The Ransom: Legacy of the King's Pirates

by Marylu Tyndall

  Curse her wastrel brother. Alex took up a pace. If Rowan had been an honorable, hard-working man, he could have taken over the business, and Juliana’s future would not be at stake. Curse Nichols for locking Alex in this infernal prison! Curse Larkin for his betrayal! Halting, Alex shook the bars until the iron cut into his skin and blood dripped down the spokes. Juliana needed him now more than ever, and he was as helpless as one of the cockroaches skittering across the wall. Even worse. For he was locked behind an iron gate. The loss of his freedom, a fate worse than death.

  At least tomorrow, he would be free.

  Sinking to the damp floor, he leaned against the wall and drew up his knees. Cold stone seeped into his skin, sending a shiver through him. How had he ended up in this horrid place? The great Pirate Earl. The invincible master of the seas. He snorted. Not so invincible after all. He wondered where his father and mother were at this moment. Still in England dealing with family business? He wished he could see them one last time, to say goodbye and tell them how sorry he was that he couldn’t be the preacher they’d hoped he would be. More than anything, he regretted the depth of their suffering when they would discover he’d been hanged for piracy. They would wonder where they’d gone wrong. How a child raised in such a godly, loving home could have strayed so far from the faith.

  They would not find the answer, for Alex had none himself. No excuse. His parents had loved him. They’d instructed him, guided him, cared for him. He had fond memories of sailing with his father and sword-fighting with his mother. Aye, he chuckled. Odd as it sounded, Lady Charlisse was quite good with the blade. Problem was, those memories were few. Most of the time, his parents had been gone. “Saving the pirates,” they had said. “For God.”

  If Alex were honest—and a man about to die always was—he supposed he’d grown up not liking this God who’d stolen so much of his parents’ time. Even so, when his father had sent him to Port Royal to preach and care for the orphans, Alex had truly wanted to succeed. He’d wanted to make his father proud. Mayhap then they could all sail the Caribbean and preach to the pirates together—as a family.

  But God had not been with Alex as he’d always been with his father. The Almighty had not answered Alex’s petitions. He had not done what the Bible said he would: heal, deliver, save. Mayhap like Alex’s parents, God was off doing more important work. More important than helping him. Either that, or he did not exist at all. Which meant Alex’s parents had risked their lives, wasted decades of their time, and abandoned Alex and his sisters—all for naught.

  Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity.

  What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?

  Alex was surprised he remembered these verses from Ecclesiastes.

  For what hath man of all his labour, and of the vexation of his heart, wherein he hath laboured under the sun? For all his days are sorrows, and his travail grief; yea, his heart taketh not rest in the night. This is also vanity.There is nothing better for a man, than that he should eat and drink, and that he should make his soul enjoy good in his labour.

  Which was precisely what Alex had done. He’d forsaken this invisible God and plunged into a life of eating, drinking, and sensual pleasures. For if God was dead, what else was there? What other purpose was there in the short days of life than to seek to please oneself? If there was no judge, no afterlife, what difference did it make if Alex robbed and murdered and drank himself into oblivion?

  A bug scrambled across the sticky floor. He squashed it with his boot. “I did you a favor, mate.” For Alex had discovered, much like King Solomon in Ecclesiastes, that no matter how much wealth one had, no matter how many possessions, or power, or women, there was naught but emptiness. All was vanity.

  Until Juliana.

  Now, he’d give anything to live and spend his days protecting and loving her.

  He rubbed his forehead and squeezed his eyes shut. “Oh, God, what have I done? If you’re there, if you care, please help me.”

  It was the first prayer he’d uttered in four years.

  And just like with all the others, God was silent.

  The eerie drip of water continued, the flutter of cockroaches. The man two cells down belched loudly, and cursing echoed from somewhere deep in the prison. A rat approached Alex’s cell, stood at the bars on hind legs and sniffed, then dropped to all fours and went on his way. Even the rats couldn’t stand the sight of him. How could he expect God to pay him any mind?

