The Redemption

by Marylu Tyndall

  A gruff snort sounded from their left. Charlisse sprang back from Merrick. Sloane stood next to them, wearing a wide grin that revealed his missing teeth.

  “Sorry to be interruptin’, Cap’n, but here be the charts ye requested.” He handed Merrick some rolled-up parchment, but the captain’s eyes never left Charlisse’s.

  She felt a blush rise and quickly excused herself to go below.

  ♥♥♥

  Sloane watched her leave and turned to the captain, a look of suspicion in his eyes. “Are ye sure ye be knowin’ what yer doin?”

  Merrick shook his head. “No.”

  “Don’t git me wrong, I like her. She’s smart, an’ kind, an’ a mite pretty too, says I. But she also be young an’ innocent, an’ now looks like she be trustin’ ye.” He paused, lifting patronizing brows. “Should she be trustin’ ye?”

  Merrick flattened his lips. Sloane had witnessed Merrick’s prior treatment of women, before he had met the Lord, and it had been anything but honorable. Am I truly different now?

  Lost in his thoughts, he headed up the foredeck ladder. When it came to Charlisse, he wasn’t sure what he was thinking or feeling. Ever since he first laid eyes on her on that deserted island, his heart had been a jumbled mess. He was drawn to her from the very beginning, longing to protect her, to care for her, to know everything about her. But was it only her beauty that attracted him? No, it was much more than that. He loved every minute he spent with her, even when she was cold and her tongue vicious.

  Now when he touched her, she no longer withdrew; when he kissed her, she responded. This new yielding was awakening every sense in his body and soul. Yet, the more territory he gained, the more he wanted. Could he trust himself with her?

  Yet how could he even entertain such thoughts? She was so vulnerable now with everything that had recently happened and her future yet so unclear. Does she care for me? Or am I simply the first man who has been kind to her? There were so many things in her life that needed to be dealt with before she added a lovesick pirate to the picture. Was he being fair to her, or was he thinking only of himself? Was he thinking at all? He thanked God they were arriving in Port Royal today for he wasn’t entirely sure he could withstand another night alone with her.

  One thing was certain. Charlisse must not be allowed to find her father. Merrick would not lose anyone else he cared for to that madman. If that beast was at Port Royal, Merrick must capture him and bring him to Governor Moodyford before Charlisse could find him. If she later discovered what Merrick had done and hated him for it, so be it. He was willing to take that chance. The thought of losing her caused a throb of anguish in his heart, but he had no choice. Edward must be stopped before he incited another slaughter like the one at the Arawak village.

  As Merrick stood on the foredeck, wind blasting over him and saltwater sprinkling his face, he closed his eyes and said a silent prayer for wisdom, for guidance, and for the tender girl the Lord had put into his care.

  Chapter 22: Port Royal

  Cannon fire erupted from the hull of the Redemption, shaking the ship through its waist. In sturdy reply, the mighty guns of Fort Charles sent off a volley of round shot, hurling twelve-pounders harmlessly into the blue waters of Kingston Bay. The arrival of the pirate ship had been announced, and a flurry of activity sprouted on the docks.

  It was a grand event when a ship arrived, especially a pirate ship, bringing lonely men who had treasures to trade and pieces of eight to spend. Shopkeepers and tavern owners, as well as prostitutes, salivated for the wealth so freely spent by these rakish sailors. Kegs of Kill Devil rum were rolled out into the street while vendors and doxies displayed their wares.

  Charlisse stood by Captain Merrick’s side as he issued orders to lower tacks and sheets, put the helm down, and release the anchor. A crackle of excitement charged through the ship. The pirates readied themselves to go ashore, licking their lips in anticipation of the pleasures that awaited them.

  Crates of ill-gotten plunder were hoisted on deck and loaded into cockboats to be rowed ashore. There, they would be sold for gold and silver coins, which would then be divided among the crew, according to predetermined articles of piracy signed by all who sailed under Captain Merrick.

