The Reliance, page 27
Charlisse reached out and grabbed his hand. A flash of lighting etched across the window. “Won’t you give your life to Him? All you have to do is ask Him.”
Snatching a biscuit, Sloane stood. “I’ll be thinkin’ on it fer sure, ye may lay to it, milady.” He glanced toward the window. “Seems the storm be passin’. Ye best be gettin’ some rest.”
Charlisse’s heart sank. She wanted to say more, wanted so desperately for Sloane to see the light. But she knew it wasn’t up to her. He’s in your hands, Lord.
She rose. “Thank you for the tea.”
He nodded.
“And for your friendship.”
A crimson hue rose on his face. He looked down and shuffled his feet. “Aye ’tis me pleasure, milady.” Then plopping the biscuit into his mouth, he turned and scampered from the room, leaving Charlisse alone once more.
Although the tempest had subsided outside her cabin, it was only now beginning within her. Charlisse laid her head on the pillow and prayed for Isabel. Please, Lord, help me find her.
Swish-thud
Swish-thud
Charlisse sauntered over to the mainmast and plucked from it the two knifes she had just tossed into the wood. Her target was a face she’d carved, complete with eyes, nose, and mouth—Merrick’s face, and this morning she found intense enjoyment from flinging blades at his handsome visage.
“The men be ready fer their Bible readin’.” Sloane’s smiling face intruded on her vengeance.
How could a pirate who wasn’t a Christian cause her so much discomfiture? She shot a patronizing look into his bright gaze. The sides of his eyes crinkled as he squinted in the morning sun. A radiance glowed from within them, and the smile perched on his lips seemed somewhat lighter this morning.
“Thank you, Sloane.” She sheathed her knives and scratched her coarse breeches, still damp from yesterday. Solomon flew down from the shrouds and landed on Sloane’s shoulder. He chattered in glee as the men assembled en masse on the main deck. Jackson came forward and stood near the front of the group, his muscular arms planted across his chest. She wondered how the portentous man would take to her mandatory Bible readings.
Sloane handed her the Bible as she glanced across the swarthy faces before her. A morning breeze flowed past them over Charlisse. She held her breath against the incoming pungency. Yet instead of sweat, rum, and foul breath, she smelled only the sharp scent of lye intermingled with the salty air. One more glance revealed crisp, bright clothes, occasioned by a few wrinkles and stubborn stains. They had followed her orders.
Stifling a smile, she studied their faces. Some returned her gaze with interest, others looked down at their boots or gazed off to the side, while Royce and Gunny stared at her with a defiance that stiffened their stances.
Fear skittered through Charlisse, and she drew a breath, hoping to hide her uneasiness. Opening the Bible to the Gospel of John, she began to read:
“Therefore Jesus said again, ‘I tell you the truth, I am the gate for the sheep. All who ever came before me were thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate; whoever enters through me will be saved. He will come in and go out, and find pasture. The thief comes only to steal and kill and destroy; I have come that they may have life, and have it to the full.’”
When she looked up, it was to Solomon who grinned at her from Sloane’s shoulder, but when she glanced over the men, all save Rusty— who gazed at her with a sheepish grin—stood staring at her with glazed eyes and slack jaws. Well, at least the monkey was getting something from her reading.
After dismissing them, Charlisse stomped up on the foredeck to survey the choppy azure waters for any sign of the Vanquisher. The morning‘s bright shades of saffron and coral had transformed the sea into a lustrous aquamarine. Now a handbreadth above the horizon, the sun cast its golden rays upon her, sweeping away the chilled misery of the night before. A light breeze played with a tendril that had escaped from her hat, tickling her neck.
“A ship, Cap’n!” Smack yelled from the crosstrees.
Charlisse swung about, shielding her eyes from the sun, and gazed across the horizon. “Where is she?”
“Directly off our stern,” came the booming reply.
Charlisse flew down the foredeck ladder and across the main deck, pulling out the spyglass as she ran. Up onto the quarterdeck she marched, lifting the glass to her eye as Sloane rushed to join her.
“It’s not the Vanquisher.” She adjusted the glass and studied the frigate, searching for a name on its hull. “But who, then?” She handed the glass to Sloane.
