The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  “She may cause me angst, Whipple, but she also causes me to feel many other things.” Things he hadn’t felt in years. He donned his breeches, shirt, and leather jerkin.

  “Mayhap ’twould be best to restrain those other longings, milord, as is befitting civilized men.” His butler’s nose pinched.

  Alex chuckled at the wave of maroon flooding Whipple’s face. “Not those kind of longings, dear man. Curse me for a rogue if that’s all I’m about.” Though he’d not deny they were present—very present. He donned his boots, belts, and baldric, then grabbed his weapons and stepped out on the ledge. “I’m off.”

  “You have my full agreement on that point. What should I tell your guests, milord?” The butler’s tone sounded as though he announced dinner.

  “Tell them I succumbed to too much drink and retired early.” Alex winked, dropped to the ground and darted into the bushes before anyone saw him.

  It didn’t take him long to find Juliana’s carriage parked along the side of the road, Mr. Pell snoring on the driver’s box and the lady absent. And with another four blocks to go before she reached The Black Dogg! If the vermin on the streets didn’t get her, the vermin within the notorious bawdy house would.

  Grabbing the hilt of his cutlass, he cursed under his breath and stormed down the street, keeping a weather eye out for a flash of lavender skirts. Already he could hear the shrill of debauchery emanating from the taverns and bawdy houses inhabiting the wharves: a discordant fiddle, maritime ballads butchered by drunken sailors, evil laughter, the eerie chime of a sword, curses followed by pistol shots. Mad infuriating woman! She might as well deck herself in gold doubloons and stroll down the streets shouting, Free for the taking!

  He turned the corner. Another pistol shot cracked the muggy air. This one closer. A tiny shriek drew his gaze to the right where a wave of blond hair drifted in and out of the shadows. Darting ahead, he kept his approach as silent as possible and slowed when the lady came in sight. Relief melted the tension from his body. She appeared as yet unscathed.

  In her right hand, she carried a satchel—which no doubt Mr. Pell had brought her—with her left hand, she clutched her throat as if trying to steady her racing heart. At least the lady was not completely ignorant of the danger surrounding her.

  Danger as in the two men across the street. They honed in on her like wolves on an innocent rabbit and started in her direction. Juliana took no note of them as she hurried along beside dark warehouses and shops. Drawing his cutlass, Alex closed the distance between them. They were nearly upon her, slithering behind her like the snakes they were.

  Juliana stepped off the wooden walkway between two warehouses. One of the men raised his hands to grab her. Alex clutched both men by their collars and dragged them into the alleyway. Before the drunken wretches could react, he slammed the hilt-end of his sword onto one of their heads then leveled his blade at the other’s chest. The one man fell to the dirt in a heap, the other began to blubber like a baby before he turned and darted away.

  Alex peered around the side of the building. Juliana had stopped and was staring behind her, intently searching the shadows. A nearby street lantern flooded her in a cone of light, and she stepped backward into the dark as if she could hide such beauty from peering eyes. Finally, she spun on her heels and proceeded, the clip-clop of her shoes echoing a heightened pace.

  A blast of salty wind cooled the sweat from Alex’s brow as he slipped onto the street after her. He supposed he should reveal his presence, but he preferred she remain frightened and mayhap learn her lesson not to wander the dark streets of a town that had been deemed “the wickedest city in the Caribbean”.

  When she turned down Thames Street by the wharves, Alex braced himself for the onslaught that was to come. Thus far, only a few people had been wandering about, but nighttime belonged to Thames Street—the haunt of every vile and perverse soul who loved the darkness more than the light. This was his street, his territory. Most of the ruffians who dwelt here knew and feared him, respected his wit, his success at piracy, but most of all his skill with pistol and cutlass. But that all may fall to the wind when they got a glimpse of the angel drifting in their midst.

  Ahead, a band of such degenerates spilled out of a tavern onto the street, shoving each other and hurling insults at the sky. Alex recognized the leader, Drake, a bull of a man with the body of a mastiff and the brain of a mite. With his arm around a scantily clad trollop, he led his minions into the darkness, bellowing a sailor’s ditty. The song halted on his lips when he spotted Miss Juliana, the resulting evil smirk cracking his bearded face.