  Charlisse could hardly believe she had finally made it to Port Royal. To her right, the huge stone towers of Fort Charles loomed like giant sentinels guarding the bay. The muzzles of their cannons poked through the crenels of the battlement ready to pummel any intruder. The docks, however, were much more friendly as people ran here and there preparing for the arrival of the Redemption.

  Other ships floated idly in the bay, and Charlisse wondered if one of them belonged to her father. Renewed hope sprang in her heart. She glanced at Merrick. The warmth in his gaze penetrated her soul, and a sudden sadness overcame her. Was her adventure aboard the Redemption at an end?

  He squeezed her hand and instructed her to stay on the ship with Sloane while he went ashore and handled the exchange of monies.

  “When you bring all this treasure to shore, won’t they know you’re a pirate and have you arrested?” Charlisse asked.

  Merrick chuckled. “Sorry to disappoint you, milady, if all this time you have been under the impression that I am a scandalous rogue. In fact, I have a commission from the Governor of Jamaica to attack and plunder any Spanish vessel sailing these waters.”

  Charlisse wrinkled her brow. “So, you’re not a pirate?”

  A devilish sparkle shone in his eye. “Well, let’s just say I’m a legal pirate.” He tipped his hat, then turned and strode away.

  The revelation astounded her and eventually delighted her during the long afternoon of waiting. As promised, Merrick returned and assisted her into one of the cockboats where Sloane and two other men waited. Shielding her eyes from the sun perched upon the horizon, she glanced back at the magnificent ship as they set off for shore. Black cannons protruded from the hull. Two wooden masts towered like sentries against the purple and red hues of the evening sky, exquisitely flayed with ratlines, shrouds, and furled, sleeping canvas. The word Redemption was carved and painted black on the crimson bow.

  An unexpected sorrow weighed on her heart, for she didn’t know if she would ever board the mighty ship again. Her gaze lowered and she found Merrick staring at her. Understanding passed between them in the moments their eyes locked. Charlisse looked away, wondering if she had lost all sense of reason. Only days ago, she would have done anything to escape the clutches of this pirate captain. Now, after the terrifying voyage, the battle with the Spanish galleon, and even Kent’s attack, she found no joy at the prospect of being free of Captain Edmund Merrick.

  What spell had he cast upon her? Or was she so starved for love that she flung her heart, without reservation, to whomever would have it? She glanced at him as he eyed the approaching shore. His jaw set firm toward the wind, he sat with the assurance of a commander. He had proven himself a gentleman, but he was still a man, and therefore not to be trusted. A father’s love—the love of family—was the only kind of love on which she could depend. Dread crept up her spine as she remembered what Merrick had said about her father. Determination took its place. She would find him and prove the captain wrong. She would prove that Edward was not a cruel pirate, but a loving, generous man like her mother had described. From now on, she would focus all her attention on finding him and make every effort to squelch her consuming infatuation for this pirate.

  Upon reaching the dock, the captain placed her hand on his arm. “Stay close to me.”

  Sloane came up beside them. “I done what ye asked, Cap’n, though ye know how I feels about it.” The sailor cast an apprehensive look toward Charlisse, then back at Merrick.

  “Thank you, Sloane.”

  An uneasiness gripped Charlisse. “Pray tell, what did you do, Mr. Sloane?”

  Sloane’s jittery gaze swerved away.

  “I had him release Kent.” Merrick faced Charlisse. “I will not suffer his presence on board my sh
ip any longer, and I cannot bring charges against him for an act most of the men in this town have committed.” He sighed. “In any case, I have washed my hands of him.”

  Charlisse scanned the crowd mobbing around her, unnerved by the news that the fiendish hound who assaulted her roamed free.

  Merrick patted her hand. “You have nothing to fear from him anymore, I assure you.”

  Sloane removed his hat and executed an ungainly bow. “It’s bin a pleasure, miss.”

  “You’re not coming with us?” Charlisse had grown quite fond of the old sailor during the past few days.

  “Naw, miss.” Sloane smiled, fidgeting with his hat.

  “Sloane has some celebrating to do,” Merrick interjected.

  “But I hope to be seein’ ye agin, miss, real soon.”

