The Redemption

by Marylu Tyndall

  And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.

  Sloane muttered in his sleep and turned in his chair. Charlisse skipped down a few lines.

  What shall we then say to these things? If God be for us, who can be against us?

  He that spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?

  And down a few more lines.

  For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.

  The love of God. Where had God been when her uncle had beaten her, whipped her, lusted after her, and berated her with insults? She slammed the book shut and stood, even more restless than before.

  What attracted a man like Merrick to the idea of a loving God who gave His life for him? He seemed too strong a man to be in need of anyone or anything, especially an elusive God, who for all she could tell had abandoned the creation He insisted He loved so much.

  Hours later, as Charlisse lay in bed, floating in and out of consciousness, she heard Merrick return and Sloane leave. When the captain finally settled on the floor, something inside her relaxed, and she drifted off to sleep.

  The squawking of birds filled her ears—at first soft and distant, then growing louder, jarring her awake. For a brief moment, she thought she was back on her island again, and terror stiffened her spine. Darting up, she rubbed her eyes. Morning sun filtered through the stained-glass window, oscillating over the still form of Captain Merrick lying on the hard floor. Despite the pressure and responsibility that coursed through his daily life, he slept peacefully. She envied him.

  He stirred, opened his eyes, and slowly propped himself on his elbows. When he caught her gaze upon him, a smile curved his lips—that sultry smile that could melt her heart if she allowed it.

  Turning aside, Charlisse fumbled with her hair, pushing the wayward curls from her face, keeping one strand between her fingers.

  “You always play with your hair when you’re nervous.” His deep voice broke the silence.

  “I’m not nervous.”

  “Hmm.” He jumped to his feet, rubbed his neck, and moved his injured shoulder back and forth. “It will be a busy day, milady. I hope not a deadly one, but it would be in your best interest to stay in my cabin.”

  “I will not be locked up like some pirate’s booty along with your other plunder.”

  Merrick chuckled. “Is that so? Well, by all means, milady, come above. I could use someone to man the swivel guns.”

  She lifted her chin. “Are you going to take the galleon?”

  “Aye.”

  “Will you kill the Spaniards?”

  He gazed at her solemnly. “That is not my intention.” Pulling off his shirt, he tossed it in the corner. “Yet sometimes killing is unavoidable.” He opened his armoire and grabbed a clean garment, his thickly corded muscles gliding across his back as he moved. “The galleon is a worthy prize, and I have others to answer to besides myself.”

  “A disloyal crew who turn on you at the slightest opportunity?”

  He let out a groan of exasperation. “They have a part in my decisions, to be sure.” He sat in his chair and pulled on his boots. “There are things you don’t understand, miss.”

  “Oh, I understand perfectly well,” she said, getting up. “I understand that the pull of greed can be stronger than the sanctity of human life.”

  “Then you don’t know me very well.”

  “I know you’re a pirate. That is all I need to know.” Charlisse strode to the window.

  At his silence, a twinge of regret pinched her heart. Had she been too harsh? So far, he had done nothing to harm her. And the mercy he extended to Kent last night revealed an inner core of decency. But maybe it was all an act—a pretense of civility to gain her trust, to get her to lower her defenses so he could lure her into his web. How could there be a good-hearted pirate?

  She rubbed her eyes, still swollen with sleep. But she did know one thing. This pirate captain was a volatile man—in more ways than one.

  Seeing him open his Bible, she added in an insolent tone, “There is much about greed in your holy book. Perhaps you have skipped those verses.”

  He grinned. “Now you are an expert on the Word of God? I thought you didn’t believe in Him.”

  Huffing, she turned back to gaze out the window. Her tumultuous feelings seemed as fickle as the palm fronds vacillating in the morning breeze on the island beyond. New surprising emotions flowed through her that made no sense at all, and she decided, once again, they were not to be trusted.

