The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  "An' who be this? A gift?" He gestured toward Miss Morgan.

  Eyes like flaming moss shifted between him and Bloodmoon as the woman attempted to shout something through the handkerchief stuffed in her mouth.

  "Nay. I'm delivering her to someone."

  "Rowan tired of her, eh? Or maybe he can't ..." Bloodmoon's face scrunched in disgust. "He's not a fluff shirt, is he?"

  Kerr smiled. "Nay, but he had some colorful terms for you."

  "I bet he did." Bloodmoon gulped down the remainder of his rum then slammed the mug on the table. "I met the man once in Port-de-Paix and it weren't a pleasant experience, I tell ye. He won a chest full of pieces of eight in a game of Faro. Cheated, if ye ask me, an' when I called him on it, he drew a pistol on me." He spit to the side in disgust, then ran a callused finger over the swell of creamy bosoms protruding from the woman's bodice. She giggled and gave him a saucy wink.

  Someone took up a fiddle across the tavern, drowning out Morgan's groans.

  "Why d'ye still sail wit' him, Kerr?" he asked. "A man wit' yer skill and wit should be in command of his own ship."

  Kerr sipped his rum, his chest expanding beneath the compliment. Indeed, he should be captain by now. And a good one he'd make, too. Capturing more prizes and acquiring more treasure than Rowan, or even Bloodmoon. Someday . . .

  "Unless ye are nothin' but a weak-kneed whiffet like yer cap'n." Bloodmoon snorted.

  Grinding his teeth, Kerr forced down his fury. "Let's just say I'm waiting for my opportunity. Thus far, the fair amount of prizes he's won the crew have kept most of them loyal."

  "Ah! But if they knew what fortune awaited them, they'd jump at the chance t' follow a man like you."

  Kerr's rum-addled mind searched for the reason behind Bloodmoon's flattery. He was sure the man did not oft extend such compliments. Still, Kerr could not deny that the pirate's words settled on a bed of truth in his heart. Settled in and got comfortable. At seven and twenty, he should have his own ship--his own fleet of ships--by now.

  "Why not steal his ship, this Reckoning, and sail wit' me?" Bloodmoon lifted his mug toward Kerr then glanced over his crew, most of whom remained in the shadows. "Mayhap the day o' reckoning has come fer yer nimby-hearted captain."

  Chuckles emanated from his men while the trollop giggled and cooed in Bloodmoon's ear.

  Exactly what Kerr had hoped Bloodmoon would say. And exactly why he'd brought the woman. Still, he shifted his shoulders beneath a twinge of guilt. Despite Rowan's annoying personality, he'd always been good to Kerr--appointing him first mate after only six months at sea and trusting him with much of the ship's command. Hadn't he just promised Kerr they were on the verge of finding a fortune? What to do? He stared down at the amber liquid swirling in his mug as if the answer were to be found therein, then over to Miss Morgan, hatred firing from her gaze. Smiling, he took a gulp and lifted his gaze to Bloodmoon's malicious waiting eyes.

  "Truth be told, he's got some grand plan to gain more treasure then we've ever seen. More than your Spanish ships, he says." Kerr knew he played a dangerous game, but he needed Bloodmoon's help if he was going to steal the Reckoning from Rowan.

  Moments passed in which all he heard was a fiddle, a ribald ballad, shouts and laughter, and the slosh of ale and cards.

  Bloodmoon sipped his drink. "I believe ye'll be tellin' me all ye know 'bout this treasure, lad."

  "'Twill be my pleasure. But first, what will you give me in return?"

  A snake-like smile twisted Bloodmoon's lips. "How 'bout yer life?"

  His men chuckled.

  Kerr swallowed and forced a look of nonchalance. "How about my life in addition to your crew's help to subdue Rowan."

  Bloodmoon seemed to ponder this, though Kerr knew he had to give him something first before the man grew weary and put a bullet in Kerr's head. Rising, he untied Morgan, yanked the gag from her mouth, and shoved her to Bloodmoon's table. "She knows where the treasure is."

  Miss Morgan slapped him away. "What are you talking about?" She faced Bloodmoon. "Listen, I'm finished with this insane act. I demand to see my father at once."

  Bloodmoon stared at her as if she asked him to hand over all his treasure. "Ye dare demand anythin' of me, wench?" The woman in his lap cast a smug look toward Morgan.

  Kerr leaned toward her. "Tell Bloodmoon what you saw in Rowan's cabin. The chart?"

