The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

  What was she thinking? This was nuts! These people were nuts! Although at the moment they looked at her as if she were nuts.

  "I've cast out many demons and never seen that." Charlisse smiled. "They must go when we command them in the name of Jesus. There is naught to fear."

  Easy for her to say. A buzzing filled Morgan's head, filtering through her body until every nerve was ready to explode.

  Charlisse led her to sit on the cot again.

  Morgan dropped her head in her hands and squeezed her temples. "I still don't know what to believe. I've never seen this or heard of it in our church." Though there'd been rumors of some charismatic crazies casting out demons in the church down the street.

  A throb rose where the cancer consumed her body. Morgan pressed a hand over it and groaned. It felt hot to the touch. What was going on? She lifted her gaze, but her head was as heavy as a bowling ball. A breeze fluttered the flame in the lantern on the table, casting ghoulish shadows over the ceiling. A breeze? From where? Charlisse and Merrick felt it too, for they both glanced around. Cold. It was so cold. How did it become so cold all of a sudden? Morgan hugged herself, her breath coming fast and misty.

  Charlisse and Merrick exchanged a knowing glance before they both laid hands on Morgan.

  "Spirit of anxiety, spirit of fear, spirit of cancer, we command you to depart this woman and never return in the name of Jesus."

  For a moment nothing happened. The ship moaned as wind and wave whistled against the hull. Morgan was about to shrug off all this silliness when an uncontrollable breath rose in her throat, begging for release. She expelled it. Then another rose and another as if she'd just run a marathon and was heaving for air. Her body trembled. She shoved out one final breath with a deep-throated groan that didn't sound like her voice at all. The ship bolted and the roar of water against the hull increased. She glanced up. Shadows vague and dark appeared in the air behind Charlisse and Merrick, drifting up ... up ...

  And then they were gone.

  Kneeling before her, Merrick laid a hand on Morgan's side and nodded to reassure her of his actions. "Cancer, in the name of Jesus, I command you to shrivel up and die."

  The ever-present, torturous pain released its claw-like grip on Morgan's right side and ... simply ... vanished. Her heart slowed, her breathing settled, her nerves unwound. And the air warmed once again.

  She blinked, stunned. Just a coincidence, right? Or maybe she was dreaming.

  Charlisse joined her husband kneeling on the floor before Morgan, both of them taking her hands, both of them uttering the most beautiful prayers for peace, joy, courage, and life to flood Morgan and for the Lord to keep her on the right path, to protect her, to show her how to walk in freedom. Then with a kiss to her forehead, Charlisse rose, and she and Merrick left as quickly as they had come as if they did this sort of thing every night.

  But the room was different. The sense of foreboding was gone--the fear, the anxiety, the dread. And Morgan felt so very tired. Unsure what to think or believe, she laid back on the cot and fell into the deepest sleep she'd had in years.

  ♥♥♥

  Once again, Rowan yanked the irons that bound his hands. Despite the pain searing his wrists, it was the only thing he could do to try and escape. Mayhap the iron had rusted through and would soon break beneath his efforts. But it remained as strong and formidable as his present dismal lot.

  He had no idea what day--or night--it was. The time passed in nightmarish episodes of excruciating torture, followed by mind-numbing hours of darkness, stench, and sweat locked in the hold. He'd awoken just an hour ago, chained within an iron prison, sitting in the soggy bilge that soaked through his breeches and seeped up his shirt, sending a chill through him, despite the heat.

  His body had long since ceased seeking relief from pain, his stomach had long since forgotten the feel of food, and his mind had long since given up hope of rescue. Even if Nick managed to find his sister and brother-in-law, why would they bother to risk their lives for the likes of him?

  Nay, this was his fate--to be tortured and eventually murdered at the hand of this madman, Bloodmoon.

  Trouble was, Rowan knew he deserved it.

  He was not a man prone to regrets. But when he'd seen sweet Marianne lying stiff and cold in her bed, her auburn curls a halo around a face whose last expression was one of horror, and a neck covered in bruises where her husband had strangled her, Rowan had felt his first stab of agonizing shame. And it had not left him since.

