The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

  The ship bucked, and Nick grabbed the binnacle. "Charles Town? Why visit tha' den of--"

  "I have business there," Rowan interrupted, tired of Nick's pious intervention.

  "An' what d'ye intend t' do wi' the lass below?"

  "Make her pay, of course." Rowan smiled for the first time all day. "She caused me to lose a grand fortune, and I intend to make her work off every shilling."

  ♥♥♥

  Morgan could think of only one explanation for the insanity surrounding her. At first she'd thought she was dreaming, but the painful grips of the smelly men assured her she was quite conscious. No, this was her father's doing. It had to be. When she'd informed him of her cancer, he'd leaned back in his leather chair in his office and put on his I-can-fix-your-problem business expression that surely was one of the reasons he'd risen to CEO of Dynamics, Inc.

  "We will fix this, honey. Nothing to worry about. If I have to spend every dime I own to get you the best doctors, by God I will. Nothing harms the daughter of Macon Shaw. Nothing and nobody!"

  Why did the man always speak of himself in the third person? He punched numbers on his phone, and soon two admins filed in and jotted notes as he droned on with instructions about locating specialists and hospitals, etc. Morgan had stopped listening. All she'd really come for was a hug--a rare gift from a man who'd always been too busy and too standoffish to engage in unnecessary displays of affection, as he called them.

  When he was done, he sent the admins out with a wave of his hand and led Morgan to the door with the excuse he had an important meeting to attend.

  "Now don't you worry about a thing, honey. I'll take care of everything. I'll even send something your way to keep your mind off your troubles." And with that, he gave her a peck on the cheek and ushered her off, already speaking to someone on his Bluetooth before he shut the door.

  Now, as she glanced around the most authentic pirate ship she'd ever seen, felt the salty spray on her face, smelled the unwashed bodies of men who could easily be on the set of one of the Pirates of the Caribbean movies, she realized her father had spared no expense to keep her mind off her troubles. He'd done this before, of course. When she'd suffered her first broken heart at thirteen, he'd paid for an entire Western town, complete with horses, Indians, cowboys, and saloon girls. He'd staged drunken brawls, a gunfight in the street, an Indian raid, and a handsome son of a rancher who took a shine to her.

  By the end of the week, she'd forgotten all about the boy who had broken her heart.

  But cancer was different. You couldn't run from cancer. Or pretend it doesn't exist. And no amount of fun or role-playing would cure it or take away its pain.

  Regardless, she had to admit her father had done a good job finding an actor who looked just like the painting she saw of Rowan Dutton. Still, the man took his role a little too seriously.

  "Ouch! You're hurting me." She struggled in the men's grips as they dragged her past the captain. One final glance over the sea revealed no coastline was in sight. Surely they hadn't gone too far from San Diego.

  The pirates shoved her down a ladder into a dark hallway where the smell of moist wood and smoke joined other yucky odors that curled her nose. Her head began to pound again as one of the men opened a door and shoved her inside, mumbling something about how the captain gets all the wenches.

  "Hey, watch it!" She rubbed her arm and glared at him. "My father won't be happy to hear how you manhandled me."

  He answered with a snort and a belch before he and his friend ambled away.

  The floor tilted, and she ran to grab the desk for support--a completely different desk from the one that had been there just an hour ago. This desk was solid wood and sturdy and had etchings of waves and dolphins along the bottom. Maps, old papers, a quill pen, lanterns, and several strange instruments were scattered in a cluttered mess around three open bottles of some type of alcohol. In fact, everything in the room was different, she noted, as she looked around, searching for a phone or a computer--something she could use to contact her father and call off this charade. The four-poster bed had transformed into a cot attached to the wall. Sheets and covers were tossed haphazardly over it as if the owner had just risen. The chest was replaced by a tall closet. The shelves had become bookcases filled with books lying in disarray and barricaded by a wooden rail. Beside them, an assortment of hideous-looking weapons hung on the wall. Flies hovered over a tray of dirty plates perched on a leather chair, while an assortment of clothes littered the floor. How could they have staged this so quickly?

  Had Tiffany put something in her drink to knock her out?