He peered through it for what seemed an interminable amount of time, his lips contorting first in confusion then in widening excitement.
Lowering it, he grinned and cast her a sly look.
“’Tis the Satisfaction, milady.”
Chapter Thirty-One
The Chase
Captain Merrick positioned himself on the foredeck of the Satisfaction, spyglass pressed to his eye. Badeau and Kale stood by his side. Slamming the glass shut, he turned to Hanson, standing on the main deck below them.
“Helm, three points to larboard. Set the topsails,” he ordered the first mate. So far, the man had obeyed his orders, but rebellion leaked from each glance he shot toward Merrick.
Hanson snapped his gaze away and marched across the deck, repeating the orders to the men. Four of the crew clambered into the shrouds, and the frigate veered to port as the rudder obeyed the turn of the whipstaff.
“That is the ship you seek?” Badeau asked.
“Yes, that is the one, mon ami.” Raising the glass, Merrick braced himself as the ship tumbled down a choppy swell. White foam exploded over the bow, depositing pearly bubbles onto the deck. Although he couldn’t make out any details, he knew his ship—the hue, the shape. It was the Redemption. No doubt.
Drawing a deep breath, Merrick smiled. Just the thought of being aboard his ship again lifted his spirits higher than they’d been in weeks. Thank you, Lord.
A flash of white caught his eye, and he peered through the spyglass to see the Redemption’s topgallants being raised and spread to the wind. The brig turned into the warm gust, filling her sails to near bursting, and sped through the rippling waters, trailing a long, creamy wake.
“She flees,” Merrick said, not quite believing his own words. It had not occurred to him that Sloane and any of his old crew who’d remained with the Redemption wouldn’t want their captain back.
As if reading his mind, Kale offered Merrick a reassuring glance. “Mebbe they’s not ’specting ye to be in command o’ this ship?”
“Yes, of course.” Merrick shook his head. “They don’t know it’s me.” Even with his flag lowered in a friendly salute, they would not trust him—especially not Sloane, who knew Collier for the miscreant devil he was.
“N’importe, mon capitaine.” Badeau slicked back his oiled, tawny hair. “With the wind advantage, we shall be close soon. Then they see you.”
Merrick nodded and braced his hands on his hips, watching with an eager gaze as the breadth of sea shrank between the two ships. Yet after several minutes and well within range of recognition, the brigantine made no move to reduce sail and put her helm over.
Holding the spyglass steady, Merrick focused it upon the deck of the Redemption—or was it the Redemption? Something odd caught his eye, and he shifted the glass forward. The word Reliance stood out in deep black against the crimson bow as it pitched and lunged in the frothy sea. Reliance?
He scoured the ship, zooming in on each familiar detail. No, indeed, it was the Redemption. A flicker blazed across his vision, temporarily blinding him, and he swerved his scope until it landed on the round glare of a spyglass pointed back in his direction. Holding it was a short man wearing a captain’s hat.
A tremor crossed through Charlisse, reaching her legs. She drew a hand to her breast and gasped for air.
Merrick.
There he stood on the foredeck of the Satisfaction, brazen and commanding—hands on his hips. Unbound, his ebony hair blew behind him in a wild dance. One side of his white shirt fluttered in the breeze, teasing her with glimpses of his brawny chest. The other side was held down by a baldric, housing two pistols. His cutlass hung at his side, the golden hilt glittering in the morning sun.
The remaining pebbles of Charlisse’s broken heart crushed into sand beneath his piercing gaze. She lowered the spyglass. The sky began to swirl around her in mixed shades of ivory and cerulean. The solid deck beneath her boots suddenly melted, and she stumbled.
Jackson’s strong grasp clutched her arm. “Are ye all right, ma’am?”
Charlisse attempted to calm herself as her crew gathered around. “Yes, quite all right, Jackson. Thank you.”
An image of Merrick fondling the dark-haired beauty blazed through Charlisse’s mind, sending a wave of fury across her tottering senses, bolstering them with determination. She broadened her stance and forced down the sharp pain in her heart.
“’Tis Merrick,” she spat, lifting the spyglass to her eye again. This time, Merrick also held up his glass, its focus directly upon her.