  “So do I, Mr. Sloane.” Charlisse stood on her tiptoes and gave him a kiss on his cheek.

  Sloane’s weathered face turned a deep shade of red before he turned and plodded off.

  “Do you make it a habit, milady, of kissing every pirate you meet?” Merrick teased her as he escorted her down the street.

  Charlisse smiled.

  The streets of Port Royal bustled with commotion. African slaves as well as half-castes and Caribs poured from the taverns at their owners’ bidding to serve the newly-arrived clientele. The smells of roasted pig and stewed turtle floated in the evening breeze, prompting a rumble from Charlisse’s empty stomach.

  Pirates, adventurers, and merchants from all over the Spanish Main were already dipping their mugs into barrels of rum that were parked in the sandy streets in front of overcrowded taverns. Singing and laughter blared from within the raucous public houses.

  Merrick, a protective grip on Charlisse’s arm, walked calmly and authoritatively down the main street as if he owned the place. She longed for the same assurance as, with wide eyes, she watched scantily clad women call lustfully to their would-be lovers passing by, seducing them with buxom breasts and bare legs, offering suggestions that both appalled and nauseated Charlisse.

  As they walked along, several men called Merrick’s name, inviting him to join them, and it made Charlisse wonder, once again, just what type of man he was.

  He turned down a street that led inland. Men standing in front of taverns and boarding houses perused her with interest, but made no comment or movement in her direction. Her heart thrashed in her chest as she clung tightly to Merrick’s arm.

  Vulgar shouts, obscenities, and daring challenges filled the air, along with the metallic clank of clashing swords. A musket shot cracked and Charlisse jumped. Merrick patted her hand reassuringly and smiled, his black hair blowing in the evening breeze.

  As they passed one particularly loud tavern, a woman slithered up to Merrick. She wore a tight-fitting indigo peasant dress, from which her voluptuous figure abounded. Her heavily painted face made it difficult to tell whether she was attractive or not, but her piercing gaze took in Charlisse like a hawk after its prey.

  “Merrick, where have you been?” Her voice was as sultry and slick as a polished sword.

  Slowing his pace, he gently pushed her away as two more doxies, hanging from balconies that overlooked the street, called out his name affectionately and waved.

  For the first time since Charlisse had met Merrick, he looked flustered. Conflicting thoughts flooded her mind. How did these unscrupulous women know him so well? Was his piety just an act to win her heart? She yanked her arm from his grasp.

  After a seething glance toward Charlisse, the painted woman returned her attention to Merrick with a smile.

  “Martha.” He faced her, grabbing Charlisse’s arm once more. “Forgive me, but I am otherwise engaged.” He looked up and tipped his hat at the women on the balcony, who continued to coo his name.

  Confused and angry, Charlisse tugged, trying to wrench her arm from his grasp.

  “So I see,” the woman hissed, looking Charlisse up and down.

  “In fact, I’m afraid my attentions are permanently occupied elsewhere,” he added. “Martha, I wish you the best.” He bowed slightly, then continued on his way, pulling Charlisse with him.

  “You’ll change your mind, Merrick,” the harlot called after him. “I know you. You’ll git tired of that fancy prude and you’ll want a real woman. When you do, I’ll be here.”

  They walked on in silence. Charlisse continued struggling against his grip. “Don’t let me keep you from your friends.”

  A crooked smile played on the captain’s lips. “I do believe you are jealous.”

  “You flatter yourself, Captain.” She snorted. “I am not jealous. I’m simply implying that you no longer need keep up a pious façade on my account.” And she meant it. Now that the truth was out, she felt justified in her resistance of his charms—well, near resistance—as well as her assessment of his honor. She was only another conquest to him—but this sortie was one in which he would not be victorious.

  Merrick continued walking, wearing a playful smirk.

  As shops and taverns gave way to small houses and stables, the noise of revelry fell behind them.

  “Where are we going?” Charlisse snapped, further angered at his silence. She sensed his gaze upon her, but did not look up.

  “Right up ahead. We are almost there.”

