The Redemption

by Marylu Tyndall

  She must have eventually dozed off, for a quiet tapping on the door woke her, and Sloane entered with a tray of tea.

  “Here ye go, miss, some nice hot tea an’ biscuits fer ye.” He placed the tray on a small table by the bed and stood, waiting. She gave him a blank stare, then continued to gaze out the window.

  “Come on, now, miss. Ye needs to be eatin’ somethin’.” He poured the steaming liquid into a cup. “I know yer skeered.”

  The savory scent of biscuits drifted around her, alluring her with their sweet warmth. Her mouth watered. Finally, she gave in, grabbed one and sat in a chair. The dough was hard but it had a buttery flavor, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten anything so delicious.

  “How did you become a pirate, Sloane? You don’t seem to fit in with the rest of these scoundrels.”

  He gave a hearty chuckle. “Well, miss, I thank ye fer that.” He shuffled his feet. “I was a common sailor once.” He looked at her with a sideways glance and a gleam in his eye. “A respectable one, that is. Didn’t know me mother or father. An orphan was I, wanderin’ the streets of Aruba till I snuck aboard a merchant vessel anchored near the island. Well, instead o’ throwin’ me off, the captain kep’ me on and made me his cabin boy. As I grew bigger an’ stronger, he taught me the ways o’ the sea, an’ I became a midshipman.” Sloane smiled. “A good man was he—a finer captain could ne’er be found. The only father I ever knew.”

  Charlisse sipped her tea, intrigued by the story. “What happened to him?”

  “Ah, he retired, miss. Went back to England, he did, an’ I got work on another merchant vessel after that.” Sloane scratched his thick beard and shifted uncomfortably. The cutlass strapped to his hip reminded Charlisse that he was just as dangerous as the rest of them, no matter how friendly he seemed.

  “And how did you come to sail with Captain Merrick?”

  A smile crossed his lips. He sat down and took a biscuit. “Well, that be a story fer sure. Ye see, I worked me way up to first mate. We was sailin’ on a merchant ship when we was attacked by pirates.”

  “Merrick?”

  He nodded and took a bite. “He took our ship with nary a shot an’ gave us all the option o’ dyin’ or signin’ pirate articles an’ joinin’ him.” He chuckled, crumbs flying from his mouth. “It weren’t much a choice, if ye ask me.”

  Charlisse frowned. “How long ago was that?”

  Inching fingers beneath his purple headscarf, Sloane scratched his head and stared out the window. “Nigh on three years, I figure.” He shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and grabbed another.

  “And do you enjoy being a pirate, Mr. Sloane?”

  “It’s not what ye be thinkin’, miss. The pirate life be free an’ wild an’ plenty more lucrative then bein’ a merchant sailor, says I. But,” he added, “I would only sail as a pirate under Merrick’s flag.”

  “You do seem to admire him.”

  “He’s a good man. Ye’ll see, miss.” He stood. “But now I have to be gettin’ back to me duties.” He grinned, then left, locking the door behind him.

  Charlisse paced the cabin, jiggling the lock on the door more than once, and wondering where she would go if she could free herself. Sifting through the papers and charts on the desk, she searched for a knife, a pistol, or even a letter opener—anything she could defend herself with. She opened drawers, examined every book on the shelves, and finally sat, exasperated, on the window ledge, distressed at the horrible twist fate had thrown her way.

  Despite her predicament, a glorious sunset spilled across the horizon in a stunning canvas of coral, ruby, and lilac, slowly absorbing all traces of blue from the ocean, leaving only black in its place. A chill sped across her back. So often the most beautiful things in the world—like the ocean or the sky—could also be the most deadly.

  The door opened, startling her, and in walked Merrick, filling the room with his presence.

  “A gentleman should knock before entering a lady’s room,” she blurted.

  “Well.” He cocked one eyebrow. “That would imply I’m a gentleman, and you are a lady. Neither of us has conceded to either title as of yet.” He slammed the door, pulled off his waistcoat, and threw it across a chair. “Besides,” he added, “this is the captain’s cabin, not a lady’s boudoir.”