“He sees me.”
Sloane stepped beside her. “But he won’t know ye—dressed as ye are.”
Charlisse spun around and brayed orders to the two men aloft and then to Smack manning the helm. “I’ll outrun him.” She faced Sloane and flattened her lips together.
The old pirate raised both gray brows. “He’s got the wind on ’is side, milady.” He glanced at the Satisfaction. “By thunder, he’ll be on us in no time.”
Snorting, Charlisse faced the oncoming ship and braced her fists on her hips.
“And he outguns us by more’n double.”
“Merrick won’t fire on his own ship. I know him.”
“Aye, mebbe.” Sloane nodded. “But why not see what he wants?”
“He wants his ship back.” Charlisse tugged at a wayward lock of hair tickling her forehead and shoved it back under her hat. “But I’m not going to let him have it.”
Merrick slapped the spyglass across the palm of his hand. Surely, whoever the short imposter was had recognized him by now. And apparently he was none too pleased as he’d shouted orders that sent the Redemption on a swift tack to larboard, stealing farther away from Merrick.
Pummeling down the foredeck ladder, Merrick marched across the main deck, fury and confusion warring in his soul. Who was this dwarf commanding his ship? How could Sloane and the others have replaced him so quickly—and especially with a boy who was obviously beneath Merrick’s station and most likely as deficient in skill and wit as he was in height? And now the impertinent runt dared to run from him!
Gritting his teeth, Merrick stomped to the railing, nearly tripping over Hanson, and raised his glass again. The Redemption cut a wide V of creamy froth through the turbulent waters a half knot off his larboard bow. He spotted Sloane’s gray thatch of hair bristling from under his purple headscarf. The traitorous quartermaster followed quick on the heels of his captain, like a hound on its new master. Merrick grunted and flicked the glass to see Jackson’s immense frame looming on the quarterdeck and Rusty at the helm.
His men. His ship.
The reek of sweat and rum assaulted Merrick’s nose, and he knew before he looked up that Hanson had joined him.
“What’s on yer mind to be chasin’ down this slip of a ship?”
Merrick lowered the glass. “I aim to take her,” he replied without looking at him.
“There be treasure aboard her then?”
The muscles in Merrick’s back tensed. He remained quiet, his focus on the Redemption. Perhaps if he ignored him, this rat would scamper back to the shadows.
“I’m not of a mind to be wastin’ me time when there’s no treasure to be taken.” Hanson’s course voice rasped with menace.
Letting out a sigh, Merrick spun about, his gaze taking in the burly man. Adorned in a worn and weather-stained coat accented with silver buttons, he made a pretense of civility, belied by the deep scar of a cutlass slash across his lips, setting them in a permanent frown.
“Your job requires neither a mind nor an opinion. Your job is to obey my orders.”
Willis slinked up beside Hanson, who took a step back. His upper lip curled in a seething snarl, revealing a rotting hole in his gums.
Annoyance joined Merrick’s battling emotions. Pirates. How he tired of their insatiable greed.
Willis licked his lips, his eyes darting between Hanson and the captain. Merrick knew Willis lacked the courage to confront him on his own but wouldn’t hesitate if his friend took the initiative.
“If your purpose is to challenge me,” Merrick said, grabbing the hilt of his cutlass, “then be about it. Otherwise, I have a brig to capture.” He eyed Hanson and saw fear jitter across his gaze.
Seizing a quick glance at the Redemption, Merrick faced Hanson again with an idea to appease the villain. “Whatever treasure is aboard my ship, I’ll split among the crew.”
The pirate gave a nod of his head. “Aye, that be more like it.”
“Capitaine,” Badeau yelled from the foredeck. “We approach firing range.”
Merrick swung around, no longer needing the spyglass to see the activity on board the Redemption.
“Hanson, dip our colors, if you please.” Perhaps now the crew of the Redemption would clearly see that it was him and that he wished to board in peace.
Hanson turned and shouted the order aloft.
