Besides, he could not bear the thought of what that villain would do to his own daughter. Perhaps Merrick should keep Charlisse prisoner after all. He smiled as the rum began to take effect, warming his body and allowing sensuous thoughts to drift through his mind. He shook his head, ashamed. “Lord, help me,” he whispered into the evening breeze. He knew he should pray more. But tonight, he also knew he intended to drink more, and the two did not seem to mix
♥♥♥
Several hours passed, and Charlisse lay in bed, eyes swollen, unable to sleep. She left the lamps lit in case the captain returned. If he was going to continue threatening her, better to endure it in the light. She had come to realize that, in addition to all his other alarming qualities, he was a man with a quick temper and a propensity for drink. From her experiences with her uncle, she knew that explosive combination all too well.
Hope drained from her and a numbness took its place. She lay there wide-eyed, staring at the door, musing over the night’s events and the shocking news of her father. How could she believe Merrick? Yet why would he lie? If he wanted to keep her with him, he would not hide behind some false sense of chivalry and solicitude.
Yet she had no one in this world except her father, and therefore no recourse but to refuse to accept Merrick’s words. After all, her father’s letters were all the proof she needed. She had read them, and they were filled with longing and love and tender words, words that gave her hope and a belief that no matter what kind of person he had become, he would still love her.
The door creaked open. Charlisse darted up, ready to defend herself against the captain’s temper. But the face appearing from behind the heavy slab caused her to release a sigh of relief. It was Kent. However, his initial smile twisted into a malicious grin as he closed the door behind him, looking like a cat who had just cornered a mouse.
Chapter 19: Kent’s Fury
Kent bowed graciously. “Milady.”
“Master Kent.” Charlisse wiped tears from her face and rushed toward him, casting an anxious glance at the door. “How did you get out of the hold?”
Kent fingered his mustache, his eyes alight with mischief. “The captain released me.” He lifted his brows. “I suppose he saw the error of his ways.”
His hungry gaze scoured her. Charlisse felt a twinge of apprehension, but wouldn’t let it squelch the hope that had sprung upon his entrance. True, the man had challenged Merrick, but no doubt he had his reasons. Whatever they may be, they didn’t preclude him being the gentleman he seemed to be. Should Merrick not reconsider his stance, perhaps Kent could help her escape when they got to Port Royal.
Charlisse swirled around, wringing her hands. “I’m afraid the captain is a bit angry with me at the moment.”
Boots thumped on the wooden floor and two strong hands clutched her shoulders. “Indeed, he can be a brute, as you have no doubt witnessed. Quite a savage, if you ask me. Why you wouldn’t believe the number of women he’s enslaved in this cabin over the years. Ah, the atrocities.”
Alarm spiked through Charlisse, sending her heart into a rapid beat. Somehow she could not believe that, not of the captain, not after the respectful way in which he’d treated her.
Kent leaned down. The scent of rum and leather assailed her. “That is why I’m here—to treat you in the manner a true lady deserves.” His warm breath washed over her neck.
Jerking from his grasp, Charlisse stepped back. A lewd desire burned in his eyes that she’d not noticed before. “Perhaps you should leave. Merrick said he was returning shortly.”
“Is that so?” He approached her, hand on his chin, staring off into space. “Hmm …” His eyes came alert. “I believe you are mistaken. I have just seen him—quite inebriated, I might add—up on deck singing into a bottle of rum.”
Charlisse began to tremble.
“Surely he has passed out by now.” Kent flung a jeweled hand in the air. “So unlike our pious captain, don’t you think?”
Charlisse inched backward.
Kent’s dark eyes perused her. His broad chest heaved, and his muscled arms twitched near the cutlass hanging at his side. He moved toward her. Charlisse’s insides crumbled.
“I will scream.” She leapt on the bed and darted off the other side then backed against the window.
“Go ahead, milady. No one will hear you. Everyone on this ship has passed out. Even your friend Sloane is fast asleep.”
He pounced on her. Charlisse screamed. He covered her mouth and dragged her toward the door. She groaned and grunted under his heavy hand. Still no one came.