  Behind the desk, the horizon dipped in and out of sight through a wide span of colored windows. Morgan's stomach vaulted. Didn't her father know she got seasick? Of course not. He'd never spent enough time with her to know such a thing.

  Well, if pirates were supposed to be slobs, they'd done a good job creating the captain's cabin. Sifting through the mess on the desk for a phone, Morgan gathered the documents and placed them in neat piles, then lined up the bottles and instruments.

  Pounding boot steps alerted her, and she glanced up to see the man posing as Captain Dutton march into the room, followed by two men. He seemed larger ... taller than he had above deck. Maybe it was the low ceilings, which barely allowed him to stand at full height. Windswept light hair fell to his shoulders as he sauntered past her without a glance. She backed away from the desk. The second man appeared to be forty or so with short red hair, a trimmed beard, and kind hazel eyes that smiled at her as he stepped inside, while the third man was young, dark-haired, and looked like a typical handsome pirate from the cover of some swashbuckling romance. Seriously?

  The captain removed his sword and laid it across his desk. Brow darkening, he stared at the orderly piles with a bewildered look, then raised his gaze to a paper she still held in her hands. "You'll find nothing of value here, wench."

  Morgan set down the document. "Listen, guys. Bravo, bravo"--she clapped--"Great acting. Well done. I'm totally impressed. But I'm really tired, and I want to go home now. I'm sure my father will pay you for the entire week or however long he booked you but I--"

  "Silence!" The actor-captain's eyes flamed. The tone and volume of his voice would certainly have scared her if he were a real pirate. His gaze lowered to her chest, and his mouth twisted like a pretzel. He stormed toward her.

  Instinctively, Morgan backed away.

  Clutching the amulet, he tore it from her neck, then held it up before her. "Where did you get this?"

  She'd forgotten all about it. "Below in some old lantern. Hey, if it's yours, keep it." As he dangled the chain, she noticed how rough and callused his hands were. "Sorry. I got distracted when you fired a cannon. A little too real, don't you think? And the return shot with all the water? Yeah, very cool. But my father asked you to distract me, not give me a heart attack."

  The three men eyed her as if she'd said she was from Mars. Water roared a mad dash against the hull, mimicking the pounding in her head.

  "'Twas my mother's," the captain said, his tone filled with sorrow, before his anger returned and he shoved it in her face again. "You stole it!"

  Morgan swallowed at the rage in his eyes. This guy deserved an Emmy. "I did no such thing!"

  "How did you come to be on my ship, wench?" He scanned her with contempt. "And why are you attired thus?"

  "No doubt she slipped on board at Antigua." The handsome pirate plopped into one of the chairs and spread his feet before him. "To entertain the crew." He winked at her.

  "What?" Morgan shrieked. "That's disgusting!"

  "Antigua was two weeks ago," the captain said. "Where has she been this entire time?"

  "One of the men must ha' brought the lass aboard, Captain." The red-haired man with the kind eyes spoke.

  The captain growled. "Forsooth! They know I suffer no women aboard, save Edith. I'll keelhaul the man who disobeyed me!" He laid the amulet on the desk w
ith a gentleness that defied his angry tone, then faced her and fisted hands at his waist. Two leather belts, studded with silver buckles, crisscrossed his white shirt and brown vest. The dark stubble lining his jaw matched the goatee on his chin, while sunlight glimmered on a gold earring hanging from his right ear. Her compliments to the costume director.

  "Okay. Okay." She held up a hand. "The archaic language. Nice touch. Really good. But I'm done, okay? Please call my father."

  "I know nothing of your father, wench." Confusion rode on the captain's brow. "Alack, what I do know"--he strolled toward her, the thump of his boots heavy on the floor--"is that since you refuse to answer how you came aboard my ship, I must conclude you are naught but a thief."

  She laughed. "Good one."

  "Forsooth, the wench admits it!" He glanced at his friends.

  Morgan huffed and shoved past him. "Where is your cell? I'll call my dad myself." She didn't make it two steps before the actor-captain clutched her arm and held her fast. Then snatching the pile of fly-infested plates, he tossed them to his desk in a clatter, and shoved her into the empty chair.

