The Pirate and the Puritan

by Howe, Cheryl

  Solomon’s narrowed gaze promised he’d be doing more than thanking Drew after the battle. With his hands cupped around his mouth, Solomon bellowed orders that sent a dozen barefoot men scrambling.

  Drew’s swift sloop sailed circles around the bloated merchant vessel. He maneuvered out of cannons’ range on the ship’s windward side. Sailing around her stern brought him close enough to read her name without the aid of magnification. As Drew predicted, the wind filling the Carolina’s sails dragged her gun ports below the waterline. Drew didn’t bother to order his raised.

  “Bring me that brass speaking-horn.” Drew had watched the sailors directed by Captain McCulla scramble like scattering geese as they battled the strong wind and the maneuvering of Drew’s vessel. The result placed them exactly where he wanted them—helpless.

  Avery arrived with Drew’s request almost instantly. Solomon raised a dark eyebrow. “I thought you hated that thing.”

  “The horn is to be used for calling to other vessels across the sea, not across the deck to harass the captain. It’s a useful tool when handled properly, Mr. Quartermaster.” The message Drew had was too important to be misinterpreted. He still hoped to disengage himself from this situation without bloodshed.

  “Lower your sails or we’ll send you to hell.” Drew’s booming voice cut through the roar of waves and wind.

  The men on the Carolina stared back at him. McCulla pushed aside his motionless crew and leaned over the rail. Drew stood close enough to see the veins bulging in his crimson neck.

  “The bloody hell we will, you bastard,” the other captain called. “We know all about your promises, Lord Christian Andrews—or should I call you by your true name, you spawn of the devil!” McCulla turned back to his crew and shouted orders no one seemed obliged to follow. After frantically waving his arms, he managed to send one man sprinting across the deck.

  Drew tossed down the brass speaking-horn. He held a mask of fierceness in place while his insides slowly slid into his boots. McCulla’s revelation was not good.

  “If you know who I am, then you know my reputation. Lower your sails and there will be no need for a fight,” he boomed in the harshest voice he could muster.

  In answer to Drew’s second request, the Carolina fired a cannon from her deck, shooting a hole though their mizzen topsail. A hunk of canvas fluttered to the deck like a wounded seagull—inconvenient, but not strategically important unless one factored in the uncontrolled fury it caused in Drew. McCulla whooped triumphantly, acting as if he had taken out their mainmast.

  Drew’s command was low and controlled. “Take down her sails and prepare to board.”

  Solomon nodded. His expression matched Drew’s grim tone.

  Within minutes, chain shot flew and hit its mark. Smoke from the cannons choked the air and watered Drew’s eyes, but he didn’t blink. He watched the mainmast of the Carolina topple, leaving her crew covered in a shroud of white sail. His well-trained men secured grappling hooks to the disabled vessel before the sailors could again see the blue of the sky.

  He unsheathed the well-used cutlass Avery dutifully brought him. The leather grip had worn through to metal in places, but the blade was always honed to a deadly edge.

  “Take as many prisoners as possible. I want the captain,” he yelled above the excited voices of his men.

  By the time he leaped onto the other vessel, McCulla had disappeared. Some swords clanked in futile struggle, but many men threw down their weapons as soon as the pirates swarmed their deck. Drew’s crew quickly disarmed the few foolish enough to fight. He continued his search undisturbed by the one-sided battle. Not even the boldest of the Carolina's crew seemed willing to engage him.

  “Captain, we found him,” called Avery.

  Two of Drew’s men dragged McCulla above deck and shoved him before Drew. The rest of McCulla’s crew, a total of thirteen, were disarmed and herded into a circle.

  “What the hell is this about, McCulla?” Drew demanded.

  McCulla smelled as if he’d undertaken the voyage sealed in a cask of rum. “It’s about the reward, El Diablo.” Liquor made McCulla bold when he should have cowered.

  Drew raised his cutlass and touched it to the man’s throat. “What is this about, man?”

  “Murderer,” McCulla squealed as he tried to back away. “You’ll murder me in cold blood just like you did Marley and his missus. I knew you weren’t no duke’s son.” McCulla didn’t get far, Smythe, the one-eyed pirate who had pried him from his hiding place, pointed a wickedly sharp dagger at the center of McCulla’s back. Drew waited for McCulla’s retreat to bring the blade in contact with his flesh. It didn’t take long. The captain jumped forward, howling as if he’d been run through.

