The Reckoning (Legacy of the King's Pirates)

by Marylu Tyndall

The pirate ship followed them in relentless pursuit. Men stood on her decks growling and spitting and raising weapons in the air. Morgan swallowed. Not exactly a friendly bunch, were they? They fired another cannon from their bow, missing the Redemption by inches. Morgan gazed ahead. Bloodmoon's ship had turned and was coming straight for them. They would be trapped between two enemy ships like meat sandwiched between cannon bread. Ridiculous analogy.

  A metallic taste filled her mouth, an old familiar friend she knew quite well--terror. But she instantly doused it with three little words. I trust You.

  The boom of several cannons rumbled behind them. Merrick pressed the telescope to his eye and scanned the horizon just as the pursuing pirate ship staggered beneath the blows. Whose blows? They hadn't fired at them. An ominous snap and crack split the air, and the top half of one of her masts toppled to the deck. Smoke billowed from a fire below decks.

  "Huzzah! Huzzah!" Merrick's crew shouted, fists in the air, and smiles on their faces.

  "Who is it?" Charlisse sped to her husband's side.

  "'Tis the Reckoning!"

  Morgan slouched against the wall. Thank you, God.

  "Praise be to God!" Charlisse shouted as Merrick swerved the scope in Bloodmoon's direction.

  "Straight for her, Rusty," he ordered. "Sharpshooters to the tops!"

  "Ready the larboard guns!" Charlisse shouted.

  Sails flapped above as the Redemption completed its turn and sped toward Bloodmoon's ship. Minutes later, they were within thirty yards, bow to bow and closing fast. Cannon blasts drew Morgan's gaze behind them to the Reckoning engaged in a fierce battle with the other pirate ship. And winning from the looks of things. Way to go, Nick!

  A thunderous roar snapped her attention forward. Smoke coiled from two cannons mounted on Bloodmoon's bow. She didn't move, didn't duck, didn't cover her head. If the shots were going to hit her, it really didn't matter anyway.

  But they both splashed powerlessly into the sea on either side of the Redemption. Morgan released her breath as Charlisse's bellowing order sent their quick reply. Merrick's cannons hit their mark, firing spikes of wood over the railings of Bloodmoon's ship and setting the foremast ablaze. Men scattered like ants, returning in seconds with buckets of water to put out the fire while Bloodmoon strutted across the deck, face red, spitting curses Morgan could hear from where she stood.

  Merrick took the tiller from Rusty and maneuvered the ship closer to Bloodmoon's. Gunfire popped in the air like firecrackers. Dashing to Morgan, Charlisse forced her to the deck, then covered her with her body as Jackson ordered the sailors above them to return fire. Deadly bullets rained down upon Bloodmoon's men from the Redemption's tops.

  Screams and shouts filled the air. The ships collided with a jarring crunch, and Merrick's men tossed roped hooks over the railing and lashed the ships together.

  Charlisse rose and grabbed the hilt of her sword. Morgan stood by her side, heart thumping as Merrick's men swarmed the deck, shouting and growling and armed to the teeth. Was she now to be in the middle of hand-to-hand combat?

  Bloodmoon stormed toward the intruders, sword in hand, leading his men toward the railing. But one shot in the air from Merrick's pistol, followed by the eerie cock of dozens of guns coming from the twenty men on the main deck and the thirty in the Redemption's tops, stopped them cold.

  Merrick planted a boot on the railing, cutlass in hand. "Good quarter will be granted provided you lay down your arms, open your hatches, and haul down your sails. Or my men will be forced to shoot you where you stand."

  Chapter 24

  Rowan had been at sea long enough, had been in enough of his own battles, to recognize from the shouts filtering down from above, the sounds penetrating the hull's thick wood, and the movement of the ship, that Bloodmoon had been defeated--the inept snok. Whether that was a good thing for Rowan, he had no idea. Regardless, he could do naught but remain chained in irons and await his fate.

  Shouts ricocheted back and forth above deck, along with the pounding of feet and the crack of a pistol. He could make out the muffled voice of the victor demanding they lay down their arms. The accent was British and the words and their threat sounded like something a pirate would say, though he did not recognize the voice. Not good news, for he'd made his share of enemies among his fellow freebooters.

