The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  Farley packed up his things and headed for the door. "Aye, prayer be a mighty thing, says I."

  Rowan snorted. "Only if there's a God who answers." Yet he suddenly remembered the feather in his dream drifting upward to pierce the darkness. Shaking it off, he turned to Nick.

  "How's Scratch handling the crew?"

  Nick spread his feet farther apart to balance on the slanting deck. "Well enough. Ye picked the right man for the job."

  "Good. How far are we from Petit-Goâve?"

  "Wit' fair winds, we should be there on the morrow."

  Rowan nodded and attempted to rise, but everything spiraled around him, and he gripped the back of the chair. Nick started for him but 'twas Lady Minx who made it to his side first, taking his arm and lowering him to sit.

  Shouts sounded on the deck above, along with the thud of feet. Nick glanced aloft and slid on his hat. "I best see what's afoot."

  "I should be at the helm," Rowan growled, blinking to clear his vision.

  "Nay, ye should be resting jist like Farley said. I'll alert ye if anything urgent happens."

  Edith darted in with a tray of tea and biscuits. "You're looking good, Cap'n. Praise be t' God for his mercy. 'Specially to those of us who don't deserve it." Chuckling, she winked at Morgan as she slid the repast onto Rowan's desk.

  "Seems t' me ye are in good hands." Nick started for the door. "I'll report back later, Captain."

  Rowan groaned in response, hating feeling weak and useless.

  Edith wiped hands on her apron, her beaming smile shifting between Rowan and Morgan. "I best be going too. I gots forty hungry men t' feed."

  Morgan turned to follow her out.

  "Nay, don't go, Lady Minx." Rowan wasn't one to beg, but he hated the look of fear in her eyes whenever she glanced his way.

  Turning, she stared at him and bit her bottom lip, but finally moved to pour him some tea.

  "You prayed for me, Lady Minx?"

  "Nick made me. It was a stupid prayer, anyway."

  "But a prayer, nonetheless, and one I appreciate, withal."

  She handed him the tea, the cup trembling in her hands.

  "Why such fear of me all of a sudden?" In truth, he missed the defiant fire in her eyes, her brave retorts.

  She stepped away and hugged herself. Scattered sunlight teetered over her with the movement of the ship, bringing out flames of red in her long hair that was unbound and unusually disheveled. He liked it that way--wild and free. Her green eyes met his, framed in those luscious dark lashes. "Because before I thought you were only an actor, paid to play a part."

  "And now you think me a fierce pirate."

  "You are a fierce pirate, are you not?"

  He shrugged. He'd always been proud to be called such. He sipped the tea, but found it lacking and set it aside.

  "Somehow, Rowan"--she sighed and shook her head--"I sound crazy for just saying this, but somehow I've traveled through time. I don't know how or why, but it terrifies me." Evidenced by the tremble that swept through her as she lowered to a chair. "I can't believe I'm even talking to you, Rowan Dutton, one of the vilest pirates ever to sail the Caribbean."

  He grinned. "Is that what they say of me? Glad to know I made my mark on history."

  "Not a good mark. And I'm being serious."

  He leaned back in his chair and winced. "Have I been cruel to you, Lady Minx?"

  She shook her head. "No, you've been ... wonderful."

  His glance took in the items on his desk, all neatly placed in order. He smiled. "So what else does history say of me?"

  Wind whistled against the stern windows, drawing her gaze. "You believe me? Just like that?" She stood and picked up his backstaff from the desk. "I'm not sure I believe it myself. How can people travel through time?"

  "Faith now, I know not what I believe, but you are no liar. Besides, there's much we don't know of this world. What makes the sun rise and set every day? How can something we can't even see kill a man?" He pointed to his wound. "Alack, I'll go even further to say that the most powerful things in this world are hidden from our eyes--the wind, for one, hate, greed ... and love."

  He watched her reaction to the last word and saw what he'd hoped most to see--a blush rise on her cheeks and her eyes lower. So, she did harbor some affection for him.

  "From what year do you hail?" he asked.

  "2015, if you can believe it." She set down the backstaff.

  He raised his brows. "Egad! 'Tis amazing."

  "My reaction exactly." She glanced at him, the fear appearing once more in her eyes.

