The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  It only took her half an hour to decipher the code--a simple transpositional cipher--but the hardest part was reconfiguring the sizes of the land masses on the map and then redrawing them in the correct proportions on the blank paper. Getting used to the quill pen was part of the problem. Having to dip it in ink every few seconds drove her insane. Not to mention she now had ink all over her fingers. It didn't help that Blackbeard thought the feathers on the pen were attached to a bird and fair game for his hunting prowess. More than once she had to scold him and put him on the floor. More than once he decided that lying down right where she needed to draw was as good a spot as any.

  During all of this, the boat slowed, turned, then slowed again. Sailors' feet pounded above as shouts ricocheted like lightning. Outside the windows, the sun finally lowered to the horizon, and she set down her pen and turned to watch it spill crimson, coral, gold, and saffron over the water like paints from a tipped bottle. She stood in awe, never remembering sunsets so beautiful in San Diego.

  Or maybe she just hadn't scheduled time to enjoy them.

  Sails flapped above as the ever-present sound of water against the hull dulled to a gurgle. More shouts, including one she recognized as Rowan's voice, echoed through the boat, reminding her she hadn't much time left to finish the map. Turning, she picked up the pen and ruler and started calculating the final measurement when the door swept open and in marched Rowan, eyes widening when he saw her.

  Nick followed him, along with Farley, his flabby face folded in worry.

  "Ah, there ye are!" Farley released a sigh. "Edith was worried about ye, miss. When she didn't find ye in our cabin, she asked me t' check up on ye."

  Rowan marched toward her, all man and muscle and smelling of the wind and sea. His gaze narrowed on the map and her scribblings beside it. "Alack, what are you doing with my map?"

  His loud shout frightened Blackbeard, sleeping on the edge of the desk, and sent him dashing across the papers, knocking over a bottle of rum and spilling the amber liquid all over the original map.

  ♥♥♥

  "Bedeviled beast!" Rowan cursed and started for the cat, but he dove under the bed. "'Tis perfectly good rum you spilled. And all over my map!"

  "You didn't have to shout so loudly." Lady Minx scolded, and he spun to find her sopping up the rum with one of his shirts.

  He plucked it from her hand. "Faith now! 'Tis my shirt!"

  "Well, if you wouldn't leave them lying all over the floor, I wouldn't have grabbed it." Her tone was all spunk and fire--just like the old Lady Minx--but her eyes held fear as she backed away from him.

  Taking a minute to settle his temper, he tossed his shirt in the corner and drew a deep breath. Ink splotches blurred in a puddle of rum on the top half of the map. He fisted his hands and forced back a growl that would no doubt send everyone scurrying from the cabin. 'Twas only the sight of the new map beside it that stayed him.

  Farley chuckled. "That kitten reminds me o'--"

  Rowan dismissed him with a snap, sending the old man darting from the room, but not before Rowan noted the mischievous grin on Nick's face.

  "You put her up to this?" he asked his friend.

  Nick rubbed his chin and nodded toward the map. "Och, now, dinna ye want the infernal thing deciphered?"

  "Devils Blood! Play not the innocent with me, Nick. Besides, 'twas to no avail. 'Tis obvious from these scribblings"--he gestured toward nonsensical numbers and letters strewn across a new piece of parchment--"that she found the code too difficult."

  "Maybe you should ask me before you jump to your numbskull conclusions."

  Her impudent tone brought his eyes to hers. Numbskull? Hmm. Rowan was sure he'd just been insulted, but his angry retort fell flat on his lips when the lady spread out the new map beside the first, a look of smug satisfaction on her lovely face.

  "Looks t' be a near-perfect depiction of the Spanish Main!" Nick proclaimed as he eased beside him.

  And indeed it did, crudely drawn, but Rowan recognized the islands and land masses, and they seemed to be in the correct positions.

  Lady Minx pointed to the string of letters atop the old map. "A transpositional cipher, a Scytale actually, used by the Ancient Greeks." Her tone bore an excitement he'd never heard in her before. "Quite simple in its design, really. Anyone with knowledge of code could crack it. You just take these letters and wrap them around the right size rod." She picked up a roll of parchment. "Only took four tries to find the right diameter."