  Footsteps sounded. Not the heavy boot of the guards but a soft pad that gave him hope Juliana had returned. But instead of her lovely face, a man approached. A simple man wearing a homespun shirt, faded breeches, and buckled shoes. Despite his common attire, he moved with the grace of royalty. Though he was short and spare, authority seemed to emanate from him as he stopped in front of Alex’s cell. A magistrate? A member of the Jamaican Council? ’Twould explain why nary an insult or jeer had been tossed his way as he’d passed the gauntlet of prison cells.

  Lantern light revealed an expression of kindness on his face, so foreign in this pit of misery and despair.

  Alex grew uncomfortable at the man’s perusal. “What do you want?”

  “I have a message for you, Alex.” The man’s voice bore the peace of his countenance.

  Alex leapt to his feet and approached. “From Miss Dutton?”

  The man merely stared at him, an odd approval, an odd welcoming, beaming from eyes that seemed brighter than most.

  “Well, spit it out, man. As you can see, I’m quite busy at the moment drowning in self-pity.”

  “He has never left you.”

  Alex eyed him. “Who?”

  “The One who knows all.”

  Alex blinked as his spirit leapt within him. But then releasing a heavy sigh, he turned away. Of all the prisoners to taunt, this muddle-brain had chosen him. He faced the man again, intending to tell him to go bother someone else with his lunacy … but the man was gone. Vanished. No doubt he’d slunk off as quietly as he had come.

  Alex shook his head. Just some guard heavy into his cups, ’twas all. But the man hadn’t dressed like a guard, hadn’t walked like a guard. His eyes had not borne the haziness of spirits, nor his words their slur. Alex rubbed his eyes. A foolish vision. Then why did his heart stir? Why did hope flicker within? Returning to the shadows, he sat back down, his thoughts awhirl with possibilities.

  “God?”

  Warmth flooded his chest and sent ripples down his spine. Warmth like he’d never experienced. Not a physical warmth but a sensation that went much deeper and woke up something inside him long since dormant.

  His breath crashed against his chest, his blood raced through his veins. “God?” Yet only darkness and shadows surrounded him. Still the warmth continued as if someone were embracing him. Tightly. Lovingly. Overcome with the sensation, he hung his head, closed his eyes, and began to pray.

  Chapter 36

  Juliana laid the cool cloth on Michael’s forehead, but it seemed to bear no effect on the heat radiating from his skin. Long past midnight, the light from a single lantern enhanced the lad’s sunken cheeks and pale face. His breathing was labored, he oft broke into convulsions, and Eunice said he hadn’t eaten anything but broth for days.

  “Oh, God.” Juliana dropped her head in her hands and allowed her tears to flow. “Please. If you answer any of my prayers, I beg you to answer this one. Please save this child. He has done nothing wrong. Please heal him and Mable and Gordon and Moses and Arabella.” Arabella being the last child inflicted by the strange disease. They’d placed these four in a smaller room, separate from the rest of the children, desperate to contain whatever ailed them.

  She thought of the story Alex had told her. How he’d fasted and prayed and begged God to heal one of the orphans, but the child had died anyway. Would God allow the same thing to happen now? “Where are you, Lord? Where were you then?” If God had answered Alex’s prayer back then, mayhap Ale
x wouldn’t have turned to piracy. And then he wouldn’t be facing a brutal death on the morrow.

  Her mother wouldn’t have died.

  And Juliana may still be living in the comfort of her home.

  So many possibilities, so many outcomes … if only heaven had not been silent.

  Footsteps jarred her from her prayer, and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting the children to see her weeping. But it was only Eunice, a tight robe wrapped about her plump frame and a look of exhaustion on her face.

  “I thought you were asleep.” Juliana took her hand as the woman lowered to a chair beside her.

  “Haven’t slept much since the children got sick.”

  Juliana stared at the ragged rise and fall of Michael’s chest. “I was praying.”

  “Always a good thing t’ do.”

  “I’m so sorry to burden you with my presence here.”

  “Burden?” The woman gave an incredulous snort. “We love havin’ you. The good Lord will provide somehow. He always does.”

  For the first time in her life, Juliana doubted that was true.