  “What ’ave we here?” He stumbled toward the lady.

  She froze and glanced about for somewhere to hide. Naught but a brick warehouse was behind her, so she merely raised her chin and stood to meet her fate.

  She was brave, Alex would give her that. Yet fear ignited his heart. At least he thought it was fear. It had been so long since he’d been afraid of anything, so long since he cared about anything—or anyone. But there were eight well-armed pirates and only one of him. He’d defeated such numbers single-handedly before, but had paid for the encounter with a sword wound to his gut. He would gladly suffer that again—for her—but didn’t relish the idea. Instead, he hoped his presence alone would dissuade the men from their vile intentions. Hence, he took a stance behind the lady, arms crossed over his chest, and his eyes aflame with warning.

  The men approached Juliana, leering like a pack of dogs. A breeze tossed the strands of hair dangling about her neck and brought the stench of unwashed men to Alex’s nose.

  “Greetings, young miss.” Drake released the trollop and swept his plumed tricorne before him. “Are ye seekin’ a bit o’ pleasure this fine evenin’?” His men chuckled as he began fingering the lace on her sleeve. The bald one on the left with two gold rings in his ear took a swig from a jug.

  Alex shifted his stance, hoping the men would see him through the shadows.

  Batting the foul man away, Juliana took a step back. “I am not, sir. I am on a mission of mercy.”

  “Mercy you say?” Drake snorted. “I see eight fine gentlemen o’ fortune in need o’ some mercy t’night. What say you gentlemen?” He glanced over the band, his tone dripping with lust.

  “Aye, Aye!” shouts rang in the air as one of the men grabbed the trollop and began kissing her neck. She pushed him off and sidled beside Drake. “Leave ’er be, Drake. A proper lady like ’er ’as no clue ’ow to treat a man like you.”

  Drake shoved the woman aside and approached Juliana, shifting sultry eyes to the crest of her bosom. He leaned toward her and inhaled. “Mayhap not, but she smells better than you!”

  Laughter filled the air. Alex stepped forward, clenching and unclenching his fists, restraining himself from charging the band and putting an end to their crude insolence. If they did not see him soon, he’d do just that.

  One of the pirates, a rawboned fellow with hair to his waist, reached for Juliana. She retreated, hugging the satchel to her chest. “I insist you give way, sir. I am on my way to help a woman in need. Without me she may die.” Her voice quavered, but she kept her shoulders high.

  “But without ye, we all may suffer a broken heart,” one of the pirates plucked the bag from Juliana’s grasp and held it out of her reach. While she attempted to regain it amidst the pirates’ laughter, Alex drew his sword. Drake must have caught the glimmer of street light on steel for he glanced over Juliana’s shoulder.

  And instantly stiffened.

  Alex shook his head in a gesture he hoped Drake would interpret as a warning. The bullish pirate hesitated a moment, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He fingered the butt of a pistol protruding from his belt, eyes locked upon Alex. But finally, he huffed. “Return the lady’s satchel, ye ill-mannered dawcock!” Scowling, the pirate did as he was told.

  Juliana, her chest heaving, her eyes wide, embraced the bag and tried to lengthen her stance, but it only made more visible the tremble in her legs.


  Drawing the trollop back into his arms, Drake offered another bow toward Juliana before plopping his hat atop his head. “Then be about your mission, miss. We wouldn’t want t’ cause a woman’s early demise.”

  Grumbles of dissent racked the band, but Drake silenced them with a threatening curse. Turning, they staggered away, passing the jug of rum betwixt them.

  Juliana fell back against the brick wall and threw a hand to her throat. Her breath came hard and fast. She closed her eyes and moved her lips as if speaking—or mayhap praying. Encased in shadows, she was not seen by the men now passing on the street. Nor by the crowd forming on the steps of The King’s Arms tavern across the way. If only she would stay hidden where she was. Two more blocks stretched betwixt her and The Black Dogg, blocks filled with roving buccaneers, their bellies floating in rum and their hearts sinking in mire.

  Alex took a step toward her, intending to make his presence known, but she pushed from the wall and hurried on her way.

