The Reliance, page 17
The fervent sentiment in his tone nearly brought tears to her eyes, and she longed to change the subject. “How is the crew faring? Mr. Sloane?”
“How’s that, milady?”
“How do they feel about… about a woman giving them orders?”
“I think most are sceerd of ye, to be sure.” Sloane laughed.
“Afraid?”
“Aye, thar’s a lot of talk that ye are some powerful witch or somethin’, changing the wind like ye did.”
“Hmm.” Charlisse took another sip of tea. “But you know better, don’t you, Sloane?”
He scratched his beard. “Aye, I knows it yer God who heard yer prayer, milady.”
“Not only my God, Sloane, but yours as well—and everyone’s.”
“Naw, only good natured people as yerself, milady. Not old, grizzly pirates like me.”
Charlisse chucked. “It is precisely for grizzly pirates like yourself that He sent His Son to die. He loves you, you crazy old fool.”
“But He listens to ye, milady, as He listened to Merrick.”
“He’ll listen to anyone who calls upon the name of His Son, Jesus.”
Sloane’s weathered skin crinkled around his eyes as he gazed out over the sea.
Heinous laughter drew Charlisse’s attention to the deck below, where a group of pirates had gathered, Royce at their center. She sighed at the interruption, having sensed a softening in Sloane’s spirit. Resolved to bring up the subject at a later date, she faced the old pirate.
“What of Royce? she asked.
“We best be keepin’ our eye on him, milady. He’s of a mind to be takin’ o’er the ship. He always wanted to, but ne’er had the guts to attempt it against the likes o’ the captain.”
“How long before we reach Tortuga?”
“Two days, milady.”
Charlisse nodded, knowing she had many battles to win during that time. Not only must she maintain command of the ship and keep the pirates’ mutinous inclinations at bay, but she must also protect herself and Isabel from them.
As if reading her thoughts, Sloane added, “There’s naught to concern ye. Jackson will protect ye and Miss Isabel, milady, when he’s well again. He can take on the whole crew by hisself, and they’re plumb sceerd of ’im too.”
“I’m told that may not be for a few days.”
“Aye, but I’ll be doin’ my best till then.”
Charlisse smiled and gave his burly arm a squeeze. “And I thank you for it, Sloane, but God is on our side too.” Warmth blanketed her as she remembered the verse she’d read in Romans the night before.
“I hope yer right, milady.” The corners of his eyes creased.
Whistles and cackles filled the breeze behind them, and Charlisse turned to see Isabel shuffling across the deck, holding her quivering chin in the air and ignoring the bawdy comments tossed her way.
Royce’s gaze swept over Isabel, licking his lips, before he looked back at Charlisse. Drawing a swig of rum, he lifted his bottle toward her in a patronizing salute. Willing herself to show no fear, Charlisse staunchly returned his glare, but her main concern was for Isabel. “That crusty dawcock,” Sloane protested, fingering the hilt of his cutlass.
Charlisse turned and offered Isabel a comforting smile as the girl climbed the foredeck ladder, hand over her stomach, and joined them. She hiccupped and leaned her pale face over the railing.
“Why didn’t you stay below and get some rest?” Charlisse asked.
“I feel no safer here than aboard the Vanquisher.” She took a deep breath and stared at the swirling turquoise water below. “This is just as wicked a pirate ship as the one we came from. Only there, I was at least assured protection from the crew.”
Angered at Isabel’s lack of appreciation, Charlisse planted a hand on her hip. “I suppose I could have left you there.”
Isabel’s listless eyes swung to Charlisse’s. “I beg your pardon. I am not well, and I’m afraid my tongue runs away from me.”
“Indeed it does, miss,” Sloane piped in. “Lady Charlisse saved yer life.”
Isabel gazed out over the endless sea. “Yes, you’re right. My apologies.”
Charlisse clutched the young girl’s hand and chided herself for being cross with her. “I know you’re frightened. But we will be safe. And once we find my husband, all will be well.”
“We are not going to New Providence then?” Isabel’s brow furrowed and tears pooled in her eyes.
