The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  Jonas nodded his approval. Larkin crossed thick arms over his chest and scowled. And though groans of disappointment filtered through the crowd, all finally agreed.

  Alex raised his cutlass in the air. “Let us be after our prey!”

  “Aye! Aye!” Shouts followed as the men dispersed to their duties.

  “Extinguish the galley fire. Sand the decks!” Larkin commanded.

  Sails thundered in anticipation of battle. Wind whipped Alex’s shirt as he made his way to the railing to glance at their fleeing prey. He grinned. Within seconds, they’d be well on her weather quarter. Scanning the deck, he found the master gunner. “Run out the guns, if you please, Bait!”

  The one-armed Negro flashed two rows of blinding white teeth at Alex before issuing orders for the gun crew to ready the ten culverins housed at intervals along the bulwarks.

  A flame shot from the hull of the Fluyt, followed seconds later by a shattering boom!

  “To the deck!” Jonas shouted, and the men dropped to the planks. All except Alex, who stood firm upon the quarterdeck, glaring at his enemy. He cared not if the shot struck him. Many a day he had begged for a cannon ball to tear him asunder. He had no fear of death. Forsooth, he welcomed it. At least it would offer a change in his otherwise meaningless existence.

  The shot splashed into the sea several yards from the ship, and soon the men were on their feet flinging curses at their enemy for daring to defend herself.

  “Sweep across her bow to rake her!” Alex commanded, and Larkin marched over the deck issuing commands to the topmen.

  With every stitch of canvas spread, the Vanity swung about, pitching over endless waves. The pop pop pop of musket fire showered them from the Frenchmen’s tops, sending the pirates scrambling for cover. A scream drew Alex’s gaze to one of his men holding his shoulder, blood spilling down his arm. Jonas sped toward him and gazed up at Alex, who nodded his consent for the would-be physician to take him below.

  White foam exploding over her bow, the Vanity creaked and groaned and heaved as she sped across the Fluyt’s stern.

  “Fire!” Alex shouted.

  The air ignited with ten blasts that shook the ship from truck to keelson. The culverins leapt back a good foot beneath the strain as smoke poured over the railing, dousing them in a stinging, blinding cloud.

  Coughing and batting it aside, Alex peered toward their enemy. Shouts of anger and fright ricocheted across her decks as the Frenchmen rushed to and fro assisting their wounded. Above them, shredded canvas flapped, ropes parted, blocks hung, and jagged pieces of wood stuck out from a mizzen mast that wobbled beneath the weight. Within minutes a white flag inched its way up the main truck.

  “They surrender, Captain!” Larkin shouted.

  But another flag in the distance caught Alex’s eye. The Union Jack blowing in the wind from the mainmast of a Royal Navy frigate. And they were heading straight his way.

  Chapter 8

  Alex cursed under his breath. Where had the Navy frigate come from? ’Twas as if they’d followed him out of Port Royal. That’s three times now that one of His Majesty’s ships had come upon him while he was in the midst of capturing a prize. Such a thing happening in the vast Caribbean was unheard of. He narrowed his eyes upon the approaching enemy, gauging their speed and position. With the direction of the wind, it would take them at least an hour to tack their way to Alex’s brig. He had time to plunder the French Fluyt. Not much time, but he knew his men could do it. Besides, the danger of it, the risk, ignited every nerve and fiber, bringing him back to life. Finally a challenge!

  “Prepare to board!” he yelled as he leapt down to the waist of the ship. The crew stood still, shifting their wide gazes between the oncoming frigate and the French merchant ship.

  “I said, prepare to board! And be quick about it!” Alex all but growled.

  Grumbling, his crew obeyed. Sharpshooters sped to the tops while the rest further armed themselves and prepared the grapnels.

  “Bait, reload the guns,” Alex ordered the master gunner. They might need them against the frigate if time ran out.

  Minutes later, the Vanity came alongside the Fluyt. Grappling hooks were thrown, the ships thudded together, and with cutlass drawn, Alex led his pack of pirates onto the deck of the merchant ship. He wished the French captain and his officers would have given some resistance—made things a bit more interesting—but even with the assurance of the British frigate approaching, they merely stood there, relinquishing their weapons and cowering like puppies. No doubt they believed the Royal Navy would capture the pirates and return their goods forthwith.