  He hated that fear.

  So he kept her talking, trying to recover the enjoyable repartee they once had. "Now, pray tell, what of my legacy, Lady Minx? Do tell me that I left an indelible mark on this world." That he'd made his fortune, returned to lavish it upon his deserving sister, and lived out his days an honored member of society with a houseful of servants and a bevy of children.

  She huffed. "You left your mark, all right. It says you were ... are a ruthless villain, preying on any ship you crossed, no matter their allegiance. It says you tortured your victims and even some of your crew. I didn't listen to it all because you sounded horrible."

  Rowan gripped the edges of his chair, his anger rising. "Bah! Lies all! Was there nothing about my sister? My place in society?"

  "No, just that you died in a duel over some man's wife."

  "Nay! 'Twill not happen." He clenched his fists and leaned forward on his knees. "I need but a few more prizes"--or one big one, if he had his way-- "and then I will retire from this junketing about the seas and become a respectable gentleman."

  She snickered as if she didn't believe that possible. "Apparently you changed your mind."

  "Your history lies, Lady Minx. No doubt one of my enemies propagated spurious tales about me to all who were equipped with pen and parchment."

  She eased away from him, moving to his bookcase. "It also says you were a drunk, a gambler, and a man who slept with other men's wives. Are those also lies?"

  He frowned. "In good sooth, I'll own up to that, though I'll admit to not being proud of most of it." He rose and grabbed a bottle of rum to spice up his tea.

  Facing him, Morgan backed against the book shelves as if they could somehow protect her from him. "I have to find a way to go back, Rowan. I'm sick and I need medicine."

  "We have medicine here," he returned, sipping his tea while ignoring the sinking feeling tearing through his gut at the thought of never seeing her again.

  "Not the kind I need." She pressed her side, as she so often did. Mayhap she was ill. He would seek out Farley and Edith's advice. Edith had once healed one of Rowan's powder boys of the ague with her herbs and potions. Surely she could help Morgan. "But if you don't know how you came to be here, then how can you go back?"

  She walked to the window and stared out at the horizon teetering in and out of view. Several seconds passed before she spun around and declared, "The amulet! The amulet you thought I stole. That's when it happened." She took up a pace before the windows, stumbling over her skirts. "I was in the bottom of your boat." At what must have been a look of shock on his face, she added, "A replica of it. And I found your amulet in the old lantern. I rubbed it and that's when I woke up in this time. Where is it?" She scanned his desk, then began opening drawers and sifting through his things. "It's the key. I know it."

  He grabbed her arm to still her, mainly because there were things he didn't wish her to find--the amulet suddenly chief among them. "Why do you wish to leave? Is it so horrible here?"

  She jerked from his grip, gaping at him as if he'd asked her to climb to the mast tops. "What am I going to do here, Rowan? How am I to live? I'm a software engineer and computers haven't even been invented yet."

  There was the old Morgan with her gibberish speech. "You have been well-fed and sheltered since your arrival. What to fear?"

  "I cannot stay on a pirate ship! For one thing, my nerves wouldn't stand it. The ba
ttles, the sword fighting, the drunken parties, the cannons. Within two weeks, I'd be babbling in a straitjacket in the hold."

  "I know not this straight jacket, but I do regret locking you in the hold. 'Twill not happen again, I assure you."

  Frustration twisted her face, and she hugged herself again. The ship creaked and the stomp of feet brought her gaze above. When she looked at him again, horror creased her expression.

  "The snake that was crushing me in the jungle. It was real!" Her breathing came heavy and he touched her elbow, lest she fall. "And those men, your crewmen on the island, they were really going to rape me! And the French boat"--she looked up at him, her eyes chilled with terror-- "Those cannonballs were real! And the sword fights." She retreated from him. "And that man, Bloodmoon, that evil, evil pirate. He was real! I insulted him. I made fun of his name."

  "You did?" Rowan chuckled. "Faith now, to have witnessed that! Served him right, the old impertinent bore." Though now his suspicions were confirmed that either Kerr or Morgan had told Bloodmoon about the map and Morgan's ability to decipher it. Otherwise, he would have shot her--or worse--on the spot.