“I will return you safely to your family, I assure you. You have my word. Tortuga is on the way and for your safety and mine, I think it best we retrieve my husband before we embark on a much longer journey with these ruffians.”
Isabel nodded. “I miss my family, my home. I long to return and forget all the horrid trials of these past months.” She scratched her arms.
“I know. And you will very soon.” Charlisse hugged her, noting red blotches on her wrists. “What’s this?” She took one of her hands in hers.
“A rash. Must be from nerves. I’ve had it for weeks.”
Charlisse gently rubbed the swollen bumps. “I’m sorry you’ve had to endure so much.”
“I fear I may have to endure more when I face my father.” Isabel sighed. “He will not be pleased to find me with child.”
Charlisse squeezed her hand. “But surely under the circumstances—”
“There are no circumstances when it comes to our family’s reputation.” Isabel shook her head. “I don’t mean to paint my father in so cruel a light, He loves me, I know, and he’ll be glad to see me alive, but honor is everything to him.”
Charlisse’s heart sank as she gazed into the girl’s haggard green eyes.
Angry clouds churned in from the west, stealing the day’s bright, glorious start and replacing it with gloom and restlessness. Even the tranquil sea grew troubled without the touch of the sun upon it.
“When we get to Tortuga,” Sloane broke the silence. “Ye ladies need only wait while I go ashore and fetch the cap’n. Jest a few more days, and all yer troubles will be o’er.”
Charlisse released Isabel. “Nay, I’ll not allow you to confront my husband alone. If he’s turned back to pirating and is chasing other women, I must see for myself.” Despite the stories, Charlisse longed to believe that the honorable man she had married still existed. Besides, it had only been a few weeks. How much mischief could he have gotten into in that short amount of time? Truth be told, despite her tormenting insecurities, she couldn’t believe he would not mourn her death longer than that.
Sloane shifted his stance and stared at Charlisse. “Beggin’ yer pardon, milady, but Tortuga ain’t no place fer a lady. It would not be safe fer ye there.”
“Milady, please do not go.” Isabel gave her a concerned look.
“Don’t be silly.” Charlisse pressed a hand on Isabel’s back to steady her, noting the girl’s pallor. “I’ve spent the past three years in Port Royal.”
“Tortuga ain’t no Port Royal, if I do say so, milady.” Sloane said. “I’m afraid I must insist ye do not set foot ashore.”
“Is that so?” Charlisse grinned at the endearing man. Although she’d seen him act as violently as the rest of the pirates—when the occasion called for it—she also knew she had nothing to fear from him. He was only looking out for her. On this point, however she would not budge. “I will be going ashore at Tortuga with or without benefit of your escort, Mr. Sloane.”
Charlisse flicked her hair behind her and clutched the rail.
Sloane faced the sea. “If ye aim to go, then ye need to hear this story. ’Tis a true one.”
Charlisse shot him a scoffing look, but he continued, nonetheless.
“A few years back, there was a merchant who sought refuge in the bay at Tortuga from a storm. Unawares of the type o’ city it was, he brought his wife ashore to gather supplies.” He glanced at Charlisse as if hesitant to continue.
“And?”
“After they hung him upside down from the rafters, they tied his wife to the bar.” Sloane pursed his lips before continuing, “Well let’s just say I think she died o’ horror before the end o’ it.”
Charlisse gulped and a quiver spiked across her back.
“Sorry to be tellin’ ye such a story, milady.”
Charlisse held her stomach, picturing the awful scene in her mind and feeling the agony of the poor woman. “Tortuga sounds like a dangerous place for anyone, man or woman.” But she must go into town. She must see Merrick for herself. But how? At what risk? What if he wasn’t there to protect her…? Her heart raced, sending a nauseous flood to her throat. Gulping it down, she swerved to face Sloane.
“I see ’tis impossible for a lady to go ashore.”
The taut lines on Sloane’s face loosened. “Har, now yer talkin’ sense, milady.”
“Indeed. Fetch me some breeches.”
The old pirate’s eyes widened.
Charlisse grinned. “For there’ll be no lady going ashore. But Captain Charles Hyde, of the pirate ship Redemption. He’ll be the one who dares make entrance into the town of Tortuga.”
