The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  So, the poor girl had neither mother or father to raise her properly. At least Rowan's mother had loved him. Though her early death had robbed him of that when he needed it the most.

  The warble of a mockingbird accompanied by the distant chatter of monkeys filled the silence between them.

  Tears blurred Morgan's eyes, and Rowan swallowed, longing to take her in his arms and comfort her. Comfort himself, in truth, for he knew precisely how she felt--unwanted, unloved, and worthless. Instead, he took a sip of rum. "My father was much like yours. Always too busy with his shipping business to pay me any mind."

  "Really?" She wiped away a tear and looked up at him. Red pinked her cheeks and the tip of her nose from the fire--or mayhap the rum. Dirt smudged the right side of her face that, he was sure if she knew about it, would drive her mad. And the stitches Farley had sewn into her forehead stood stark against her creamy skin. But her eyes sparkled like emeralds, and the look of care in them set him aback. In truth, she could almost be called beautiful.

  "Then you understand," she said, swatting away smoke from the fire.

  He clenched his jaw. "I know what it's like to not be loved by your own father. Mine was even worse than yours. He spent what little time we had together scolding and upbraiding me."

  She laid her hand on him, so small and delicate against his thick forearm. "I'm sorry."

  He looked away. "'Twas a long time ago. He's gone now." Buried in land at first, then at sea when most of Port Royal slipped into the bay.

  "And your mother?"

  "Gone as well."

  "So we are both orphans, our parents stolen by death, pills, and power."

  He smiled. "Rather philosophic for one so mad."

  She saluted him with the flask then brought it to her lips, but he snagged it from her grasp. "Or one so sauced," he added. "I believe you've had enough."

  At first she frowned, but then relented. "I do feel better," She rested her cheek in her hand and glanced at him. A strand of hair dangled across her forehead, curled at the tip from the humidity. She blew at it, sending it dancing, then smiled at him. He didn't recall her having such thick, dark lashes--a forest of silken black surrounding glistening green pools.

  "You are a pretty little minx."

  She gave him a slanted smile. "I'm neither a minx nor pretty and you know it. It's the rum talking. I'm plain. I have small breasts and skinny legs and dull straight brown hair. And my toes"--she stared down at her wet, muddy shoes--"well, I've been told that since the second one is longer than the big toe, I'm deformed."

  He laughed. First at her unabashed reference to her small chest and then at her uneven toes. "And, pray tell, who told you such a thing?"

  "One of my boyfriends."

  Boyfriend. Hmm. "Withal, the insult does reek of the immaturity of a lad. Henceforth, I recommend avoiding boys and sticking to men."

  "Men like you who pretend they are someone they are not?" she snapped. "And just how old are you, pirate-actor?"

  "Two and twenty. And I never pretend."

  "Then you are still younger than me by two years. Should I avoid you as well?"

  "Some men mature faster than others." He winked.

  She huffed and looked away. "I have yet to meet one."

  The fire crackled and a breeze stirred the leaves and danced through her hair. Grabbing her skirts, she labored to stand, batting away his efforts to help her, spouting nonsense about something called women's lib and how she didn't need his help. As she headed toward the creek--or rather teetered--light from the moon found its way to her through the canopy, haloing her in a milky glow that made her look like an angel.

  Until she looked down and screamed.

  Punching to his feet, Rowan dashed to her aid, but she barreled past him and sprang on top of the log they'd been sitting on. Shrieking as if her feet were on fire, she lost her balance, and started to fall, but Rowan caught her in his arms. "What ails you woman? Why such racket?"

  Clinging to him for dear life, she pointed to the ground, where a spider skittered away--a large hairy spider.

  He chuckled. "He means you no harm, Lady Minx."

  "He's gross and filthy and carries diseases." She squirmed against him, and he was surprised when his body reacted.

  "Not unlike my pirates, yet you harbor no fear of them." Grabbing her legs, he swept her in his arms and carried her to the creek, where he helped her get a drink, then returned her promptly to a spot on the log.