  "I can't believe ... all of that ... actually happened. I could have been killed." She leaned against the desk and raised a hand to her neck as if struggling to breathe.

  "But you survived. And with more courage than I've seen in any woman."

  "I'm not brave, Rowan. I'm a coward. I thought it all was fake, don't you see?"

  He drew close to her, longing to touch her, longing to comfort her and take away her fear. "Nay. Courage like that comes from deep inside a person and cannot be feigned no matter the circumstances."

  Ever so slowly, he raised his hand and brushed his knuckles over the silky softness of her cheek. "I wish you were not afraid of me, Lady Minx."

  "I wish I was not afraid, period," she sputtered out, as her eyes drifted closed beneath his touch.

  "When I woke, I saw you holding my shirt." He continued caressing her cheek.

  "I was cold."

  He smiled. "Are you sure that was the only reason?" He leaned in and placed his lips on hers.

  ♥♥♥

  Every inch of Morgan's body, every fiber of her being came alive the instant Rowan's lips touched hers. The first time he'd kissed her, she'd felt the usual warm desire, the normal sensations when a handsome man kissed her. But this time ... this time it was that and so much more. It was life and hope and protection and a yearning to be with this man forever, to love him, to know him inside and out ... to grow old by his side.

  Reaching around her back, he pressed her close and drank her in as if he'd never kissed a woman before ... as if he found her completely enchanting. No one had ever kissed her like that, and Morgan got lost in the heady sensations swirling through her, tempting her to toss her fears to the wind and fall into the wild dark unknown that was Rowan Dutton.

  He ran a hand through her hair, exploring her mouth with his tongue ... caressing ... loving her. She fell against his wide chest, a mound of cotton pressed against rock--a rock who could crush her, but one, instead, whose arms barricaded her with steely warmth.

  Safe at last. Her nerves unwound, her tight heart relaxed, even as her body grew hungrier for more of him. He trailed kisses down her neck, lingering, bringing her to life with sensations that sent heat spiraling down to her toes--feelings she'd never experienced before. A groan escaped her lips, her mind reeled.

  Wait. No!

  He knew exactly what he was doing. He was a womanizer, a pirate! An expert at seduction.

  She pushed from him, fear returning to bind her chest. "I will not be another of your mistresses."

  The desire sputtered from his eyes as if she'd dropped a bucket of ice on him. "Faith now, Lady Minx, I don't remember asking you to be."

  She narrowed her gaze. "You think because you are tall and handsome and have"--she gestured toward his chest--"big muscles ..." And gorgeous biceps and a six-pack stomach, she noted as she scanned him, angry that her body still thrummed from his touch. "And you carry a sword or whatever, that you can have any woman you want. Well, not this woman!" Morgan flattened her lips. Not again. She'd not be lured in again with a handsome face, studly body, and soft words, only to be dumped like a deflated doll later on. No siree. Apparently she was as stupid in 1694 as she was in 2015. At least she'd caught herself before she made another colossal mistake.

  Rowan just stood there, looking all the more alluring for the charming grin on his face.

  "Give me the amulet. I wish to go home now." She held out her hand.

  He crossed arms over that gorgeous chest, winced slightly at the pain, and continued smiling at her.

  "I know you have it. I saw you put it on your desk. Where is it?" She circled said desk and reached down to open drawers again.

  But his firm grip around her wrists--both wrists--stopped her. "It pleases me you no longer fear me, Lady Minx. But once again, I don't respond well to demands."

  She struggled against his grasp. "What are you doing? Give me that amulet!"

  "'Tis my amulet, if you please. A sentimental gift from my mother which you tried to steal. Curse me for a rogue, but I'll not let you do it again."

  "I wasn't st--and yes, I will curse you for a rogue, a stupid rogue. What's wrong with you? I thought you'd be happy to be rid of me."

  He pulled her toward him, pressing her against him once again. "Did I just kiss you like I wished to have you gone?"

  His hot breath filled the air between them, her struggling useless against a strength that seemed unhindered by the fever that had just ravaged his body. "You kissed me like a man who seeks a mistress."

  "If that's all I wanted, you'd already be in my bed." He released her, a flash of sorrow crossing his blue eyes.

  She backed away, noting he took a stance between her and his desk. "Oh, is that so?"

