The Redemption

by Marylu Tyndall

Sloane lay back in his chair, hands folded over his full stomach, watching them with odd glee.

  From the corner of her eye she caught the sultry glare of the captain still upon her, causing a shudder to traverse her spine at the thought of becoming his unwilling mistress. A few strands of wet hair had fallen across his cheek. He reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin.

  “You have no other family?”

  “None that I trust.” Unwanted tears burned behind Charlisse’s eyes, but she forced them back.

  “Never fear, milady.” Merrick’s tone turned oddly kind. “We shall get you safely to Port Royal.”

  Sloane inched to the edge of his seat in an effort to rise. “’Tis a brave thing ye be doin’, says I.” He stood and grabbed the tray.

  Merrick nodded. “I’ll be up in a minute.”

  With Sloane’s departure, the mood in the room changed to one of tense apprehension. Did the captain have this affect on every woman who found herself alone with him?

  He remained seated, perusing her, an grin hovering over his mouth.

  “I perceive you are enjoying yourself at my expense,” Charlisse stated, rubbing her arms from the cold that had crept into the room.

  Merrick stood and headed toward the armoire. “Aye, I am enjoying myself. I’ll admit to that.” He retrieved a blanket.

  Charlisse’s stomach dropped.

  “But I could be enjoying myself much more.” His grin was wolfish as he walked toward her. Each thud of his boots on the wooden floor set her nerves on fire as memories of a horrid past rose to torment her.

  He sat next to her on the bed. She refused to flinch. She refused to cower. Instead she met his gaze and willed herself to show none of the fear that pulsed through her body. The sharp look in his eyes gradually softened. His damp hair, the color of ebony, touched the collar of his white shirt. He smelled of rain and musk.

  He reached up and swung the blanket around her shoulders. Its warmth brought instant relief and momentarily allayed her fears.

  Heat flooded her—a heat that both terrified and confused her. Why was she feeling this way? This was certainly not the behavior of a lady. A true lady should not feel desire—especially not for such a rogue. Shame swept the heat away. Her uncle had been right about her. Clearing her throat, she scooted back on the bed, avoiding his gaze—and those penetrating dark eyes.

  He raised his hand. She flinched. He hesitated, searching her eyes. He reached up again, more slowly this time, and caressed her cheek, moving a strand of her hair aside.

  Bewildered by his tenderness, Charlisse turned her face away. “How did you become a pirate?” she asked, hoping to distract him—and herself.

  For a moment, all was silent. She felt his gaze scour over her. Then he chuckled. “’Tis a long story. But, I daresay, we may have more in common than you would think, for I, too, left my home and all I knew to come to these adventurous waters. Though for different reasons, I assure you. You came to find your father. I came to lose mine.”

  He looked away and Charlisse stared at him, watching his stubbled jaw flex. He ran a hand through his hair and returned his gaze to hers, and for the first time since she’d met him, no haughty sneer shielded his features.

  Reaching up, he pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  The familiar action sent Charlisse’s heart racing. “You do not intend to harm me.” Her words sounded more like a statement than a question.

  Merrick grinned. “Such boldness from so young a lady.” Regard shown in his eyes. He shook his head. “Quite the contrary, I assure you.”

  A flicker of gentleness passed across his expression. Hope sprouted within Charlisse but was instantly crushed as his perusal of her grew more intense and his steely façade gained dominance once more. Charlisse sensed a battle brewing behind his eyes.

  He reached up to touch her again, then dropped his hand and turned away. Bolting from the bed, he buckled on his baldric and cutlass, grabbed his coat and hat, and slammed out the door without saying a word.

  Several hours later, Charlisse heard him return. Sleep had not come to her, no matter how desperately she beckoned it. The storm had finally subsided, and a deadly silence had overtaken the ship. It only added to her already frayed nerves.

  She heard him removing his boots, coat, and weapons. Peeking from underneath her coverlet, she saw him standing in the darkness, a shadowy outline, barely discernable. His presence filled the room with danger, like a panther ready to strike. He stood silently for several minutes before he finally lay down on the floor.