  “What do you think you know?” Drew wanted to learn what Ben and the others on Barbados knew, but feared giving away information McCulla didn’t already have.

  McCulla composed himself and lifted his trembling chin. “You ain’t no better than me and never was. I know it was you who talked old Ben into taking away my command. And now we’re all going hungry ’cause you murdered the hand that fed you.”

  Drew glanced over McCulla’s motley crew. Despite their overgrown beards and rum-soaked eyes, Drew recognized a man or two, though they’d all seen better days. He returned his gaze to McCulla. At least he wasn’t wholly responsible for the man’s downfall. “You’re out of work because you ran a ship loaded with sugar aground.”

  “You won’t get away with this. Everyone knows about you, and there’ll be others wanting the reward. And don’t be expecting any help from Ben Kendall. The governor knows about him too,” taunted McCulla. “How he helped you sell pirated goods.”

  “I needed someone as a front for my diabolical schemes. You idiot Barbadians conveniently found one for me,” said Drew with more control. He pretended to examine his nails. “Of course, I didn’t think anyone would believe simple old Ben could knowingly be a partner with pirates. I obviously underestimated your stupidity.” If Drew kept McCulla talking, he might find a way to help Ben. Drew would never be able to set foot on Barbados again, but he had hope that Ben could still be redeemed.

  McCulla smiled. “It’ll all come out in the trial. For now, Ben’s locked up and the governor seized his property. They gave me this ship to go after you, and they’ll help anyone else who wants to bring you to justice.”

  “Excellent. That should tie up some of the governor’s men, guarding Ben. Maybe hanging him will make them all satisfied and they won’t waste time on me. That is, if they are satisfied hanging a man without proof.” Drew called upon the acting ability he’d gained during his impersonation of Lord Christian to hide how badly McCulla’s revelations shook him.

  Though things looked bleak for Ben as well as himself, Drew wouldn’t tip his hand to anyone—not even McCulla. Drew had bluffed his way out of far worse situations, though at the moment he couldn’t recall how.

  “You want proof? Well, I think a blooming duke is proof enough.” The fool McCulla actually smiled. “The Duke of Foxmoor came to Barbados to pay you a visit. Thanks to Marley.”

  Drew’s narrowed gaze was the only hint the blow hit its mark. Marley had wanted out of their scheme of selling pirated contraband as legal imports. At the time, Drew couldn’t really blame the man. After all, he’d just married a young wife and, even at his advanced age, hoped to start a family. But never had he suspected Marley would turn him in. Well, maybe he’d suspected, but Ben had assured him Marley wouldn’t. It looked as if they had both underestimated Marley’s greed.

  “That’s right,” continued McCulla, apparently encouraged. “Marley figured out you weren’t who you said you were and wrote to the duke. You knew Marley was on to you and so you killed him and his wife. And you might have gotten away with it, if the duke hadn’t shown up to see who had the nerve to sully his good name.

  Solomon’s gaze darted to Drew, but Drew had no answers for his friend’s silent questions. That the Duke of Foxmoor, Drew’s
father, would travel all the way to Barbados to confront his illegitimate son seemed unlikely. He’d never given Drew the time of day when they resided on the same estate.

  “Put the prisoners in our hold,” Drew ordered. “The rest of you gather anything of value, we’ll burn her when you’re done.”

  Though McCulla deserved a flogging to be witnessed by his crew—the standard punishment for a captain who resisted a pirate attack—Drew didn’t have the stomach for it at the moment. Too many things battled for priority in his mind. Both his father and Marley’s betrayal multiplied the pain of discovering Ben’s imprisonment. Did his vicious old sire want to destroy the only living evidence left of his indiscretion? Drew felt like a cornered animal. First he’d been framed for crimes he hadn’t committed, then his father had stepped down from a cloud to condemn him.

  And of course there was Felicity. He’d made himself vulnerable to her, and when she found out about her father she would go for his throat.