His skin pressed between her teeth and she bit down. Kent jerked back. He backhanded her cheek, sending her flying to the floor. “I’ll teach you to bite me, wench!”
Heat radiated across her face. She tasted blood and stared at the floorboards, panting, a thousand terrifying thoughts passing through her mind.
He yanked her to her feet. Pain lanced her shoulder as he dragged her to the desk. Grabbing one of Merrick’s scarves, he stuffed it in her mouth and tied it behind her head. She struggled, but he was too strong. Swinging her over his shoulder, he headed out the door and down the stairs.
They passed several sleeping pirates. Charlisse squealed, grunted, and groaned, but they did not even stir. She pounded his back, but she might as well be striking steel. Where is Merrick? Where is Sloane? This can’t be happening.
At the bottom of the stairs, Kent carried her down a narrow aisle. He arrived at a closed door, kicked it open, dropped her onto a pile of lumpy burlap sacks, and slammed the door behind him.
“Hmm, you were more trouble than I expected,” he said, loosening the neckerchief at his throat. He began to unbutton his doublet.
Charlisse’s eyes darted around the room, looking for anything she could use to defend herself. Only crates, drums, and sacks met her gaze, and they were no match for Kent’s weapons. Pulling the scarf from her mouth, she screamed.
Kent smiled, wearing a look of insolent victory. “They won’t hear you down here.” He threw his pistols onto a crate. They clanked against the wood, out of Charlisse’s reach. “In fact, soon you will be screaming with delight, I assure you.”
He slunk toward her. Charlisse backed away. How familiar this feeling was. How many times had she felt cornered, trapped like a fish in a net, weak and defenseless? How many times had she been unable to control what was happening to her, unable to hide, unable to turn off the horror?
Kent drew his knife and leaned over her.
“Please don’t,” she implored in a last-ditch effort to appeal to any core of decency within him. But his eyes were cold and intent.
“Maybe I can’t have the captain’s ship just yet, but I can have his woman.” He leveled his knife at her throat and sliced her gown down the front.
Charlisse thrashed beneath him, kicking and clawing. She pounded him with her fists. But he only laughed at her efforts. A trickle of blood stained her bodice as he cut through the lacings.
“Now look what you’ve done.” Kent’s smile faded.
Grabbing her by the remnants of her gown, he lifted her and ripped it from her body, leaving her clad in only her torn petticoat. He pushed her down and climbed on top of her, pinning her arms to the floor with his weight. His rum-drenched breath fanned over her face. His eyes were filled with rage.
Charlisse couldn’t move. She was going to be ravished, and there was nothing to be done about it—no one here to rescue her, no one who even knew where she was, except perhaps God. If he existed. Yet hadn’t she cried out to him more than once since she’d left London? Somehow, she had survived each of those treacherous events. Had he answered her prayers or was it merely luck? “God, help me,” she whispered.
A blast exploded. The door burst open, slamming against the wall. The splintered floorboards vibrated beneath Charlisse’s back. Terror screamed from Kent’s face before he was lifted off her and thrown backward. He hit the wall with a thud. His knife flew from his hand. Merrick charged
him, holding him against the wall by the sheer force of his wrath.
Charlisse sat up and covered herself with the remnants of her gown.
Merrick threw Kent across the room. He tumbled over a crate but quickly righted himself. His furious eyes scanned the room, searching for his knife. He whipped out his boarding ax and barreled toward Merrick with the fury of a wild animal.
The captain drew his cutlass to stop the oncoming blow and sliced Kent’s hand. The ax flew through the air. Weaponless, Kent rushed toward Merrick and slammed his shoulder into Merrick’s body. The two men careened against the far wall. Merrick’s cutlass fell from his grasp and clattered to the floor.
Kent pummeled Merrick in the stomach. He slugged him in the jaw. The captain doubled over.
Terror gripped Charlisse. Get up, Merrick! Get up! Please don’t leave me alone with him!
The first mate stood over his captain, panting and gloating. He raised his hands to land a final blow on Merrick’s back. The captain, in a burst of rage, sprang up and struck Kent hard across the face. His head swerved, spurting a circle of blood.