  "You mean that stupid map?"

  Bloodmoon jerked in his seat. "A map?" But it was his tone that sent a shiver through Kerr. "What sort o' map?"

  "A ridiculous map with a primitive code even a monkey could decode," the madcap woman responded.

  At this, Bloodmoon jumped to his feet, dropping the trollop to the floor.

  "What'ya do that for?" She struggled to rise, but at one look from him, scampered away, mumbling obscenities.

  Bloodmoon's men gripped the handles of the pistols lining their baldrics, ready for their captain's command.

  Yet the pirate captain seemed to be having trouble breathing. "A map wit' strange distorted islands on it an' words an' numbers that make no sense?"

  What made no sense was how Bloodmoon knew of this map. "Aye, but how do you know of it?" Kerr asked, though he suddenly didn't want to know the answer.

  It came in a bellowing roar. "How do I know o' it?" Bloodmoon thrust his reddening face toward Kerr. "'Tis my map, you churlish whoreson! Yer captain stole it from me!" His eyes suddenly widened then narrowed into thin lines as he took up a pace, growling and spitting like some otherworldly dragon. Kerr half-expected fire to come from his mouth.

  Nearby patrons scattered, and others stopped to watch, no doubt hoping for a fight.

  Amazingly, Miss Morgan plopped into a chair in a huff.

  Bloodmoon halted, his eyes crazed in the lantern light. "The only way he coulda gotten that map was from me house. From me wife!" Plucking his pistol from its brace, he waved it about, scattering everyone within range. "That lyin' cheatin' whore! Devil's blood, I knew she'd had someone in her bed! I'll tie her t' me keel an' drag her over the reefs, I will!"

  Miss Morgan clapped. "Bravo! Bravo!"

  Kerr searched for a way of escape, but Bloodmoon's minions blocked the only path to the door.

  Bloodmoon continued his rant, spitting and cursing and calling his wife names even Kerr wouldn't dare call a trollop. "An' yer loutish, flapmouthed clod of a captain!" Bloodmoon pointed the pistol at Kerr. "He will pay fer this!"

  Kerr forced down the terror squeezing his throat. One thing he knew about pirates. They fed on fear like ravenous sharks, and he wasn't about to make himself bait.

  Mayhap 'twas Miss Morgan's ploy as well, for she started lining up the mugs on the table.

  "D'ye know whose map it is?" Bloodmoon continued his rage. "'Tis the map of Roche Braziliano, the pirate they called the Rock of Braziliano, the meanest nastiest sod ye'd ever meet. I sailed wit' him when I was a young lad. He taught me everythin' I knows. He spent years plunderin' every ship that dared cross his waters and amassed a fortune. Which he buried in an unknown location."

  "Aye," the man to his right added. "Gold, jewels, silver pearls, enough treasure to last an eternity."

  Bloodmoon spit to the side again. "'Cept he coded the map so's no one but him could find it. And then the old sea snake died."

  One of Bloodmoon's crew, a wiry fellow with no teeth, spoke up from his seat at the table. "So why d'ye want it back, Cap'n? If ye can't understand what it says? Makes no sense t' me."

  Without hesitation, Bloodmoon shot the man in the arm. He toppled to the ground.

  "Ye shot me! Ye shot me!" Yet no one dared rush to his aid as he scooted away, pressing a hand over his shoulder.

  Shaking her head, Miss Morgan rose and started for the door. "I'm outta here."

  "Nay, little one." Kerr caught her by the arm and shoved her back into the seat.

  "Where's Rowan? I thought you said he was with my father!" The little chit stood, fisted hands on her waist, and glared at the
band of pirates.

  Bloodmoon tossed the smoking weapon aside and snatched another one from his belt, and Kerr suddenly found himself staring at the round, dark barrel.

  "I should shoot ye jist fer tellin' me. An' the mad wench too!"

  "Hey, what did I do?" Morgan shouted. "And you shouldn't point that thing at anyone. Even if it is fake."

  Kerr's insides boiled. The crazy woman was going to get them both killed! "You could shoot us both," Kerr addressed Bloodmoon, drawing his attention from Miss Morgan, "but then you'd never know how to decipher the map."

  Bloodmoon glared at him and cocked his pistol. "Tell me now. Or Lucifer waits t' greet ye."

  Miss Morgan retrieved the handkerchief from the floor and began wiping dirt from her arms.