  Obviously, they had not had the pleasure of an encounter with the Pirate Earl.

  Alex grew bored. So terribly bored. He took up a position leaning against the rail while some of his crew guarded the French and the rest did what they did best—plundered the treasure below. Within a half hour, all the silver, jewels, valuable foodstuffs, spirits, and anything else they could sell for pieces of eight were hoisted above and carried to the Vanity. Thankfully there were no females on board, for Alex did not relish the thought of protecting them from his men. Though he did have to restrain a few pirates from harming a foolish French sailor who dared to spit at them as they passed.

  Alex raised his scope to the oncoming enemy, when a gush of French stung his ears. “He will catch you and kill you, filthy pirate.”

  Lowering his glass, Alex eyed the captain of the French ship, a man too young to fully understand the threat he was facing. Slight of figure and sharp of chin, he raised a haughty nose toward Alex.

  Alex responded in fluent French, “The Pirate Earl is never filthy, Monsieur, and neither will he ever be caught.” Enjoying the surprise registering in the man’s eyes at Alex’s command of the language, Alex raised his scope again, focusing on the commander of the frigate. Lud, what devilment was this? He’d recognize that sturdy stance and grim face anywhere. ’Twas the idiot, Captain Nichols. Egad, the man was relentless! Would his grudge against Alex never cease? Cursing, he slammed his scope shut.

  Larkin approached, the greed in his eyes of only moments ago transformed into fear. “Captain, we should leave.”

  Alex agreed. “Back to the ship, men!” he bellowed.

  The crew happily complied, bidding adieu and tossing insults upon their victims as they hoisted armfuls of goods back to the Vanity. Alex leapt from the Fluyt to his own deck, regretting not having time to take the merchant ship as prize. Grapnel lashings were cut as the remaining pirates scrambled over the bulwarks.

  “Lay aloft and loose main sail! Hoist away royals and jib!”

  The crew scattered to do his bidding, and within minutes the Vanity’s sails were raised, seeking the wind as the brig inched away from the Fluyt. With their guns flooded with water and their weapons confiscated, the defanged French could do naught but watch.

  The Royal Navy was another story.

  Bearing down on them at full speed, the frigate fired a shot from their bow swivels. It pounded the air and skipped across the sea just short of the Vanity’s larboard quarter.

  Finally the Vanity’s sails caught the wind with a deafening crack as each canvas spread to the favoring breeze, full and taut. The brig tacked to larboard and shot a stream of seawater off her starboard quarter toward their enemy. Alex smiled. The fastest ship on the Caribbean!

  Another boom labored from the frigate, but once again the shot slipped impotent into the sea. Bracing his boots on the canting deck, Alex turned a haughty eye toward his enemy. He needed no spyglass to see the fury twisting Nichols’s face as he paced the quarterdeck spouting orders to his crew. Halting, he raised a scope toward Alex as another jet of flame and thunder of a shot cracked the air. This time, the splash lagged even farther off Vanity’s stern.

  Removing his plumed hat, Alex gave a leg and dipped a flourishing bow toward his archenemy. He could almost hear Nichols growl in fury—almost. When he righted himself, he gave a salute before turning and heading toward th
e main deck.

  “Proud of yourself?” Jonas joined him, his shirt splattered with maroon stains.

  “Yes,” Alex returned, raising a brow at the blood. “How is Milford?”

  “He will live. This time.” Jonas drew Alex to the railing away from the pirates, some of whom were already passing around rum in celebration. “But how many more lives will be lost to satisfy your lust for adventure?”

  “’Tis not my lust alone, but the way of pirates.”

  “But you don’t even need the treasure, nor the—”

  “I do it because I’m good at it,” Alex interrupted, his anger simmering. “Because it is who my father was and who I am. I do it because I am free to do it should I choose. I need no other reason. If you detest it so, why sail with me?”

  Jonas rubbed the back of his neck and gazed at his friend with amused irritation. “Call it fate, call it God, but I fear my destiny is to be by your side, Alex. Think of me as your conscience.”

