In a Pirate's Debt

by Elva Cobb Martin

  “How do I do all that?”

  Ethan sat beside him and took a deep breath. His voice broke. “Do you remember, we talked about this before, when you first decided to become a Christian? And it’s the same answer. You have to forgive, Lucas. Extend the same grace to Roger Poole and his father for all the wrong they’ve done to you and your family that the Lord extends to you. And, I might add, forgiveness to Seema.”

  “Seema?” Lucas stiffened.

  “Yes, Seema. Yesterday, she confessed to me and Hannah with tears that she had told Byron Pitt about your alias, and Byron apparently planted the two pirates on the Blue Heron who sabotaged your ship. God is doing a work in Seema.”

  Lucas dropped his head into his hands and groaned. “Forgive and forget? Ethan, what you’re asking—what God is asking—is impossible.”

  “I didn’t say forget, Lucas. Real forgiveness is not forgetting what happened. There’s something far better than forgetting. It’s remembering and realizing the sovereign grace of God is at work as in His promise that all things will work together for good.”

  “Do you really believe any good has been or will be worked in all this?”

  Ethan moistened his lips and leaned back against the brick wall. “Would you say meeting Travay again after all these years worked for your good in any way?”

  Lucas closed his eyes and envisioned Travay’s face, her lips, her hair, the way she’d looked at him during her last visit, love pouring like liquid gold from her lingering glance on him. Yes, thank God she had fled from Roger Poole, and Lucas had found her again.

  “Yes, yes. But there’s no way Travay walking down an aisle in marriage to that lying swine could work any good thing. Surely you agree. Why should Roger win in the end?”

  “One thing people don’t understand about forgiveness is that it does not remove the consequences of sin. Roger Poole, like all sinners, faces some severe consequences unless he avails himself of the grace of God with true repentance, as Seema is doing.”

  “And what about Travay? How can she even think of marriage to the man, even to supposedly save me?” Lucas glared at Ethan.

  “Would you believe that she intimated to me that this would be one way she would be able to repay her debt to you for the several times you saved her, Lucas?”

  Lucas stood. “Begad! She owes me nothing. I only did what was the good and right thing to do at the time.” He paced the cell and then stopped in front of the minister, his face tight and frowning. “You must tell her not to go through with it. I don’t want to be rescued by her marrying Roger Poole, even if there were any truth about the pardon. Will you tell her that for me?”

  “Yes, I will. But I can’t promise you I can change her mind.”

  “You must, Ethan. You must. I am trying to hold onto the last shred of my faith that you or God will stop this joke of a marriage.”

  Lucas heard the guard’s steps.

  Ethan laid his hand on Lucas’ arm and prayed a fervent prayer for him.

  His last words seemed to hang like a cloud in the cell. “Lucas, I will attend the wedding tomorrow, and then I’ll come here with the pardon if there’s any truth to it.”

  After Ethan left, Lucas closed his eyes and ground his teeth. Forgive? How could he do it? How could he erase from his heart all the evil Roger Poole and his father had done to his parents, to him, and Roger was now attempting to do to Travay? He stood and paced the cell like a wounded tiger. Fury singed his mind and body. If he could just get his hands around Roger Poole’s neck.

  That murderous thought brought others, and Lucas fell into a hellish, demonic wrestling that lasted hours. He lost track of how many times the cell walls receded, and he found himself back with his parents, indentured servants of the Pooles. Every unhappy confrontation until the day he stole away and boarded a Royal Navy vessel as ship’s boy played out again in his unwilling mind. At other times, he found himself aboard the Blue Heron, the sun shedding golden rays over him, the captain, and the sea air filling his lungs and heart with joy. Then a storm of mammoth proportions arose with black waves sweeping against the ship, and his every effort to keep the ship afloat was to no avail.

  Finally, exhausted and weary with the visions and the damp darkness about him, Lucas fell to his knees and cried out to God for deliverance from his anger and his unforgiveness. The response came swiftly, peacefully, like a gentle hand on his head. He looked up and saw a ray of sunlight filter down from the small window, announcing morning.