Merrick backed him against a tall stack of crates. He clutched the first mate’s shirt and thrashed his head over and over against the hard wood.
“I didn’t do anything to her!” Kent yelled.
Sloane burst into the room, a look of horror on his face. Merrick continued pounding Kent’s head against the wall. The first mate’s body flopped lifeless with each thrust, but Sloane made no move to stop him. Charlisse had to do something. No matter what kind of monster Kent was, she could not watch him be battered to death.
She grabbed one of Kent’s pistols still lying on the crate. Dropping her torn dress, she lifted the heavy weapon with both hands and pointed it at the ceiling. Turning her head, she closed her eyes and squeezed the trigger. Nothing happened. The pounding continued and Kent’s moans grew softer. She shook the pistol and tried again. This time it exploded with a loud crack and a burst of flame that forced her backward. The weapon flew from her hands and landed with a clank, still smoking. The sharp smell of gunpowder filled the tiny room.
Both the captain and Sloane swerved around ready to face a new opponent. Sloane grabbed the hilt of his cutlass, ready to draw, but stopped when he saw Charlisse. She retrieved her dress and stood trembling.
Kent slid to the floor. Merrick’s breath heaved as his gaze moved from Charlisse to Sloane and back again.
“How did he escape?” Sloane asked.
Merrick shook his head and took a step back. “Don’t know,” he huffed. “Take him and lock him up. Post a guard this time.”
Nodding, Sloane lifted the battered Kent and helped the man stagger from the room.
“Are you hurt?” Merrick rushed to Charlisse and reached for her, but she retreated.
She could not stop her body from trembling. She had so resigned herself to the fate of Kent’s violation that even when Merrick tossed the fiend from her, her mind could not accept her deliverance. Too many times had she cried out to God for help and too often been disappointed. Now, surely she must be dreaming.
Her champion stood before her, but she could only see the unrestrained rage in his eyes that had almost killed Kent. It did nothing to comfort her.
His breath came hard. Sweat glistened on his chest. Fury shouted from his eyes. Every muscle strained taut, ready to strike. He took a deep breath and shoved his hair back before holding his hand out to her again. “I won’t hurt you.”
Charlisse hesitated, searching his eyes, wanting to trust, needing his comfort and protection more than anything, but still so unsure. Holding her torn dress up to her chin, she shivered, feeling her legs begin to give way.
Merrick’s eyes, normally mischievous and taunting, now carried a warmth she had not seen before. But was it genuine? She could not survive trusting another man only to be betrayed.
Chapter 20: Stolen Virtue
Charlisse flew into Merrick’s arms. Tears flowed down her cheeks as the tight knot within her unwound.
“Shhh. You’re all right now.” Merrick rubbed her back, engulfing her in his strong embrace. “I’m so sorry.”
Charlisse tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault, but the words would not come. All she could do was lean her head on his chest and sob, letting all the tension and terror of the night drain into the warmth of his strong arms.
Merrick lifted her chin and wiped the hair from her eyes. “Let’s get you back to the cabin.”
When they pulled apart, blood stained Merrick’s shirt. Alarmed, he grabbed her again. “You’re hurt?”
“It’s nothing.” She backed away, clutching her gown to her throat.
His jaw clenched as he walked to one of the crates and pried it open with his knife. Pulling out a quilt, he handed it to her. “Wrap yourself in this.” He turned his back.
Tossing her tattered gown aside, Charlisse enfolded herself as modestly as she could in the blanket and came up beside Merrick. Her legs wobbled. She fell against him. He started to usher her from the room but instead swept her up in his arms and carried her to his cabin
♥♥♥
“I need to find you proper clothes,” Merrick said, laying her gently on the bed, “and some salve for your wound.” He held her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. When he turned to leave, she would not let go.
“Please don’t leave me alone.”
Her eyes pleaded with him, revealing a vulnerability he’d never seen before. She needed him. His heart warmed. “Of course.”