  "First, do we have a deal?" Kerr arched a brow.

  "Speak an' I'll let ye know."

  Kerr gestured toward Miss Morgan. "The woman knows the key."

  "Be that true, wench?" Bloodmoon asked.

  "Sure." She shrugged. "I can decode the stupid thing." She stared up into the rafters. "Is that what you want, Father? Is that what will get me out of here?"

  Bloodmoon's eyes narrowed.

  Kerr gave a nervous laugh. "She's a bit mad, but I assure you she can interpret the map."

  "Then why hasn't she sent Rowan t' the treasure?"

  "Because she refuses his request to decipher it."

  Finally, the man chuckled, sweeping away the tension that threatened to ignite the room into hellfire. "Only a feeble want-wit like Rowan would allow such defiance!" He silenced his men's laughter with a snap, his fierce gaze finding Kerr again. "Where be yer cap'n?"

  "At the Stuffed Goat last I saw him."

  "Bring the wench. I'll take care of Dutton meself. But mark me words, if she can't interpret the map, 'tis yer gizzards I'll be eatin' for lunch."

  Kerr attempted to hide the tremble in his legs. "I would expect no less." Yanking Miss Morgan from the chair, he followed Bloodmoon out of the tavern, allowing a smile to form on his lips. If everything worked out as planned, this would be Kerr's lucky day.

  ♥♥♥

  Morgan took to pleading. She'd never been much for begging. Not even from God. She simply laid her requests before Him and hoped He'd give her what she asked. But He rarely did. Just like Kerr was doing at the moment--dragging her back onto this crazy pirate movie set, ignoring her demands, her requests, and finally, her tears.

  She just wanted to see her father and end all this madness. But apparently he had more adventures planned for her. Maybe she should have deciphered the map back when Rowan had first asked. Maybe that was the key to going home.

  Or . . . that panicky feeling stirred in her belly once again. That terrifying sensation that none of this was her father's doing.

  Bloodmoon and his men halted in front of a two-story building. Lamplight poured from the windows and front door onto a porch filled with drunken men and women who were wearing too much makeup and showing far too much cleavage. Someone inside banged on an out-of-tune piano while several patrons sang along.

  The sign hanging outside read, The Stuffed Goat.

  Bloodmoon approached Kerr. "Get him out here. Tell him whate'er ye want, but get him t' come out. We'll take it from there."

  She thought she saw Kerr swallow nervously before shoving her toward Bloodmoon and mounting the stairs.

  "I demand to see my father at once!" Morgan stomped her foot and tugged from the smelly beast of a man. But he only laughed in return and pinched her arm so tight, she cried out again.

  "Ye are a mad little flower, aren't ye? Never ye mind, I'll be yer father or whate'er ye want when all this be over."

  She shrank from his foul breath. "What kind of name is Bloodmoon anyway? Give me a break."

  His tiny eyes sparked fury in the light spilling from the tavern. "I'll show ye some blood, wench! But it'll be yer lover, Dutton's, not mine!" He shoved her toward the man beside him with an order to watch her on pain of death, then commanded his men to retreat into the shadows beside the building.

  Her new captor, who smelled worse than the first, pushed her against the brick building and drew his sword. Her "ouch" didn't deter him as the other men also drew their weapons, some pulling out blades, some pistols, others knives--all hefted in air growing thick with tension.

  If this were real, she'd be worried for Rowan. As it was, she was just annoyed. Good grief. How much longer was this going to go on?

  Lightning flashed an eerie gray over the men and sent an ominous tremble through Morgan. Thunder shook the ground. Drizzle turned into thick rain drops that plopped onto the sand all around her.

  Great. Just great. Now, she'd be wet and annoyed.

  Somewhere in the distance, she heard Rowan's voice, muffled through the slap of rain.

  Bloodmoon gestured for his men to follow as he led the charge around the corner. Grabbing her arm, her captor dragged her along, brandishing his sword before him.

  They rounded the corner. Thunder roared, and Morgan made out Kerr, Rowan, Nick, and four of his men stomping down the stairs onto the now-muddy street. Well, maybe stomping wasn't the right term. More like wobbling, all except Nick. But where was her father?

  Even though it wasn't real, she thought to yell out a warning, but the rain drowned out all sound, including the ten men about to attack Rowan. Ten against six, excluding Kerr. Not good odds, even if Rowan and his men weren't drunk.