  Rowan scratched his head. He had no idea what she was talking about--as usual. "What of these numbers and the strange shape of these islands?" He gestured toward rows of numbers at the center of one of the land masses on the old map.

  "They are also code. They reveal the exact dimensions of the real island and the distance in all directions from the land masses that surround it." She pointed to her new map. "So all I had to do was translate them and then draw their actual shape here."

  She went on to describe how once she had the correct measurements and distances between each piece of land, she was able to place everything in the correct proportions on the new map.

  The infernal cat slunk out from under the bed and eyed Rowan with smug disdain. He'd chase the beastie out of his cabin if he wasn't so interested in what the lady was saying.

  She leaned over the map, one curl dangling from the scarf--his scarf--binding her hair atop her head in a rather alluring style that revealed her slender, creamy neck. A neck that led down to creamy curves peeking above her bodice. Rowan swallowed and shifted his thoughts to the matter at hand--the treasure. "Where is the hidden treasure?"

  "See this word here?" She pointed to the original map where a nonsensical word was written on a large island. "That says treasure."

  He shifted his gaze to the map she had drawn, seeking the true location of the island.

  She beat him to it with the tip of her slender finger. "Here. This tiny dot. As far as I can tell, it's a very small island just off the coast of St. Thomas."

  "I know the place!" Nick slapped Rowan on the back. "'Tis tha' speck of dirt where we sought refuge from tha' squall last year. Though it wasna much of a haven, if I remember. Too small an' no real harbor for anchorage."

  "Aye, but it had a series of underwater caves inland," Rowan added with a grin. "The perfect place to hide treasure."

  "Yup. That's where it is." Lady Minx smiled and lowered into his chair, rather pleased with herself. The cat leapt in her lap as if there were no place it would rather be.

  Rowan couldn't blame him.

  "Good work," he finally said, reaching for his rum, but finding the bottle empty. Growling, he glared at the cat nestling against Lady Minx's soft curves. He could swear the mangy critter grinned at him.

  "How about a reward, Captain?" Morgan cocked her head. "The amulet? Surely I've earned the right to at least hold it?"

  "Seems fair to me." Nick rubbed his hands together. "When do we set sail, Captain?"

  Ignoring them both, Rowan strode to his cabinet and began selecting the weapons he needed--a long knife to join the sword at his side, an axe, and two pistols. "I will consider it, Lady Minx. After I return. If your map leads us to the treasure, that is."

  "After you return?" she asked, the exuberance in her voice dripping out with each word.

  "I must make haste to save Marianne before 'tis too late." He slipped his baldric over his head.

  Nick groaned.

  "You're still going?" Morgan said. "I can't believe you're still going!"

  Stuffing pistols into his baldric, Rowan turned, shifting his gaze between Nick and Morgan. "Ah, so that's why you deciphered the map, to distract me from my mission."

  "Which should ha' worked since ye've wanted nothing more than this particular treasure for as long as I can remember."

  "You surprise me, my friend. Should I allow a chestful of jewels and doubloons keep me from saving a life?"

  "'Tis your life I'm trying to save," Nick muttered with a sc
owl as he plunked on the edge of the desk.

  Rowan chuckled. "Begad, what madness is this? You play the selfish rogue and I, the saint?"

  "Och, now. I wish that were true." Nick snorted.

  Lady Minx rose, the cat still in her arms. "Can't you see we are just trying to save your life?"

  He dared to cup her cheek in his hand. "Your care has not escaped my notice, Lady Minx." Instead of jerking away, she leaned into his touch. A speck of affection appeared beside the angst in her eyes, giving him hope she truly cared for him. Even if she had translated the map in order to get the amulet.

  "Never fear, I will return. Alas, by your own account, I am not to die for another twenty years."

  She moved from his touch. "But my presence here may have changed that."

  "Pshaw! You worry overmuch. When I return, we shall embark on an adventure. Boatloads of treasure await us, Lady Minx--more than you could ever imagine, even in your time."

