The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  “Of course.” He sobered and took her hand in his. “Nary a word ’twill escape my lips.”

  She gave a sigh. “Now if you don’t mind. I am quite busy.”

  Alex risked a serious tone. “Is there something I can do to help, sweetums? Is there some problem you need advice on?” He resisted the tug of her hand, desperate to hold it awhile longer.

  She stared at him, searching his eyes, a longing in hers that nearly forced him to confess the truth of who he was and reassure her all would be well. But he feared her hatred more than anything. He feared it would be his undoing.

  For a second, he thought she would unleash her burdens on him and receive his help, but then she shook her head as if remembering he was but a buffoon.

  “It would help me if you would leave.”

  His heart collapsed. And for the first time, he truly loathed himself. “Mayhap later? A ride through town? Supper at my home?” Anything to see her again and offer his comfort.

  “I’m afraid I cannot, milord. I promised to visit a sick friend.” She ushered him out the door onto the stoop.

  “Pray tell, who?” He twirled about, rubbing forefinger and thumb on the sides of his mouth. “Should I accompany you?”

  “Nay, ’tis but an old friend, Miss Abilene.”

  He started to insist that he escort her, when she spit out a “Good day, milord” and closed the door with a clap.

  Running a shipping business or not, there wasn’t a saint’s chance in hell he would allow her to venture to The Black Dogg alone.

  Chapter 23

  Oh, fie, how had the day gotten away from her? Juliana had meant to set out much earlier in the afternoon for The Black Dogg, but Abbot had returned and she’d become entangled in keeping the accounts on Mr. Kinder’s recent shipment. All was in order, save the missing pearls, of course. Mayhap Mr. Kinder would accept payments? Nay, he didn’t seem the type to be that obliging. In fact, he had pounded on their front door late that afternoon for nigh twenty minutes before she heard him curse and march away. She hated being so rude, but what else could she do?

  Clutching her satchel to her chest, she glanced at Mr. Pell bumbling along beside her. The useless footman had already been too fuddled with rum for her to trust him driving the carriage, so she’d asked him to accompany her on foot in a pretense of safety she didn’t feel in the man’s presence.

  Yet it was only five o’clock. Though the sun hung low over the horizon, they still had a few hours before it dipped into the sea, luring out the vermin that occupied the port at night. They turned down Queen Street, and Mr. Pell released a putrid belch.

  “Pardon me, miss.” He slogged beside her.

  “At least try to pretend you aren’t inebriated, Mr. Pell. For both our sakes.”

  He grunted, attempted to obey by steadying his teetering, but only managed to trip over his own feet.

  It may have been better if she hadn’t brought him at all. Besides, God would protect her as he had done each time she’d visited the docks on a mission of mercy. Her thoughts snapped unbidden to the Pirate Earl. She hadn’t seen him in more than a week. What an enigma the man was. She still couldn’t sort out what he wanted from her, nor why her insides turned to mush in his presence. Did he think of her as much as she thought of him? Unlikely. No doubt he had many other women to occupy his time.

  Two-story homes with white-gated yards gave way to warehouses and storefronts, the Merchant’s Exchange, and then the customs house as the strong smell of fish and the sea swept over her in a welcoming breeze. Perspiration slid down the back of the modest muslin gown she’d donned so as not to draw unnecessary attention.

  An impossible feat once they turned onto Thames Street from which wharf after wharf extended into the turquoise harbor like brown teeth in a gleaming mouth. Lined with taverns, punch houses, brothels, and shops, this was where every sailor and pirate squandered his pay and prizes on useless trinkets and dissipated living.

  Dozens of eyes from those same men now latched upon her like grappling hooks, following her every move down the sandy street. Most of their comments were lost to the wind, thank God, but a few hit their mark, causing a flood of heat to rise up her neck.

  Mr. Pell took no notice. Instead, he gazed longingly at a barrel of Kill-Devil rum that had been rolled into the street from a tavern and into which men dipped their mugs for a flip of a coin. Juliana should release the incompetent footman. But what would stop him then from telling everyone in town that she was managing Dutton Shipping on her own?

