The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Come.” He ushered her through the mob to the back of the tavern, where a rickety staircase led upward. “We will see your friend,” he said as he escorted her up the sticky treads, shoving aside besotted patrons, some who gave them curious looks; others grins that made Juliana’s skin crawl. “Afterward, you will go home and never return to the wharves at night again.”

  He tightened his grip on her hand as his commanding tone pricked her indignation. Who was this pirate to order her about?

  They reached the landing and started down a dingy hall. Lanterns hanging at intervals cast shifting light over closed doors from which blared laughter and grunts that made Juliana’s ears burn. She tugged from his grip. “You do not own me, Mr. Pirate. Ergo, I will go where I please when I please.”

  She wished her tone had not been so insolent, for the pirate turned, pressed her against the wall, then looked down at her from his towering height. Her heart raced. She stared at the brass skeleton adorning the baldric that crisscrossed his chest. Warm spicy breath wafted on her forehead. “Do you wish to die, Miss Dutton? Not just any death but one which comes at the end of a long, torturous tenure as mistress to half a dozen lusty curs?”

  Her breath scrambled to her throat. Her head began to spin. “God will take care of me,” she whispered out in a tone that bore little faith in that fact.

  “God?” He snorted. “A pretty desire, milady. But alas, do you see the Almighty here?”

  As if on cue, one of the doors flew open and a man emerged, two women on his arms donned in nothing but thin chemises. The smell of brandy and something foul followed in their wake as they staggered past. One of the women winked at Mr. Pirate.

  Ignoring her, he faced Juliana. She narrowed her gaze, trying to hide the repulsion—and fear—brewing within her.

  “I make no doubt God is with me, Mr. Pirate. How do you suppose I came to this gruesome place unscathed? ’Twas the Almighty’s doing.”

  For some reason, this made him laugh again. When he recovered, he shook his head. “Milady, your faith in the unseen astounds me.”

  “As your ignorance of it does me.” She bit back further insults, not wanting to anger the only man who apparently had no interest in dragging her into one of the rooms lining the hall. A shrill tune blared from an organ below, accompanied by the clang of swords and vulgar shouts as no doubt another brawl ensued. “You would be best served to call upon God, Mr. Pirate, rather than waste your life in dissolute living. I fear you have lost your moral compass.”

  A scream resounded from one of the rooms. Mr. Pirate didn’t flinch. Instead, one side of his lips quirked in a grin. “Milord Pirate, if you please. And I prefer my dissolute living to serving a capricious God.”

  She pursed her lips. “How sad.”

  The scream turned to laughter as other moans echoed from a room across the hall.

  He huffed. “You would be the sad one, and far worse, if I hadn’t walked into this bawdy house when I did. Are you aware, milady, of just who it was who had you in his grip when I arrived?” He leaned one hand on the wall beside her and gestured toward the room below, where the ruckus increased in sound and intensity. “That was William Delong. They call him Henry the Eighth. Can you entertain the reason?”

  “Because he possesses an ego the size of England?” she returned with a smirk.

  Mr. Pirate chuckled. “Forsooth, I believe you know the man.” He pushed from the wall and crossed arms over his chest, suddenly sobering. “The blaggart harbors a penchant for light-haired women. Care to guess what he does with them after he has used all their wares?”

  Juliana swallowed. Actually no.

  “He passes them amongst his crew for months before he hooks them and drags them behind his ship as bait for sharks. Of late, a delicacy among pirates.” His dark brows rose. “Sharks, that is. Women always have been.”

  A tremble coursed through her legs, making her glad she had the wall behind her for support.

  “Another second and that would have been your fate.” He leaned to peer in her eyes. “Still believe God is protecting you?”

  In an attempt to calm herself, she drew a ragged breath. “I do,” she said. “For as soon as I prayed for help. He sent you.”

  “Me?” He chuckled. “From God? Lud, milady, you disarm me with your wit.”

  “Mayhap you need to be disarmed, Mr. Pirate.”

  A mischievous grin twisted his lips. Planting his hands on the wall on either side of her, he barricaded her in and studied her intently. “Indeed, for who’s to say I do not present as equal a danger to you as any man here?”