  The clank and clink of weapons being tossed into a pile indicated the yellow-livered bloater had indeed surrendered. Rowan's nose itched, and he reached up to scratch it, but the irons jerked his hands back and shot pain through his arms. Something dripped down his forehead. Blood or sweat, he didn't know. A rat began gnawing on his foot and he kicked it away. He reeked like a pile of feces, hadn't eaten in days, and his body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of wild pigs. But a spark of hope ignited at the thought that, if the victors were pirates, the first place they'd look for treasure would be the hold, and upon finding Rowan, they'd have to bring him above for their captain to decide his fate. Which meant that before he died, Rowan would at least breathe fresh air, feel the sun on his face, and view the glittering Caribbean one last time.

  Voices, the sound of footsteps, and the ray of light trickling down the ladder told him he was right. Two sailors descended, holding lanterns and guns before them, while a third man followed, the silver buckles on his boots revealing that he was the man in charge. Rowan braced himself, trying to make out details in the gloom with his one good eye. He was ill-prepared for the sight of the man who leapt down the final rung of the ladder and glanced around, hands on his hips.

  Captain Edmund Merrick, the legend, right here in the hold of Bloodmoon's ship.

  Though Rowan had never met the man, he'd seen him at a distance once. And Rowan had run in the opposite direction. He hadn't known whether the great pirate-turned-missionary would preach to him or lock him up, but neither had been a pleasant prospect.

  Now, as the legend approached, his eyes glinting in intensity, Rowan felt unusual shame flood him in the man's presence.

  He stopped before Rowan's cage and grinned. "You must be Juliana's wayward brother."

  For a moment, Rowan couldn't speak, could only blink and stare at the man he both respected and feared. Finally, he returned the legend's smile. "In the flesh, milord. Or what's left of it. Now, pray tell, have you come to preach or punish?"

  "Neither." He gestured for one of the men to unlock the cage. "I've come to set you free."

  A few minutes later, Rowan emerged onto the deck behind Merrick to a blast of wind, a flash of bright sun, and a feminine shout of glee. The last sound caused him to peer into the glare, his eyes watering, to find the source, but all he saw was a blur of green skirts leaping over the bulwarks and growing larger in his vision.

  The lady bounded into him, wrapped her arms around him, and squeezed until every fiber of his body screamed in pain.

  Morgan. Her unique sweet scent filled his nose, making him almost not care about the pain. Yet when he cupped her chin and brought her joyous tear-filled face to his, all thoughts of pain vanished beneath the love pouring from her eyes.

  "I was so worried about you," she said, her concern turning to horror as she studied him. "What did he do to you?" She wiggled from his embrace. "Drat! I've hurt you. You must be in pain."

  "Not anymore." Rowan eased a lock of her hair behind her ear, still not believing she was here, that she cared enough to come for him.

  "How touching." Bloodmoon spit onto the deck. "An' whose wife be this, ye craven cockroach?"

  Rowan glanced up to see the villainous maggot and several of his men locked within a prison of muskets and pistols aimed their way. On the foredeck, more of his men were bound with ropes and guarded by Merrick's men. A ship was grappled beside them--the Redemption, if he was correct--while another ship he'd recognize anywhere sailed toward them. The Reckoning! What a grand sight she was with her snowy canvas, trim lines, and foam spraying off her bow. He never thought he'd see her again, or this precious woman beside him, and it too
k him several minutes to adjust to the idea that he wasn't going to die.

  At least not today.

  "I shoulda keelhauled ye when I had the chance," Bloodmoon continued his insulting tirade.

  "Alas, but you didn't," Merrick returned, approaching the man with an assurance born of years of victories at sea. "Sorry to deprive you of your devilish tortures, Captain."

  Now that Rowan saw Merrick in the sunlight, he was surprised to find a man of his age looking so virile. Though the years had banded his black hair in gray and lined his sun-bronzed face, his body appeared firm and robust beneath his attire, his eyes sharp and piercing, and his demeanor one of wisdom and strength. His wife--the woman whom legend said captained a crew of forty bloodthirsty pirates to go in search of her husband--stood beside him, a rare example of aging beauty and vitality.

  "So, ye be the great Captain Merrick?" Bloodmoon snorted his disdain and crossed beefy arms over his chest. "Heard ye turned yellow and became a sanctimonious sod, an old sanctimonious sod, by the looks of ye."