After closing the door, he moved a chair closer to the bed and sat down. He held her outstretched hand and brought it to his lips, then gently caressed her arm. She tensed at first, but after a few minutes, she began to relax. Her skin was so soft. Despite his attempts otherwise, Merrick’s pulse rose and his body heated.
Anger and shame consumed him, diverting his fury inward instead of toward Kent. The young first mate would probably never change. But Merrick. Merrick knew better. He had left Charlisse alone, defenseless, while he was off overindulging in rum—something he had not done in years. There was no excuse for it. Have I really changed? Or am I the same reckless cad I always was?
It was one thing to allow his wickedness to bring trouble into his own life, but quite another to hurt someone else—someone who depended on him for protection. How could he ask her to forgive him? How could he forgive himself? And not just for what had happened with Kent, but for the thoughts that now sped across his mind. Every fiber of his being yearned to touch her, to hold her. He prayed silently for strength, shifting his position, and forcing the desires from his mind.
“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he said. “I shouldn’t have been drinking.”
“There’s no way you could have known.” She glanced at him, her blue eyes still brimming with tears. “You saved my honor, and quite possibly my life. How can I blame you?”
“Then,” Merrick hesitated. “He did not … ?” When Merrick had burst into the room and saw Kent on top of her, he had never felt such rage. The condition of her dress made him wonder if he was too late.
She shook her head.
“Thank God.” He sighed.
“A few more minutes, though …”
He wiped a tear from her eye. “Let’s have no more talk of it.”
Someone tapped on the door. Merrick bolted from his chair, grabbed one of his pistols, and shoved it into the top of his breeches. With the recent mutiny, Kent’s attack on Charlisse, and the inebriated condition of the crew, he wasn’t taking any chances. He opened the door slowly, then breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Sloane’s cheerful face.
The old pirate handed him his cutlass. “Thought ye might be needin’ this, eh?”
Merrick took it, remembering that he had left it in the storage room, not caring about anything but Charlisse after the battle had concluded.
In his other hand, Sloane carried a tray. “Some tea fer the miss, to calm her nerves a bit?”
Merrick moti
oned him to enter. “What would I do without you, my friend?”
“Har, methinks ye’d be in sore shape.” Sloane chuckled, nodding at Charlisse as he set the tray down. “Some chamomile tea fer ye, miss. I bin savin’ it fer a proper moment, an’ this seems as good as any.”
Charlisse sat and wrapped the quilt tightly around her. “Sloane, you are an angel.”
He poured the steaming liquid into one of the cups and handed it to her. “Are ye all right?”
She nodded, taking the cup with shaking hands, nearly spilling the hot tea over its brim.
“That cuckoldy jackanapes! Why, I’d send his innards flyin’ off the bow o’ this ship if I could.”
Sloane turned to Merrick, flashing stern eyes of condemnation. Merrick grimly returned his stare, knowing full well he alone was to blame for the atrocities of the evening.
Grabbing a bottle of rum, Sloane poured a splash into Charlisse’s tea before she could protest. “It’ll help calm yer nerves.”
Taking a sip, she coughed, then thanked him.
“Well, I best be lettin’ ye get some sleep.” Sloane patted Charlisse on the shoulder. “Ye’ll feel much better in the morn, ye’ll see.” He headed out the door, turning to face Merrick before closing it.
“Kent?” Merrick whispered.
“All locked up, Cap’n, an’ I set Shanks on guard. He ain’t goin’ nowheres.” He gave Merrick a furtive glance, scratched his thick beard, and left.
The captain closed the door and faced Charlisse.
She sipped her tea. Her shoulders lowered slightly. Perhaps the warmth of the rum was beginning to sooth her frayed nerves.
“Sloane is a good man,” she said, her voice shaky.
“I know.” Merrick approached her.
“I can’t say I’ve ever met a kinder gentleman.”
Merrick chuckled, his gaze drawn to the tangled mass of golden curls that fell over Charlisse’s back. Unable to keep his hands away, he reached up to caress them. “I dare say poor Sloane has never been called a gentleman before. I think he would find it amusing to hear you say so.”
The Redemption (Legacy of the King's Pirates Book 1) Page 13