He reached through the bar and wiped it away, his expression softening. “It will be all right, sweetheart.”
Charlisse smiled at the endearment, temporarily forgetting her desire to question Merrick about her father.
Merrick’s glance landed on the reverend. “My friend,” he greeted him.
The reverend approached. “Haven’t we done this before?”
Merrick chuckled, nodding. “Indeed.” He clutched his friend’s hand. “You see, my dear,” he said to Charlisse. “Nothing to fret over. This is not so uncommon an occurrence. And as before, the good Lord will deliver me, eh, Reverend?”
“Let us hope so, my friend. Pray tell, Merrick, what happened, and what we can do to assist you?”
Merrick flashed an uneasy look at Charlisse. He took up a pace, raking his hand through his hair. He wore only a white shirt, black breeches, and calf-high boots. Yet even stripped of his weapons, he exuded fierceness. Turning, he sighed and glanced at the guard, who stood some distance away, before facing Charlisse. “I saw your father.”
“I know. Sloane told us.”
“And you didn’t question me immediately?” Merrick gave her a perplexed look.
Charlisse shook her head, unable to explain why she hadn’t, even to herself. “Sloane said you went to capture my father. Is that true?”
Merrick turned away. “Yes.”
Charlisse grabbed the bars. “But why? You knew he was my father.”
A shudder rippled across Merrick’s back before he faced her again. Rage boiled in his eyes. “You don’t know him. I had to stop him.”
“From what?”
Merrick glanced at the reverend, then back at Charlisse. “From murdering more innocent people like he did the Arawaks.”
“What are you talking about?” Charlisse’s eyes filled with tears. She loosened her painful grip on the bars.
“It doesn’t matter.” Merrick approached her, the anger gone from his eyes “If he had just shown me one ounce of decency, I intended to let him go—for your sake, milady.”
He held out his hand, but Charlisse backed away.
Clutching the bars, Merrick shook them, his face reddening.
The reverend stepped forward. “Merrick, what can we do to help you?”
“I believe Edward and Kent placed evidence on board the Redemption.”
“What sort of evidence?”
“I’m not sure.” Merrick paced his cell once again. “Most likely articles looted from a missing British vessel that could be uniquely identified with that ship—a ship I can only assume to have been a victim of your father’s.” His gaze landed on Charlisse.
“But how would they have gotten on the Redemption?” Charlisse swiped tears from her face. She wanted to believe him, even if it meant her father was a pirate, but she knew Merrick kept his ship well guarded.
“Kent.” Merrick approached the bars. “He’s the only one who had access. I also discovered something else.”
“What?”
“Kent is your father’s nephew.”
Charlisse clapped a hand to her mouth. My cousin? That vermin was related to her? The monster who had attacked her was her cousin? “How did you find out?”
“Edward told me. Kent was at the Dead Reckoning with your father. Edward put him on my ship as a spy.” Merrick lowered his chin, his fists clenching. “Blast my stupidity! I had no idea. I trusted him.”
Charlisse began to tremble, and Merrick grabbed her hands through the bars. “I’m sorry.”
Against every effort, more tears welled in her eyes. “Am I to find all my relations are pirates and villains?” She half-laughed, half-cried.
He kissed her hands. “Perhaps, but it makes no difference to me, and it shouldn’t to you, either.”
Charlisse found nothing but warmth and concern in his eyes. She loved him. She knew it now. When or how it had happened, she had no idea, but she knew she did not want to live without him. How cruel were the thorns of fate to pierce her heart with love for a man who wanted her father dead.
The reverend cleared his throat and drew close. “What can we do, Merrick? How can we prove your innocence?”
Merrick shook his head. “We need proof that whatever they found on my ship was planted.”
“Surely your crew will speak up for you,” the reverend interjected. “They can testify that you have not attacked British ships.”
“No doubt, yes, most will, but who’s to believe them? They are pirates, after all.” Merrick ran a hand through his hair. “We need someone who knows what Edward and Kent did, someone credible, who holds neither affection nor fear toward either of them. Surely they have many enemies here in Port Royal.”
“Time’s up,” the guard shouted from behind them, giving Charlisse a start.
She cast Merrick a troubled look.
“Sloane will know what to do,” Merrick said, quickly taking her hands in his. “Under no circumstances are you to approach your father or Kent, do you understand?”
Charlisse merely stared at him, unwilling to make that promise.
“Do you understand me?” His tone hardened.
The guard approached.
Merrick turned toward the reverend. “Thomas, please take care of her. I put her in your charge.”
“Absolutely,” the reverend said. “Fear not. We will do all we can. God is with you, Merrick. Remember that.”
“I do, Thomas, I do, and thank you.” Merrick lifted Charlisse’s hands to his lips.
“I can’t leave you here,” she sobbed.
“Never fear, love, I’ve been in far worse situations.”
“Come on, miss.” The guard reached out to grab her, but Merrick’s stare halted him as the reverend intervened and pulled her from Merrick.
She clung to Merrick’s hand as long as she could before she was forced to let go. The reverend led her away, but her gaze never left Merrick’s. His reassuring wink was the last thing she saw before the darkness took him from her sight.