  "And yet this old sanctimonious sod defeated you upon the seas."

  "Aye, but wit' help from yer friend there." Bloodmoon thumbed toward the approaching Reckoning.

  "With help from God," Merrick retorted with aplomb.

  "God, bah! That be the difference 'tween us. I serve no God or man."

  "Indeed, I fear you are correct. You serve only Satan." Wind blasted Merrick's hair behind him. "'Tis one or the other."

  Bloodmoon let out a loud belch and his men chuckled. "So what are 'ye to do wit' me now, Preacher? Turn me in or hang me from yer yardarm fer crimes committed upon the seas?"

  Rowan grinned. Aye, give the man his just punishment. Despite Merrick's religion, Rowan had heard he was not a man to be crossed.

  "Nay." Merrick braced as the ship pitched over a wave. "But the price of your freedom is thus--consider your life, consider the path you've taken, and ponder where it will lead."

  Rowan couldn't believe his ears. One of his legs buckled beneath him, and Morgan swung an arm around him for support. "Let me take you to the Redemption," she whispered, but he gently shook his head and kissed her forehead. He wanted to hear what transpired between his arch-nemesis and this Godly pirate.

  "Me path leads to treasure and women, where it always do." Bloodmoon gave a brown-toothed grin and glanced over his crew, eliciting their chuckles.

  Charlisse moved closer to the villain, studying him intently, her long curls blowing in the wind, her boots firm upon the rolling deck. "Bloodmoon, no matter what evil you've done. No matter what atrocities you've committed, God loves you like a Father loves an only son. And He wants you to turn to Him and receive His free gift of forgiveness through His son, Jesus Christ."

  "God agin, is it?" He cursed. "Yer a fine lookin' woman, but ye've got ballast fer brains."

  Catcalls and whistles preceded laughter from Bloodmoon's men. Rowan suppressed his own chuckle. Were they really trying to convert this dark-hearted knave?

  "On the contrary, I speak the truth," Charlisse said loudly for all the men to hear. "The only truth that leads to life eternal. You do want to live forever, do you not?"

  Bloodmoon huffed. "No one lives forever."

  "Everyone lives forever." Merrick shared a smile with his wife. "But 'tis God who grants you the freedom to choose where you'll spend your eternity, heaven or hell."

  "Then I choose hell." Bloodmoon announced with pride, glancing over his men for their approval. "Where I will rule an' choose me own fate."

  "You'll do neither, I assure you, for you'll be subject to a monster worse than yourself."

  Merrick's authoritative statement caused a slight hesitation, a flicker of fear in Bloodmoon's eyes. Or so, Rowan thought. But then it was gone, and the pirate spat on the deck.

  Merrick gripped the hilt of his cutlass. "I have it in mind to give you one more chance, William Bloodmoon. Why? Because someone gave me a chance once. But mark my words, if I catch you pirating again, I will be compelled to turn you and your men over to the authorities. Consider this your last chance to redeem yourself and be the honorable man God wants you to be."

  Rowan stumbled toward Merrick. "You can't let him go! He's a thief and a murderer! He killed his own wife in her bed."

  Bloodmoon shrugged. "She was a lyin' whore that deserved her fate. As do ye."

  Merrick arched an incriminating brow toward Rowan. "All of us deserve hellfire." Both his tone and the look in his eyes stopped Rowan from further protests. He knew the man was right.

  With one order from their captain, Merrick's men lowered their weapons and started back for the Redemption. Accepting Morgan's help, Rowan hobbled across the deck, casting one final seething glance at Bloodmoon. But the man wasn't looking his way. Instead, his eyes, filled with curiosity and shock, were still on Merrick, who had leapt on the bulwarks and turned to face him.

  "Now off with you, Bloodmoon," the pirate missionary said. "And sin no more."

  Unable to believe what he'd just witnessed and in too much pain to care, Rowan clambered over the railing and leapt onto the deck of the infamous Redemption as Merrick's crew cut the grapnels holding the two ships together.

  Morgan, still clinging to his arm, as if she feared he'd disappear, led him toward the companionway to go below. "Nay, love. I wish to stay above." He smiled her way and she nodded and led him to sit on the bulwarks.

  "I'll get you some water." She sped off, dropped down a hatch, and reappeared within moments, a ladle in her hands.