  Drew sheathed his sword. Solomon herded McCulla’s crew—most of them too drunk to walk straight—to the other vessel. Feet apart, bare arms over his chest, Drew surveyed the scene with outward fierceness, but his mind tripped over one thought. How the hell was he going to tell Felicity Ben had been arrested?

  “Cap’n?”

  “What, Avery?” The irritating nature of Drew’s thoughts was reflected in his curt reply.

  The second mate never asked his question. A musket exploded, crumpling him. Drew dropped down beside Avery, scanning the deck for the source of the shot. Blood seeped just above the second mate’s right hip. Drew quickly placed his hand over the softly fountaining wound.

  “Get the surgeon!”

  “We don’t have one. Our last was killed taking a French frigate a few months ago.” Solomon came to stand before Drew. In one of his fists, he held the collar of a copper-haired child, in the other, he gripped a musketoon. An acrid smell drifted from the weapon’s short barrel.

  “Tanner?” Drew recognized the skittish child he’d bribed a smile from with a piece of eight. Tanner’s efforts to get away doubled at Drew’s attention. The boy held back tears with a few loud sniffles.

  McCulla lurched forward but was restrained by Smythe. “You little brat. You can’t do anything right. You got the wrong one.”

  One of the crew hastily recruited to act as a physician came forward and began to rip the Carolina’s downed sails to make a bandage for Avery Sneed’s wound. The sailor took Drew’s place at the wounded man’s side.

  Drew crouched in front of Tanner. “Did McCulla order you to shoot me?”

  McCulla erupted into a blustering string of denials.

  “Shut up,” commanded Drew. A blow from Smythe quieted the drunk captain when Drew’s order hadn’t.

  Tanner shivered and kept his eyes downcast.

  Drew reached out and raised the boy’s chin. “I’m not going to hurt you, Tanner.”

  Solomon still held the boy by the collar, stopping him from squirming away from Drew’s touch.

  “He was hiding in some coiled rope,” said Solomon.

  “McCulla set him up as a marksman while he found a good hiding place.” Drew gentled his voice. “Is that right, Tanner?”

  Tanner avoided Drew’s gaze despite all efforts to coax him out of his fear. Drew dropped his hand from Tanner’s chin and rose to his full height. He reached out to ruffle the boy’s hair, but Tanner flinched. Glancing at his blood-covered palm, Drew couldn’t blame him.

  McCulla had gone too far. He’d earned what Drew had once been reluctant to do. “Bring the rest of the prisoners over to our ship and leave them on deck while you flog the captain,” Drew called.

  “No!” cried Tanner, straining against Solomon’s grip. The boy managed to connect his fist with Drew’s thigh before Solomon pulled him away. “Don’t hurt him. I thought you were nice to me, but you’re nothing but a pirate like the ones who murdered my real mum and da.”

  “Let him go,” said Drew. The boy flew at him, kicking and throwing punches. Drew blocked only the jabs aimed at his groin. Luckily, Tanner couldn’t reach his face, though Drew deserved every blow.

  When he realized his attack didn’t wreak any damage, Tanner broke into hysterical tears. Drew had caused Ben’s destruction, a crewman’s injury, a boy’s loss of innocence, and that was just today. Felicity’s seduction remained to be completed. Tanner’s paltry assault didn’t do Drew justice.

  When the jeers of his crew only enraged the boy all over again, Drew stopped the show. He hooked an arm around Tanner’s middle and hauled him off his feet. “Take him to the hold with the other prisoners. Except for McCulla. Tie him to the mainmast. I’ll deal with him myself after we tend to Avery.”

  McCulla’s outrage fell on deaf ears. After all, he was the one who’d come after the bloodthirsty El Diablo. He was about to get what he’d wanted.

  Solomon swung the frantic Tanner easily over his shoulder. The boy’s kicking limbs didn’t appear to faze him. “Aye, Captain. But don’t you think the child would be more comfortable somewhere else?”

  Drew moved the crewman tending Avery aside and gathered the unconscious second mate in his arms. “No. I think he’d rather be in the stench of the hold than anywhere near me.”

  He stepped over the gap between the two ships, careful not to jar Sneed’s dead weight. Another unscheduled passenger would feel the same as Tanner if she had the slightest inkling of what had transpired this afternoon. Drew would have to do everything in his power to see that she never knew he was and always had been the infamous El Diablo.