♥♥♥
As the sound of their footsteps faded into the distance, the gloom and chill of the prison once again engulfed him. Merrick pounded the iron bars before falling to his knees and bowing his head before the only Person who could truly deliver him.
Chapter 26: The Battle between Good and Evil
The next few days passed in a blur of mindless activities and endless hours. Charlisse did her best to keep her hopes up and not succumb to the discouragement and fear that ate away at her. With Merrick in prison—his fate yet unknown—and her father somewhere in Port Royal, conflicting emotions assailed her. Her father’s proximity tugged at her heart. Like the grapnels of a ship, it wrenched the distance between them, dragging her closer and closer. But when their ships collided, would she find him the vicious pirate everyone said he was, seeking only what he could get from her without offering any love in return? And what of Merrick? Thoughts of him locked in that dank cell consumed her like a fire that burned but was never quenched.
Yet surely she should be familiar with the demon of disaster by now. That monster had always been at the helm of her ship, driving her resolutely from one tragedy to another. Whenever she caught a glimpse of sunlight on the horizon, he would steer her back into another deadly storm of misery and calamity. On occasion, she would try to wrestle the helm from him—to regain control of her ship and her destiny—but he was always too strong. Exhausted, she would simply give up and resign herself to his every whim.
Why should this time be different from all the others? Why, when she had found love, hope, and a chance for happiness, would she expect it to remain and not slip into the dark abyss with all her other dreams?
Yet, there was a sense of anticipation surrounding Reverend Thomas. With every passing minute, she was more and more grateful for his presence. He always had a word of encouragement and cheer, no matter how dire the circumstances, and he always gave credit to God. In fact, it astounded her that he spoke to the Almighty as if he knew him perso
nally—as if the Creator of the universe was actually walking along beside him.
Somehow, just knowing the reverend had the ear of God gave Charlisse hope. That and the knowledge that Sloane and Jackson worked day and night in an effort to secure their captain’s release. While Jackson took command of the Redemption, protecting it from any attempted mutiny, Sloane had assembled a few loyal crewmen to search for any witnesses who’d be willing to testify on Merrick’s behalf.
Yet after two days of befriending at least half of the scurrilous mob that frequented the taverns of Port Royal—and forfeiting many pieces of eight toward beverages in the hopes of loosening their tongues—they discovered that not one of them was willing to risk the vicious wrath of Edward the Terror.
“Don’t go bein’ discouraged, miss,” Sloane said, after giving his daily report of the prior night’s activities to the reverend and Charlisse.
Charlisse stood in the reverend’s parlor, wringing her hands. “But no one saw anything or knows anyone who did?”
“Not that they be sayin’ in front of a court, miss.” Sloane fingered his hat and shifted his feet back and forth.
The reverend laid his hand on Charlisse’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. They haven’t talked to everyone in town yet, have you, Mr. Sloane?”
“Naw, that be true.” Sloane forced a grin.
“And while they continue their search for a witness, I’ve arranged an audience with the governor day after next.”
“But what will we tell him? We have no proof.” Charlisse paced, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers.
“We will appeal to his sense of reason, to his knowledge of Merrick’s character. We will simply tell him the truth.”
“And he’s just going to let Merrick go on our word?” Charlisse said.
“Miracles happen every day, Miss Bristol.”
“Not to me.”
“Perhaps ’tis time for one, then.” The reverend cast her a playful smile. It did nothing to lift her spirits.
Sloane took a seat, his sword clanking against the table leg. His red-streaked eyes drooped and his shoulders hung lower than usual. Most likely he had been up most of the night endangering his life on the streets of Port Royal in an effort to save his captain.
Abandoning her nervous pacing, Charlisse sank into her usual chair by the stove. “Who are the Arawaks?”
The reverend topped off Sloane’s tea. The two exchanged a cautious glance.
“Merrick spoke of Arawaks when I saw him last. It has something to do with my father.”
The reverend spoke first. “The Arawak are a people indigenous to the Caribbean. They are all but gone now. Only a few tribes exist in remote locations.”
“What happened to them?” Charlisse asked.
Reverend Thomas took a seat at the table with Sloane. “Spanish slave raids nearly wiped them out during the past century.”
“How awful.” The idea of treating people like animals simply because they came from a different culture, or their skin was a different shade, or they were considered sub-human in some way was abhorrent to her. “But what do they have to do with my father?”
“The Arawak are good people, miss,” Sloane said. “The cap’n happened upon one o’ their villages in Cuba when we was searchin’ fer a place to careen our ship.” He took a sip of his tea. “They ’friended us, fed us, an’ allowed us to stay wit’ them as long as we liked.” He nodded. “Good people, kind an’ gentle. Merrick took a real likin’ to their chief, Caonabo, methinks his name was.”
The reverend stood and walked to the window, gazing outside.
“After that, ever’ time the ship need careenin’, the cap’n took us to their village.” Sloane smiled. “We spent many a happy day there. Aye, them was the days, to be sure.”
“What happened?” Charlisse asked, dreading his answer. The reverend glanced over his shoulder at Sloane.