  The gleam in his eyes softened. He sighed, then removed his brace of pistols and placed them on the desk, leaving his cutlass hanging at his side.

  Charlisse watched his broad back as he fumbled with something on the desk. Her eyes moved to the pistols. Tension formed knots in her stomach as she waited, wondering, dreading his next move.

  “I’ve arranged for a bath and some proper clothes for you,” he said without turning.

  “I don’t want them.”

  He faced her, his lips curving. “Take them or not, that is up to you, Miss Bristol. But I don’t recommend you remain so … sparsely dressed,” he gestured toward her apparel, “with fifty disreputable men on board.”

  A blush warmed Charlisse’s face, and she turned away, hoping he hadn’t seen. A knock on the door brought a welcome interruption.

  “Enter,” Merrick said.

  “Here ye go, Cap’n.” Groaning, Sloane carried in a large wooden tub and set it on the deck, then removed the green gown and towel from his shoulder and tossed them on the bed. Behind him, two men followed, carrying steaming jugs, which they quickly emptied into the tub. Not, however, without repeated glances toward Charlisse that made her squirm.

  “That’ll be all,” Merrick said, sending Sloane and the two men out of the cabin. He faced her. “You have twenty minutes before I return. ’Tis your choice what to do with it.” Then turning, he followed his men out the door and shut it behind him.

  Charlisse couldn’t figure out if he was being kind or just cleaning her up to satisfy his ribald whims. She hesitated, unsure what to do. The warm water looked inviting. And she was horribly filthy.

  Quickly disrobing, she climbed in. With one eye constantly on the door and one hand holding a towel to cover herself with, she scrubbed the dirt from one section of her body at a time, cleansing the fading insect bites, soothing her dry, sun-baked skin, and rinsing the salt water from her hair.

  Growing worried about the time, she dried herself and hastily donned the gown—a beautiful jade green with lace at the collar and sleeves, a tight-fitting waist, and long, flowing silk skirt. For the first time in a month, she felt clean and refreshed. Almost like a lady.

  She looked around for a mirror, and her gaze landed on Merrick’s pistols lying on the table. How could she have forgotten about them? She glanced at the door, hesitated, then hurried and grabbed one. It was heavier than she expected. Now, what should I do with it? The bed. She could stuff it under a pillow until she needed it.

  The door creaked. She swung around, holding the pistol behind her back as the captain entered.

  His eyebrows shot up—at her appearance or that she had done his bidding, she couldn’t tell.

  “Much better,” he said.

  “I hope you know, sir, I have no intention of becoming another trinket with which you adorn your cabin,” she shot back at him.

  “I fear, milady, this will be a very long trip if you insist on being so contrary.” His dark eyes glinted with humor. “Especially since we will be sharing such close quarters together.”

  Charlisse glanced at the small bed behind her, feeling a pounding dread pulsate through her veins. She turned back around. “I beg your pardon. Sharing quarters?”

  He sauntered toward her, his boots echoing ominously on the wood floor. “This is the captain’s cabin, and I am the captain. Surely you don’t suggest I sleep with the crew?” A hint of a smile played on his lips, and Charlisse wasn’t sure if he was serious or simply enjoying her discomfort.

  “I don’t care where you sleep, as long as it’s not here.” She attempted a defiant tone, but her cracked voice betrayed her fear.

  The closer he came, th
e more she shook. He had removed the scarf tied about his head. His black hair was pulled back, revealing handsome features. Dark stubble covered his chin and the muscles beneath his tight-fitting shirt twitched as he approached. He loomed over her by at least a foot.

  “Stay away,” she warned him, backing up slowly. She ran into the bedpost and could go no farther.

  The mocking grin remained on his face.

  Charlisse’s fingers ached under the weight of the pistol. It began to slip in her sweaty hands. In a burst of desperation, she flung it in front of her and pointed it straight at Merrick. Or as straight as she could make the wobbling weapon.

