The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  Alex nodded his agreement, then caught himself. The Pirate Earl would not have associated with such highborn people. However, he remembered the Hastings well, though they seemed to go out of their way to avoid Lord Munthrope. Which only reinforced Juliana’s good opinion of them. However, if he remembered, the couple had succumbed to one of the many tropical diseases lurking about the island and died soon after they arrived.

  “Abilene was not like the other ladies on the island,” Juliana continued, easing onto the cot beside her friend. “She was humble and kind, not pretentious or shallow. She truly cared about others. We went everywhere together: strolls along Fisher’s Row, horseback riding on the mainland, shopping at the Merchant’s Exchange. She even made attending droll soirees tolerable. When my mother died, she was there to comfort me.”

  At this she stopped. Her lips tightened, and she seemed to be trying to control her emotions. Alex wished for nothing more than to take her in his arms.

  But then she continued. “Her parents got sick—yellow fever, they said—and within a few months they were both gone.” She withdrew the cloth. “Apparently, unbeknownst to Abilene, her father had amassed an enormous debt, and the creditors devoured what was left of the estate. With no family here or back home, Abilene had nowhere to go. I begged her to come stay with me, but her foolish pride refused any help.”

  Alex’s stomach sank. He could guess the rest.

  A pistol shot thundered from below. Juliana’s shoulders jerked up as her eyes, brimming with tears, snapped to the door. Alex moved to stand before it in a gesture to reassure her of his protection.

  She dropped the cloth in the basin. “She allied herself with a gentleman”—the features of her face grew tight—“or a scoundrel masquerading as a gentleman, who promised her employment as a house maid, when in reality he sold her as a prostitute to visiting emissaries in exchange for a better post in Barbados.”

  Alex clenched his fists. “Where is this gentleman now?”

  She wiped a tear away. “He’s long gone. Along with the emissaries.” She caressed Abilene’s hand. “Too ashamed to face anyone, she refused to come home with me. Said she was soiled, ruined, and that no decent home would hire her now. And without a skill, she had but one recourse.”

  Juliana glanced at him, her eyes glassy and sharp. “’Tis unfair for a woman, Mr. Pirate. We are completely at the mercy of the men who provide for us. Should that provision be taken away, or should they abuse us or deny us our living, what are we to do? What was Abilene to do?” She raised her friend’s hand and placed a kiss upon it. And Alex wondered if she spoke from personal experience as well as for her friend.

  His throat burned at the sight of her devotion to the lady, her willingness to risk her life to care for her.

  “I would rather die than subject myself to the life of a trollop,” she said.

  Alex longed to approach her, to comfort her and tell her what a saint she was, but he dared not trust himself with this woman. Not alone. And not when she was so vulnerable. “She is fortunate to have you as friend.”

  “Is she? I fear there is not much I can do, save bring her trifles now and then and comfort her with empty platitudes.”

  “It is enough,” he said. “It is more than most would do.”

  She barely nodded, then looked up and searched his eyes intently. “Now it is your turn, Mr. Pirate. Why are you helping me?”

  “Milord Pirate, if you please.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck, thinking of a clever response, when the door opened, pushing him aside, and in walked Jonas, medical satchel in hand.

  ♥♥♥

  The butcher surgeon actually appeared somewhat agreeable. And clean. No gaudy mismatched clothing, no rotted teeth, no glimmering baubles. No weapons, save for a cutlass at his side. In fact, his light hair was short cropped, the whiskers lining his jaw neatly trimmed, and an unsoiled white cravat bubbled over his stylish gray doublet. After a quick scan of the room, he nodded to Mr. Pirate, “Good evening, Captain,” then brushed a glance over Juliana before centering on Abilene. Another pirate—one who looked the part—entered behind him and shut the door.

  “What happened?” The surgeon knelt before the bed and laid a hand atop Abilene’s forehead.

  “She was beaten.” Juliana rose to her feet.

  “Jonas, this is Miss Juliana Dutton. Miss Juliana, Jonas Nash, my ship’s surgeon.”

  Mr. Pirate’s polite introductions reminded her to ask him how he came to speak so well. Her heart suddenly tightened. And know her name!