  Charlisse stared into the deepening twilight and saw a small church made of stone, with a wooden door and a tall steeple that housed a bell. Light from a lantern, hanging by the door, spilled over carefully tended flowers on either side of the stone pathway.

  “I’m not going to a church.” She resumed her struggle to be free.

  He led her to the side of the building, tenderly backed her against the stone wall, and placed both hands on her shoulders. His gaze was unyielding.

  “It’s not the type of church you’re used to. Reverend Buchan is a good friend of mine.” He paused, examining her.

  She turned her head to the left and saw a small cottage nestled against a grassy hill behind the church. Warm light streamed from windows, and wisps of smoke drifted up from a stone chimney on the roof.

  “You’re going to leave me with a clergyman?” Fear assailed her.

  “I trust Thomas. He’s a good man—a true man of God. Not like your uncle. He will take good care of you until I return.”

  Her pulse unavoidably rose. “Where are you going?”

  “I have business to attend to.”

  “Business? Is that what you call it?” She snickered, eyes narrowing.

  She tried to move aside, but Merrick pulled her back, amusement flickering in his smile. “’Tis not what you’re thinking. It has naught to do with those harlots.” Charlisse wrestled from his embrace. Releasing her, he backed away.

  “I thought I heard someone out here,” a slightly-accented male voice bellowed from the opened cottage door. “Merrick, is that you?” The silhouette of a tall, thin man stood in the lamplight spilling from the room.

  “Thomas.” Merrick approached him and gave him a hearty embrace. “It’s been a while, my friend.”

  As they greeted each other, the reverend’s gaze found Charlisse as she crept out from the shadows. “And who is this fair maiden you bring with you, Captain?” Without waiting for a reply, he escorted her inside. “You shouldn’t be out here in the dark. Merrick, where are your manners?” Grinning, he leaned toward Charlisse. “He still has a bit of pirate in him, I would say.”

  Several candles and oil lamps created a comforting warmth in the humble two-room cottage. The tall man led Charlisse to a rocking chair next to a warm potbellied stove. He wore dark brown breeches, boots, and a farmer’s tunic and belt. A cluster of thick blond hair crowned his head, and his blue eyes sparkled with clarity and kindness.

  There was nothing in his demeanor nor his dress that indicated he was a man of the cloth, at least not one that Charlisse had ever seen. For some reason, that brought her a measure of comfort.

  “Miss Charlisse Bristol of London,” Merrick began, “may I intro
duce Reverend Thomas Buchan. Reverend Buchan, Miss Bristol.”

  The reverend approached, lifted and kissed her hand. “My pleasure, milady.”

  “Miss Bristol was the victim of a shipwreck that left her stranded on an island. My crew and I found her there while careening my ship.” Merrick sat down on a worn brown couch centered in the room.

  Reverend Buchan cast her a look of concern. “How terrifying for you, miss,” he said, then added, smiling, “on both accounts.” He lifted his brows toward Merrick. “What mischief have you been up to, my reformed pirate?” He slapped the captain on the back and sat down next to him. “What brings you here?”

  “The lady searches for her father, and I have promised to assist her.” The last phrase he said loudly with his gaze locked upon Charlisse. She forced a tight smile in return. “I would ask you to keep her in your charge for a few hours while I attend to business.”

  Thomas agreed whole-heartedly and promptly got up to serve them tea and biscuits. While they were enjoying the refreshments, Merrick, at the reverend’s request, briefly described his exploits of the past few months. The two of them laughed and joked like old friends.

  Sitting back, Charlisse pondered her next move. Why did she always find herself at the mercy of men’s decisions? Neither Merrick nor the reverend could keep her here against her will. Yet the captain had said he would help her find her father. Could she trust him to keep his word? She had no idea where to start looking for Edward. At least Merrick knew this port and its people. Terror gripped her as scenes from their quick jaunt through Port Royal flashed through her mind. Most certainly it would not be safe for her to wander around unescorted. She needed Merrick, and there wasn’t much she could do about it.

  “How have your studies been going as of late?” The reverend’s voice drew Charlisse’s attention back to the conversation.