  Another block down the road, three men slipped into an alleyway ahead of her, no doubt waiting to pounce on her as she passed. Teeth grinding, Alex turned and sprinted around the back of Massey’s Gunsmith then up the next street until he charged down the passage where the men waited. They heard him approach and swerved, blades in hand. Alex cursed as he drew his sword and took on the first man, quickly knocking the cutlass from his hand and plucking it from the dirt before he could reach it. Now with two swords, Alex parried the three men, diving, ducking, plunging, and thrusting this way and that. The ring of steel on steel could barely be heard amidst the sound of laughter and a nearby harpsichord. Young ruffians, these men were novices with the sword, and Alex almost pitied them as their swipes and thrusts met naught but air and their hard breathing and groans betrayed their fear. Finally, one man fell, clutching a bloody wound on his leg, another ran off, and the third winced beneath the tip of Alex’s blade at his throat.

  “Take your friend and leave. If you harm the woman, there’ll be hell to pay.”

  The man nodded. A sliver of moonlight revealed the terror in his eyes. No sooner had the villain grabbed his friend and scurried off, then Miss Juliana Dutton walked past the alleyway, completely ignorant of the danger from which she’d just been rescued.

  Alex ran a sleeve over his sweaty brow, sheathed his sword, and slipped onto the street behind her. At this rate, he’d be fighting off half the miscreants in town. Thankfully, The Black Dogg was fast approaching. Of course the bawdy house presented quite another problem altogether. One which the naïve Juliana could only imagine in her worst nightmare. Her slight hesitation at the bottom of the stairs offered Alex hope that she retained a whisper of wits. The salacious invitations tossed her way from the patrons lining the porch added to that hope. Surely she would turn and hasten back to the safety of her home.

  Instead she jutted out her chin, mounted the stairs, and entered the den of debauchery.

  Chapter 12

  A fuming cloud of body odor, tallow, and stale spirits enveloped Juliana as she shoved her way through the door of The Black Dogg, past the piercing eyes, through the gauntlet of lewd comments, and straight into a vision of Dante’s hell. Two men fought in the center. A punch was thrown. One of them stumbled backward straight for her. She leapt out of the way just in time, but ended up in the arms of the worst-smelling creature she’d ever encountered. His stink—spoilt eggs and dung—made her gasp for air while she did her best to shove away from the man who grinned at her with what appeared to be rotted wooden pikes instead of teeth.

  Breaking away, she scanned the room. The two men who’d been fighting were now arm in arm sharing a mug of ale in laughter. The rest of the mob had returned to their drinking and whoring. Some hovered around tables strewn about the room; others stood in groups, sloshing their drinks and boasting of exploits on sea and land. Lanterns hanging from rafters and candles on tables were the only deterrents against the darkness filling the sordid place.

  But the light’s reach did not extend to the corners where Juliana caught glimpses of vile things no decent person should witness. Across the main room, trollops—baring too much skin—sashayed through the crowd or perched upon men’s laps, urging them with coos and flattery to relinquish their coin. A sour taste filled Juliana’s mouth. She begged God to make her invisible. Instead, one by one, dozens of eyes swept her way, gaping at her as if she were a heavenly being dropped down from above.

  Speaking of heavenly beings—God, where are you? She knew coming here wouldn’t be easy. She knew she’d be walking into danger. Which was why she’d stopped and prayed outside, just to make sure she was doing God’s will. Hadn’t he shown his favor, his approval, by protecting her on the way to this depraved place? Surely he would protect her once inside, especially since she was helping a friend in trouble. Yes, God would defend her! He would not abandon her like most of the other men in her life.

  Forcing back her fear, she met the men’s gazes with boldness.

  “Well, curse me eyes if I ain’t seein’ a real genteel lady all decked in her fripperies and finery right ’ere in the middle o’ The Black Dogg!” one particularly rotund man sporting a purple vest shouted, eliciting shouts and whistles from the throng. Another man fingered the ribbons bounding from her sleeve. Someone played with her hair from behind. A gaunt-looking fellow with two earrings in one ear and a nose the size of Jamaica ran a filthy finger over the embroidery of her stomacher.