  Shoving aside her alarm, Juliana focused back on Abilene and gestured toward the wound on her head. “I cannot stop the bleeding.”

  “Has she woken?” Prying her lids open, Mr. Nash examined her eyes.

  “Nay, not since we’ve been here.”

  “Very well.” He glanced at the bowl of bloody water. “I’ll need your help removing her bodice and skirts.” He swung to face Mr. Pirate. “Leave or turn your face, Captain, if you please. And you, Maine, go fetch some water and rags.”

  The surgeon’s take-command attitude, and the fact that he seemed sober, did much to allay Juliana’s fears.

  Maine darted out while Mr. Pirate surprisingly obeyed and faced the wall.

  An hour later, after the butcher surgeon poked, prodded, stitched, and mended, Juliana slouched on the bed beside her friend and took her limp hand in hers. Mr. Nash cleaned the blood from his hands as best he could in the dirty water, then stretched his back and moved to the window, no doubt to clear his nostrils of the same metallic stink that had also taken residence in Juliana’s nose.

  Mr. Pirate spoke up first from his seat by the door. “What say you, my friend? Will she live?”

  The surgeon drew a deep breath and faced them. “Broken ribs, bruised liver from what I can tell, but no other internal injuries of note. I stitched up the gash on her head and the one on her arm, but what worries me is that she hasn’t woken. A concussion, most likely. And she’s lost a lot of blood. If she is allowed rest and receives good fare, she should recover in time.”

  “How is she to receive either in this place?” Juliana shook her head.

  “She must.” Mr. Nash tossed dirty tools into his satchel, then took one last swipe of a cloth on his forehead before facing his captain. “Corson is ill. If you’ll permit me, I should return to him.”

  Mr. Pirate nodded. “Thank you, Jonas.”

  “Miss Dutton. A pleasure.” He bowed toward her.

  “I don’t know how to thank you, Mr. Nash. You saved her life.”

  To that, he merely smiled, plopped his castor atop his head, and left, closing the door behind him. Leaving her alone again with the notorious Pirate Earl. Though the notoriety of his carnal exploits she could hardly imagine, his behavior toward her had been monkish thus far. Unless he was the type to lure a lady into his trap with kindness. If the raw masculinity of his presence and the intensity of those piercing eyes weren’t enough to send a feminine heart aflutter, surely saving the life of a good friend would send a weaker woman swooning in his arms.

  She was not a weaker woman.

  He was a pirate—a thief and liar by nature. And she’d had her fill of untrustworthy men. Tearing her gaze from him, she studied Abilene, bruised and swollen but bandaged and sleeping peacefully now. “I cannot leave her here. Who will look out after her?”

  “Do not fear, milady,” He approached, each thump of his Cordovan boots increasing the beat of her heart. “I will arrange for her care. Several of the ladies here are in my debt.”

  “I can well imagine they are, milord.” She spat out with disgust, glad for the reminder of his character.

  He stopped within a foot of her, unruffled by her insinuation. Forsooth, did anything ruffle this man? The air heated between them. He lifted his hand. To do what, she did not stay in place to discover. Stepping aside, she busied herself with collecting bloody rags. “But surely the owner of this place will demand payment.” A price she’d be willing to pay, o
f course—if she had any extra funds. Mayhap she should just bring Abilene home. The woman was in no condition to argue at the moment.

  “Have no care, the room will be paid for, and I will send word to you of her progress.” The depth of his voice rumbled through the chamber, a trumpet of assurance and comfort.

  She gathered the rest of the rags, then dropped them in the basin, searching her mind for an explanation for his charity. He wanted something from her. But what? She had no wealth, no land, no real position. And if he’d wanted her purity, he’d have stolen it already. Hearing him approach once again, she spun to face him. “Why would you do this? What sort of pirate are you?”

  “A successful one, it would seem.” He gave a rakish grin.

  “At thievery, I’ll not gainsay it. But what of the raping and murdering your reputation expounds?” She slammed her mouth shut. Fool! Why remind the man?