  "I don't care about the treasure. I care ..." She slammed her mouth shut then raised angry eyes his way. "I can't believe you slept with another man's wife. Especially that man. Total yuk."

  "His wife is much prettier than he."

  "Very funny." She released a sigh. "If you don't die by his sword now, you'll die from another jealous husband's later on."

  He closed the distance between them. "Yet, I have discovered I might be persuaded against such a course."

  Her expression softened. "But not this course. Not this night. Promise me you'll return. I demand it, in fact."

  "I'm wholly at your feet." He swept a bow before her.

  "I doubt you're holy anywhere," she retorted, causing him to laugh.

  He ran a finger over her cheek. "On that point, I'll agree."

  "Obstinate, stubborn, pigheaded ..." She flattened her lips, jaw working and eyes flaring. "I won't be a part of this. If you want to get yourself killed, go right ahead." And with that, she and the beastie in her arms stormed out the door. Halfway down the companionway, Rowan heard her stumble over her skirts and growl.

  "Ye are a fool is wha' ye are," Nick said after she left.

  "And this fool shall return anon." Rowan circled his desk. "You will keep an eye out for her. And on the impossibility that I should not return--"

  "I dinna wan' t' hear it." Nick held up a hand.

  "You will hear it, and you'll obey me should your God seek an audience with me before the night's end."

  "Ye best pray He doesn't, Captain. For I am no' sure ye are ready t' meet Him."

  ♥♥♥

  Morgan alternated between sitting on the window ledge in Rowan's cabin and pacing before it. Only blackness gaped at her through the salt-encrusted panes, but somehow, keeping vigil for Rowan made her feel she was at least doing something useful. The fool had brought along only one man, Terrin--a big fellow who was apparently an "expert shot with both pistol and fist" according to Nick. Also according to Nick--because Morgan had not been on deck when Rowan departed--Rowan had said he should return within four hours. If not, then something had gone amiss, and Nick was to follow through with his instructions. What those were, Morgan had no idea and Nick wouldn't say. No doubt he didn't want to cause her alarm.

  Yet at the moment, all she felt was alarm.

  The boat rolled over an incoming wave, swinging the lantern hanging on the ceiling and casting bands of light and shadow over the room. Blackbeard nudged her arm, seeking pets. But even the cat couldn't soothe Morgan tonight.

  At first she'd thought her fears stemmed from the fact that losing Rowan would mean losing her protector, her provider, and the one constant that linked her back to her own time. But she soon realized it was much more than that. She feared for his safety, she feared for his life. She feared she'd never see him again. Never see those charming quirks of his, never witness his unique larger-than-life personality, how one side of his lips curved in a roguish grin at the sight of her, his commanding presence, his intelligence and wit, how his men respected him and leapt to do his bidding with but one command ... and the way he looked at her as if she were that chest of gold he'd been seeking for so long.

  The thought of losing him cut deeply to her core.

  Yup, her man-picker was most definitely broken. For some demented reason she had a thing for bad boys--the ruggedly handsome, devil-may-care types who made girls swoon and parents have nightmares. The Harley-riding, hell-raising, smooth as glass, confident men who could charm their way into a nun's bedroom. Yup. Morgan had fallen for a bad boy who put all the bad boys in her time to shame. A pirate!

  If her mother could see her now. The thought brought a giggle to her lips as she stood and took up a pace again. Though there were no clocks on this stupid boat, surely four hours had passed.

  And still no Rowan.

  Her stomach cramped and she pressed a hand over it when the door opened, and Edith entered with a tray.

  "I thought you might like some tea, child. To help wit' the waiting."

  "That's kind of you, Edith. Thank you."

  She set down the tray and poured Morgan a steaming cup. "No sense in worrying yourself crazy over him. If I knows anything 'bout the captain, he can take care of hisself."

  Lifting the cup, Morgan took a sip. "I hope you're right."

  "I am right." Edith poured her own cup then sat down in one of the chairs and glanced around the room. "I never been in here wit'out the captain. He isn't the most tidy man, is he?"