  Adjusting her parasol to shield herself from prying eyes, she glanced over the glistening harbor, where ships of all sizes and shapes teetered in the choppy water, while others sat bare-masted, tied to the docks. Half-castes, their backs open to the sun, carried crates and barrels to and from the languid ships, while bare-footed mulattos scurried about selling fruit and rum to new arrivals. The crank of carriage wheels and stomp of horses’ hooves joined the cacophony of shouts, curses, waves slapping against pilings, and the distant clank of a hammer on iron.

  Stepping over a pile of horse droppings, Juliana stopped before The Black Dogg, not nearly as ominous-looking in the daylight as it appeared at night. She gripped Mr. Pell’s arm as he led her inside—or rather wobbled her inside. Muddled sunlight sifted in through grimy windows, revealing the tavern for what it was. Not a dragon’s lair filled with frightening specters but a dreary room filled with stained, chipped tables covered in melted wax and spilt liquor. Bugs joined rats nibbling on food droppings on a floor that stuck to one’s shoes with each step, while a few patrons lay asleep in their own vomit. Behind the long counter, the proprietor stared at them dreary-eyed.

  “We ain’t open yet,” he growled.

  “I’m here to see Abilene.” She deposited Mr. Pell in one of the chairs, praying this beast of a man would allow her upstairs.

  But the scowl on his face suddenly lifted. “Yer the Pirate Earl’s lady. Aye, aye, o’ course.” He poured rum into a glass, his demeanor instantly one of a servant. “Head on upstairs, miss. I’ll tend to yer man.” He scrambled around the bar, drink in hand, much to Mr. Pell’s utter glee.

  Wonderful. By the time she came back down, her footman would most likely be under the table. But she didn’t wish to impugn the owner’s attempt at hospitality, nor inform him she was not the blasted Pirate Earl’s lady.

  “I thank you, kind sir. I shall return anon.” Thankfully all was quiet upstairs. No moans or groans penetrated the doors of the rooms she passed on her way to the third level. By the time she entered Abilene’s room, her nerves had settled. Especially when she saw her friend sitting up in bed, the color returned to her cheeks. And a huge smile on her face when she saw Juliana. A bruise darkened one of her cheeks and one eye was still swollen, but otherwise, she looked well.

  “Hello, Abilene.” Setting down her satchel and parasol, Juliana scooted a chair close to her friend and sat, nodding at a red-haired woman who wrung out a cloth over a basin beside the bed.

  “She gonna be all ri’, miss. A tough one, she is,” the woman said. “I ’xpect she’ll be back to ’erself in jist a few more days.” She hung the damp rag over the back of a chair and headed out the door, shouting to Abilene. “I’ll check on ye later, dearie.”

  “Thank you.” Juliana called after the woman before turning to her friend. “Seems you have been well taken care of.”

  Abilene took Juliana’s hand in hers and smiled, though the effort seemed to cause her pain. “Because of you. You saved my life.” Her brown eyes brimmed with gratitude.

  Juliana shook her head. “Nay, ’twas … ’twas … a friend”—was the Pirate Earl a friend?—“and his doctor.”

  “Aye, so I heard.” A twinkle now appeared in those eyes. “Is it true what they are saying, Juliana?”

  She didn’t know what they were saying. Didn’t want to know. “No matter about that. How are you feeling?”

  “Achy and sore, but stronger every day.”

  “Are y
ou getting enough food?”

  “More than enough. Why, I’ll be as fat as a Christmas goose if don’t get out of bed soon.” She laid a hand on a belly that was still far too thin for Juliana’s liking.

  “Fat or not, you are staying right here until you are completely well.”

  Clanging bells and shouts rode in through the window on a gust of heated air, stirring up the stale smell of sickness.

  Abilene stared down at her stained nightdress. “I don’t want your charity, Juliana. Especially not since your father has taken ill.”

  Juliana squeezed her hand. She’d forgotten she had told her friend about her father. “’Tis not my charity.” Which reminded her. She must find this Pirate Earl and pay him back. The last thing she needed was to be indebted to a thief and scoundrel. Mayhap that had been his plan all along. Then he could demand repayment in whatever form he chose. A shudder claimed her at the thought.