  The sun broke above the trees of the little island and fanned its golden rays over the shoreline, setting aglow the rippling waves and crystallizing the grains of sand. The scene reminded her of the island where she had spent the last month, and where she would probably have died if not for this pirate with her now.

  She faced him. He finished reading, stood, and strapped on his weapons. After tying his hair back, he gazed at her, uncertainty wrinkling his brow. Silence stretched between them. Charlisse realized he faced great peril today, possibly even his own death. Her insides quivered at the thought. He must have seen the concern in her eyes for he smiled and sauntered toward her.

  He halted so close, his scent showered her in waves of musk and salt. “Never fear, milady. I’ll be quite all right.”

  “Why should I care?” Snorting, she snapped her gaze away.

  He put his finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. Her body tensed and her heart quickened, but she stared into his dark eyes, determined not to reveal the turmoil in her heart.

  “A kiss for a soldier about to go off to battle?” A faint smirk alighted on his lips.

  “How dare you suggest such a—”

  Merrick started to turn away. Clutching his arms, Charlisse pulled him back and drove her lips onto his. He responded immediately, encircling her in a warm embrace.

  Pinpricks of excitement showered over her. Her insides melted, and she lost all resolve. She closed her eyes, enjoying the warmth and vigor of his lips as they hungrily sought hers, the musky smell of his skin, the scratch of his stubble against her cheek.

  He released her, a wicked grin on his face. Stepping back, he gave her a gracious bow, grabbed his hat, and left the room without a word.

  Stunned, Charlisse felt as though she would melt into the floor. She touched her lips, still on fire from his kiss, her body still tingling—unknown feelings, exciting and powerful.

  She liked them.

  Sitting on the bed, she clung to the post, ashamed, embarrassed, and beginning to believe that her uncle’s accusations had been true all along. How could she have thrown herself at Merrick so easily? How weak I am!

  The passions that had consumed her slowly faded, and a firm determination sprouted in their place.

  This must never happen again.

  She must stay away from Captain Edmund Merrick.

  Chapter 17: The Galleon

  Loud voices above and the gentle forward heave of the ship stirred Charlisse from her thoughts. She rushed to the window, anxious to resume the journey to Port Royal, but distressed for the galleon’s fate. Not that she harbored any fondness for the Spanish, but she certainly wished them no harm—especially not at the hands of this merciless band of scoundrels.

  It occurred to her that she had an unwarranted confidence in Merrick’s abilities to capture the galleon. With his taste still on her lips, she lay back on the bed, feeling helpless in many ways—helpless to stop the carnage, helpless to make her way to Port Royal and find her father, and helpless under the spell Merrick had cast upon her. Helplessness had been an all-too-familiar guest in her heart for too many years—the kind of guest who always dropped in, made himself right at home, and
stayed long past his welcome. It was time to throw him out, if only she had the strength to do so.

  ♥♥♥

  On deck, with assurances from Jackson that the Santa Domingo—for that was the name engraved on the galleon’s hull—was sufficiently disabled, Captain Merrick navigated the Redemption back through the outlying reefs.

  The men responded to his commands as if there had been no attempted mutiny the night before, and Jackson took over his new post as first mate with enthusiasm. He and a small group of men had snuck over in one of the cockboats—under cover of night—and had entwined twenty feet of cable chain about the galleon’s rudder, disabling the Spanish warship’s ability to steer.

  Or so he hoped.

  Even amidst the excitement, Merrick could not shake thoughts of the lady below. Why had she kissed him? Not that he was complaining, but her sudden affection baffled him in light of her rude and often impertinent behavior. Her lips had been soft and warm. He’d felt them quiver at first, but when she finally succumbed to him, he could feel the passion within her climbing to join his own. The kiss became the sweetest of his life, and that was no small thing, considering the numerous kisses he had enjoyed.

  “Cap’n, the galleon unfurls her sails,” Jackson yelled from the shrouds, bringing Merrick’s attention back to the task at hand.

