The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  But that rest didn’t last long, as Munthrope soon returned.

  “What have you done with him?” She grasped his outstretched hand and rose, wincing at the blister forming on her toe.

  “Done? Begad, you make it sound so nefarious, sweetums.” His mischievous grin shocked her. “I merely deposited your Mr. Kinder in the company of four elderly ladies who are enamored with his tales of merchant adventures.” His blue eyes twinkled. “Or ’tis mayhap because they are all on their fourth cup of rum punch.”

  Juliana gave him a coy look. “You are quite the scoundrel, milord.”

  “Alack, you have found me out!” He winked and adjusted the red silk bounding from his throat, then waved at a passing acquaintance.

  For the next two hours, Juliana remained by Munthrope’s side, all the while keeping an eye on Kinder, who seemed to flourish beneath what must surely be an unusual outpouring of female attention. More than once, Munthrope excused himself to offer the man and his companions another round of drinks, ensuring on her behalf that Mr. Kinder forgot all about her father. Why he was being so kind, she couldn’t say. That it touched a tender spot in her heart, she dared not admit.

  So they mingled among guests, nibbled on treats, and even took in a minuet in which Munthrope’s usual entertaining style brought the crowd to laughter. Flamboyant in every move, with jeweled hands hefted in the air like a bird about to take flight, his white pasty face with that infernal horse patch over his right eye, and his cheeks and lips stained red, Juliana should have found his company irritating. Instead, she found it comforting. There was an authority, an assurance, behind the satin and lace she could not explain. Her nerves unwound, her breathing calmed, and thoughts of impending doom vanished when she looked in his eyes. Eyes of deep blue with specks of gray that reminded her of another man—a man opposite in every way from Lord Munthrope—the Pirate Earl. She’d been unable to shove the dangerous villain from her thoughts this past week, and had, much to her shame, secretly hoped to see him when she checked on Abilene. What a fool! How God must be frowning down upon her for such unscrupulous desires.

  “So, sweetums, where is this mysterious father of yours?” Lord Munthrope handed her a glass of punch Madeira and drew her away from listening ears. “And why do you wish to keep Mr. Kinder from him?”

  Delaying her answer, she sipped her wine, but her throat seemed to close, causing her to choke. “Father is home, if you must know,” she managed to say. “He finds these affairs dreadful and didn’t wish to see Mr. Kinder. In fact, he ordered me to keep him here.” Fie, another lie! Now, she truly was going to hell. How many good deeds would she have to perform to cover up two lies in the same night?

  “I fail to see why your butler cannot simply turn the man away.”

  Because her butler was on an errand, and the only other male servant who could stop Mr. Kinder from barging in was Mr. Pell, who was no doubt deep in his cups by now. “I fear Mr. Kinder can be quite persistent.”

  “Persistent, I’ll not gainsay it, but still”—he cocked his head and fingered a curl of his periwig—“something else is amiss, I fear?”

  Juliana gaped at him, taken aback by his discernment, and then by the look of concern in his eyes. Oh, how she wished for someone to confide in, someone to lend a caring ear. “If you must know, our family business has suffered a few setbacks of late,” she blurted out, then bit her lip, suddenly regretting the disclosure. But the worry lining his face bade her continue. “Father has been taken ill with worry.” Only a half-lie this time, but it provided an excuse for why the man never appeared in public.

  Munthrope took her hand in his. “I am truly sorry to hear of it. Mayhap there is something I can do to help?”

  “Nay.” She pulled back her hand, flustered at the comfort of his touch. “I beg your pardon. I should not have mentioned it.”

  “I should hope at the very least we could be friends, milady.” His voice lowered a bit, and there was a seriousness to his tone that sent confusion spinning through her.

  She gave a little smile but said nothing.

  He frowned and stared across the chattering mob for several seconds before pulling his watch from his pocket and glancing at it—for at least the tenth time in the past hour.

  “Perchance, am I keeping you from some other engagement?” she asked, teasing.

  He gave a nervous laugh. “Nay, just wondering where Lady Cransford is. ’Tis past eleven, and I’ve not seen glimpse nor glance of the birthday lady. And we must have the cake before everyone leaves.” Munthrope drew his lips tight, stretching the mole at the corner of his mouth.