  The heat from his body filled the air between them, his smell of leather and brine filled her nose, as his presence, so close to her, sent dizzying eddies through her head. Though he had done her no harm—yet—he could very well have some nefarious purpose in mind. Why else would he be protecting her from the others? He fingered a lock of her hair as he took in every feature of her face—a habit of his, it would seem. Her blood dashed madly through her veins. Not wanting him to notice the effect he had on her, she shoved one of his arms down and stepped to the side.

  He raked a hand through his hair and gave her a cynical look. “If this God of yours is protecting you, then what need of me?” Turning, he started toward the stairs.

  Her heart stopped. Her insides screamed, Don’t leave me! Not in this hellish place where she had no idea where to look for her friend, where the sound of unspeakable acts leeched from behind closed doors, and where a pack of wolves prowled below awaiting their prey. Oh, fie! Where was her faith? Yet … mayhap God had, indeed, sent this man to protect her. “You wouldn’t leave a lady here alone,” she shouted above the din as he reached the top of the stairs.

  “I wouldn’t?” Halting, he faced her. “I’m a pirate, remember?” He patted the pockets of his jerkin and breeches as if searching for something. “Lud, and I seem to have lost my moral compass.”

  She frowned at his impish grin. She would not give way to a pirate. She had announced her faith in God and would not besmirch his name by asking for this vermin’s help. She was about to tell him that very thing, when a man draped in a doxy appeared at the top of the stairs. The woman, a russet-haired beauty who was all but bursting out of her tight bodice, veritably lit up upon seeing Mr. Pirate.

  “Milord!” Extricating herself from her consort, she flew into Mr. Pirate’s arms, squealing and flopping like a deranged pig. He shoved her back.

  “Where ’ave you been, Your Lordship?” Not put off in the slightest by his brusque dismissal, she gave him a coy glance. “You told me you would come an’ see me soon, but that was a fortnight ago.”

  “Forgive me. I fear I have been otherwise engaged.” He nudged her back toward her patron.

  She giggled. “Milord, my, but you ’ave such fine speech.” Only then did the woman notice Juliana standing there. The glimmer left her eyes, replaced by cannon fire as she scanned Juliana from head to toe. “I see.”

  Her besotted customer, who’d been swaying in place and eyeing the scene with curiosity, came out of his daze, and with a disgruntled curse, dragged the woman into one of the rooms and slammed the door.

  “Pray, do not allow me to keep you from your debauchery, milord.”

  Frowning, he took her hand in his and led her down the hall. “The sick wenches are housed above.”

  She wanted to ask him how he knew that but thought better of it. She wanted to tug away from his grip, but the strength of his hand around hers brought her more comfort than she cared to admit. She wanted to run back to the safety of her home and forget the vile things she’d witnessed, but love for her friend drove her onward.

  Thankfully, the third floor was devoid of bestial grunts and bawdy laughter, replaced by a single moan coming from the last room on the left.

  “Abilene!” Juliana darted forward, but Mr. Pirate rushed ahead of her and knocked lightly, nudging her firmly behind him. The door cracked and a woman peeked out, her suspicious gaze taking
in Mr. Pirate. But upon seeing Juliana, she swept it open, grabbed Juliana’s arm, and dragged her inside. A wall of heated air tainted with a putrid odor blasted over Juliana as her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light of a single candle.

  “Miss, ye came! God bless ye, miss. God bless ye.” A bouquet of brown curls tumbled over the woman’s threadbare gown and framed a face that would have been comely save for the bruise circling one swollen eye. But Juliana didn’t have time to concern herself with the woman’s condition as she rushed to the barely-recognizable form of her friend, Abilene—or at least she thought it was Abilene—lying on the cot.

  Dropping to her knees beside the bed, Juliana coughed back the metallic odor of blood while she brushed strands of dirty hair from the woman’s face. Yes, it was Abilene. She’d know those long lashes and full lips anywhere.

  “Abilene, Abilene, oh dear, what happened to you?” A bloody gash tore across her forehead and another one sliced her arm. Bruises marred her swollen face and neck, and her gown was ripped down the front, revealing a stained petticoat. Worst of all, her wrists bore bloody grooves of harsh restraints.