  “I still can’t believe that preacher, Mr. Edward, turned t’ piracy,” Eunice whispered, shaking her head. “Or that he is the son of an earl … or the son of Cap’n Merrick!”

  “You knew of Captain Merrick, his father?”

  “Knew o’ him? I met him once. He vis’ted Reverend Buchan as oft as he could. ’Sides, everyone on the island knew ’bout Cap’n Merrick.”

  “I wonder why Alex … Lord Munthrope …” Juliana groaned, “whoever he is, didn’t mention who his parents were when he took over the orphanage.”

  Eunice shook her head. “Beats the tar outta me. Ne’er told a soul who he really was. Jist plain Mr. Edward, a preacher from Carolina, was all we knowed.”

  “I suppose he had his reasons for not wanting people to know.” Juliana dipped the cloth into a bowl of water and wrung it out. “Mayhap he didn’t wish to be judged by his father’s reputation. Merrick left deep footsteps in which to follow, ’twould seem.”

  “Regardless,” Eunice sighed, gazing at Michael with worry, “it be a shame he be hanged tomorrow. Though I admit t’ bein’ right angry wit’ him, I don’t wish him harm.”

  Juliana’s throat tightened. Neither did she. In fact, she’d been trying her best not to think about it. Every time she did, her stomach vaulted, tears flooded her eyes, and her heart shriveled in such agony, she feared she’d be of no help to Eunice at all. She must remain strong. For the children. Besides, there was naught she could do. Save pray. And lately, her prayers seemed to fall like so much dust to the ground.

  A loud rumbling sounded, like an out-of -control carriage pulled by horses gone wild. The thunderous rattling grew louder. And louder still. The entire room quaked as if some mad giant shook the earth in a fit of rage. Pictures fell from walls. Books thudded to the floor from shelves. The chair Juliana sat on skipped over floorboards like a playful child. Glass shattered as the lantern slipped from the table and its flame sputtered out. Then all went dark. And silent.

  ♥♥♥

  With each word Alex spoke to the Almighty, with each whispered plea, each shameful regret, a sensation of hope and purpose burgeoned within him. Like a light chasing away the shadows, it advanced over his soul, filling him with a life he hadn’t felt in a long time. Words washed over him from the Scripture his mother had made him memorize as a child. Words from the lips of a God who loved His children enough to die for them. Words of promise: abundant life, protection, help during times of trouble, comfort, strength, and a Presence that would never leave. A love that would never abandon.

  The more Alex opened his heart to hear, the more the possibility rose that he had been wrong about this God his father worshiped. This God who was also a father. A perfect father.

  Boom!

  What sounded like cannon fire shook the prison. Bars rattled. Dust and rocks rained on Alex. The sandy ground shifted back and forth like dirt in a sieve. Alex was tossed on his side. Leaping to his feet, he teetered to the center of the cell just in case the walls caved in. A mighty roar stormed through the narrow hallways like a monster on the prowl. The stone walls groaned beneath the strain.

  Then all was silent.

  Coughing, Alex brushed dirt from his sleeves and batted the dusty air around him. He’d felt many tremors during his years in Port Royal, but none quite so violent. His thoughts sped to Juliana. Fear for her safety sent him dashing to the iron gate. To shake it loose, if only he could. To run to her and ensure her safety.

  He clutched the cold metal and pressed his forehead against the unforgiving spokes.

  To his surprise, the bars gave way and the door screeched open.

  The padlock fell to the dirt, steel split as though someone had taken an ax to it. He stared at it, benumbed. He must have fallen asleep while praying and was dreaming. But other doors squealed open. Laughter and shouts gorged the dank air as prisoners fled their cells and dashed for freedom.

  And Alex knew somehow, some way, God had freed him.

  ♥♥♥

  “What do you mean the Pirate Earl has escaped?” Juliana’s heart leapt at the possibility, even as her mind rejected the news. No one ever escaped from Marshallsea.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know, Misssss Dutton.” Captain Nichols shoved past her and staggered into the main room of the orphanage where Eunice and Juliana were having tea. After the quake, it had taken nearly an hour to settle the children back to sleep, but finally they all had drifted off, along with Isaac, leaving Juliana and Eunice too jittery to join them. When a knock had sounded on the door, Juliana supposed it was someone in need of help. Unfortunately, she’d been right. Just not the kind of help she could give him.