  Not when Bloodmoon had tied him to the top mast for a day, nor when he had given him thirty lashes with the cat-o-nine, nor when he'd unleashed five of his strongest men to "give Rowan a beatin' he'd not soon forget". He deserved it all and more for all the men's wives he'd taken to bed with nary a thought for the pain it might cause them. Nay, Rowan's only thought had always been for his own pleasure.

  The sea pounded against the hull, accompanied by the squeal of rats and creaking of crates and barrels. A light appeared in the distance, sliding down a ladder like a waterfall of hope before a pair of boots followed. Then another, and another.

  Rowan braced himself for the coming pain.

  "Have ye thought about me offer?" Bloodmoon's pockmarked face appeared before the iron bars, made all the more hideous in the lantern light.

  Kerr appeared beside him, grinning like the traitorous snake he was, while a third man held another lantern.

  "As I have informed you, I do not have the map to which you refer. Aye, I admit to having it once, but it was stolen from me at Charles Town."

  "A plague on yer thievin' head!" Bloodmoon gestured for the man behind him to unlock the gate. It swung open with screeches of pain that mimicked the ones blaring through Rowan. Bloodmoon and Kerr stomped inside and stood before him.

  Rowan attempted to look up at them, but one of his eyes was swollen shut, and the men's distorted images blurred in the other. "Forgive me if I don't get up, gentlemen. If you're looking for the map, mayhap you should ask Kerr here. He's the one who spread the news of its existence through Charles Town."

  "'Twas not me, but your pretty little whore who told Bloodmoon about the map." Kerr stooped, his lips slanting in a victorious grin.

  Even knowing he couldn't reach him, Rowan lunged in his direction. The coward shot back, making it worth the pain throbbing up Rowan's arms. "You know what they say about traitors, Kerr. The Kraken swallows them whole and slowly digests them over months and months, then spits out their bones at the bottom of the sea where no one will find them."

  The smirk on Kerr's face defied his nervous swallow. "They say the same for adulterers, I'm told."

  "Then I shall meet you there," Rowan ground out.

  "Enough!" Bloodmoon's bellow echoed through the hold. "For the last time, where is me map?"

  "Lud man, I have no idea. Acquit me or kill me and be done with it. I grow weary of your mawkish dalliance."

  A sneer followed Bloodmoon's huff. "Let us not rush the inevitable. First ye'll pay for stealin' me wife."

  Rowan tried to focus his one eye on the man, but saw only a seething mass of hatred. "With a husband like you, 'tis no wonder she ran into my arms."

  The strike came swift and hard and shoved Rowan's face so far to the left, he thought his neck had broken. But no, he was still breathing. Unfortunately.

  Bloodmoon's face swelled like a puffer fish, his eyes spikes of fury. "A storm approaches. When it's passed, I'll keelhaul ye until there be no speck o' skin left on yer body."

  Rowan returned his glare. "Any man who murders his own wife in her bed deserves hellfire."

  Which was exactly where Rowan was going as well.

  The next blow drove Rowan back toward blissful unconsciousness.

  Chapter 22

  Rising before dawn, Morgan slipped from her cabin and made her way down the narrow hallway to the ladder that led above. She wanted some time alone to gaze at the moonlit sea and thank God for her newfound freedom. True freedom, for she'd never
felt so good. All her life it was as if giant chains had been wrapped around her body, tightened each day by some unknown force, restricting her breathing, squeezing her heart, and jumbling her thoughts. But now, just like that, the chains had fallen off, blown away in the wind as if they were but dust.

  She emerged onto the deck and drew in a deep breath. Had anything ever smelled so fresh and alive? The briny air filled her lungs, danced through her hair, and fluttered her skirts as if happy to see her. Halting, she took in the scene. Darkness hovered over the ship--a pirate ship, by all accounts. Yet, for the first time in her life she felt no fear, no nervousness, no depression! She hadn't even tidied up her room before she left--hadn't felt a trace of the overpowering compulsion to put everything in order.

  Had God truly delivered her? Had all of her anxieties and depressions been the result of demons? She knew that wasn't true of everyone with these problems, but for her ... well, she'd seen them leave with her own eyes, felt the grip of their claws loosen on her soul.