  “Milord, ’tis so unlike you to fret so.” Juliana studied the momentary flash of intensity that made him look almost authoritative as he stood there scanning the throng. “I imagine Her Ladyship wishes to make a grand entrance. You know how ostentatious she is.”

  He gazed at her curiously before a limpid gaiety overtook his features. “Oh, indeed! Indeed! I make no doubt!” He winked at her as he belted out a rhyme. “I simply do not wish people to pout and go out.”

  Juliana felt a twinge of disappointment at his silly behavior. “Go out? When have you known this crowd to abandon a lively affair such as this? Why, I doubt anyone will think of leaving for hours.”

  Chapter 20

  “You’re late.” Larkin sneered as Alex fell in step beside him, breathless from running across town.

  “Couldn’t be helped.” Alex gripped the pommel of his sword and quickened his step. Street lanterns cast flickering skirts of gold onto the soggy ground, where an early mist formed.

  “What is it you do, Captain, when you’re not on board the ship?” Larkin cast him a sideways glance.

  “Same as the rest of the crew: drinking, wenching, gambling. What else?” No one but Jonas knew of Alex’s alternate identity, and he intended to keep it that way.

  “Yet I rarely see you in any of the bawdy houses around town.” Larkin’s tone taunted.

  Ahead, raucous music spilled from one of those bawdy houses, along with a throng of drunken men, doxies draped on their arms. Across the street, two men clashed blades in some mindless altercation. This was Alex’s world. A world of darkness, violence, and debauchery. The world he’d plunged into after he’d realized God was but a myth. Yet it hadn’t taken him long to realize that the happiness promised by wealth, women, and pleasure was also a fable.

  Larkin chuckled. “Aha, I have it. ’Tis a lady. Aye, it must be a lady who occupies your time.”

  Alex snorted. If the man only knew.

  “Some genteel beauty stashed away in a mysterious mansion.”

  “A mansion in Port Royal?” Alex snickered. “You dream too much, Larkin.” Desperate to change the topic, he scanned the buildings that rose out of the darkness like tombstones in a misty graveyard. “Where are the others?”

  “Waiting at The Three Mariners as you ordered.” Larkin brushed dust from his black coat and dipped his plumed hat at a passing group of giggling strumpets. “I have no need of a genteel lady when I have my pick of any of these luscious fruits.”

  Indeed, the man spoke the truth. There wasn’t a fallen woman in town whom the sailing master hadn’t sampled. And continued to sample. Why, then, had Alex grown so bored with it all while Larkin seemed more invigorated with each passing month?

  Thankfully, the conversation was cut short when they came upon his men—at least twenty of them—standing in the shadows beside the tavern, pistols and swords at the ready. The long sturdy plank Alex had told them to bring leaned against the brick wall beside them. Nodding his approval, he gave them final orders for their mission—a mission that, if he admitted it, stirred his blood to life. Finally something to break the tedium.

  Though Juliana was doing a fair job at that. Unfortunately, he’d been forced to slip away from his own soirée with instructions for Whipple to keep the crowd occupied in his absence. Bad cess to it! Just when Juliana seemed willing to tolerate the doltish Lord Munthrope. He only
hoped she would forgive him. But if all went well, he’d be back within the hour, and none would be the wiser.

  Bare-masted and unsuspecting, the Midnight Fortune rocked idly at the end of King’s Wharf. If not for Port Royal’s deep harbor, the brig would be anchored at a distance in the bay, and they’d be forced to take a boat to board her. As it was, they needed to only leap onto her deck from the wharf.

  “There are ten guards above deck,” Larkin said. “All armed.”

  Alex nodded as he checked the pistols stuffed in his baldric.

  “But we don’t know how many is below,” Riggs added.

  Thunder growled in the distance. “There will be more,” Alex said. Nichols would probably stuff the hold with Royal marines. “You all know what to do.”

  “Aye, Cap’ns” whispered through the midnight fog.