  Charlisse remained rigid as she waited for the sound of his deep breathing, assuring her he was fast asleep.

  ♥♥♥

  Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.

  There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

  Merrick closed the Bible and prayed silently. You are faithful, Lord. I believe your word and put my trust in you. Rid me of my evil thoughts and ways, and create in me a new heart. Make me a man of honor and integrity as I serve you, my King.

  Looking up, he saw the angel sleeping in his bed. She did look like an angel, especially when she was asleep—and her mouth was shut. She intrigued him: but why? What was it about her that allured him? Surely, it wasn’t just her beauty and refinement. He had met many such ladies before and found most of them tiresome. Charlisse was hardly that. She was unpredictable and mysterious: terrified, yet more courageous than any woman he had met; vulnerable, yet defiant and independent; extremely feminine, yet with a man’s strength of mind and will; cautious and distrustful, but with a hint of concealed trust and reliance.

  Where other women swooned under his attention, she resisted his charms, not offering him the slightest flirtatious glance. Maybe that was it. His pride was bruised. Finally, a woman who did not crave his affections, and he couldn’t stand it.

  He got up from his desk and strapped on his weapons. The noise stirred her from her sleep, and her eyes opened—those ocean-blue eyes.

  She made no comment, merely watched him.

  “What, no complaint about me sleeping here with you?”

  She sat and pulled the quilt up to her chin. “Would it do me any good?”

  He smiled, buckling his baldric and grabbing his boarding axe and knives. “Tell me your father’s name.”

  “Why?” Charlisse rubbed her eyes.

  Waking from her slumber, she seemed so childlike, but even in her sleepy state, she had a petulance that pricked his pride. “Perhaps I can help you find him.”

  Charlisse’s eyes narrowed as she studied him. Finally she sighed. “Edward Terrance Bristol.”

  Merrick stopped short. He felt the blood drain from his face. Edward Terrance Bristol. The name hung in the room like a dank vapor.

  “You know him?” Charlisse’s face brightened.

  “No.” Merrick shook his head, a chill coursing through him. “That’s impossible. I must be thinking of someone else. I don’t know any Edward Bristol.”

  “Sail ho!” a voice boomed from above deck.

  Tying his pirate’s scarf around his head, he grabbed his hat and walked out the door, unable to look at her pleading eyes.

  Chapter 12: The Trap

  Merrick strode onto the main deck. The Redemption had entered a morning fog that hovered upon the sea like a bird of prey, creating a ghostly silence as the ship slid through the calm water.

  Edward Terrance Bristol. Just hearing that name spoken out loud set every muscle ablaze. Surely, he had misunderstood her. The Edward Bristol he knew could not possibly be her father. The Edward Bristol he knew was a wicked pirate who’d been terrorizing the Caribbean with his cruelties for years—the same man Merrick had been hunting these past months, the same man he intended to bring to justice for his murderous atrocities. Rubbing his
pounding temples, Merrick shook his head. Impossible. But how many Edward Terrance Bristols could there be? He glanced over the horizon then up at the man in the crow’s nest.

  “What say you, Royce?” he bellowed.

  “Sail ho,” he repeated. “Two points off the starboard side.”

  Leaping to the foredeck, Merrick joined Kent, who had already positioned his scope in that direction.

  “Sleep well?” Kent teased.

  Ignoring him, Merrick snatched the looking glass out of Kent’s hands. Charlisse was not a topic of discussion, especially with this young firebrand. “What did you see?”

  “I can’t quite make her out, a small merchant vessel, perhaps. She drifts in and out of the fog.”

  Merrick positioned the scope, holding it steady. The gray mist presented a blank canvas, peaceful and unnervingly quiet. After a few minutes, a brown hull slowly formed, appearing for a second before being swallowed in the haze again. A few more minutes and it materialized once more, staying longer this time, affording him a better look. Straining his eyes, he scanned for the familiar markings that would tell him this was the ship he searched for. But, he found none. Perhaps it was for the better. This was not the time for a battle with a vicious pirate, not with a lady on board. The sooner he could remove her from his ship, the sooner he could resume his hunt for the vile man.