Merrick stuffed the spyglass in his belt and gripped the railing, tensing his muscles. A shower of saltwater sprayed over him as the Satisfaction plunged over a wave, bearing down on the Redemption. With sails full to the wind, the brigantine made a valiant run, but within minutes the two ships would be side by side. Despite the cold reception, Merrick intended to board his ship again and make things right with his shipmates. As for the new captain, he would either absorb the diminutive man into his crew, if the midget was worthy, or leave him on an island with many a day to ponder whether he should have stolen the ship of Captain Edmund Merrick.
“Reef the top and gallants,” he bellowed to Hanson. “Shorten the main.” He needed to slow down the Satisfaction or they’d soon fly past the Redemption without so much as a by your leave. He darted his gaze back to his brig. The little captain stood on the main deck, glaring at him, fists planted on his hips. Sloane and Jackson stood on either side of him.
Merrick waved, hoping to allay their fears with a friendly gesture. In reply, the gun ports flew open on the Redemption’s starboard side, and the charred muzzles of six cannons thrust through their darkened holes.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Prepare to Board
Fire!” Charlisse shouted, strain cracking her voice. Four of the six cannons exploded in a thunderous roar, followed within seconds by the remaining two. The Reliance trembled under the fierce quake as the cannons recoiled. A billowing cloud of smoke saturated the air between the two ships, and Charlisse bent over, coughing. The acrid fumes filled her nostrils and burned her eyes. Frenzied shouts and angry curses shot at her from the Satisfaction. She peered through the haze, suddenly afraid she may have hit the ship.
Sloane took a step toward the rail and swatted at the dissipating smoke.
Jackson barreled up from below, where he had governed the undermanned gun crew. His gaze riveted on the Satisfaction.
“Well done, Jackson,” Charlisse said, then glanced toward the helm. “Rusty, hard to larboard,” her voice echoed across the ship, bouncing off the smoky mist.
One look at Jackson sent the first mate marching over the deck, ordering the men up in the shrouds to adjust the sails for the tack. Perhaps the warning shots would give sufficient notice to Merrick that he was no longer welcome on his ship.
Sloane groaned, and Charlisse snapped her gaze to see the Satisfaction through the clearing smoke. A twinge of relief assuaged her taut nerves. The twelve-pounders had plunged harmlessly into the sea yards short of the ship as she’d instructed. Pirates scurried across her deck, but Merrick remained steadfast, arms folded across his chest, glaring at her. She wondered what he was thinking. Did he have any idea who she was?
The Reliance swept over a rising swell, and Charlisse clung to the railing as they veered to port, spitting a gush of foamy spray off their starboard quarter toward the Satisfaction.
Brighton rushed forward. “D’ye want me to blast ’em with our stern chasers, Cap’n?”
Charlisse squinted toward their adversary. “When they are out of range, fire warning shots across their bow.”
“Warnin’ shots is all?” Looking rather disappointed, Brighton adjusted his eye patch and flung his bristly hair behind him.
“You heard me.” Charlisse’s stern tone sent the doctor shuffling up the quarterdeck ladder.
Despite the pain and anger, Charlisse wished no harm to anyone on board the Satisfaction—including Merrick. All she wanted was for him to sail away and leave her be—at least for now. Lord, please make him go away. But when she glanced back at the Satisfaction and saw the ship’s ivory sails gorged and looming off the Reliance’s stern, she knew this particular prayer would not be answered.
“By the looks o’ it,” Sloane said, “she’ll be back on us afore we can spit out a tune.”
“That seems to please you, Mr. Sloane.” Charlisse cocked her head, noting the glee in the old pirate’s voice.
“Naw, milady. I just be thinkin’ ye may want to talk wit’ ’im. Let ’im know who ye are, ’tis all.”
Charlisse studied Sloane’s pleading eyes. He and Merrick had been good friends. No wonder he wished the best for his captain—perhaps even hoped to have him in command again. And very well he might be, someday. But not today. She could not face him today.
“I have no intention of revealing my identity to Captain Merrick.” Charlisse threw her shoulders back, feeling tears rising to her eyes.
Sloane shuffled his feet. “He’s still yer husband, eh?”
Charlisse shot her gaze back to his, intending a clever retort, but Solomon leapt upon her shoulder and nuzzled his face against her cheek. “If Merrick had half the loyalty of this smelly creature, we wouldn’t be in this position.”