  "Gross!" Imagining the rotten food beneath her, she squirmed to get up, but he held her down. "My father will hear of this!"

  Impervious to her threat, he merely rubbed the stubble on his chin as if pondering what to do with her.

  "Captain," the red-haired man spoke up as he leaned back against the desk. "The lass isna a thief. Why would a woman steal from pirates? She'd haveta be daft t' even try."

  "Humph. Daft or not, she is clearly a woman." His eyes roved over her. "A bit lacking in the chest, but the rest of her curves are in the right places."

  That was it! "You pig!" She stood and swung at him, but he leapt back with a laugh. "I daresay, the sprite has some bite."

  His chauvinistic friends chuckled.

  She thrust hands on her hips. "Weren't men more chivalrous back in pirate days? Perhaps you should read your script more carefully."

  Again his expression twisted. "How now? I find myself in agreement with you, Nick." His chuckle faded as he studied her, his blue eyes like ice. "More devil than daft, I make bold to say. You lost me my prize, wench! And you'll pay for that, I assure you." Grabbing a bottle from his desk, he drew it to his lips and gulped down several swallows of the amber liquid. Probably tea or Kool-Aid. Surely, her father wouldn't let them drink on the job.

  The boat leapt like a cat, tossing her back into the chair. She drew a deep breath to settle her stomach, then slowly rose and lifted her chin. "You have insulted me enough. I insist you turn this boat around and take me back to San Diego."

  "Ship, if you please. And I know no San Diego. Though now"--the captain's eyes narrowed--"the name makes me wonder if you aren't a papist pig."

  What the heck was a papist? "Listen I'm done here. K? I'm done." Frustration at a boiling point, she began searching the room. There must be cameras somewhere. Her father--no, most likely one of his admins--was probably watching to make sure the actors did a good job. Maybe a Hollywood producer or two as well, which would explain the grand performances.

  She circled the room, brushing hands over the rough wooden walls and peering into the dark corners. Nothing. She curled her fingers around the edges of the desk, swept a gaze over the window ledge, and straightened a sword hanging askew on the wall.

  The men seemed to find this amusing as each one poured more Kool-Aid into tiny pewter mugs and sipped while watching her.

  She leapt atop the chair, peered above the closet, and scanned the beams across the ceiling. A cockroach scrambled across one and she cringed. Nice touch.

  Pleasurable moans sounded, and she turned to see their gazes on her behind. Men! Huffing, she jumped down to search the bed. What a hard, lumpy mattress. And the sheets were none too clean.

  "If it's to bed you wish to take me," the infuriating captain drawled, "I'm happy to oblige. 'Twas to be part of your payment anyway."

  She scowled at him and opened his closet. Shirts, pants, vests, and coats came tumbling down upon her, smelling musty and reeking with body odor. Apparently pretend pirates-of-old never washed their clothes either. Without thought, she began folding the garments and hanging the shirts on hooks.

  "For what are you searching, my little minx?" her captor asked.

  The man called Nick pointed his cup at her. "T' tend yer disastrous wardrobe, 'twould seem."

  "Mayhap she seeks your hidden treasure, Captain," the handsome man offered as he poured himself another drink.

  "Right in front of me?" Rowan laughed and crossed arms over his chest. "Faith now, she's either a pretty fool or more fearless than most men."

  Bristling, Morgan only then noticed she was folding the ridiculous costumes. What the heck was wrong with her? She left the clothes on the floor and slammed the closet shut. The boat creaked and moaned as if sympathizing with her plight. "Where are the cameras?" she demanded as the floor tilted to the left. Stumbling, she reached for the wall before she fell. But it was her stomach that plummeted, shooting something foul up her throat. She pressed a hand over her mouth.

  All the men's brows lifted. "I fear the lady intends to toss her accounts!"

  Taking a deep breath, she swallowed, and gathered herself. Enough of this. Moving to the center of the room, she spun and waved her hands through the air. "I know you're watching. Go tell my father I wish to come home. I'm sick and this is not helping!"

  "Alas, the lassie speaks t' spirits!" Nick's voice was alarmed.

  "A witch, to be sure," the handsome man said nonchalantly as he sipped his drink.