  Morgan couldn't help but smile as she took in his clothes on the floor, his crumpled bed, and messy desk. She had started to put things in order, but even that did not unfrazzle her nerves. "Aren't you worried what will happen to you and Farley if Rowan ... dies?" She could barely eke out that last word.

  "Course not. God knows what will happen an' He's already gots a plan."

  Morgan's mother had spouted the same Christian cliché on more than one occasion. The only difference was, when things went nuts, Morgan's mom went nuts. Whereas when uncertainly surrounded this kind lady before her, she grew even more peaceful. If that were possible.

  Edith took another sip and slid her cup on the desk. "Why don't we pray for him?"

  Morgan laughed. "God doesn't honor prayers for pirates."

  "God hears all prayers, child. He loves all His children, 'specially pirates." She winked.

  Shouts echoed from outside, along with the sound of something banging against the hull. Footsteps scampered, and Morgan exchanged a smile with Edith. "Thank God. He's back."

  Only it wasn't Rowan who marched through the open door in that confident swagger of his. It was Nick, followed by three men, one of them a brawny man whose clothes dripped water all over the floor.

  Her heart caved in on itself.

  "Where's Rowan?" She peered around Nick down the shadowy hall, refusing to accept the truth.

  The brawny pirate cursed and wrung water from his coat into a puddle on the floor. "I barely escaped wit' me life. That dung-souled cockerel!" Only then did Morgan see blood staining his shirt.

  Nick forced the man to remove his coat and sit. "Edith, go get Farley."

  The woman darted off.

  "Where's Rowan?" Morgan asked again, this time her voice sounded hollow.

  The beefy man gazed up at her and snarled. "Captured, by that son of a maggot, Bloodmoon."

  Morgan's legs gave out. Thankfully there was a chair nearby. Toppling into it, she raised a hand to her pulsing throat. "He'll kill him. We must rescue him!"

  "Nay." Nick faced the other two pirates. "Once the boat is in its cradle, raise anchor, unfurl all sails, an' tell Scratch t' set course for Jamaica."

  Morgan couldn't believe her ears. "Leaving? We can't leave him here!"

  Farley rushed in with his medical satchel in hand and Edith on his heels. As he knelt to work on the bleeding man, Nick swung to face her. The terror streaking across his eyes did nothing to calm her nerves. "Upon his capture, Rowan ordered me no' t' attempt a rescue, lass. Petit-Goâve is a French town, an enemy
city, an' word is Bloodmoon ha' a small army guarding his house."

  "I can attest t' that," the wounded pirate said, wincing as Farley peeled off his shirt. "'Sides, he's not stayin' there fer long. Sailin' out first thing in the mornin', is what we heard. To join wit' two other ships and capture that Spanish fleet sailin' from Nombre de Dios."

  "Good," Morgan said, hope rising. "Less men to battle when we rescue Rowan."

  "Bloodmoon will take him." Nick stared out the window, rubbing his chin.

  Terror drove Morgan to her feet. "To kill him!"

  "Nay, lass. Rowan still ha' the map Bloodmoon seeks, no? He won't kill him until he has it in his greedy hands."

  "Oh, great. He'll just torture him to death."

  Nick's silence confirmed her fears, and she leaned against the desk. Taking her arm, Edith led her back to the chair. "Now, now, child. It'll be all right. You'll see."

  "Ouch!" The pirate shouted as Farley poured rum on his wound.

  "What about Marianne?" Morgan asked. "Did you find her?"

  "Aye, murdered in her bed, she was," the pirate said. "Just a hour or so afore we got there by the looks o' her."

  Oddly, Morgan felt sorry for the lady. Her only crime was falling for Rowan, something Morgan could well understand. "So it was a useless mission just like you said, Nick."

  "We was about to leave, we was ... but two o' Bloodmoon's men came upon us. We fought them off but the noise musta brought the others. Ouch, careful ye old sawbones!" the pirate shouted at Farley.

  "D'ye want yer insides spillin' out? Stay still so I can stitch ye up."

  Morgan stared at Nick, who was still looking out the window. "Then we must go after him. He'll be easier to rescue on a boat, right?"

  "Ship and aye." He spun around. "But we'll need help."