  “I have my moments.” He closed the distance between them, running a forefinger and thumb down the sides of his mouth as his grin remained. A spark of familiarity shot an image of Munthrope into her mind, but she shook it off.

  Heart thumping against her chest, she inched to the side, hoping to skirt around him. “Men fear you. Entire throngs of pirates obey you with one word. And yet you care for an unknown prostitute.”

  With one move, he blocked her path, trapping her against the dresser. “Nay, milady.” Before she could stop him, he ran the back of his fingers over her cheek. They felt rough and strong and smelled of smoke and Madeira wine. “I care that you care for her,” he whispered in her ear.

  His gentle touch left her breathless, and she hated herself for it. Imprisoned by the sheer strength and size of him, she was at his mercy. He could do whatever he wished with her. In this place, no one would hear her scream or care if they did. She should be frightened. Why wasn’t she? She closed her eyes.

  The heat and strength of him enveloped her. Warm, spicy breath drifted over her cheek … onto her lips.

  She snapped her eyes open. His mouth was but inches from hers. She jerked from him. The wooden knobs on the chest of drawers stabbed her back. “How dare you! I am betrothed.” She attempted to get past him, but he took her by the wrist.

  “Indeed?” His right brow rose, lifting a scar on his forehead. “Then why does your fiancé allow you to wander the streets at night?”

  “He doesn’t know where I am.” She struggled against his grip.

  “Hmm.” He caressed her check once more. “’Twould seem a man who can’t take care of such a precious treasure hardly deserves to keep it.” He released her.

  She found no mocking within his deep blue eyes—eyes that lured her into their depths with the promise of protection and comfort. Nay. She tore her gaze away. ’Twas the spell of a demon or warlock, that was all.

  A swath of gray illuminated the window. Dawn’s ribbon of light eased over the ledge and into the room before landing on the man. Taking a step back, she faced him, chin raised.

  “I am no man’s treasure, Mr. Pirate! Besides, what would you know about deserving—”

  She gasped, staring at his face. “What, pray tell, is that white paste on your cheek?”

  Chapter 14

  Alex clutched Juliana’s hand, halting her before she touched the white residue on his face and realized it was the paste Port Royal gentry used to make themselves appear pale and unblemished. Turning aside, he brushed it off. “’Tis only sand.”

  Lud, he’d have to be more careful.

  Fortunately, Gwen returned at that precise moment, giving Alex an opportunity to slip downstairs and make arrangements with ol’ Gengis, the tavern owner, for the room above, as well as procure some of the doxies’ help in caring for Abilene. After ensuring no further paste remained on his face, he returned, and under much protest from Miss Juliana, dragged her away from her friend.

  “’Tis nearly dawn, and your footman has no doubt woken from his stupor and will be worried about you,” he announced as they descended the stairs.

  She didn’t reply, just trudged numbly beside him down into the main room. Though a few hardy souls still nursed mugs of rum and a man in the corner mumbled a dour tune, most of the patrons lay draped over chairs and tables, unconscious. Snores replaced the raucous din of the night, save for a few lewd comments some of the pirates tossed their way as they passed—comments about their supposed “activities” upstairs—comments Alex hoped Juliana was too tired to hear.

  Unfortunately, the lady didn’t miss much. Her tiny gasps and the red hue creeping up her face were evidence of that. The fresh morning air seemed to revive her as she halted on the porch and speared him with her gaze. “You should have corrected those men. They are now under the impression that we … that I …” She looked away, the red deepening on her face.

  “That we know each other in the biblical sense?” He grinned.

  “How dare you say such a thing?”

  “We have spent the night together, milady. Why put on such airs?” The morning sun transformed her eyes into fiery turquoise.

  Snorting, she proceeded down the steps and into the street. “I have a reputation to uphold, Mr. Pirate, even if you do not.”

  “Milord Pirate, if you please. And trust me, ’tis best they think you belong to me.”

  “I belong to no man.”

  “I suggest you inform your betrothed of that immediately.”