  And now ... she was a new person. God, You're real! Morgan shook her head, realizing she'd never truly believed. She had wanted to believe--desperately wanted everything she read in the Bible to be true. But deep down, where her insecurities brewed and the rejection burned and the cancer had sprouted ... deep down, she hadn't been sure. Now, she not only knew He existed, but she knew He loved her! Her? Mousy, nerdy, geeky, wimpy Morgan. He loved her.

  She started for the railing. The ship leapt over a wave, and she tripped on her skirts and tumbled to the side. Strong hands gripped her arm and steadied her waist. A prick of alarm sped through her as she peered through the darkness at the shadowy figure.

  "Never fear, Miss Morgan, 'tis me, Merrick." The deep voice scattered her fears as he led her to the railing. "One would think you'd have your sea legs by now."

  "It's these ridiculous skirts. I'm not used to wear--" She gripped the wooden rail. "Thank you."

  He moved to stand beside her, a dark shadow of power and strength ... and something else. A sobering reflection of courage and--dare she say--holiness, goodness. She didn't know whether to be afraid of him or fall at his feet. Yet no one deserved that kind of worship but God. Captain Merrick was a man like any other. Still, from what she'd heard, he was also a missionary who inspired more respect from heathens than the pope himself.

  "How do you fare after last night?" he asked.

  "I feel free." Morgan smiled. "Thanks to you and your wife."

  A cloud moved, streaking his black hair in silver moonlight. His smile crinkled the corners of his dark eyes. "Don't thank us. 'Twas all the Father's doing."

  The Father. Morgan sighed and glanced over the black sea, swathed in milky light. "Why do you call Him that?"

  "Because He is my father." Merrick crossed arms over his chest. "I came to these waters years ago running away from my earthly father. What I found was my real Father. The One who will always love me and never leave me."

  "I'm nothing more than a nuisance to my earthly father."

  "As was I." Merrick chuckled. "Though we mended our relationship later in life." He released a deep sigh. "Fathers ... so important to a child's upbringing, yet so many of them fail. So many of us fail." His jaw stiffened and Morgan remembered the conversation at dinner and laid a hand on his arm.

  "We are only human."

  "Indeed." He nodded. "Speaking of bad fathers, did you know that Charlisse's father was Edward the Terror, once the cruelest pirate on the Caribbean? He even tried to kill her."

  Morgan laughed. "Okay, she wins in the bad father department." The deck canted, and Merrick placed a hand on her back to steady her. The chivalrous gesture warmed her, and she could see why Charlisse loved this man. Just being near him made Morgan feel safe and cherished. Odd quality for a pirate. "You were a pirate once, too," she stated more than asked.

  "Aye. A pretty good one, if I'll admit to it. One of the most successful in the Caribbean. And the most feared." He winked at her.

  Part of Morgan found that hard to believe, but standing next to this man, who exuded power and authority, she found herself easily picturing him in the role. "But you gave it up for God."

  "'Twas nothing to give up but emptiness and vanity, Miss Morgan. And in return I received a life of adventure and purpose I never dreamed of and an eternity in a place far better than this."

  Tears burned in Morgan's eyes. "I've gone to church my entire life and never met people like you."

  "Never saw pirates in church, eh?" His eyes twinkled with mischief.

  Morgan laughed. "That too." She lowered her gaze to watch the foamy sea clawing up the hull. "Most people don't speak about God like you do, as if you really know Him. Like He truly loves you. All I ever heard in church was what a sinner I was and how, because Jesus died for me, I had to try real hard to follow all God's rules to be a good Christian."

  "I suppose many people believe that. 'Tis a shame really because Jesus came to set us free from trying to earn our way into heaven. He came to give us new life." Lifting his head to the starlit sky, he smiled as if he were smiling at God Himself. "He offers us new abundant life where we are fully loved as sons and daughters. That is incredible in itself, but He also empowers us with His Spirit to battle the enemy of this world and open people's eyes to the truth."

  Rumbling in the distance brought Morgan's gaze to the horizon, where clouds obscured the first glow of dawn. "I feel like my eyes were closed for so many years. I always thought being a Christian was boring. You have shown me what an adventure it is."

  Dawn's glimmer settled on Merrick's face, highlighting his strong, stubbled jaw and piercing eyes as he stared over the sea, deep in thought.

  Minutes passed before Morgan commented, "People in my church never do what you did last night."