Chapter Nineteen
Power Struggle
With a start, Elisa Nunez sprang from the bed as the door to the cabin crashed open, and a man flew inside. It was the man who’d killed her father! A mixture of terror and fury surged through her as the pirate with the wild ebony hair approached. Grabbing a blanket from the bed, she held it up to cover her torn petticoat, and backed against the wall.
“You killed mi padre.” She sobbed, biting her lip.
Taking in the room with a cautious glance, he did not reply. His eyes landed on the tattered remains of her gown and bodice littering the floor, and his features tightened. “Where is Collier?”
“He left.” Elisa glanced at the open door behind him, longing to make a dash for it.
“How long ago?” he asked.
“Not long—a minute perhaps.” She wondered why he asked.
He closed the door and gazed up at her. “Your father is not dead, señorita.”
“Not dead?” she repeated in a whisper. “But I saw you stab him.”
The pirate took a step toward her.
Elisa cowered against the wall, wishing she could hide in its shadows. She raised her hand toward him. “ Por favor, señor, do not hurt me.”
“I have no intention of doing so.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair.
She stared into his dark eyes, her nerves beginning to calm under his sincere gaze. Tears filled her eyes. “What of mi padre? Señor. Please tell me he lives.” Desperation clung to any shred of hope this pirate could give her.
“I’m sure of it,” he replied, his firm jaw flexing. “I only grazed his side.”
“But he fell over.”
“I told him to feign his death, señorita.”
Suspicion coiled through her. “Por qué… why?”
“I had no wish to kill your father. It was the only way I could think to save him.”
Elisa came out of the shadows, eyeing the pirate with every step. “Why wouldn’t an Englishman wish to kill a governor of Spain?”
“Though I have no fondness for Spain, I have no quarrel with your father.” He shifted his stance. “I am Edmund Merrick.”
“Señorita Elisa Nunez de Bastidas,” she said proudly.
Merrick bowed and when he raised his head, his gaze snapped to her shoulders. He cringed. “Are you hurt?”
Elisa glanced down at the red and purple bruises and quivered, remembering the captain’s brutal attack. Lifting the blanket, she covered the marks and averted her eyes as they swam with tears.
“He tried to… tried to… ” She hung her head and sobbed. “He couldn’t.” She pictured Collier. The drunken fury that had erupted upon the captain’s face after his failed attempts would forever be burned into Elisa’s memory.
“Couldn’t?” Merrick’s eyes widened and a chuckled escaped his lips.
She darted a harsh gaze his way, finding nothing amusing about the situation.
“What do you want, señor?” She sniffed and held a hand to her nose, longing for him to leave.
“I want to help you.”
“Help me?” She studied him. He made no move toward her. Nothing but concern flickered in his gaze. Was he lying about her father or dare she hope he still lived? The cabin began to spin, and she leaned against the bed. Could she trust this pirate? Could she trust any Englishman?
“How old are you?” he asked.
Why did he wish to know? She wrinkled her brow but answered him anyway. “Veinte… twenty, why?”
Sorrow stained his dark eyes. “You remind me of someone.” He looked away. Then with a sigh, he moved beside her. Surprisingly, no fear rose within her, not even when he took her hand in his. She gazed up at him, thankful for the comfort of his strong grasp.
“Señorita, stay here. I will do my best to keep the captain otherwise occupied.”
She nodded, disbelief battling against hope. He squeezed her hand then marched from the room and closed the door.
Merrick had no trouble locating Collier. The roar of his cantankerous voice blasted through the ship like grapeshot. With a bottle in one hand and his sword in the other, he stormed across the deck, bellowing orders to his crew and flinging malicious insults at any of them who dared cross his path.
He stood, lifting his blade to the sky, and declared, “I am captain of this ship and commander of all the seas!” Then, dropping his sword, he swung it about him, stumbled, and nearly fell. “And any scalawag who dares to so much as look at me cross-eyed will find himself tied to the keel.”