  Closing the door, she spun on her heels. A stain marred the naval officer’s normally white breeches, a gold button swung on a thread from his blue coat, and his cravat was untied and hanging to his waist. “You’re drunk, Captain.”

  “Indeed.” He dipped his head but nearly lost his balance.

  “I insist you leave at once, sir, and return when you are in better form.”

  At this, he let out a hearty snort. “Not until I find that scoundrel, the Pirate Earl!” Grabbing the only lit lantern from a table, he tottered through the room as if the ground were still shaking, peering into corners, beneath tables, and behind chairs. More than once, he tripped over one of the water pails lining the wall. More than once, he let loose strings of curses so foul, Juliana’s ears ached.

  Even so, his search fed a hope within her that he spoke the truth. Could Alex truly be free?

  The monkey scolded Nichols from the beams overhead, drawing the man’s gaze. Picking up one of their tea cups, he tossed it at the animal, muttering something about a filthy, uncivilized orphanage.

  As the cup shattered on the floor, Eunice slowly rose and exchanged a worried look with Juliana. Stepping toward the inebriated man, Juliana forced her sternest tone. “Captain, Alex is not here, I assure you. He is locked up at Marshallsea. I saw him there earlier today.”

  “Vistiting a pirate? Tsk, tsk, tsk, my dear.” He waved a hand through the air. “But what did I expect from a woman who has a vile insatuation with the fiend.” He belched. “Which is precessly why I’m here.”

  “I fear you are making no sense, Captain.”

  He peered into her face as if searching for her eyes. “The tremor opened the cell doors. Every lock broken.” He blinked, then staggered backward. “Unfathsomable.”

  Juliana bit her lip. Could it be? How could an earthquake cut through a lock?

  “Faith now, don’t prestend you haven’t heard.” He twirled around. “He’s here. And I will find him!”

  “I insist you leave at once, Captain. You’re going to wake the children.” She tugged on his arm, but he shoved her aside. Stumbling over a chair, she struck the far wall. Pain throbbed across her shoulders. Eunice scurried from the room.

  “Hiding a pirate! I’ll have y
ou sanged alongside him!” Nichols continued his tirade, starting for the serving room to the left. Juliana shook the dizziness from her head, thankful he went the other direction from where the children slept.

  Eunice returned with a sleepy Isaac, who immediately bellowed at Nichols. “Hold up there, sir. This is an orphanage, not a tavern. You are to leave at once!”

  Nichols faced him, his eyes swimming over him as if looking for anchorage. “I’m not leaving until you hand him over.”

  “Whoever you seek, sir, he’s not here.” Clutching Nichols’s arm, Isaac started for the door.

  But the naval captain was having none of it. He grabbed an iron skillet from a passing table and struck Isaac over the head. Screaming, Eunice dropped to the ground beside her husband. Juliana’s heart raced, her mind spun. She had to get rid of this man before he hurt the children.

  “Go get help, Eunice,” she whispered, pressing fingers atop a lump forming on the back of Isaac’s head. “I’ll distract him.” ’Twas the only way. Rising, Juliana stormed toward Nichols, who had opened the pantry and was tossing sacks of food to the floor. She shoved him in the back, sending him crashing into shelves, just as she heard the front door close. Thank goodness at least Eunice was safe.

  He swung about, teeth bared, and held the lantern to her face. “Pirate whore! And to think I wanted you for myself. I’ll not let that lecherous madcap slip srough my fingers again. Where isss he?” Pushing her out of the way, he stormed back into the main room, heading for the children’s sleeping quarters.

  But she couldn’t allow that to happen.

  Grabbing one of the knives from the table, she rushed after him. “Stop right there!” She pressed the tip to his back, all the while wondering whether she could actually stab a man. But it didn’t matter. The skilled naval officer twisted around and knocked the blade from her hand before she could find out. He gave a maniacal laugh, spewing rum-drenched breath over her face, murder in his eyes.