  When he dropped down just inches beside her, she started to move away, but finally releasing a heavy sigh, she leaned her head on his shoulder. "I'm dirty and smelly and my dress is wrinkled, and I cannot possibly sleep in the dirt with all the bugs and wild animals and ..." her mumbling tapered off and soon her breathing deepened, and he felt her body relax.

  She was wrong about one thing. Her odor was not unpleasant. She didn't smell like strange flowers anymore. She smelled of sweet honey and woman, and the aroma heightened all his senses. She mumbled again, drawing his gaze to her moist lips. Were they as sweet as her scent? He licked his own, longing to find out, an urge burning within him that he rarely denied. Growling inwardly, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, put his other behind his head, and leaned back on the log.

  He'd spent many a night with many a lady. None at all like this night. This night he'd been more frustrated, confused, and annoyed then he'd ever been. But he'd also been more interested, intrigued, and entertained. And touched, if he were honest--touched somewhere near his heart.

  She stirred in her sleep and nestled closer against him.

  What was it about this little minx that enthralled him so? He longed to know more about her and was glad for their time here alone. He might even delay their return to camp just for the chance to become better acquainted.

  What sort of thief was she? Where did she come from? How had she ended up on his ship and for what purpose? And why were her words so foreign? A dozen questions filled his mind as he drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  Someone was twisting Morgan's brain like a wet washrag. She reached up to touch her head, but found her hand was stuck between her cheek and something warm and hard. And hairy! She pried it free. Heart pounding, she remained still, too afraid to open her eyes to discover she'd been trapped in some gargantuan web and the spider was waiting to devour her when she woke.

  But then the spider groaned in its sleep. Did spiders groan? No, but men did. She opened her eyes to find her hand on the pirate-actor's chest, her fingers splayed on the hair springing from his open collar, and her head leaning on his shoulder! Even worse, his arm was wrapped around her back--a band of strength, keeping her pressed against him.

  Horrified, she pushed away. What had she done? What had he done? She glanced down at her filthy gown, then reached underneath her skirts and checked her bloomers--or whatever they were called. Thank God they were still intact, as was her underwear beneath them.

  The pirate-actor groaned and his lips twisted as if he tasted something sour. "Come back to bed, love. 'Tis far too early," he mumbled.

  Scattered memories returned of drinking rum and telling this impostor far too much about her life. What had he done to her after she'd passed out? "How dare you!" She lifted her hand to slap him, but he caught it by the wrist, his eyes still shut.

  "How dare I what?" he replied gruffly.

  How had he done that without seeing? Morgan tugged from him and labored to her feet. A relentless ache hammered the back of her eyes, and she rubbed them and glanced about. Remnants of a morning mist slithered away as rays of a rising sun pierced the jungle like a multi-pronged fork, transforming the creek into a river of diamonds. Above her, hundreds of birds sang a chorus that, if her brain weren't being tromped on by a soccer team in cleats, would have been pleasant.

  Rowan finally sat up and gaped at her with one eye. "How now, Lady Minx?"

  "How dare you feed me rum and then take advantage of me? What did you do to me, anyway?" She hugged
herself and took another step back.

  He chuckled and rubbed his stubbled chin before standing and stretching as if he hadn't a care in the world.

  "I said, what did you do to me?" she demanded, not entirely sure she wanted to know.

  He raked his hair back and grinned. "Do you feel pleasantly satisfied this morn, Lady Minx? Mayhap as if you dreamed you were floating on clouds of ecstasy?"

  "Of course not! What are you talking about?"

  "Then I assure you, I did not steal your purity." He winked then headed toward the creek.

  Morgan's insides boiled. "You ... you ... vain egotistical pig!"

  He answered with a chuckle as he knelt to splash water over his head and draw handfuls to his mouth.