  What happened next was like a war film in 3-D. Rowan spun around just in time to duck out of the way of the aged pirate's sword. In a flash, his own sword was in his hand and he met the man's next thrust with one of his own. Surprisingly, the rest of his men instantly sobered, grabbed their weapons, and met the advancing pirates.

  All except Kerr, who took up arms against one of his fellow crew.

  Grunts and groans filled the air, along with the clank of swords and thud of fists, all muffled beneath the pounding rain. Morgan wiped water from her eyes and peered through the downpour, heart cinched tight. A chill seeped through her as she stood watching this mock battle that looked more real than any she'd seen on film. Swords struck with intent, knives appeared to draw blood, and bones cracked beneath iron fists. Faces writhed in exertion and anger, mouths growling and spitting at their enemies.

  Nick stabbed one man in the gut and kicked him to the ground, then turned to face another. Rowan, sword in one hand, knife in the other, held off two men who came at him. One of them was Kerr. Another of his crew held a pistol to his attacker, but when it refused to fire, he slammed it hard across his opponent's face. The other three men battled equally well, leaping, slashing, and kicking their opponents until one by one, their enemies dropped to the wet sand.

  In the mayhem, her captor had released her arm and now gripped his sword with both hands. Lightning scored the sky. Rain puddled in her lashes. She dabbed them with her sleeve and inched away from him.

  A loud curse brought her gaze to Bloodmoon, battling swords with the youngest of Rowan's men. Though Bloodmoon had to be in his late forties, he fought with the strength of one much younger. Clearly the lad was outmatched, and in one swift move, Bloodmoon thrust his sword into his gut. Eyes wide, the man folded to the ground.

  Morgan blinked. She could have sworn she'd seen the blade disappear inside him for a moment. But that couldn't be. She screamed anyway. Bloodmoon glanced her way before charging toward Rowan, who had just dispatched two more opponents. Their blades met heavy in the saturated air. Rain dripped from Rowan's hair and plastered his shirt to his chest where muscles toiled and rolled in exertion. Growling, he dove toward his attacker, barely missing his side, then swung about and jumped as the man slashed at his feet.

  Her guard finally joined the fray, taking on Nick, who met him with a fist to the gut before he could even swing his sword. Then ramming his boot into the man's head, Nick knocked him out cold and swung to meet Kerr. A bloody gash etched across the traitor's cheek as the two parried like madmen, their boots
spitting up water from puddles on the ground.

  Lightning flashed, followed by the bellow of thunder, and Morgan spotted Rowan holding a hand to his shoulder. Blood oozed between his fingers. She gasped and unthinkingly started for him when, with a demonic chuckle, Bloodmoon went in for the kill. Rowan didn't flinch, didn't bat an eye. Instead, with the confidence of a seasoned warrior, he knocked the man's blade away with his own and then brought the hilt down on Bloodmoon's hand. The villain's sword landed in a puddle with a splash.

  The aged pirate bent to retrieve it, but the muddy ground was littered with at least eight, maybe nine bodies, and still Rowan and four of his men remained.

  Breath heaving, Bloodmoon backed away from Rowan. Kerr, hand pressed to his wounded side, took a spot beside him, his face unreadable, while the remaining two of Bloodmoon's pirates looked as if they'd been dragged across the bottom of the sea.

  Rowan raked a hand through his wet hair, his hard gaze piercing his first mate. "Curse me for a rogue, Kerr. What devilment is this?"

  Kerr shrugged. "Nothing personal, Captain."

  Thunder rumbled as Bloodmoon pointed his sword at Rowan. "We shall meet again."

  "Unless you wish to finish this now." Rowan started for him, but the man turned and dashed away, his men by his side.

  A pervasive numbness crept up Morgan's legs. She scanned the street, once again searching for her father--

  All the while knowing deep down he wasn't there.

  While Rowan and his men gathered their breath, she inched toward the man from Rowan's crew who had fallen ... waiting ... desperately hoping that all of the actors who'd been slain would get up and start laughing and congratulating each other for their grand performance. But none did. By the time she stopped before the fallen man they called Jorg, the numbness had reached her waist. Rain fell on his still form. Plop, plop, plop, turning red as it streamed from the gash in his belly. A real gash with real intestines spilling forth.

  But that couldn't be.

  The numbness circled her heart.

  She blinked and wiped rain from her eyes. But the image remained. There was no faking this. It was real. And Jorg was dead.