  Closing the glass with a snap, he handed it back to Kent and stared off into the fog. “Stay away from her,” he ordered, knowing Kent would understand to whom he referred.

  Kent was silent beside him, but the tension rising between them was as sharp as a blade.

  “Of course, Captain,” the first mate finally said as his hand inched to the hilt of his cutlass.

  “Do not cross me, Master Kent. You will regret it.” Merrick returned the man’s defiant stare as a chill crept into his bones. From the fog or his friend’s unspoken challenge? The first mate’s harried breathing joined the rustle of water against the hull as the ship cut through the sea and indecision cut across the man’s brown eyes.

  Kent slowly released his grip on his cutlass and looked away. “What about the ship, Captain?”

  “Leave her be. Something’s not right. I feel it.”

  “But she’s within our grasp.”

  “We have more than enough to trade at Port Royal.” Merrick started down the ladder. “She doesn’t look big enough to be worth our time.”

  “She’d be an easy target. We’d be foolish not to take her.” Kent’s voice pooled with lingering contempt as he followed his captain.

  Merrick continued walking.

  “Let’s put it to vote.” Kent protested.

  Halting, Merrick rubbed the back of his neck. Blast the man, he was right. As stated in the articles the crew had signed, the pursuit and acquisition of all targets was to be decided by majority. Merrick had no choice. And he was sure he knew which way his greedy crew would vote.

  After gathering the pirates, Merrick explained the situation, and by a showing of hands and a chorus of ayes, his prediction was confirmed. They would pursue and capture this easy prize.

  The fog slowly dissipated and the trade winds picked up, affording the Redemption—with her yards full and her canvas billowing—a speedy course toward her intended prey.

  Excitement charged through the crew as they armed themselves. Some clambered into the shrouds while others hung on the bulwarks, longing for the ship to come closer into view. The gun crew gathered powder, wicks, matchsticks, and shot and readied the guns to fire their deadly missiles.

  Kent and Sloane joined Merrick on the main deck as he extended the looking glass once again.

  “What be wrong, Cap’n?” Sloane asked.

  “Something is amiss,” Merrick mumbled. “Surely they have spotted us by now.” He narrowed his eyes, peering through the glass. “Yet they sail on as if we were not here.

  “May I?” Kent asked.

  Merrick gave him the telescope.

  Seconds passed before he folded it and shrugged. “Perhaps they are just too stupid or too consumed with drink.”

  “Cap’n.” A voice drew Merrick’s gaze to see Jackson his master gunner approaching. Bare-chested, his ebony muscles bulged beneath a sheen of sweat while three gold earrings hooked in his right ear glittered in the sun. A rather imposing figure alone, but armed with pistols, a boarding ax, and a knife as long as his arm, his appearance would surely send terror through any enemy.

  “Yes, Jackson?”

  “The guns be run out an’ loaded.”

  Nodding, Merrick faced the merchant vessel. An unusual shiver of trepidation sped down his back. “Hard to starboard, Kent. Bring our guns to bear, but keep a quick pace with her.”

  Kent headed off.

  “Jackson, fire one warning shot over her bow on my order.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The huge man stomped away.

  “What ’bout the girl?”

  “Keep her in the cabin. She’ll be under your charge. Do you mind?” He patted Sloane’s back with a grin.

  “Me? Why would I mind sittin’ with a pretty girl instead o’ fightin’ an’ hollerin’ with a bunch o’ ugly, sweaty men?” Sloane chuckled.

  “Why, indeed?”

  Merrick watched as the pirate turned and headed down the companionway. He prayed the crew of the merchant vessel would surrender quickly without bloodshed, for he had no desire for Charlisse to witness the bloody carnage that would surely sever her already frazzled nerves.

  Kent approached and stood waiting further orders. The captain gave the nod, and the first mate shouted for Jackson to fire. The warning shot served its purpose. The merchant vessel slowed its course and raised a flag of truce.

  Never in his career had Merrick seen any ship give up so easily. He eyed them cautiously as the Redemption approached on the ship’s larboard side.