  Chapter Ten

  “I don’t want to do this anymore. Teach me to read instead.” The quill Hugh held stiffly in his hand drifted to a corner of the parchment to sketch a stick figure animal.

  “Hugh, don’t. Paper is expensive.” Felicity left her seat beside Hugh to stand directly behind him. A pattern of wrinkles on her silk skirt’s front revealed the toll that appearing calm had taken on her nerves. Every clink, boom and scream coming from above deck had her gripping the delicate material tighter.

  Hugh glanced at her over his shoulder. The battle raging around them didn’t seem to bother him in the least. “You said you were going to teach me to read and write so I can keep Captain Drew’s log.”

  “You have to learn your letters before you can read or write.” She wrapped her hand around Hugh’s, helping him to form the rest of the letters. After Hugh found pen and paper in an ornate box complete with sealing wax, she justified the use of Drew’s precious writing paper for the noble purpose of teaching Hugh to write as well as creating a distraction. Of course, keeping busy soothed her own nerves and stopped her from running to the porthole every few minutes.

  The unknown clanks and thuds seeping through the walls had brought her close to tears. The sudden unnerving silence worried her more. Visions of Drew lying in a puddle of his own blood grew with his extended absence. The not knowing was torture. Her stomach tied itself in knots as she imagined different forms of his demise.

  She had badly misjudged him. If Drew survived and she still had the chance, she’d show herself to him in a different light. Perhaps she could find the trusting, vibrant young woman who had withered while hiding her shame. Perhaps she could open herself enough to trust a pirate with the heart of an angel. She had trusted an angel with the heart of a pirate once, and the reverse could be no worse.

  All her years of pious repentance meant nothing to her now. For the first time since Erik, she wanted to take a chance on caring for a man. The irony in her choice of men didn’t escape her. Reason had nothing to do with her desire for Drew, which made it all the more powerful. Would she have the courage to step out of the rigid role she’d forced herself into? Now that she realized how badly she wanted to, would she even have the chance?

  A solid rap on the door startled her from her fretting, sending her into a full-blown panic. She rushed toward the bed. The pistol Drew had given her lay tucked beneath a pillow. She hadn
’t wanted to frighten Hugh with the weapon. When she noticed the trembling of her hands, she wondered why she bothered hiding it at all. Hugh with his nerves of steel would undoubtedly handle the weapon better than she.

  Hugh exhibited none of her fears and got up to unlock the door.

  “Hugh! No!” she screamed.

  “Felicity…are you all right?” called a familiar voice from the other side.

  The weapon forgotten, she rushed to wrestle the door’s brass handle from Hugh’s grasp. He opened the door in spite of her efforts, scowling in displeasure at her unwanted assistance.

  Drew stepped into the cabin, and all of Felicity’s fears conspired to squeeze her breath from her lungs. Drew’s beautiful face was tight with pain. His bare arms and exotic vest were smeared with fresh blood.

  ***

  “Are you hurt?” Drew dodged Hugh with the intention of placing his hands on Felicity’s shoulders. He remembered the blood on his hands and stepped back. From arm’s length, he examined her from head to toe. In that moment, not touching her was one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do. Not even when she tumbled out of the armoire had he seen her so pale.

  Hugh tugged at the end of Drew’s ruined vest. “I learned my letters. Want to see?”

  She reached out and began to unbutton Drew’s vest. “You need to sit down. Back in Boston, I doctored several parishioners and not one died.” The tremor in her voice revealed she stretched the truth to comfort him. “Where is your wound?”

  When her fingers grazed his bare skin, his sharp inhalation was audible. She froze for a second, then began to rid him of the vest more cautiously. She obviously thought she had hurt him. She had. Her frantic concern over his welfare combined with the flood of relief to find her safely in one piece overwhelmed him.

  He wanted nothing more than to take her into his arms and prove to her how truly healthy he was. The look in her eyes told him she would respond favorably, but eventually she’d learn the truth. Before fate had trapped her in his armoire, he could have smiled and lied. The honesty they had shared changed everything. He deserved her hatred, not her concern. Guilt or something like it—he wasn’t sure since he usually wasn’t plagued with such an awful emotion—weighed him down like a suit of iron.