  “So, ’tis true then,” Abilene said, leaning back on the bed frame as if she suddenly grew tired. “My benefactor is the infamous Pirate Earl.” Her brow crinkled in concern. “But what is he to you?”

  “Truth be told, I have no idea. He seems to have formed some sort of attachment.” Juliana adjusted the pillows behind her friend’s head, trying to shove the vision of the handsome pirate from her mind. “Nothing to concern yourself with. We must get you well and ensure this never happens again.”

  “It won’t. At least not from that fiend Riley.”

  “Why?” Juliana sat back. “What happened to him?”

  “Beat to nary a spark of life left in him. Or so I heard.”

  “Indeed?”

  Abilene nodded, studying her friend. “You must be careful of this Pirate Earl, Juliana. I know he appears charming and intelligent, even civilized, but he’s not the sort of man you want to cross.”

  Charming, intelligent, civilized. Yes, he did appear to be all those things, along with protective and kind. Juliana swallowed. Yet she must not forget how he made his fortune: from murder, rapine, and thievery.

  “In fact, you shouldn’t have come here at all,” Abilene continued, struggling to sit. “’Tis not safe.”

  Juliana forced her back down. “My footman is downstairs and ’tis not yet dark.” Rays from the setting sun speared through the glassless window. She gripped both of Abilene’s hands and leaned toward her. “I wish you would come home with me, Abilene. I’ve plenty of room.”

  Abilene lowered her chin. “It is too late for that. How can I face anyone after what I’ve … what I’ve become. Nay, I can never go back.” She paused as if trying to force back tears. “But your friendship means the world to me, Juliana.” She lifted glassy eyes. “You are the only one from my past who doesn’t turn their nose away in disgust.”

  “How could I ever do that? You are my dear friend.” Juliana lifted Abilene’s hands to her lips as emotion burned in her throat. “I can’t stand to see you live like this.”

  “’Tis my lot, I fear.”

  Juliana closed her eyes, wondering why God allowed such things to happen to his children. Was Abilene even his child anymore? Would the sinful life she’d been forced into forever keep her from heaven’s gates? Juliana couldn’t bear the thought.

  Instead, she diverted the conversation to more cheerful topics, and they passed the next hour giggling at the silly antics of the city’s elite—including Juliana’s feigned betrothal with Lord Munthrope. However, the easy camaraderie that had always existed between them soon caused Juliana to spill all her current troubles to her friend, especially her father’s worsening condition and the problems with Dutton Shipping. It felt good to confide in someone who cared, who understood, and whom she could trust.

  “You were always so smart, Juliana. It surprises me not that you are able to stand in for your father and make a success of things.”

  “That’s just it. Success seems rather elusive of late. And I don’t know how much longer I can keep up the ruse.” Rising, she struck flint to steel and lit the lantern on the table to chase away the shadows. If only she could chase away her problems as easily. “Mayhap I shall be forced to join you here before too long.” Juliana voiced her greatest fear. Abandoned by everyone. Left on the streets to rot.

  “God forbid, my dear friend.” Abilene’s voice spiked with fear as she tried to rise, wincing in pain. “God forbid. Never! I won’t allow it.”

  Juliana darted to her side, but the sound of boisterous laughter from below brought both their gazes to the door. “It darkens.” Abilene gripped Juliana’s hand. “You should get going.”

  Juliana nodded, saddened at the thought of leaving her friend in this place. “Oh, I nearly forgot.” Opening her satchel, she pulled out a blanket, an old gown, some tallow candles, and a copy of The Works of Sir John Suckling.

  Abilene received them with a smile, then shooed Juliana out before she could protest further.

  With each tread of the stairs downward, her heart cinched tighter in her chest. The bawdy house was already brimming with patrons. An unkempt gentleman banged a tune on the harpsichord in the corner, while barmaids hoisted drinks on trays to thirsty customers. All eyes sped to her as she took the final step.

  Mr. Pell was nowhere in sight.

