shark you have swindled.”

  Morris laughed. “Shark, egad Sawkins, does your ego never falter? Has it come to me for more beatings, perhaps?”

  “Don’t believe ’im,” Hoornes piped up. “’Twas Captain Carlton who bested ole Morgan.” His rat poked its head out from the pocket in his breeches.

  Morris swung his gaze back to Kent. “Odd’s fish, you released this scalawag, Sawkins? You’re a bigger fool than I thought.”

  Sawkins squeezed the bridge of his nose and inhaled a deep breath. “Morgan’s cannons released him.” His gaze swept over Isabel, and a sour taste rose in her mouth.

  “More like Captain Carlton’s loyal crew,” Cutter interjected.

  Hann gave Kent a timid smile. “Good to see you, Captain.”

  Kent nodded in her direction. Even though Hann had originally intended to betray Kent, Isabel detected no animosity in his eyes.

  The chief barked something else at Morris, drawing the captain’s furious gaze away from Cutter.

  “He’s asking if I need any help. Can you imagine? To subdue the likes of you?” Morris chuckled and spit at Kent’s feet, then responded to the chief.

  The tall, lanky chief nodded. His intense gaze shifted over Kent and then over the other pirates before he turned and issued further orders to some of the natives. The Indians who had just arrived were led to the fire, where the women waited on them, all the while shooting wary glances toward the ensuing altercation and keeping their children close by their sides.

  “So you see, Captain,” Morris eyed Kent with disdain. “Your plan to rescue your fair maiden has only brought you to a camp where with one command from me, these natives will flay you and your companions alive.”

  Kent gave a sardonic grin. “My plan to rescue my fair lady has only just begun, Captain. And as for your power to destroy me and my crew, it will be given you only should God allow.”

  “Humph,” Morris grunted. “The jungle has made you mad.”

  Isabel studied Kent, amazed at his declaration of God and his cavalier attitude under such precarious circumstances. Yet, truth be told, she’d never seen him unsure and distraught over anything or anyone—save her.

  Most of the Indians stood in clusters watching with interest and muttering amongst themselves. The chief snapped his fingers, and a wooden stool was set on the ground behind him. Flinging back his robe, he sat as if preparing to watch a play, and Isabel got the impression he would not get involved unless called upon to do so.

  Whispers passed between Cutter and Hann, drawing Morris’s attention.

  Morris stormed toward Cutter. “I told you to keep your hands off me daughter, you freak.” He aimed the tip of his sword at Cutter’s chest. “How many times must I threaten your life, boy?”

  A sinister laugh came from Sawkins’s direction.

  Cutter didn’t flinch.

  Morris pushed the blade and broke Cutter’s skin. A rivulet of blood flowed down his chest, leaving a trail of red down his shirt.

  In a flash, Hann plucked Warren’s cutlass from its scabbard before the pirate could react. “Stop, Father.” Knocking her father’s sword aside, she leveled her own at his chest.

  Morris’s brow furrowed, and shock and sorrow burned in his eyes. “You’d hurt your own father?”

  “Don’t do this, Hann.” Cutter stepped beside her and laid a hand on her wrist, trying to force the blade down.

  Hann moved away from him, her intense violet eyes focused on her father.

  Kent started toward Hann and Cutter, and Isabel wondered what he intended to do.

  A pirate behind Cutter drew his sword in a gleam of sunlight. Miles and Akers grabbed their pistols and leveled them upon Hann.

  Kent froze.

  Frederick whined. Isabel’s heart sank like a stone in her chest. The lives of all the people she loved stood in the balance.

  Out of the corner of her eye she saw Sawkins inch toward the violent standoff while swatting bugs circling his head. Odd, he usually ran away from a fight, not toward one.

  Hann gave the pirates no more than a sideways glance. “I’m sorry, Father, but I can’t let you hurt the man I love.”

  Morris blew out a sigh and lowered his sword, his face reddening. Then his gaze swept over his men. “Lower your weapons,” he spit with contempt. “And don’t ever aim them at me daughter again or there’ll be hell to pay.” He shook his head as they complied. “I’ll deal with you later, girl.”

  Kent turned and rushed to Isabel. His eyes grazed over Frederick and then landed on hers, unsure and hesitant. Isabel smiled and fell against him. Releasing a sigh, he wrapped his arms around her and Frederick. Isabel sank onto his chest, allowing his warmth and strength to wash over her. Wood and spice filled her nostrils, and she took a deep breath of him. Frederick reached up and grabbed his father’s chin. Kent smiled and kissed him on the cheek, then moved his lips to Isabel’s. His stubble scratched her face as he tenderly caressed her lips with his own. Isabel’s breath quickened, and a burst of warmth tingled in her belly.

  Tears filled her eyes. “You came for us,” she whispered, gazing up at him.

  He lightly kissed the tip of her nose. “I love you, Isabel. I always have.”

  Morris sped toward them like a madman. “How touching. The family reunited,” he panted, halting before them. “Because of you, my family will never be together again, so enjoy this moment, Captain Carlton. It will be your last.” He shouted over Isabel’s shoulder, and she knew without turning that he had summoned Murato. The Indian’s stench of sweat and filth assaulted her.

  As Morris’s and Murato’s words fired back and forth, Isabel closed her eyes and leaned her head on Kent’s chest, fighting back tears and trying to make the precious moment last a bit longer. But a strong arm clamped around Isabel’s waist and tore her from Kent’s arms.

  Frederick wailed and she tried to cling to him as Murato nearly lifted her off the ground and carried her toward the trailhead.

  She heard Kent shout and start afte
r her. Murato tossed her to the ground and spun around. After ensuring Frederick was unharmed, Isabel looked up to see Morris holding a pistol beneath Kent’s chin, immobilizing him. Kent’s fierce gaze darted to hers.

  Morris glanced over his shoulder at Sawkins, who had made his way over to where Morris’s pirates stood. “I must congratulate your incompetence, for it has served my purpose well. I never dreamed to be fortunate enough to have Captain Carlton witness Lady Ashton’s betrothal.”

  “Betrothal?” Kent growled as Morris lowered the pistol to his chest.

  “Yes, to Murato here.” Morris gestured toward the Indian hovering over Isabel. “They make a lovely couple, wouldn’t you say? And your son will make a fine addition to his household slaves.”

  Kent’s guttural moan roiled through the camp. He tossed strands of hair from his face and clenched his fists. Muscles twitched in his chest and arms and he reminded Isabel of a loaded cannon whose fuse was about to be lit.

  When he looked her way, Isabel shook her head, trying to dissuade him from doing something foolish. She didn’t want her last vision of him to be of his death.

  Frederick’s wail softened to a sob, and Isabel patted his back. He glanced up at Isabel, then over at the Indian next to her before tossing his thumb back into his mouth.

  Kent lunged toward Isabel. “No. I will not allow it!”

  Isabel’s heart stopped.

  With one nod from Morris, Akers and Miles jumped Kent. The three men tumbled to the ground in a heap of thrashing legs and arms amidst groans and curses. Soon Warren and Grayson joined the fray, each taking a limb until finally the four men subdued Kent.

  Murato grunted and pulled Isabel back. “No, please don’t hurt him!” She snapped her pleading gaze to Morris. “I’ll go quietly. Just please let him live.” Tears filled her eyes as she struggled toward Kent. Oh Lord, it hurts so much. Why did you bring Kent here if I must still be taken from him? Please protect him.