  The sharp rays of the rising sun had scattered nearly all the fog, and the temperature had risen rapidly. Even so, Merrick felt a chill he could not shake.

  Preparing to board, his pirates flung vile curses at their enemy to frighten them. If they could force them to surrender without a fight, it would save damage to either ship and prevent loss of life. Yet as the faces of the merchant crew came clearer into focus, no fear registered on their expressions—none. Instead, they stood there quietly, hands in the air.

  Something was terribly wrong.

  “Sail ho,” an agitated voice shouted from above Merrick.

  He turned just in time to see a jet of gray smoke coming from a massive ship that emerged from the fog behind them. A second later, a cannon sounded, and a spray of water splashed the hull not two feet off their stern.

  Merrick bellowed a string of orders, instantly shifting his attention from the small merchant vessel to the looming giant that was attacking from behind. His crew, at first stunned into silence, quickly recovered and scrambled across the deck, obeying his commands.

  “All hands on deck,” he roared. “Unfurl the topsails. Set the stuns sails and the outer jib.” “Helmsman, hard aport.” He hoped the turn would give the approaching ship a smaller target for her guns. The Redemption picked up speed.

  Men raced into the shrouds to give the sails every inch of canvas as they turned toward the wind.

  Pistol shots rang through the air, whizzing by his head. The sailors on the merchant vessel fired upon his men. Puffs of smoke filled the air. The stench of gunpowder stung his nose. Someone screeched behind him. He turned. Hawthorn, one of his youngest men, fell to the deck, clutching his shoulder.

  Plucking a pistol from its brace, Merrick scanned the deck of the merchant vessel, and upon seeing the sailor whose smoking gun was still aimed at the Redemption, he fired. The man dropped, holding his leg. His wide-eyed friends grabbed him and leapt down the hatch. By now, the merchant ship was out of range. Merrick returned his pistol to its brace, cursing himself for a fool.

  Brighton knelt by Hawthorn, pressing a cloth to his wound. “Take him below,” Merr
ick ordered, flinging himself up the ratlines to the main cross trees. He braced himself, holding the telescope steady as the Redemption sliced through the water.

  Through the glass he spotted the gold-and-scarlet banner of Castile flapping tauntingly from the ship’s main mast. A Spanish Galleon. And one that now veered starboard, presenting her guns.

  Lowering his glass, Merrick scanned the sails. The Redemption had every inch of canvas stretched to her yards. Checking the direction of the breeze, he ordered a ten-degree turn to larboard. The ship veered, and the Redemption’s sails caught the wind with a jaunty snap. Soon they would be flying through the Caribbean at top speed. But would it be fast enough to outrun the Spanish vessel?

  Another cloud of smoke spewed from the galleon, followed by a thunderous boom. Merrick barely had time to warn his crew before the shot tore through the tip of the mainsail.

  Chapter 13: The Chase

  The blast sent a violent jolt through the cabin, shoving Charlisse to the floor.

  “Are ye a’right, miss?” Sloane rushed to her side.

  Footsteps pounded above as the pirates rushed back and forth, shouting vile things that caused her to shiver in disgust. Something terrible was happening.

  Taking Sloane’s outstretched hand, she stood, bracing herself against the rocking of the ship. A sudden crack filled the air, followed by a loud boom that reverberated through the hull. She darted to the window. A large plume of gray smoke obscured her view. It must be from our cannons. It had never occurred to her that they would do any pirating while on their way to Port Royal, but why not, if the opportunity presented itself? They were pirates, after all.

  Her eyes darted to Slone’s. “What was that? Did we fire on someone?” She swallowed nervously.

  “Naw, miss. There’s naught to concern ye. I’m sure Cap’n’s got it all under control.” He glanced toward the door with an apprehensive look. “But I’ll jist go see fer meself.”

  He patted her hand and turned, but Charlisse wouldn’t let go. She didn’t want to be alone. She didn’t want to be trapped, not knowing what was happening. She didn’t want to sink again into the Caribbean waters—or worse, be blasted into tiny bits! Her mouth went dry and her tongue wouldn’t move. She tried to beg him to stay, but no sound passed through her lips.