  Juliana’s head grew light. Batting aside the vermin, she held a handkerchief to her nose and pressed through the crowd to stand in their midst. Surely once she explained her purpose, these men—no matter how vulgar and grotesque they appeared—would allow her to proceed upstairs unscathed. Hadn’t the pirates she’d encountered in the streets done exactly that? After all, she was here to help one of their own. Though she wished that weren’t the case with her dear friend Abilene.

  “Gentlemen, grant me ear a moment. I come to help—”

  “Us? Indeed ye are.” A man approached and seemed to be winking at her from a gaping hole where his right eye had once been. “An’ we’ll be acceptin’ yer help, says I!” He grabbed her arm just as the door flew open, and all gazes shot toward the newcomer. Not able to see who it was through the throng, Juliana closed her eyes and prayed for deliverance. Boot steps clipped over the wooden floor. Silence swallowed the revelry until all she heard were a few belches and the nervous scraping of chairs on wood. Pain burned her arm where the man tightened his grip.

  “The lady’s with me.” That voice—that familiar voice, deep and commanding like rolling thunder—drew her eyes open to see the Pirate Earl. Against her better judgment, a tiny shred of relief spread through her.

  Releasing her, the first pirate retreated a step. An odd mixture of fear and spite crossed his rum-glazed eye as he fingered the hilt of a dagger stuffed within his belt. Moans of disappointment rumbled through the mob.

  “Damn me eyes!” one man growled.

  “That’s the way ye be, eh?” another said. “No sharin’ from the earl t’night, gents!”

  The one-eyed man glared at the Pirate Earl, his eye simmering, his mouth twitching. His fingers rubbed the hilt of his rapier as if he could summon a genie from it. The crowd backed away.

  The Pirate Earl tugged Juliana behind him and remained an immovable fortress of confidence. “Are you in need of another lesson in swordplay, Will? Or mayhap you’ve not had your fill of my blade in your flesh?”

  The man shifted his boots over the floor. A flicker of fear crossed his one eye as a parrot squawked from above them. “Slit his gullet, slit his gullet!”

  The pirate snorted and relaxed his stance. “Stint this foolery.” He gave a nervous chuckle. “Let’s have no harsh words betwixt us, Earl. I ’ave a dozen other doxies awaitin’ me pleasures.” He dipped his greasy head toward Juliana. “No harm meant t’ ye, miss.” Then swerving, he marched off, the crowd parting as he went.

  The Pirate Earl dragged her toward the
front door.

  “Nay! Unhand me. I must see Abilene.” She pulled in the other direction, causing some of the pirates to laugh, but most went back to their business. Soon the place resounded with the slap of cards, slosh of spirits, flurry of curses, and the beginnings of a discordant ballad.

  Halting, Mr. Pirate drew her to the side. “I suppose this Abilene is the trollop you went to visit last time you foolishly ventured down by the docks? Or do you intend on risking your life for every wench in the city?”

  Fie, but the man was handsome. For a pirate, that is. Her eyes barely reached a chest that spread to a wide expanse of muscled shoulders. Full sleeves of his white cambric shirt emerged from within a leather jerkin over which a brace of pistols was strapped. Tight leather breeches disappeared into knee-high Cordovan boots. Doffing his plumed tricorne, he ran a hand through ink-black hair, sending a few strands drifting back over his jaw, and stared at her with those stark blue eyes flecked in irritated gray, as if she were the most exasperating woman in the world.

  “You make too free with your opinions, Mr. Pirate. Abilene is my friend. She is hurt, and I’m not leaving until I see her,” she said with as much fortitude as she could muster. “Besides, I did not bid you come to my aid. I have no fear I could have convinced these men of my good purpose in coming here.”

  At this he laughed. And the sound of it did odd things to her insides. Someone bumped him from behind, uttering a “pardon me, milord,” and pushing him within inches of her. He grabbed her arms to steady her, and then with an intensity that sent her skin bristling, his gaze roved from a strand of her hair drifting across her forehead, to her eyes, her nose, cheeks, and finally her mouth, where it lingered for a moment too long. The scent of cinnamon wafted over her, oddly reminding her of Lord Munthrope. Yet this man before her was nothing like the foppish lord. Nay, this man possessed not an ounce of feminine airs. He was all roughness and strength, commanding and decisive. He invoked fear in the most fearsome, and respect from the defiant. And the danger that hovered around him made her heart skip a beat.