  She thought to kick him into the creek, but the water looked too refreshing, especially to her sandpaper tongue, so she stooped beside him and cupped her hands. Ah, once again, she'd never tasted water so pure and sweet. Even expensive bottled water from France was like sludge compared to this. She took her fill then sat back on a flat rock and watched Rowan stand to his full height, his shoulder-length hair wet and slicked back, his damp shirt clinging to his chest, his pants tight around his thick thighs. He scanned the surrounding maze of green as if making sure all was safe. And she felt the oddest leap of her heart at the thought of being protected by such a man.

  Ridiculous romantic notions. She stood. "We should get back to camp."

  He faced her, his blue eyes full of mischief. "Why the hurry?"

  "Because I'm hungry. And because now that you've played the part of my knight in shining armor, I'm sure my father is waiting to take me home."

  He gave her a cynical look. "The cold-hearted father who ignores you? That man is chasing you around the Caribbean, concerned for your welfare?"

  She sighed, frustration rising along with the ache in her head.

  "Very well, Lady Minx, as you wish," he finally said before strolling back to the fire and kicking dirt onto the embers. Grabbing his empty flask, he filled it with water from the creek, then retrieved his sword and knife from the ground and flung his sack over his shoulder. "Shall we?" He gestured toward the impenetrable wall of green surrounding their camp before he plunged into it, swallowed up by the greenery.

  Morgan followed, happy to be on the move again, though her aching feet disagreed.

  The chill of morning soon fled beneath a heat that seemed as thick as the jungle around her. She longed to shed some layers--at the very least the stockings that were pasted to her legs--but all these undergarments with their hooks and ties were impossible to discard without assistance. If she asked Rowan for his help, would he think her immodest? Maybe after last night he already did. She cringed.

  "Tell me the truth, Mr. Actor. What happened last night?"

  He continued shoving his way through the foliage. "If you must know, you drank overmuch and then fell asleep in my arms." He said it as if it was an everyday occurrence.

  Heat blossomed up her cheeks. "So you didn't take advantage of me?"

  He slashed through a thick vine blocking their path. "You use me most ungraciously to suggest I would."

  "And you claim to be a pirate," she teased.

  "Aye, but a gentleman pirate, if you please."

  "Well, you're a good actor, I'll give you that." She stepped over a thick root crossing the path and tripped on her skirts. "Uggg!"

  He stopped. "That you grace me with any compliment pleases me." He reached up and plucked a yellow-and-red fruit from a tree above them and handed it to her. "I believe you'll find this to your liking."

  "It's a real mango!" She bit into it and the sweet nectar filled her mouth and dribbled down her cheek. Embarrassed, she wiped it away.

  He stared at her. "'Tis just a fruit, not a nugget of gold."

  "But I've never had one fresh from a tree before."

  His brow folded. "'Tis unclear to me in what other state one would find them."

  She shook her head at his persistent acting. "My father must be paying you a pretty penny."

  At this, he laughed and continued onward. "If your father was paying me at all, I'd require a chest full of doubloons from so wealthy a man, not a penny, no matter how shiny it may be."

  Morgan struggled to follow his rapid pace while nibbling on her mango. Her stomach welcomed the succulent fruit, but all too soon it began to sour, as it often did lately--the cancer reminding her it had no intention of going away.

  The loamy scent of moist earth and life filled her nostrils, and she took in a deep breath--so different from the smog of San Diego. If anything, this adventure her father had staged was giving her an experience she'd not soon forget.

  Including the man in front of her. He walked with the confidence and awareness of a predator whose world was his prey. There was an arrogance about him, yes, but also a certainty, a boldness and daring she admired. Sweat matted his shirt to his back, and she could see his muscles bulging and rolling with each heft of his sword. My ... my ... the sight of him was almost worth battling the stifling heat and onslaught of insects. Almost. She batted away a horde of gnats while finding herself suddenly curious about the man. What prompted him to choose acting as a career? How did her father find him? Sadly, he had more than proven he would not answer any question that would give away the charade. So, she decided to play along, perhaps catch him in a lie.

  "So, Mr. Actor, tell me how you became a pirate?"

  He stopped and ran a sleeve over his brow before continuing. "'Tis a long story."