  Rowan accepted it, greedily gulping down the fluid that tasted sweet as honey, all the while smiling at her, noting a new sparkle in her eyes. He didn't think it possible the little minx could become more appealing, but there was a fresh glow to her face and an innocence and vulnerability as if she'd shed a layer of armor.

  That armor returned in her tone. And in the sting of her slap on his arm. "You stupid, stupid man. What were you thinking? You almost got yourself killed!"

  "Ouch." He rubbed his arm, thankful he didn't have to answer the minx when Charlisse interrupted them. "A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Mr. Dutton. Juliana has told us much about you."

  Rowan frowned. "I apologize for what you've heard, milady."

  To her credit, the lady didn't deny the bad reports, but merely smiled and extended her arm. "We should get you below where our ship's surgeon can tend to your wounds."

  "Where's my sister?"

  Charlisse scanned the horizon. "We were separated in a storm. But I have no doubt the Ransom will be here soon."

  Which meant he needed to set sail immediately. As much as he wanted to see Juliana, he wasn't ready yet. Especially not in this condition. How many times had he dragged himself back to their home in Port Royal, besotted and bruised due to some ruckus he'd started at the gaming tables. Nay. The next time he saw his sister, he wanted to be dressed in the finest Flemish silk with a pouch full of money hanging at this waist.

  "Stand by to make sail! Set royals and flying jib!" Merrick bellowed across the ship, then nodded at a large Negro before he approached Rowan.

  Over his shoulder, Rowan saw Bloodmoon raise what sails he had left and speed away. "Faith, I can't believe you allowed that madman to go free," Rowan addressed Merrick.

  The infamous captain gave a half smile. "Precisely for the reason of faith, Captain Dutton. Besides, I saw something in his eyes. Methinks God was speaking to him."

  Rowan withheld a snort of disbelief. "Regardless, I thank you for saving me. I owe you my life."

  "'Twas upon this little lady's insistence." Merrick gestured to Morgan. "She and your first mate, Mr. Doran, were quite relentless in their efforts to free you."

  A woman Rowan had never seen before--a rather attractive blonde--crept tentatively on deck from the companionway, glancing this way and that.

  "Ah, precious." Merrick extended a hand. "May I present my daughter, Lady Gabrielle Hyde."

  "A pleasure, milady." Rowan nodded.

&nb
sp; "Oh, dear sir." She placed a hand on her mouth as her gaze wondered over him. "You are sorely wounded. Father, delay no longer and allow this man to see Mr. Henshaw below."

  "Indeed, I insist," Merrick said.

  "Not to seem ungrateful, but I'd rather return to my ship." Rowan's gaze landed on the mighty vessel heaving-to just yards from the Redemption.

  "If you wish. Of course. We have business to attend to as well." Merrick shared a concerned glance with his wife.

  Morgan gripped Rowan's arm, causing another burst of pain. "But shouldn't you wait until your sister arrives? She was so worried about you."

  Gabrielle glanced over the horizon. "Indeed. She will be devastated not to see you."

  "I will see her soon enough. I have something I must do first." Against every aching muscle and bone, he struggled to rise. Morgan's aid brought his glance her way again, and for the first time, he wondered whether she would go with him. But why would she? If she was to stay in this time, she'd be much safer with these missionaries.

  The thought did more than sadden him. It nearly crushed what was left of his heart as shouts of greeting hailed him from his ship. He glanced in their direction and saw Nick waving his hat before climbing over the railing into a lowered boat.

  "I wish you would stay awhile and let us tend your wounds and rendezvous with your sister," Charlisse urged.

  "Thank you for your kindness, milady." Rowan searched their faces and was nearly brought to tears by the genuine concern in their eyes.

  These people were not at all what he expected.

  "You're family, Rowan." Merrick flicked hair from his face and gripped Rowan's forearm. "You can call upon us for anything."

  Family? The only real family Rowan had left was Juliana. And he'd done naught but disappoint her. He wanted to tell this honorable man to rethink the offer, for Rowan would bring naught but shame to this family, but instead he nodded and swallowed a burst of emotion.

  Nick hailed him again, and Rowan waved at the boat that was almost at the Redemption. He turned to Morgan, feeling as though his heart teetered on the edge of a cliff. "I assume you will stay here." He tried to smile but found he couldn't.