  “’Twas that beast Riley,” the woman offered. “When she refused ’is money an’ ’is insistence t’ go upstairs, ’e dragged ’er out into the streets to God knows where.” She began to sob. “I tried t’ follow but couldn’t find ’er anywhere. She showed up like this an hour ago … must ’ave dragged ’erself back somehow.”

  Mr. Pirate stepped in and closed the door, a scowl forming on his face.

  Juliana squeezed her friend’s limp hand and stood. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

  “He hit ’er on the head, miss. See?” The woman circled the bed, and grabbing the candle, pointed to where a pool of blood spread across the pillowcase.

  Gasping, Juliana tossed a hand to her mouth. Mr. Pirate touched her elbow to steady her and tried leading her to a chair.

  “Nay, I’m all right.” She faced the woman who stood over her friend, wringing her hands in worry. “We need water and clean cloths, if you have them. And a doctor if you know of one who’ll come at this time of night.”

  “Miss, I only knew t’ get you. Abilene said if e’er she was in a bad way to get you, but no doctor will set foot in this place.”

  Alarm fired through Juliana. “None?”

  Mr. Pirate shook his head. “The women have too many diseases. No respectable doctor will come here, especially not after dusk with the unruly throng below.” He glanced out a glassless window so small, barely a breeze squeezed through. “But perchance, I can carry her to a doctor, if you know of one who’ll attend her.”

  Juliana sighed. Would Doctor Verns be willing to help a trollop? Would he even be awake at this hour? “I dare not move her unless we are sure to find one who will agree to help. She could have broken bones, damaged organs. She may not survive the journey.”

  The woman gathered a bowl of water from the dilapidated chest of drawers along with several not-so-clean rags, and set them on the bed stand. “Please ’elp ’er, miss.”

  Rolling up the lacy sleeves of her gown, Juliana went to work cleaning the wounds as best she could, ensuring Abilene was breathing well, and checking her pulse. But it was weak, terribly weak. No doubt from the loss of blood still dripping onto her pillow, despite Juliana’s attempt to stop it. The gouge in her head was deep and would need stitches at best. Another cut on her arm wouldn’t stop bleeding either. And the poor lady was still unconscious.

  “We need a doctor.” Juliana tossed a bloody rag into the bowl and wiped her forehead with her sleeve.

  The woman stared at Juliana, the tears in her eyes glittering in the light of the candle she clutched in her hands. “You ’ave to do something.”

  A noise drew Juliana’s glance toward the door, where she was surprised to see the pirate had remained. With his brow furrowed and his jaw tight, it seemed he actually cared for the injured prostitute. But that couldn’t be.

  She faced Abilene’s friend again. “I believe she has internal injuries. And I can’t stop the bleeding.” Juliana hesitated, her heart a heavy lump, but it was best to speak plainly. “If we don’t get her to a doctor, she will die.”

  The woman broke into sobs, and Juliana went to comfort her, when the click of the door brought her gaze up to see Mr. Pirate leaving. Of course. Why wouldn’t he abandon her? No doubt he had treasure to plunder, rum to drink, and other women to rescue. Who could trust a pirate, anyway? Yet with his departure, all her remaining courage left as well. She was alone in a brothel atop a tavern filled with treacherous men. All alone with a dear friend who, before the night was spent, would most likely die in her arms.

  Chapter 13

  Descending the stairs two at a time, Alex landed on the final tread and scanned the heads of the milling crowd, searching for one of his men. There, by the long oak bar talking to one of the serving wenches—Maine, his rigger from the Vanity. Sticking two fingers inside his mouth, Alex gave the whistle he oft blew aboard his ship—a loud shrill sound that rose over the clamorous din and even sent the parrot flying across the rafters. A few heads popped up and glanced his way, but it was Maine who stood at attention immediately, his eyes scouring the throng until he spotted Alex and headed his way.

  He glanced up him. “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Go fetch Jonas. Tell him be quick about it. And bring his medical supplies.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n.” The young man nodded then scurried through the crowd and left. If he was disappointed about having his evening entertainment interrupted, he didn’t reveal it. Alex demanded loyalty both on and off the ship. And in return he treated his men fairly and captured them many prizes. Prizes that also kept Lord Munthrope in his lavish lifestyle, among other things. Yet Alex found the fine clothes, culinary delicacies, beautiful home—all of it—trite and unfulfilling.