But no one dared show himself. Merrick assumed most of the crew had been smart enough to disappear below when the captain had begun his rampage. Only the watchmen remained: Badeau up on the forecastle and another pirate on the quarterdeck, both wisely keeping to the shadows.
Merrick grinned. What power Collier lacked in the bedchamber, he apparently attempted to make up for among his men. But what to do with this drunken maniac?
A young sailor emerged on deck from the main hatch, seemingly unaware of the mad shark roaming the ship. Tightening his vest around him against the evening breeze, he shuffled to the railing.
“You!” Collier yelled. “Who goes there?”
The young man swerved around, his expression lost in the shadows.
“’Tis I, Kale.”
Collier swaggered toward him, gulping a swig of rum. “Mr. Kale.” His tone dripped with cutting sarcasm.
The pirate eased himself backward.
Collier set his bottle down on the capstan, sheathed his sword, and pointed a long, jewel-laden finger at Kale. “I know what you’re up to, you traitorous, sniveling coward.”
“What d’ye mean, Cap’n?” Kale’s voice trembled. He could be no more than thirteen years old—neither old enough nor wise enough to plot a mutiny against such a bloodthirsty captain.
“What do I mean?” Collier marched toward the boy, backing him against the railing. “I know everything that happens on my ship. Yet you take me for a fool, don’t you, Mr. Kale?”
“No, Cap’n.” The pirate peered over the side of the ship as if considering a plunge into the bay a better choice than facing the drunken wrath of his captain.
Seizing his arm, Collier yanked him away from the railing. “No you don’t. You can’t escape me. I know you’ve been plotting to take over my ship, you slimy-tongued weasel.”
The man shook his head in earnest. “No sir, I…I…”
“I…I…,” Collier mocked, snickering. “Styles, Hanson!” he yelled toward the hatch, then shoved his face into Kale’s. His greased hair hung in snakelike strands to his shoulders. “I’ll show you what I do with mutinous dogs.”
Kale twisted in Collier’s grip. “But Cap’n, I didn’t do nothin’.”
Plucking a pistol from his belt, Collier pointed its muzzle at Kale’s head. “I should blow your brains all over the deck.” He stumbled, and the pistol grazed over the pirate’s forehead like a deadly pendulum.
The young man cringed and closed his eyes.
Merrick took a step toward them, then hesitated, unsure of his next move.
“But I have a better punishment for the likes of you.” Collier chuckled, lifting his hawk-like nose in the air. “Styles, Hanson!”
The two pirates barreled up through the main hatch and shuffled toward their captain.
Collier belched and shoved Kale to Styles. “Take this vermin and strap a cannonball to his boots,” he ordered, holding his stomach.
“No! No, I’m no traitor, Cap’n,” Kale pleaded, twisting in Styles’s grasp.
Merrick clenched his fists. He should stop this madness, but how could he without provoking Collier’s drunken wrath? Surely if he interfered, it would not only be Kale covered with flesh-eating algae at the bottom of the sea, but Merrick right beside him.
Collier swayed and blinked as if he had suddenly forgotten where he was. Merrick prayed he would pass out, but he straightened himself and pointed his pistol back at Kale. “After you do that, throw him overboard. We’ll leave his bloated carcass with the Spaniards—a fitting end for a traitor.”
Merrick stepped out from the shadows.
Collier looked up and squinted. A jeering smile stretched wide upon his lips. “Merrick, my good friend.” He motioned for him to join him.
A line of dark blue appeared on the horizon, lifting up the black ink of night and shedding the promise of light upon the dismal scene. The pre-dawn glow illuminated the strained creases on Collier’s face and the blurry sheen of his eyes. For a moment, Merrick felt pity for the man. The slap of oars against water, accompanied by inebriated laughter, drew Collier’s gaze toward the bay, where the last longboat approached.
“Ah. Good. The men can witness what I do to mutinous sharks,” he hissed in Kale’s ear. “I throw them to the bottom of the sea, where they belong.”
Collier staggered backward, arms flailing, then stomped his boots on the deck, leveling himself. He looked at Merrick. “When the longboat arrives, assemble the men, if you please. This shall be a lesson to all.” He waved his pistol in the air and nearly fell again.