  "Mayhap that explains how she got here," the captain added.

  Morgan stared at them, anger churning. "I'm outta here." She headed to the door.

  "I have not given you my leave." The captain was on her in seconds, his hand cinching around her wrist. "Enough of this foolery. Who are you and why are you here?" A cloud of alcohol enveloped her. So, they were drinking.

  Though he stood several inches above her, she put on her sternest look and met his gaze. "Listen, I need to go home. This whole thing is staged for my benefit, but I don't want it. Can you get that?" Besides, she needed her meds. For her OCD and anxiety. She'd taken them that morning, but for some reason they seemed to be wearing off. "Stop this insane charade at once!" She tugged from his grip.

  "Woman, your impudence tries me sorely."

  "And your bad acting tries me sorely!"

  Nick chuckled.

  Rowan scowled. "I have a mind to give you to my crew. After I'm done with you, that is. Surely that would loosen your tongue."

  "Precisely my thinking." The handsome pirate licked his lips as if she were dessert.

  "I am not a wench, and I'll thank you to stop calling me that. I am Morgan Shaw, daughter of Macon Shaw," she stated emphatically. "Name ring a bell? The man who is paying your salary?"

  "Morgan!" The actor-captain bent over in a howl. "Now 'tis clear from whence this sassy minx hails. One of ol' Henry's discarded offspring, I make bold to say."

  "I'll take her off your hands, Captain." The handsome pirate set down his cup, desire glinting in his eyes. "Upon my oath, she'll be no bother to you the rest of the journey."

  The boat seesawed again, and Morgan leaned against the wall. "You will do no such thing!"

  "Nay." The captain chuckled. "I would not subject even a mad woman to your advances, Kerr."

  "I quite agree." Nick nodded toward her. "Either tha' gash ha' stolen her reason, or the lass's mind's been blasted t' bits."

  "Indeed. Pity. I admire her spirit." The captain finished his drink and set down the cup.

  "A goodly share of pluck for one so slight of figure," Nick added.

  The handsome pirate shuffled forward and fingered a lock of her hair. "We could still let the crew have her." He winked at her, and she rolled her eyes at his act--convincing as it was.

  "Nay, this madness she suffers might be contagious." The captain fingered his chin. "And the crew is crazy enough
as it is."

  Morgan huffed. "You know I can hear you. I'm standing right here."

  "Kerr," the captain continued. "Find those responsible for bringing this madcap aboard and bring them to me." The handsome pirate nodded and started off. "And get Farley," the captain shouted after him, eyeing her forehead. "I'll have him tend to this wench's wound. Then mayhap she will speak plainly."

  Grrr. Morgan could never remember being this angry. While the annoying captain turned to address the red-haired actor, she inched toward the desk, pretending to gaze out the window. Grabbing the handle of the man's sword, she swept it out before her and pointed it at the captain. Good grief, the thing was real. And heavy! Using both hands, she kept it level and poked him in the back.

  He slowly turned, a grin lifting his lips.

  "You want to play pirate?" Morgan said. "Then I will play too. Take me back to San Diego or I'll slice you in half!"

  Chapter 3

  Rowan didn't know whether to laugh at the sassy minx, drag her to his bed, or toss her overboard. What a fascinating creature! The weak wench could barely hold up his sword. Even now, her arms shook as she bit her lip and gazed at him with eyes the color of lustrous moss.

  "I swear I'll do it! Whatever my father is paying you, I'm sure it's not worth ending up in the hospital."

  Nick chuckled behind him. "Ye best do wha' the bonny lass says, Rowan. I'm trembling for my life."

  The ship bounded over a wave. In one swift move, Rowan shoved the blade aside with his forearm, knocking it from the mad woman's hand, then caught it by the hilt in midair.

  Eyes wide, she backed away--the first evidence of fear he'd seen on her face. But then the panic faded, replaced by her normal shrewish expression.

  "So, you're a stunt man too, I suppose. Very impressive."

  Stunt man? Rowan shook his head, hoping to evict the woman's nonsensical ramblings from his brain. "From whence do you hail? I make no sense of your speech."

  "You know very well from where I hail," she spat back, brushing hair from her face.