  He glanced her way. "Cast out demons?"

  "Yeah. Nobody talks about them. Nobody has your wife's gift of discernment. At least no one I know."

  The Redemption plowed through a wave, showering them with mist. "I find no surprise at the revelation," he said.

  Morgan wiped moisture from her arms. "Then how did you come to understand it all?"

  "I read the Bible. Another thing most believers don't do. Or are told they shouldn't do because they haven't the mind to grasp its meaning. Bah!" He huffed. "God makes His Word plain to those who wish to understand it."

  A breeze wafted around Morgan, carrying the spicy scent of rain as men began to crawl up on deck from below, yawning and stretching.

  Merrick cleared his throat and raised a questioning brow. "Do tell, Miss Morgan. What is this I hear about you harboring affections for that rapscallion, Rowan Dutton?"

  Morgan flattened the traitorous smile that instantly lifted her lips. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Indeed?" He leaned closer to study her with those imperious eyes of his. "Your expression betrays you."

  Even as he said it, heat burst on her cheeks, and she looked away. "How could I love a man who steals for a living?"

  Merrick faced the sea, arms over his chest again. "I'm in agreement on that. Especially a proper lady as yourself. Stealing, raping, pillaging, drunkenness, whoring, and other unmentionable wicked acts. Not things which endear a feminine heart."

  Morgan cringed at the hideous list. "You're wrong. Rowan isn't like that."

  "Rowan, is it?" One eyebrow rose. "So familiar?"

  "He may be a pirate, but he doesn't do all those things. Besides, he's been good to me ... protected me ... taken care of me. Even when I was mean to him."

  "Ah, defending a pirate, Miss Morgan? What will be next? Marrying one?"

  She cut off her quick retort when she saw his smile. "You're teasing me."

  "Nay." He shrugged. "Mayhap a bit." He grew serious. "My concern is for your safety, Miss. Having been a pirate--a rather depraved one, I might add--I know how they think. A comely lady as yourself, naive and chaste, would make great sport."

  "Sport?" She huffed.

  "P
rey. The chase of such a prize, along with the capture, brings far more thrills then, if you'll beg my pardon, bedding any trollop."

  "But he has never tried anything. He's been a complete gentleman." Except for kissing her.

  "He's an unregenerate pirate, and by all his sister's accounts, a man accustomed to charming his way into ladies' beds."

  "I know all about that. He's different with me." Was he? Or was he only playing a game. No. Morgan would not believe it. Rowan was a good man. And despite Merrick's warning and all good sense and reason, Morgan loved him. She knew that now.

  As if confirming her thoughts, the sun peered above the horizon, an inverted yellow smile, instantly warming her with its golden tendrils.

  Merrick's lips grew tight, and he let out a huff of frustration. "You remind me of Charlisse when she was young. So naive, so trusting. Good qualities"--he leaned toward her--"unless you find yourself on a pirate ship."

  Golden light drifted over his face, accentuating both the lines and the strength. Yet, the more she looked, the more she saw a softness appear, a concern. "You really do care about me."

  He shifted his shoulders as if shrugging off her compliment. "I hate seeing a woman taken advantage of. 'Tis my duty to defend them."

  "Thank you. That means a lot." She dared to touch his arm. "I promise to be careful."

  He nodded and grinned. "Another quality you share with my wife--stubbornness." Then, squinting toward the rising sun, he scanned the horizon. Sailing in front of them, the Reckoning materialized in the first rays of light, while one glance over the stern revealed the Ransom kept pace behind. Morgan also noticed a cluster of dark clouds brewing to the east. Merrick saw it too and frowned.

  "All hands wear ship!" he shouted over his shoulder. "In mizzen, up main, down foresail!" He faced Morgan again. "A storm approaches."

  "It won't stop us from reaching Rowan, will it?"

  "Nay, but it might slow us down. Go below. 'Twill get rough on deck." And off he went, braying orders across the deck.

  Facing the sea, Morgan closed her eyes to a blast of wind and did the one thing she'd been dying to do since she came on deck. She prayed. Sure, she'd prayed a lot in her life, but it had always felt like talking into the air. This time, even before she spoke a word, she felt God's presence surround her, fill her, embrace her.