  The Spanish warship, alerted to their presence, was attempting to catch enough wind to turn and bear her guns on the gaining pirates.

  Merrick held the glass to his eye and could hardly contain a chuckle as he beheld first the confusion, then the fear on the sailors’ faces when they realized their rudder was disabled, leaving them adrift at the mercy of the morning breeze. They rapidly approached the shoals surrounding the islands and quickly furled their sails again and dropped anchor.

  Exactly what Merrick had expected. He stood by the rail of the quarterdeck, at the head of the companionway and shouted for the master gunner to ready the gun crew and load and run out the guns.

  With careful maneuvering, Merrick positioned the Redemption thirty yards aft of the Spaniards stern, offering the galleon a view of the pirate ship’s six gaping mouths itching to spit their fiery missiles. He leveled his scope, hoping to see the banner of Castile descend and a flag of truce take its place.

  Instead, demi-chasers from the galleon’s stern pelted the deck of the Redemption, sending his crew ducking and cursing under a hard rain of deadly shot.

  “Fire!” Merrick bellowed, and the Redemption’s broadside boomed, shaking the ship to its keel. Thick gray smoke swept over the deck. When it dissipated, blackened holes rent the hull of the galleon—one below the waterline and the others smashing her bulwarks and mizzen.

  Merrick held the glass to his eye, trying to assess his enemy’s mood. Were they going to surrender, or was the commander too proud to relinquish so soon?

  Sloane came and stood beside him, while another pirate yelled from the railing, “Blast ’em Cap’n, blast ’em. What are ye waitin’ fer?”

  Merrick lowered his glass. A Spanish galleon was no small prize, but to take her he must avoid boarding her in hand-to-hand combat, for his fifty men would be no match for the two hundred aboard the galleon. He must cripple her first to the point where the Spaniards believed they would sink, but not enough to plunge her into the Caribbean’s depths before his crew could get on board and relieve them of their treasure.

  Although the ship was bilging fast and listing heavily to larboard, there were still no signs of surrender.

  Merrick slapped the glass shut and ordered the ship to come about. “Helm, hard aport!”

  With straining cordage and creaking blocks, the Redemption swung slowly around, close-hauled, bearing its larboard gun ports ominously at the galleon. She emptied them in a thunderous volley that hammered its larboard side. The ship listed under the impact, putting it out of position for any return fire.

  When the smoke cleared, Merrick followed up with bar shot that slashed through the galleon’s rigging and tore into the mainmast. Upon his order, his crew swept the weather deck with swivel guns and musket fire from the top, sending the Spaniards scurrying. If only this final onslaught would dissuade the Spanish captain of any further attempts at resistance, and thus any additional loss of life.

  ♥♥♥

  With each thunderous blast of the cannons, Charlisse felt as though her slender body would explode. She barely had time to recover from the last one when the Redemption made a swift turn, tossing her across the small cabin.

  The pirates bellowed. Musket and pistol shots cracked the air. In the distance, she heard an agonized scream.

  Creeping up the companionway, she slunk up on deck and crouched behind the mainmast, scanning the scene before her.

  The galleon was ten yards off their starboard side. Several charred and smoking holes lined her hull. The mainmast had cracked like a tree split with an ax, and had toppled seaward, taking its sails with it and dropping its ratlines and cords in a tangled web. Black smoke poured from a hatch on the waist. The once-mighty galleon leaned heavily and was bilging fast.

  The distraught Spanish soldiers in their black corselets and high-crested helmets scrambled across the deck on the orders of their commander, whom Charlisse could see standing on the poop deck, his black periwig blowing in the wind, as he gazed at the oncoming enemy.

  The pirates chanted, “Death, death, death, death …” as they waved their fists and weapons in the air. An ominous chill overtook Charlisse.