  His last day. Travay’s wedding day.

  CHAPTER 24

  Travay tried to keep tears from splotching the lovely sapphire wedding gown Sir Roger had sent by carriage the day before. It had taken both Mama Penn and Merle to help her dress in such finery with its many petticoats and wide hoop. And all three of them were shocked to find Merle’s pearl and diamond necklace included in the dress box. So Roger Poole had been the purchaser. Travay wanted to give the necklace back to Merle, but she insisted Travay wear it.

  Travay looked at herself in the mirror. The lovely necklace twinkled and glowed, but it brought no cheer to her heart. Could she do it? Could she walk down an aisle with Roger Poole and say “I do”?

  A sob tore from her lips. The sound of it in her quiet room ignited white-hot fury in her breast against the man who had tormented her for years. It scorched its way through her brain and birthed a fluttering idea. There must be a way to outwit Roger and still save Lucas.

  Steel traveled down her spine. She walked over and threw open her closet door. Searching in a corner, she pulled out the old boots she had worn during her escape from Jamaica. She had never worn them again, but now she would draw them back into service.

  She sat on the edge of the bed and slipped out of her pale blue satin slippers. She reached for the boots and then hesitated. Was her marriage to Roger Poole the way the Lord had made to save Lucas? And for her to repay her debt to a pirate?

  How many times had Lucas saved her? First, he had rescued her from the deep waters of the Caribbean bay after her jump from the cliff, and then from the attack of the obnoxious pirate they called Knox. She closed her eyes. The terrible sword fights with Byron Pitt and the horrid battle with the evil Captain Ned Low flooded her mind. For a moment, she could smell again the smoke of the burning ship and the blood spilled across its deck. She shook that memory away.

  But Lucas’ rescues went further back. Many times he had saved her as a child from snakes, from unruly horses, and then that last time he had taken a terrible beating for her when the elder Sir Roger Poole’s prize horse she’d insisted on riding had to be put down. His stiff face as a boy of sixteen came back to her then, every strong line already imprinted on his jaw, his green eyes flashing with fire as Sir Roger swung his whip against the braced young shoulders. Travay’s father had pulled her away. All she heard were her own sobs, for no sound came from Lucas. Could she ever forget that day? But Travay had never seen Lucas again. Until the day he rescued her from the bay.

  Yes, she owed him her life, and more.

  She sat in silence for several minutes, hoping she would hear God’s voice again as she’d heard it once before. Some confirmation of what she should do. But the only sounds that came to her ears were horses’ hooves trotting down the street below and birds singing in the trees outside her window as if it were a wonderful day. It was not a wonderful day. It was a horrid day. The worst of her life.

  All things work together for the good.

  The words that seemed to come from just above her head shocked her from her reverie. It was something she’d often heard her mother say when things were not going well for one or both of them. Could this forced marriage to Roger Poole today turn into anything good? It seemed too impossible.

  She took a deep breath, and a strange peace flooded her heart. She pulled on the boots. Turning before the mirror, she saw that her billowing satin skirt would hide them completely. A small, tremulous smile touched her lips. The boots would be much better for running. O
nce she got her hands on the pardon.

  The guard opened the small food door of Lucas’ cell and pushed in a foul-smelling bowl. “Last meal, huh, Captain Bloodstone.” His voice oozed with mockery. “This time tomorrow, you won’t be needing no bowls in this here cell.” He laughed. “It’ll be empty, and you’ll be hanging in that gibbet cage at low tide for all to see.”

  When he caught sight of Lucas’ thunderous visage, he started back from the cell door as if he thought Lucas would burst through.

  Lucas kicked the bowl against the wall.

  The guard, now two feet from the door, drew up to his full height and gave a derisive salute. “That’s your right, milord. Eat or don’t eat. Ain’t no concern of mine.” He swaggered back down the corridor, whistling.

  Lucas paced the cell until he heard the town clock strike the eleventh hour. One hour until Travay’s wedding. Lord, I’m trying to trust you. I’m trying. Don’t let her marry him.

  A commotion at the top of the dungeon stairs and a powerful, annoyed voice flowed down the corridor and interrupted Lucas’ desperate prayer.