  “I will shoot you!”

  Merrick crossed arms over his chest, his smile broadening. “Is that so?” Nodding at the pistol, he added, “You might want to load it first.”

  Charlisse stared at the gun, then back at him. Was he lying? How could she tell? She had no idea how to use one of these hideous things. His eyes revealed no fear, only glittered with their usual cocky arrogance. The gun continued to waver.

  With lightning speed, Merrick seized it from her grasp. Gasping, Charlisse glared up at him, then slumped down on the bed to await her fate.

  Head down, she heard him chuckling as he returned the pistol to its brace. “I suggest you not kill the only man on board this brig who is protecting you.”

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back and lifted her chin, unwilling to show any sign of weakness. “And who, sir, will protect me from you?”

  His wanton gaze covered her from head to toe. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Self-conscious under his scrutiny, Charlisse dropped her gaze once more.

  “That will have to be God,” Merrick said.

  She looked up at him. “Then, I fear my situation is hopeless.”

  His eyebrow rose. “You have no faith in God, milady?”

  She sighed. “He gave up on me a long time ago.”

  He paused. “Perhaps ’tis the other way around.” He flung the brace of pistols over his shoulder and walked toward the door. “I will have dinner sent to you. I make no habit of dining with someone who has held a pistol to my chest.” He grinned. “At least not on the same day.” He opened the door.

  “Captain?”

  He stopped in the hallway and turned to face her. “Yes?”

  “Was the pistol loaded?”

  “I always keep my pistols loaded, milady.” Amusement twinkled in his eyes before he shut and locked the door.

  Chapter 10: The Captain’s Woman

  Merrick leaned against the main deck railing, allowing the warm night breeze to soothe both his temper and the unfamiliar feelings stirring within him. With his belly full and a shot of rum to top it off, he’d thought he could easily forget the infuriating girl that resided in his cabin and focus on more important things. But visions of her kept floating into his mind—the way her curves filled out the green silk dress she wore, the golden curls that cascaded over her shoulder, her full pink lips always in a pout, and those soft blue eyes that could turn to ice in a flash.

  He had not had a woman grace his cabin for a long time, and never a true lady. What was he to do with her until he could get her safely to Port Royal? She presented a challenge indeed. With each passing day, as her health improved, she became more beautiful. How was he going to keep his crew from such a lovely treasure? He sighed, shaking his head. It wasn’t only the crew he didn’t trust, but himself as well.

  Not that he was the vile rogue he once had been. Two years ago, he had given his life to Christ—the best decision he had ever made. Now, he had purpose and meaning, a relationship with the God of the universe who loved him, and more joy and peace than he’d thought possible. Yet his past often crept up to haunt him.

  It was one thing for God to fish him out of the mud he had been wallowing in for so many years, and quite another to complete the long and painful task of cleaning him—of turning a heart blackened by selfishness, greed, and evil into one that was pure. He often wondered if any progress had been made at all or whether he was just as bad a student in God’s school as he had been at Oxford.

  There were moments, of course, when he surprised himself, when he would commit an unselfish act or be repulsed by some activity he previously enjoyed. But now this delicate flower was within his grasp and free for his taking. He had not thus far been tested with so delicious a temptation as Charlisse.

  Women had always been a weakness of his, especially the beautiful ones. They had always been mere playthings—existing solely for his enjoyment. He’d certainly never been hard pressed to find a willing companion. But now, he had vowed to the Lord to be pure until he married—a relatively easy promise to keep … up to this point. How quickly his resolve had changed.

  There was more to this lady than her exquisite beauty—something that roused more than his physical passion. She was courageous. Not many would have dared to hold a pistol so blazingly at him, man or woman. He chuckled, remembering her expression when he snatched it so easily from her grasp. She had spirit and strength. He admired that.

  Merrick sighed and gazed at the moon sitting above the horizon, waning just like his resolve. Oh, Lord, he silently prayed. You said in your word, you would never leave me nor forsake me, that you give strength to the weak. I trust you in this. Please give me the strength to become the man you want me to be.