  As he took in the riotous crowd, gulping down spirits, fondling strumpets, cheating at cards, bragging and shouting and strutting about in an exaggerated display of their egos, he wondered if they felt the same emptiness inside as he did. Were they simply putting on a show, feigning their enjoyment of life, fooling others and mayhap even themselves? Or did doubloons and immoral women and the freebooter’s life truly satisfy their inward yearnings? If so, then ’twas not they who were the deviants of humanity, but Alex.

  Turning, he started back upstairs, refusing one of the lady’s offers to join her in a room. Even the occasional company of a female had lost its appeal. Had all the pleasures promised by life been naught but a lie?

  He made his way down the hall and bounded up the second stairway. What wasn’t a lie was Miss Juliana. No other lady would have been so brave in the middle of a bawdy house, hearing and seeing things no lady should. Then she’d faced the mutilation of her friend—all the blood and horror and pain—without swooning. Instead, she’d cleansed the wounds as if she attended such injuries every day. Half a smile lifted his lips. What a woman.

  When he opened the door, she swerved about, the lace of her lavender skirts drifting over the stained floor like a swan over a cesspool. Shock flashed in her eyes. Had she really believed he would abandon her?

  “I thought you’d left.” She turned around and continued dabbing a cloth on Abilene’s face.

  “Gwen!” A male voice echoed from below, and the woman standing on the other side of Abilene jerked. “Gwen, get down ’ere, ye buxom wench!”

  The poor woman instantly tightened. “I ’ave to go, but I’ll be back.”

  “Thank you, Gwen.” Juliana smiled and nodded. “We’ll take good care of her.”

  “God bless ye, miss. An’ ye too, milord,” she said as she passed Alex and closed the door behind her.

  “Why did you return?” Juliana knelt beside the bed, her tone both harsh and hopeful.

  “I called for my surgeon.”

  She gazed up at him, her brows dipping. “Your surgeon? Oh, I see. Your pirate surgeon.”

  He crossed arms over his chest, amused by her d
isdain. “Shall I call him off?”

  “Nay, forgive me. You are trying to help, and I’m being rude.” She drew a deep breath. “I’m simply tired and worried, and I don’t see how a pirate butcher can help, but—” She faced him again, a look of contrition on her face. “I’m sure this surgeon of yours is better than nothing.” She sat on the side of the cot and stared at the bloody cloth in her hands. A breeze stirred golden wisps about her neck as candlelight caressed her cheek. Even with the blood splattered about her, she truly did look like an angel dropped into the midst of hell.

  “You’ll find him quite capable, milady. He has saved the lives of many of my crew.”

  “After your plundering and rapine brought them injury,” she mumbled in disgust.

  Lud, the vixen’s tongue! Alex bristled, unaccustomed to being insulted. “Indeed. ’Tis part of the vocation.”

  “Pirating is no vocation, sir.” Her eyes met his, and fear darted across them as if she just realized she was alone with a notorious pirate. She glanced at the closed door, beyond where a harpsichord and fiddle competed with the drunken shouts of men. “Why are you helping me? What is it you truly want, Mr. Pirate?” Rising, she circled the cot, placing it between them and lifted her chin in an attempt to appear unafraid, though her hands trembled as she dipped the cloth in the basin of bloody water.

  He longed to tell her the truth, that he’d been watching her for years, that he found her a refreshing enigma among the frivolous women inhabiting the island, that she fascinated him, intrigued him, stirred his dead soul to life.

  Instead, he merely gestured toward the injured woman and said, “I will gladly tell you, milady, if you will tell me who this trollop is and why you care so much about her.”

  Releasing a ragged sigh, Juliana wrung out the cloth and held it to the wound on her friend’s head. “Her name is Abilene Hastings.” Hesitating, she wiped moisture from her eye. “We met at a soiree at King’s Hall. She and her parents had just arrived in Port Royal. Her father was sent by the king to ensure his interests were being looked after properly. Her mother was famed for her beauty and charity. Good people. Noble and honorable.”