  At eleven thirty, Sir Roger’s carriage came for Travay. Footmen on white horses rode in front of and behind the gold-draped carriage. Merle got in first, and then a footman helped Travay.

  Mama Penn helped press Travay’s wedding dress into the carriage. She patted her arm. “This ain’t right. This ain’t right, milady. And I’m not giving up. I’m gonna go right back to my praying. You’ll see. God will show up.”

  Merle wiped a tear from her eye with her lace handkerchief. Travay looked straight ahead.

  Going up the high steps to the church, Merle saw the boots. “Why, my goodness Travay, whatever in the world are you doing wearing boots?” She whispered because Sir Roger’s servant was right behind them, holding the train of the gown.

  Travay shook her head and continued up the steps, holding the front of her blue skirt aloft just enough to keep from treading on its lace hem.

  At the top, the servant hurried in front of them and swung the wide doors open. The church’s interior reeked of lemon oil, but it didn’t cover the stronger odor of unwashed bodies from overnight visitors who often sought a place to sleep. Down the aisle they walked together, Merle’s face stony and pale, Travay’s molded in marble. Merle took a seat in the first box.

  A Church of England priest stood at the front of the church in his long white robes. Sir Roger stood by him dressed in a most ostentatious blue velvet suit with silver braid and buttons adorning the front and sleeves. Ivory lace flowed from his cuffs and cravat. Travay’s gown, when she stepped in place beside him, swished against his gray hose and shiny black shoes with large silver buckles adorning them. His wolfish face was wreathed in smiles as he gazed at Travay. He leaned toward her. “My dear, you are a vision of loveliness. How I’ve dreamed of this moment. And see how I planned our wedding garments to match in color?” He took her hand and squeezed it. The smell of his strong perfume failed to mask sweat and tobacco.

  Disgust boiled up in Travay’s stomach, and she withdrew her hand. “Where is the pardon, Roger?”

  “Why, right here in my breast pocket, of course, my dear.” He patted his coat.

  “I want to see it in your hand.”

  The minister hesitated and looked from one to the other. Sir Roger shrugged and pulled a folded document from his pocket. He nodded at the minister. “Let the nuptials begin.”

  The priest opened the small book he held. “Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God and in the face of …” he glanced up at the empty church until his eyes lit on Merle. “This congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony, which is an honorable estate, instituted by God, signifying unto us the mystical union betwixt Christ and the Church.” The priest turned the page.

  Travay made her move. She grabbed the pardon and twisted around to run. But the thick arm of Sir Roger caught her about the waist. He pulled her back into place tightly against him. Disappointment and the overpowering sick smell of his cologne made her want to gag.

  The priest frowned.

  Sir Roger addressed Travay. “You want the pardon, my dear? ’Tis fine, you may hold it.” But he kept her molded firmly to his side. He smiled at the priest and nodded.

  The words droned on and on, but Travay hardly heard them. She felt as if she were falling into a pit. Even the light dimmed from the windows. Her knees would have buckled except for Sir Roger’s hard arm holding her in place. Her chin lowered until it almost rested on her chest. Finally, the words of a question blared in her ears, causing her skin to crawl with loathing and dread.

  “Sir Roger Poole, wilt thou have this woman to be thy wedded wife, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of—”

  The priest’s words were lost by the enormous noise of the sanctuary doors crashing open behind them.

  “No, he will not have her.”

  Travay’s head shot up. She knew that voice echoing through the church. That commanding voice could be heard by an entire ship’s crew in a hurricane. Sir Roger slackened his grip on her to turn and see who had interrupted the ceremony.

  A wonderful fresh breeze blew down the aisle from the open entrance, and blazing sunlight streamed through the windows as if the sun had moved from behind a cloud.

  Travay twisted around. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and her breath stopped. Lucas.

  He strode down the aisle, his eyes for her only. They were brimming with love and joy. He was dressed in fine new clothes of royal blue, scarlet, and linen. A sword hung at his side.