  Anger wiped the sorrow from his face as a frown stole his normal confident grin. What was she doing? It was one thing to anger this man when she'd thought he was an actor, but now, she knew exactly what he was. Still, what did she have to lose? Like Edith had told her, the cancer would steal her life soon enough.

  "Please Rowan. Let me go home." She softened her tone, but his face remained steel.

  "I know not whether you came through time," he said, "or whether the amulet will send you back, but I'm not willing to take the risk."

  "Why? I don't understand. I've told you I will not be your mistress."

  "You wound me sorely, Lady Minx, if you think that is my goal."

  "Then what? Am I to be your entertainment? A partner in lively conversation?"

  "'Twill be a start."

  Morgan narrowed her eyes. "Don't you have other women to harass? Other men you can talk to about whatever you pirates talk about?"

  He shrugged and then pressed the bandage on his arm, a pained look on his face. "Most women would find my attentions flattering, Lady Minx. The fact that you don't makes you all the more intriguing."

  "So, let me get this straight. If I was swooning at your feet right now, you'd let me go home?"

  "If you were swooning at my feet right now, I guarantee you wouldn't want to go home." He grinned.

  "You arrogant, conceited ..." Morgan fisted her hands and bit back a curse that would only add to her list of sins. "You can't keep me here! I will not be your prisoner."

  "Prisoner?" He chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. "Nay, I shall be happy to set your pretty feet upon any shore you desire."

  She stared at him, her fury burning, her mind sifting through the impossibility of her situation. Why, oh, why, did she always find herself at the mercy of some gorgeous man with an over-inflated ego?

  "In 1694, you know as well as I do that I wouldn't last long."

  "Hence, 'tis best you stay under my protection."

  "You always get what you want, don't you?"

  "Aye."

  "Selfish pirate!" Spinning around, she stormed from the room and slammed the door
in his face.

  Chapter 17

  "Now, you pay them no mind, child." Edith cast a glance over her shoulder at the pirates loitering about the boat, then slid her hand over Morgan's as they stood at the railing on the main deck of the Reckoning. A pirate ship. A real pirate ship. No matter how hard she tried, Morgan couldn't shake the truth from her mind. Even now, she wondered what had possessed her to come above deck in full view of men who were nothing but thieves and rapists.

  But nearly a day and a half cramped below in Edith's cabin, sick to her stomach, and suffering from one panic attack after another, had convinced her to agree to Edith's suggestion to come above for fresh air. Fresh, warm, salty air that now filled her lungs, chasing away the stench from below, but reminding her that she was in the middle of the Caribbean.

  Over three hundred years in the past.

  Her stomach clenched as panic once again spun her mind into a tizzy and buzzed through her fingers and toes until she could no longer feel them. She wished she could no longer feel her heart either--wound so tight that it pained her. Along with her inflamed liver, which the cancer continued to devour.

  Actually, she was a big hot mess--a dying, hot mess in a world of trouble at the moment. Yet, beside her, Edith closed her eyes, lifted her face to the warm sun, and began to sing a song about the faithfulness of God, His Holiness and wondrous love, as if nothing was wrong with the world. Sunlight brought a blush to her skin--the color of milk chocolate--as if the Almighty Himself were bending down to kiss her. Morgan envied the woman's peace, even as she wondered how she could be peaceful once having been a slave and now in another kind of slavery aboard a pirate ship. On the other hand, Morgan's mother, who lived in comfort and ease and spent every waking moment at church, was always bound in a knot of frustration and fear.

  The boat rose and plunged over a wave, spraying Morgan. She clung to the railing, trying to keep her balance while Edith giggled in delight.

  Dabbing at the moisture on her neck, Morgan gazed over the sea, a glimmering pool of turquoise diamonds in the afternoon sun. Not a speck of land or a ship was in sight. Just the wide open Caribbean and one old rickety boat that stood between them and drowning--or worse, sharks. But that wasn't her biggest problem. It was the sharks on the ship. She could feel their eyes boring into her back. One glance over her shoulder proved her right. Those not busy with their duties gaped at her as if they hadn't had a meal in months and she was a hunk of charbroiled steak. Dipped in garlic sauce.