  Alex snorted. “Faith now, my conscience, sir? I relieved myself of that damnable folly years ago.” He laughed.

  “Precisely my point.”

  Alex gripped the railing. “I fear you embark on an impossible mission, my good man. Mayhap you should choose another.”

  “I have not chosen it. It has chosen me.” Jonas smiled with a shrug, then gazed across the blue expanse. “What now, my fearless pirate?”

  Alex raised gleeful brows. “Back to Port Royal. I have a betrothal to announce.”

  ♥♥♥

  Sweet innocence danced upon joyful laughter when Juliana opened the door to the Buchan orphanage. Once she slipped inside, the sounds and scents magnified and swirled about her like a cool mist on a hot day. Before she could utter a word of greeting, the pitter-patter of a dozen feet filled the room like raindrops on a tin roof, and a swarm of excited children of all ages swamped her, leaping for joy. “Miss Juliana! Miss Juliana!”

  Dropping her pack, she lifted the tray she carried above the sea of reaching hands as she wove around books and toys and pails of water to a table in the corner, upon which she lowered the sweet cakes Cook had made for the children. Dozens of hands reached for the treats, but she carefully ushered them back, smiling while trying to be stern at the same time. “Now, now, children. We must take turns and share. There’s one for everyone. Hello, Rose.” Juliana leaned over to say hi to the shy little girl. “Hello, John.” She tousled a young boy’s hair. “’Tis good to see you all.”

  The sweet faces stared back at her as Eunice entered from a side room. “I knows it must be you, Miss Juliana, from all the hollarin’ I was hearin’.” The elderly lady smiled and eased a lock of gray hair into her bun. “Children, let Miss Juliana breathe, fer goodness sakes.” Rubbing her hands on her apron, she approached the mob of expectant faces. “Seems Miss Juliana has brought some cakes fer us.” Several children eyed the sweets and nodded. “A’right. One by one, you kin come take one cake, and then go into the garden and finds a place to sit an’ eat.”

  As the children formed an orderly line and came forward, Juliana was impressed with their discipline. Aside from being thin and wearing shabby clothes, they all looked happy, clean, and healthy. Smiling, she greeted each by name. James, Elizabeth, Arabella, Jackson, Mitzy … Oh, how she’d come to love these children. Fourteen in all, ages three through eight.

  Nearly half of them had chosen their cake and darted outside when screeching raked over Juliana’s ears and a flash of brown swooped down from above her. Startled, she had no time to react to the spider monkey before he grabbed a cake and leapt onto the rafters stretching across the ceiling. The remaining children broke into a fit of giggles, while Eunice grabbed a broom and began furiously swatting at the creature.

  “You flea-infested varmint! I told you t’ stay away!” Pieces of straw showered down on them from the broom as she continued chasing the tiny monkey back and forth across the rafters. Climbing higher where she couldn’t reach, the mischievous critter settled down to eat his cake and grinned down upon them with aplomb.

  Juliana stifled a giggle. “Where on earth did he come from?”

  Eunice lowered her broom and shook her head. “I knows not. He seems to have adopted us. Or mayhap we adopted him. He showed up a week ago, an’ Isaac keeps puttin’ him out, but he keeps findin’ his way back in.” She shook her head. “The children find him entertainin’.”

  They did indeed, as still giggling, the rest grabbed their cakes and scrambled outside.

  “He is adorable, in an impish sort of way.” Juliana gazed up at the monkey, who gave her a wide, innocent grin framed in cake crumbs. “However, I am of the same mind, Eunice. This is no place for a wild beast. I can bring my groomsman next time. He’s good at trapping animals.” When he wasn’t besotted, that was.

  “That be a fine idea, Miss Juliana.” She set down the broom and gazed out the open doors to where the children enjoyed their treats on benches placed across grass. Beyond them, bean stalks from a vegetable garden climbed a wall that made up one side of the old church Reverend Buchan used to run. The building was used for storage now until a new preacher could take over. The man who had been sent to replace Reverend Buchan had run off and abandoned, not only his post at the church, but the orphans as well. Juliana’s face grew hot with anger at the thought.