  Halting again, she tightened her lips in that frustrated, patronizing way of hers. “Mr. Pirate, you have been a great help to me this evening. A hero who came to the rescue of not only me but my dear friend Abilene. Though I fail to understand your reasons, I owe you my gratitude. But now, however, I fear we must part ways. You have your life here among the verminous hooligans, and I have my life”—she paused and stared into the distance—“somewhere else. Good day to you, sir. I shall find my way home.” With that, she spun in a swish of skirts and flounced down the sandy road.

  What an adorable, delightful woman! Alex fell in step beside her, taking liberties with his gaze as the first rays of the sun slipped over the horizon and showered glittering light upon this angel who dared stroll through the streets of hell. A pink glow hallowed the delicate layers of her hair, while the luster of pearls woven amidst the strands faded in comparison to her tresses of spun gold. Roses bloomed on a face tinged by the sun, her flawless complexion marred only by the shadows hovering beneath her eyes. And what eyes! Azure blue with streaks of green that matched the color of the water caressing Jamaica’s shores. The blood splattered on her lavender gown only endeared her to him more. The woman was a saint. Alex felt like a filthy troll as he strolled beside her, a supplicant begging her favor.

  And he’d never been good at begging.

  Upon finding him beside her, she gave an exasperated sigh, but at least she made no further attempts to be rid of him.

  They finally found Mr. Pell, who was, indeed, in a dither having woken to find Miss Dutton gone. The relief shouting from the footman’s bloodshot eyes was nearly comical. After assisting her into the carriage, and receiving a rather snub look from Mr. Pell, Alex watched them drive away. The carriage wheels cranked and screeched down the sandy lane, and he found himself longing for one last glance from Miss Juliana. If she would but look his way, it would give him hope that mayhap she harbored a smidgen of affection for him. He’d happily settle for such a trifle. Which was why he stood staring after her like a fool. The carriage was nearly at the end of the street when the lady turned in her seat, shielded her eyes from the sun, and glanced his way. Alex couldn’t help but smile. So, she did find him intriguing. It was a start. A start toward what, he had no idea, but just being with her made him feel like a better man. Mayhap it was possible, after all, that a lady like her could redeem a wicked pirate like him.

  ♥♥♥

  Two days later, as promised, Juliana opened the door of her home and received a missive from a rather slovenly-looking fellow, who tipped his hat above a leering grin before turning and stu
mbling back down the steps. It was from Abilene. She was recovering, well taken care of, extremely thankful for Juliana’s help, but wanted her to promise she would never set foot down by the docks at night again. Not for her. Not for anyone. She signed it, Affectionately your friend always, Abilene.

  Juliana wiped a tear away. ’Twould that the stubborn woman would accept more of her help, would come home with Juliana, allow her to care for her. Though how Juliana could feed another mouth, she had no idea. Business was down. A few of her father’s long-standing customers had switched to Masters Shipping for the transport of their goods. Nervous, no doubt, in the absence of her father’s presence in town. Dutton Shipping was but one summer squall or one pirate attack away from folding completely. How had Father stood the pressure?

  Coughing spiked down the stairs from above. Not well, apparently. Was it the stress or his crotchety personality that had opened the door to such a gruesome illness? An illness that leeched away more of his life every day, according to Dr. Verns who had bled the man just that morning.

  Folding the note, Juliana slipped it inside the pocket of her skirts and headed back toward her father’s study, where a stack of documents awaited her. Up at dawn, she’d barely gone through a quarter of the writs of lading, and it was already noon. Her eyes hurt, her neck ached, and she longed for a nap. But at least not everything was bad news. Rowan had nearly recovered from his beating, and now Abilene was on the mend as well. She quietly thanked God for the small blessings. Mayhap caring for the orphans and risking her life for Abilene had won her a speck of favor with the Almighty.

  Unbidden thoughts of the Pirate Earl barged into her mind. Again. Truth be told, she couldn’t stop thinking of him. The way he’d protected her, called his surgeon, paid for the room, and hired women to care for Abilene. The way he looked at Juliana with those penetrating eyes the color of the deep sea—as if she was more precious than all the doubloons he’d ever pilfered. The way her insides inflamed when he’d caressed her cheek. Shameful! Why did he affect her so? She moved to the French doors and hugged herself, staring out into her mother’s garden.