  Lucas ripped Sir Roger’s arm from around Travay’s waist and flung him aside. He took Travay’s hand in his. A deep smile creased his face. His eyes glowed like emeralds.

  Someone came up beside Lucas. Sir Roger gasped and stumbled backward.

  Without taking his eyes from Travay, Lucas inclined his head to the man who stood with them. The gentleman dressed in London finery exuded a presence that would not be trifled with, not even by Sir Roger Poole.

  “Travay, I would like to introduce Lord Graylyn Cooper. My uncle.”

  Travay took her eyes from Lucas’ for the briefest of moments and smiled at Lord Cooper.

  Lord Cooper bowed to Travay and moved to confront Sir Roger. “Sir, I have papers in my possession that accuse you of piracy in the Caribbean. You must stand trial.”

  Sir Roger’s face turned chalk white. He sputtered, “But, but what—how? It’s a lie. I never …”

  “You can tell it all in court, sir. Right now, I place you under arrest in the name of His Majesty, King George.”

  Three loud ayes came from the rear of the church. Dwayne Thorpe, Sinbad, and Damon, with glad grins spread over their faces, stood at the back.

  Soldiers stood in the church entrance. They came forward and marched Sir Roger down the aisle and out to the street.

  Lord Graylyn turned to Travay. “I also have the real pardon of my nephew, Lucas Barrett, here in my breast pocket, milady, with a commendation and land grant from His Majesty for despoiling his enemies and also rescuing one of His Majesty’s ships.”

  The priest cleared his throat.

  Lord Graylyn winked at Lucas. “But, of course, we can talk about this later.”

  Lucas glanced at the priest, then back to Travay. He lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes. “Travay, will you marry me?”

  Her heart felt as though it would burst from joy. If Lucas hadn’t put his arm around her waist, she would have swooned. She managed to whisper, “Yes.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Travay awoke groaning from her old nightmare of the cliff jump. At first, she didn’t know where she was and then realized she was in her old room on her parents’ former plantation. Lucas stirred beside her. Her beloved husband. Joy flowed through her as she remembered their marriage the afternoon before. Thank God, she had not awakened him with the nightmare. He might have taken it entirely wrong.

  She looked
at him, his dark plaits spread across the pillow, his gentle breathing so different from the evening before. She blushed remembering the passion that had rocked them both the night before as if on the Blue Heron in a tropical storm. She trailed a finger over his bicep and down his arm. He opened his eyes, smiled, and clasped her close. He planted a kiss on her forehead, then her eyelids, and trailed down to her lips. Heat emanated from him and reignited sparks of the night before.

  “Wait, Lucas. I still don’t know how we came to be here. Last night, you never explained how your uncle managed to come and free you from prison just in time.”

  “Last night was a time for action, my darling wife. Not words.” He leaned to kiss her again, but she pushed back.

  “But I want to know how we are now here, in my old home place. In my very own room I grew up in.” Consternation creased her brow.

  He kissed her earlobe, her cheek, and once again, claimed her lips. He lifted his mouth from hers to whisper, “At breakfast, my dear. At breakfast, I’ll answer all your questions.”

  Then she was lost in his embrace and his ardent kisses matched by her own.

  Breakfast proved an interesting affair once Lucas settled down to eating. It did Travay’s heart good to see how he put away Mama Penn’s biscuits, eggs, bacon, and fruit. Her own appetite surprised her. Finally, she pushed back from the table and looked at him.

  “Now, tell me, Lucas. Tell me how all these things happened.”

  He wiped his mouth with his napkin, stood, and came to her. He bent down and kissed her soundly on the lips. “Only if you come sit on my lap, my sweet.”

  “Lucas!” Travay decided it best not to resist when he picked her up in his arms and headed to a sofa in the parlor.

  She insisted on moving off his lap to sit beside him, hoping Mama Penn had not seen them at breakfast.

  Lucas took her hand and trailed kisses up to her elbow. “Ethan wrote my uncle in England before the trial. But it seems Lord Cooper was ready to sail to Charles Town, having investigated my whereabouts after hearing of my rescue of an English ship. The ship turned out to be one of his. That’s the story.”