  A sigh brought her gaze back to Eunice Tucker and her anger fled. No one could be angry looking at the kindest woman Juliana had ever known. Half-Negro, half-white, she was as round as she was tall, but she packed more spirit, spunk, and love in her short frame than most people held in their earlobe.

  “You do spoil ’em so,” Eunice said.

  “If I don’t, who will?” Juliana smiled and grabbed her satchel. “I’ve also brought two blankets, old clothing, and some books.”

  “Ah, good. The children love their readin’ lessons wit’ you. I don’t know what we’d do wit’out you, Miss Juliana. Thank you fer carryin’ on wit’ your mother’s work.”

  “How could I not? She loved these children with all her heart.”

  “And you do too, I kin tell.”

  “Yes.” Juliana nodded, her eyes misting. “I have come to.” In good sooth, she cared for all of them so much, she could hardly choose a favorite, though little three-year-old Rose held a special place in Juliana’s heart.

  “Reverend Buchan was sich a good man.” Eunice pressed a hand to her back and lowered into a chair. “God rest his soul. He’d a hated it if we’d closed the orphanage. An’ what would have happened to the children?”

  “If only that new preacher hadn’t run off … abandoning them all to starvation.” Juliana’s jaw tensed. “If I ever meet him, I intend to …” She slammed her mouth shut to avoid using words no lady should.

  Eunice waved a hand through the air. “He’s long gone by now, miss. Back t’ a more comfortable lifestyle across the pond, no doubt.”

  Juliana couldn’t help but loathe the man, though she had repented of her hatred more than once. But how does one forgive a person who left innocent children to die? A man who left them without anyone to care for them, and thus drew Juliana’s mother here to offer her services. Services that eventually led to her death. Yes, Juliana hated this preacher, whoever he was, and God forgive her, she would have no compunction to tell him just what she thought of him, should their paths ever meet.

  Juliana knelt beside her friend and took her hand in hers. “You and your husband were so kind to take over after he left. I know neither of you were prepared for such a responsibility.”

  “Nay.” Eunice chuckled. “We already helped out now an’ then when Reverend Buchan was alive. So when word came the preacher left, well, it jist seemed the right thing t’ do. We ain’t got much, but God provides.”

  Did he? Juliana wondered. Her mother had taught her to believe that, but recently with her father’s illness, Rowan’s dissolute lifestyle, and the tenuous future of Dutton Shipping, she had begun to doubt.

  Rising, she backed up a ste
p and bumped into something. A pail of water. One to match the dozens framing the walls of the large room where the children played and ate and took their lessons. “What are these for?”

  Eunice smiled with a sigh. “You remember Lucas?”

  “The boy that sailor brought here two weeks ago? Has he said anything yet?”

  “Nothin’. I fears he’s a mute. The sailor said he found the lad in an abandoned shack on an island offa the coast o’ Carolina, tied up, dyin’ o’ thirst, and near shiverin’ to death. He tried t’ give the boy work on his ship, but the boy don’t seem able t’ talk.” She shook her head and sighed. “But he sures made it plain t’ us, usin’ frantic gestures an’ sich, that he needs these buckets filled wit’ water stashed all o’er the house. To make sure we ne’er run out, I ’xpects. Same wit’ ’em blankets. He insists on havin’ stacks o’ ’em. In the main parlor here and in the sleepin’ quarters, even tho’ it be too hot t’ use ’em. Every time I’s try t’ take ’em or the pails away, he throws sich a fit, I fears he’ll make hisself ill or worse—fall over dead.”

  “Poor boy. I can’t even imagine being abandoned to starve and die in the cold without even being able to call out for help. It must have been terrifying.” Juliana glanced out the window for the seven-year-old and found him sitting by himself, head down, savoring every morsel of cake as if he’d never see another speck of food. She kicked the pail, jostling the water. “But surely they are in the way?”

  “The children have gotten used t’ ’em. Besides, we have ladles they kin use to get drinks from ’em. When the water gets low, I send Mr. Tucker t’ the docks t’ get more that’s been rowed o’er from the mainland.”

  “And where is your husband?” Juliana glanced around for the tall, lanky man who had given up a lucrative inheritance to marry a servant in his father’s household.