  Riggs, knapsack over his shoulder and lit cigar betwixt his lips, hobbled down the long wharf, effecting a drunken stumble that would fool the most hardened souse. Keeping to the shadows, Alex and his men followed at a distance. A half-moon cast a milky glow over whiffs of fog icing the bay as a gust of chilled wind loosened hair from Alex’s queue. He only hoped his father’s tale of how his men had rescued him on the way to Execution Dock had been true. If not, the smoke grenades would possibly cost Alex and his crew their lives.

  He knelt behind a stack of crates at the edge of the dock and gestured for his men to do the same. Silent as the grave, they waited, gripping swords and pistols, anticipation strung tight in the air between them. Lightning wove a silver thread across the dark sky.

  “You there,” a heavy voice shouted from down the wharf. “Aye, you. You aren’t allowed on this dock. Begone with you, man!”

  Riggs’s slurred reply came fast, “What d’ye say thar, my friend?”

  “I ain’t your friend. I said begone with you, you drunken swine! Or I’ll put a hole in your arse.”

  Laughter rang from the ship.

  Riggs let out a loud belch. “Apologies, sir. I was lookin’ fer me cat. Have ye seen me lost kitty, Puffins?”

  A chorus of chuckles followed—along with the cock of pistols as the men pointed their weapons at Riggs. “Go on now. Yer cat ain’t here.”

  Riggs waved a hand in their direction. “Very well, gents. Stay yer tempers, now. I’m leavin’. Can’t a man look fer his cat wit’out bein’ threatened fer life and limb?” He stumbled, tripped over his own feet, and plopped to the wharf with a thud, causing more laughter to fill the air.

  Alex tensed. He glanced at his crew, their breaths heavy in the misty air. His best fighters, courageous all. He only wished Jonas were by his side. Though the man abhorred violence, for a sail-maker-turned-doctor-turned pirate, he possessed more skill with a sword than Alex had ever seen.

  Muttering, Riggs twisted away from the ship in a feigned attempt to rise, reached into his knapsack, lit a grenade with his cigar and tossed it toward the Midnight Fortune. A good ten yards. But he made it. The hollowed-out two-pounder landed with a thunk on the wooden planks, sizzling like pig fat on a griddle. The stunned guards merely stared at it as the wick burned down, giving Riggs the chance to light and toss another one.

  Alex gave the signal. He and his crew burst from behind the crates, carrying the plank between them as the first grenade exploded. Thick smoke enshrouded the guards. Yellow flashes peppered the air as shots cracked the night sky, directed toward Riggs. But he was no longer there.

  Alex and his men slammed down the plank between the dock and bulwarks, then ducked as the second grenade exploded. Boom!

  Curses and shouts shot from the gray cloud. Drawing his cutlass, Alex led his men over the plank into the waist of the brig. Riggs followed, lighting another grenade as he went. Smoke stung Alex’s eyes. He blinked and coughed as his men let out a war cry that would frighten the bravest soldier. Riggs dropped the grenade down a hatch, then started to light another.

  The disoriented guards were easy to find bumbling about the deck, rubbing their eyes and spewing curse after curse. Easy to find and easy to strike unconscious with the hilt of Alex’s sword. Two more explosions rocked the brig. Smoke billowed from the hatches. A flurry of red coats buzzed on deck like angry bees from a hive. At least fifteen well-armed and well-trained Royal marines. Raising his blade, Alex took on the first man.

  During the next few minutes, clinks and clanks rang through the darkness, joining grunts and screams and the occasional crack of a pistol. Sweat streamed down Alex’s neck, dampening his shirt. He’d already taken care of three marines. A quick glance across the deck showed Spittal in a fierce battle with two men. Alex headed that way, when a tall major came at him, blade raised. Alex swung low at his opponent, who, though young, wielded his sword with a fair amount of skill. The boy blocked the strike and shoved Alex back. Their hilts locked in battle. Both grunted. Alex twisted his cutlass and drove the man to the side.

  Swooping in from the left, the major intended to catch Alex off guard with his speed, but Alex leapt out of the way, swung about, and spanked the lad on the rump with the flat edge of his sword. His chuckle seemed to infuriate the boy further. He charged Alex like a bull, nostrils flaring. Alex met his parry with full force. The chink of their blades chimed into the night.