  "I have nothing else to do at the moment." But sweat and suffer. And try to keep her mind off the creepy-crawlies and dirt and the chaos that had become her life the past few days.

  He swung his sword and marched forward, branches and leaves crackling beneath his blade. "In truth, I needed money. A fortune. And piracy was the only option open to me."

  "There are always other choices besides a life of crime."

  "Humph. This from a woman who snuck aboard my ship to steal my amulet."

  "I didn--" She sighed. "Why did you need money? Got fired from your job?"

  "Job?" His tone was one of outrage. "You mean employment? Bah! Duttons do not perform menial work. We have servants for such tasks."

  "I see." Morgan smiled and tossed the remainder of her fruit.

  "In truth, I owe my sister a large sum, which I unfortunately lost at cards."

  "Ah, so you gamble too, along with pillaging and plundering and pilfering."

  He chuckled. "All three mean the same, Lady Minx, though pilfering involves smaller booty, which I rarely bother with." He swung his sword, his breath coming hard. "Alack, you make it sound so nefarious."

  To her right, mist glittered over an intricately woven spider web. Beautiful as it was, she cowered around it. "So now stealing isn't bad?"

  "I look at it more like draining my enemy's coffers."

  "And who is your enemy, Mr. Actor?"

  "Mainly the French, since we find ourselves at war with them more often than not. But I do throw in an occasional Spaniard just to liven things up."

  Whatever her father was paying this man, it wasn't enough. "I see you prepared by studying the history of the time. What year is it supposed to be anyway?"

  He stopped and faced her. "Baffling little goose, aren't you?" Retrieving the flask from his sack, he handed it to her.

  "Goose, tigress, or minx, which am I?" The distant sound of waves met her ears as she grabbed the container and greedily gulped down water.

  He studied her, his blue eyes intrigued. "I've yet to decide." He took the flask and tipped it to his mouth, reminding her of last night when they'd shared rum--and so much more. Had the story of his childhood been part of the ruse, an effort to woo her by gaining her sympathy?

  "Is it true what you told me about your father?" she asked, wondering why she hoped it was. Why she longed to keep that tiny connection that had formed between them. He was just an actor, paid to spend time with her.

  Sorrow shad
owed his expression. "Aye." He started forward again.

  "Tell me about your sister. Where is she now?"

  The trail widened and he sheathed his sword. "Alas, I have no idea. Last I heard she had moved to Kingston."

  Morgan brushed aside a fern. "Is she a pirate too?" she asked playfully, but he answered in a tone that was surprisingly serious for so carefree a man.

  "Juliana is everything I am not. She is good and kind and wise, charitable, honest, and honorable."

  Perhaps this man really did have a sister.

  "She is my twin," he added.

  A rather large lizard skittered across the path in front of her, and she leapt out of the way, surprised she was actually getting used to the little creatures. "Your twin? Then you must be close."

  "We were once, I suppose. But I haven't seen her in over two years."

  "What a shame. If I had a brother or sister, I'd want to see them all the time." As a child, Morgan had longed for an ally, someone who understood, someone to hug when her parents were shouting and throwing things and the house had been filled with misery and tension.

  The breeze grew strong and the jungle less dense, and soon the dirt transformed into sand.

  "Where are we going?" She tripped again, then clutched her skirts higher.

  "To the shore."

  "But isn't that the long way back to camp?"

  He glanced at her over his shoulders and grinned. "Not enjoying my company, Lady Minx?"

  A traitorous smile curved her lips. If she had to admit it, she was actually enjoying herself. Despite the heat and bugs.

  "I don't know why you aren't in more of a hurry, that's all. What if your crew decides to mutiny and take off without you?"

  He swatted aside a final branch and they emerged onto the most beautiful beach Morgan had ever seen. It was one of those beaches you see on the Travel Channel or in a vacation magazine: white, sparkling sand that looked as soft as down, waving palms, and water that was a canvas of swirling turquoise and green gently lapping the shore. A breeze lifted her hair and tossed her skirts, cooling her skin.