  The sea plunged and bucked in the night like the wild passions raging within him, but the stars above were clear and bright reflecting the Lord’s truth and love. He sensed God’s voice saying, I understand what you’re going through, and I will guide you, I will be with you. Merrick stared at the expanse of sea before him that he would have to cross hand in hand with temptation. He hoped the Lord’s strength would be with him—for he knew his own strength would not be enough.

  ♥♥♥

  A circle of light, muted in a pleasant blend of colors, danced back and forth across Charlisse’s eyes, keeping rhythm with the rolling of the ship. Under closed lids, she examined the floating glow with curious regard as she slowly regained consciousness. A few minutes passed before she remembered where she was.

  Bolting upright in bed, she glanced around the cabin. Captain Merrick sat at his desk, reading the Bible, his head bowed in deep thought—or was it prayer?

  After a moment, he slowly closed the holy book. “Sleep well?”

  “How long have you been in here?” she demanded, furious at herself for sleeping so soundly.

  “All night,” he replied, getting up from the desk.

  Where was the usual smirk? He seemed to be in a somber mood this morning. Or perhaps he was just tired.

  Merrick picked up a pile of blankets from the floor next to his desk and placed them on his chair.

  “You slept in here with me?”

  His brows raised. “I did. And I assure you, milady, it was in your best interest.”

  “I beg your pardon! What of my reputation?”

  Merrick gave her a sideways glance and strapped on his knife belt and baldric. Slinging his brace of pistols around his neck, he replied, “My sincere apologies, milady, but my interest lies more in your safety than your reputation, which at the present time, we have yet to determine.”

  Fully armed, he stared at her, a wildness in his eyes that reaffirmed Charlisse’s fear of just how dangerous this man truly was.

  “I’ll see about some food to break your fast.” He slipped on his hat, tipped it at her, and left.

  She fell back on the soft bed, her blood boiling, her heart racing. Who was this man? Gentleman or scoundrel? His mannerisms and the way he had treated her thus far revealed honor. But the way he looked at her with those dark, sensual eyes implied he was nothing more than what he appeared to be—a pirate, a thief, and a villain. She wondered how long before they reached Port Royal and she could be free from his irksome company.

  All she could hope for was to thwart any advances he made and remain as obstinate and undesirable as possibl
e until she arrived safely at Port Royal.

  Port Royal. Perhaps her father was there now, waiting for her. Had he received the missive she’d sent announcing her arrival? Had he received any of her correspondences from the past twelve years? No reply had ever come—none that she knew about. But then any mail she received was first inspected by her uncle, whose hatred for her father was exceeded only by his hatred for her mother—his own sister.

  Her mother’s death twelve years ago marked the end of Charlisse’s childhood and the hopes and dreams that went with it. Charlisse’s mother had died of a broken heart, the product of years of endless grieving for the loss of the man she loved and the shattered hopes of promises left unfulfilled. Yet from the stories her mother had told her, Charlisse knew her father had loved them both. When her mother, Helena, had told him she was with child, she’d said he’d been so overcome with joy that he’d stayed up all night, holding her in his arms and singing. The next day he’d gone through the town and handed out gifts to everyone in celebration of becoming a father. How could a man like that have abandoned them? Charlisse would not believe it.

  Port Royal was the address of her mother’s last post from her father. And although it seemed a foolish girl’s dream to find him, Charlisse would fight to fulfill that dream at all costs.

  The morning hours dragged on. Charlisse paced the small cabin until she thought she would go crazy. With her health nearly restored and her nerves on end, she felt like a little ship mouse caught in a trap—a deadly trap—one in which her captors could descend upon at any moment. The ship bucked and swayed and she tripped over the deck more than once. The constant creak and groan of the wood only added to her irritation, along with the heat and humidity that increased by the minute. Perspiration slid down her neck. She tried fanning herself with her hand. She needed air. When would they arrive at Port Royal? She couldn’t stand the waiting—the endless waiting for whatever plan these pirates had for her.