“Well, miss, turns out yer father”—Sloane coughed—“I mean Edward musta found out how much Merrick liked the Arawak, ’cause the next time we landed on their shore, they was all dead.”
Charlisse gasped.
“Slaughtered, torn to pieces, real brutal like.”
Charlisse rose to her feet. Her legs wobbled and she grabbed the chair again. “And you think my father did this?”
“We knows he did, miss. He left the cap’n a note describin’ all he done and why.”
Her head swimming, Charlisse toppled backward into the chair, unable to comprehend, unable to believe her father capable of such barbarity. “Why?” She stared at Sloane. His eyes swam, and he looked away.
“Fer revenge. Fer Merrick takin o’er his ship and leavin’ him to die on that island, ’tis all.”
“It can’t be true.” Charlisse buried her face in her hands.
“But it is true,” the reverend finally said. She heard him approach. “Now you understand why Merrick believed it was his duty to capture Edward and bring him to justice.” He knelt beside her and took her hands. “That is, until he met you and found out Edward is your father. Oh, what a quandary love placed upon him.”
“Love?”
The reverend gave her a sideways glance and stood. “Surely you know his feelings for you by now.”
She shook her head. Right now, she didn’t know anything. Nauseated, she excused herself to go outside for some air. Her world was falling apart, as it had so many times before. Her father was a pirate. Not just any pirate, but an evil, heartless savage. How could she be the offspring of a man who could commit such atrocities? What did that make her? All her life she had longed for a father’s love—cried out for him in the night when she was beaten and alone. But now, those hopes were crushed in the face of a brutality she could not fathom. To make matters worse, it seemed her father had conspired to have the man she loved … the man she loved? Was that true?
She rubbed her forehead, unable to deny the feelings growing within her. Even in his prison cell—though he faced death—his concern had been for her, not for himself. But he was not dead yet. She would not accept this sordid twist of fate. The urge to fight rose within her. This time she had something to fight for—an amazing man who had shown her what love was for the first time in her life. Perhaps Merrick’s love would fill that aching hole in her heart she had thought only a father could fill. Maybe she had no need of a father who would only bring her more pain. Perhaps God—if there was a God—had led her to Merrick. He was her hope. He was what she had been searching for. After a few minutes Sloane came out, tipped his hat at her, and left.
After dinner, Charlisse assisted with the cleanup, then—as was his custom—the reverend sat back in his rocking chair, pipe in one hand, Bible in the other. He turned to the Gospel of Matthew and began to read aloud. She didn’t mind the Bible reading. The reverend’s voice was soothing, and she found the passages comforting.
“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you: For every one that asketh receiveth; and he that seeketh findeth; and to him that knocketh it shall be opened. Or what man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him? Therefore all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them: for this is the law and the prophets.
“Enter ye in at the strait gate: for wide is the gate, and broad is the way that leadeth to destruction, and many there be which go in thereat: Because strait is the gate, and narrow is the way which leadeth unto life, and few there be that find it.”
The reverend stopped, took a couple of puffs from his pipe, and stared into the room as if deep in thought.
“Is that really what it says?” Charlisse asked.
He looked over at her. “Absolutely, why?”
“I’ve never heard it before. It makes God sound like he really car
es for us, like a father would his children.” She looked away from the reverend’s compassionate gaze. “Like he wants to give us good things.”
“And why not? We are his children.”
“I don’t know. I never thought of God that way.”
“Maybe you should start.” He smiled.
A few moments of silence passed before Charlisse asked, “What is this strait gate and narrow way of which it speaks?”
“That’s simple. The strait gate and narrow way is Jesus. He’s the only way to God and the only way to life, true life, here on earth and in eternity. Here’s another. I’m sure you’ve heard this one.”
“For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten son, that whosoever believeth on him should not perish, but have everlasting life.”
Charlisse nodded. “Yes. And I do believe, but I don’t feel any differently. God doesn’t seem to care about me.”
“But it’s more than just a belief, you see. Faith without works is dead. You must do something. You must receive him, have a relationship with him. You must follow him.” The reverend moved to the edge of his chair, his pipe forgotten on its tray nearby. He paused as if he were about to say something, then folded his hands and looked down.
Is he praying? Charlisse felt a warmth in the core of her being—there one second and fading the next. Shrugging it off, she asked the reverend, “You have such a relationship with him?”
He looked up and nodded.
She snorted. “Then maybe you can ask him why he allowed Merrick to be arrested?”
“That’s not for us to know. But we could pray for Merrick, if you’d like.”
“I don’t pray.”
“You don’t have to do anything. Just bow your head and agree in your heart with what I am saying.”
Charlisse eyed him with suspicion. She felt like she was being trapped into something, but for Merrick’s sake, she conceded.
The reverend lowered his head. “Our Father,” he began. “We thank you for your blessings: for food, a warm home, and all your provision. We thank you for the gift of your Son, through whom we receive your grace and eternal life. We thank you that you love us enough that all we have to do is ask you for something, and you long to give it.”
The Redemption (Legacy of the King's Pirates Book 1) Page 19