  Gulping down her fear, Juliana raised her chin and proceeded through the crowd as though she belonged there. Oddly, though the men gaped at her as if she were covered in gold, they made no move toward her nor uttered a single vulgar suggestion. Before she knew it, she stepped onto Thames Street and expelled a huge breath. The last remnants of the sun streaked saffron and magenta across the horizon, but soon the brilliant colors were swallowed up in gray as Juliana, heart still in her throat, gripped the high collar of her bodice and headed down the street.

  Like cockroaches lured by the shadows, the port filled with an infestation of sailors, pirates, Navy men, and women of the night. A horse and rider clomped down the street, a carriage ambled by, bells tolled, hawkers shouted their wares, and off-pitch music blared from punch houses and taverns. The smell of manure and spirits assailed Juliana as she ducked beneath the covered porch of a butcher shop and prayed no one would pay her any mind.

  No one did. They stared, some leered, but not a single man bothered her. She was about to turn the corner to make her way to Queen Street, when a man decked in tight leather breeches and jerkin, sporting a plumed castor, stepped into her path. Even in the shadows she could make out the mischievous grin of the Pirate Earl.

  The jolt of her heart betrayed her. “Oh, ’tis only you.” She kept the treasonous joy from her tone, while she cursed herself for her attraction to this ruffian.

  “A pleasure to see you again as well, milady,” he said in that unmistakable deep voice that never failed to melt her insides. He made a deep obeisance with a sweep of his feathered hat.

  She brushed past him, knowing he’d follow as he always did. “I suppose I have you to thank for not being accosted.”

  “I accept your gratitude, paltry as it may be.” He slipped beside her, the magnitude of his presence speeding up her heart.

  “’Twould seem you have great power in Port Royal, Mr. Pirate. Perchance you could use it for less nefarious purposes.”

  “Milord Pirate, if you please, and alas, I believe I am. In protecting you.”

  She halted beneath a street lamp and studied him in its light. Coal-black hair stretched behind him in a tie, save one strand dangling over his forehead. Strong, shadowed jaw, aquiline nose, and lips that seemed stuck in a perpetual smirk. “I refer to halting your pillaging and plundering, sir.”

  His eyes twinkled. “One must start small on the road to redemption.”

  “And does bludgeoning a fellow pirate to near death suffice as a great start on this journey of light?” She tapped the tip of her parasol in the dirt.

  For a moment he seemed perplexed. “Ah, you speak of Riley.”

  “Yes, Riley.” She planted a hand at her waist. “You nearly killed him.”

  “Ne
arly being the operative word. And ’twas not me but my men who, dare I say, embellished a bit on my instructions.” With finger and thumb he eased down the sides of his mouth, shooting a spark of familiarity through her.

  And befuddling her mind. Still, hadn’t Riley gotten what he deserved? She sighed. “It is unclear whether I should chastise you or thank you.”

  “Milord!” a man shouted from across the street.

  Mr. Pirate nodded in return before he faced her again. “I much prefer your thanks.”

  His grin disarmed her. Clutching her skirts, she started walking again. Not because she wished to leave this man but because of the way he was looking at her.

  As if she were a rare treasure he’d forfeit his life to protect.

  “However, I do believe the weasel got the message,” he said, keeping her pace. ”I won’t allow women to be thus treated in my town.”

  “Is it your town now?” She chuckled.

  “Parts of it. The parts that you insist on visiting after dark.” One brow lifted below a scarred divot in his forehead. Odd. ’Twas the same spot Munthrope always wore that silly horse patch. Why did she always think of that ninny when the Pirate Earl was near? Made no sense.

  She frowned. “I was visiting Miss Abilene, if you must know. She looks well.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.”

  Stopping, she faced him. “’Tis due to your kindness, Mr. Pirate, though I have no idea why you would care for the wellbeing of a tavern wench.”

  “That kindness, milady, as foreign as it may seem for pirates, I owe to you.” He rested his hand on the hilt of the cutlass hanging at his side. “I fear you bring out what little good remains in my dark soul.” His tone lacked its usual taunt.

  “Have a care, Mr. Pirate, I may reform you yet.” She dared to smile.

  “That is my undying hope.”

  His eyes pierced hers, the intensity within their blue depths sending her stomach awhirl.

  What was she doing? She looked away. “Nevertheless, only God can cure a dark soul. I suggest you seek him out.”