  Sweat stung his eyes. Thunder bellowed in the distance. Alex shifted to the right and dipped his blade low. The major shrieked as a line of red appeared on his white breeches. He backed away, eyes seething. A breeze tossed the lapels of his red coat.

  All around Alex, his men battled with swords and knives and some with fists. Grunts and groans bounced over the deck as their enemies dropped unconscious to the wooden planks. He’d instructed his men not to kill unless necessary. And he could see they were obeying. All but Larkin, who had declared that he “saw no need in saving men whom they may have to fight in the future.”

  A flash of light brought Alex’s focus back to the fight at hand. He met the lad’s slash and shoved aside his blade. Then, having his fill of this tomfoolery, Alex grabbed the backstay, swung onto the bulwarks, and leveled the tip of his cutlass at the boy’s back. The young major dropped his sword and raised his hands as a barely noticeable tremble shimmied down his body. Leaping to the deck, Alex circled the man, pressed the tip of his sword to his chest, and pushed him toward the railing. “How about a little swim, Major?”

  The man stared at him as if he were joking, but then quickly scrambled over the railing and dove into the bay.

  Pain seared Alex’s left arm. He swung about and met the point of a blade hovering over his heart.

  “So this is the great Pirate Earl,” the marine said between heaving breaths. Lightning flashed over his sweaty face. “Not so hard to catch, after all.”

  “At your service.” Alex dipped his head even as he wondered whether the man realized his men were all but defeated and he was surrounded by pirates.

  The marine ran a sleeve over his forehead. “I should run you through right here, but I’m under command to bring you in.”

  “I find your exemplary obedience to my liking, Lieutenant.” Alex smiled.

  Over the man’s shoulder, he saw Bait creeping toward him.

  A scream and a splash sounded as yet another man was tossed overboard.

  Alex held out his hands. “I insist you clap me in irons at once.”

  The man’s brow wrinkled. He pressed his sword deeper on Alex’s chest. It pierced his leather jerkin, causing a prick of pain. “You are either a madman or a fool.” The lieutenant snorted.

  Alex cocked a brow. “Mayhap both.”

  Bait slammed the handle of his pistol on the man’s head. With eyes rolling backward, the lieutenant crashed to the deck.

  Thanking his friend with a slap on the back, Alex assisted his crew with the rest of the marines, and soon they had the men who were still conscious bound, gagged, and lined up against the bulwarks like a firing squad.

  Ignoring the looks of hatred flung his way, Alex leapt down the companionway, which was still h
azy with smoke, and made his way to the captain’s quarters. Riggs and Larkin followed. There, they met one lone marine guarding the door, but at the sight of three armed pirates, he quickly surrendered and was escorted above.

  “Yer wounded, Cap’n,” Riggs said after he groped through the darkness, struck flint to steel, and lit a candle on the captain’s desk. He held the light up to the bloody sleeve on Alex’s arm. Caught up in the excitement, Alex had all but forgotten it, though now the pain begged his attention. “’Tis nothing.” He tugged the cravat from his neck and tied it around the wound. Not deep, but he’d have Whipple dress it later. “Now let’s find this treasure, shall we?”

  He didn’t have to issue the command twice before Riggs and Larkin began tearing the cabin apart from the deckhead above to the deck beneath their feet and everything in between. Once they found the pearls, Alex would let the rest of his crew loose in the hold to gather whatever else of value they could find. Either way, they would have to act fast before Nichols discovered his plan had been foiled.

  A few minutes later, their search revealed the object of their quest—a lockbox stuffed behind a bottle of port in a drawer of the captain’s oak desk. Plucking Riggs’s boarding hatchet from his belt, Alex struck the lock and opened the box. Dozens of lustrous pearls stared up at them.

  “You would think they’d have kept such a grand treasure better protected,” Larkin said, rubbing his hands together. “Especially if they knew we were coming.”

  “’Tis precisely because Nichols knew we were coming that he believed the pearls secure.” Alex picked up one of the gems. “The poor man has so little respect for pirates.” He chuckled as he held a pearl to the light and saw his image reflected back at him from a creamy smooth surface that was perfectly round. Good quality.