  Merrick stood on the foredeck, looking like the pirate captain he was—one hand on the hilt of his cutlass, the other on his hip, calmly awaiting the outcome of their assault. A slow grin appeared on his lips when he saw the red-and-gold banner of Castile lowered, then quickly replaced by a white flag of truce.

  The pirates shouted in victory. Merrick ordered the Redemption positioned alongside the galleon to grapple her in a wood-crunching thud.

  The faces of the Spanish soldiers paled as they backed away from the mass of pirates who now spilled over the bulwarks. Like a horde of ravenous wolves, they collected the muskets, pistols, knifes, and scabbards the Spaniards had tossed to the deck in surrender.

  Charlisse stood frozen in her spot behind the mainmast. If the pirates were going to torture and brutalize their prisoners—like so many stories she had heard—she would witness it for herself and learn just what type of men they really were, along with the captain who led them.

  Those piercing black eyes met hers as he strutted down the forecastle ladder. His brow lifted momentarily. With a quick nod to Sloane, he gestured in her direction.

  Donning his captain’s hat and his waistcoat of black taffeta with silver lace, Merrick stood steadfastly awaiting the arrival of the captain of the Santa Domingo, who was being escorted aboard the Redemption.

  The commander of the galleon halted before Merrick, his face flushed and swollen—from anger or embarrassment, it was hard to tell. He stared into the captain’s eyes with an impudence that seemed to exude from his pores. He bowed and announced his name: Admiral Don Francisco de Espinosa.

  With a sweep of his plumed hat, Captain Merrick bowed and spoke in fluent Castilian. An astonished look crossed the admiral’s face.

  Sloane joined Charlisse. She asked him if he understood what they were saying.

  “Bits an’ pieces, miss. Me Spanish’s worse than me English.” He chuckled and listened. “I think he’s sayin’ somethin’ like, we won’t be hurtin’ them none.”

  The wave of relief alighting first on the admiral’s face, then passing over his crew, was evidence that Sloane had understood correctly.

  Merrick ordered the galleon’s longboats lowered and filled with disarmed Spaniards, who sped for the nearby islands before the pirates had a change of heart.

  The admiral, however, remained aboard the Redemption, standing next to Merrick as he watched every article of value being expertly ravaged from his ship, the hull of which sank lower with each passing minute. Despite his defeat, t
he admiral wore a look of insolence. He turned to Captain Merrick and spoke in English. “Fine seamanship, Captain. Quite unexpected from …” He hesitated, his voice tinged with fury.

  “From a pirate?” Merrick said with a grin. “I assure you we are not all unlettered brutes.”

  The admiral grunted.

  “Your trap was well executed, Admiral.” Merrick repaid the compliment. “But next time, a bit of advice, if I may? Make sure the animal you lure is less cunning than you, especially when you carry such treasure.” He nodded toward a broken chest of jewels being hefted over the bulwarks by six of his men. Several small holes allowed precious stones to spill from its sides onto the deck. Two pirates scampered after it, greedily snatching up the fallen gems, laughing as they went.

  The admiral’s face flushed. Veins pulsed on his sweaty brow.

  “I’ve not had the pleasure of your acquaintance, sir?” he said in an insidious tone.

  “Captain Edmund Merrick, of the pirate ship Redemption.” Merrick offered a mocking bow. “A ship you would do well to avoid in the future, Admiral,” he added with a malicious gleam in his eye.

  The admiral’s mouth compressed into a thin, angry line as he watched the last vestiges of wealth being stripped from his ship.

  Charlisse beheld the proceedings with great interest. None of the Spanish soldiers had been tortured, maimed, or killed, and the treasure—more than she had ever laid eyes on—had been relieved from the galleon in a most orderly fashion. Merrick oversaw it all with authority while he conversed politely with the admiral.

  When the pillaging was complete and the ship nearly sunk, the admiral, much to his obvious chagrin, was sent ashore to join his crew, with the assurances of Captain Merrick that word would be sent to Hispaniola of their whereabouts.