The Reliance, page 32
Charlisse examined Sloane’s aged face. His frequent mention of God of late piqued her curiosity. “It would be advantageous that one learns from their mistakes, Mr. Sloane, and doesn’t keep committing the same ones over again.”
“Aye. I like to be thinkin’ that’s true, milady.”
“Apparently, your captain is not as wise, for he entertains his woman on board, flaunting her right before his wife’s eyes.”
“Naw, milady. Ye be mistaken. The cap’n has not called on the señorita—not once since she came aboard.”
“Then where did he sleep last night?”
“On the foredeck. And he’s pretty sore from it.” Sloane chuckled. He reached out and grabbed Charlisse’s hand. The rough surface of his hands felt like a warm, old rope against her delicate skin.
A glimmer of hope nestled within her barren heart. “I beg you not to make a fool of me for his sake,” she said.
“Nay, I wouldn’t be doin’ that.” He squeezed her hand. “Leastways, ’tis not right to be lying.”
Charlisse studied his face, now reddening under her intense perusal. “Do my eyes deceive me or do I detect a change in you, Mr. Sloane?”
Sloane tugged his hand back and scuffed his boots across the wooden planks. “Mebbe.” He gave Charlisse a sideways glance. “Mebbe I called out to yer God like ye told me to.”
Charlisse put down her tea and leapt from the chair. “This is wonderful news!” She knelt beside him, grabbing his hands again. “You’ve accepted Christ as your Lord?”
Sloane flashed her a grin that sparkled despite his grungy teeth. “Aye, that I did, milady. And I ’ave to say, naught’s been the same since.”
Overcome with excitement, Charlisse begged Sloane to disclose every detail of his conversion. Afterward she kept him long into the night talking about the goodness of God and what wonderful things he’d already experienced in his newfound faith. But as the night continued to drop, so did Sloane’s eyelids until finally, yawning, he excused himself.
As soon as the oak door thudded shut, the solemn emptiness of the cabin smothered Charlisse once again, and the agony of her heart battled for preeminence over the good news of Sloane’s redemption.
After gathering her weapons and laying them beside the bed, she blew out the lantern and crawled under the covers, drawing them over her head. She longed to disappear, to be invisible—invisible to Merrick, invisible to the pain, invisible to herself. She yearned to go back to the way things had been between her and Merrick before Porto Bello. But even if that were possible, she doubted she’d ever be able to trust him again. He had been the one man she had trusted with everything. And he had let her down.
Charlisse remembered the verse in Romans “For all have sinned and come short of the glory of God.” Perhaps she was being too harsh on Merrick. Pondering these words and human weakness, Charlisse drifted to sleep with the rocking of the ship.
Terrified screams blared into Charlisse’s hazy mind, frantically jarring her awake. Rolling over, she yanked the pillow over her face, muffling the shrieks, thinking perhaps it was her own soul finally gone mad. But the wails continued, clamoring like warning bells until she sprang up in bed, her eyes darting around the dark room. She saw nothing save the filtered moonlight shimmering through the window and the murky shadows of furniture around her.
Another horrified scream tore through the ship. Boots pounded outside her door. Charlisse jumped off the bed and lit a candle. She quickly donned her shirt and breeches and bolted from the cabin. With candle in hand, she crept down the now silent companionway, the candlelight casting shifting shadows over the walls of the rolling ship. The moist wood beneath her bare feet sent cooling ripples up her legs. A splinter tore her flesh, and she winced.
Creeping forward, Charlisse turned a corner and saw the Spanish woman’s door ajar, flooding the hallway with light. She halted when she heard Merrick’s voice. Jackson emerged from within, nodding at Charlisse as he passed. The whites of his eyes gleamed in the darkness, but he said nothing.
A soft, feminine voice with a Spanish accent flowed like silk from the room. Tiptoeing forward, Charlisse stopped just before the doorway.
“Gracias, Merrick. I’m sorry to disturb you.”
“It is understandable after what you’ve been through.” Merrick’s deep voice penetrated the darkness. “I beg your leave, señorita. Rest well.”
Charlisse turned to flee but heard Merrick step into the hallway behind her and close the door. Her candle shed a circle of light around her, giving her away.
His heavy boots thumped, and a tingle ran down her back as he passed her and tipped his hat. “Milady.” A slight smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “What brings you out of your cabin this late?”
“I heard a scream.”
“Yes, Señorita Elisa had a nightmare.” He glanced at her door. “She’s been through a terrifying ordeal for one so young.”
Charlisse hadn’t even considered what the woman must have endured on Captain Collier’s ship. A wave of guilt flooded her.
“Would you like me to escort you back to the cabin?” Merrick asked, holding out his arm.
“No thank you. I can manage.”
With a nod, he strutted down the hall until the corner took him from her sight.
Charlisse tapped lightly on the señorita’s door. Whatever had happened between this woman and Merrick—whatever feelings existed between them, Charlisse must put that aside and offer her what comfort she could.
The door opened. Elisa’s puffy eyes widened when she saw Charlisse.
“May I come in?” Charlisse asked.
The woman nodded and stepped aside, closing the door after Charlisse entered. The tiny cabin contained only a small cot built into one wall and a slab of oak extending from the other which served as a table. Setting the candle down, Charlisse turned to face Elisa. Her long dark hair cascaded over her shoulders to her waist, and her gentle brown gaze took in Charlisse with nervous expectation.
“I heard you scream, señorita, and I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
Elisa’s brows furrowed for a moment, then letting out a sigh, she walked to the cot and sat down. “Si, I am fine, gracia señora. I have no chair to offer you. Would you care to sit?” She gestured to a place beside her on the cot.
Charlisse shook her head and tried to smile. Elisa’s beauty sparkled, despite the bags under her eyes and her disheveled hair and gown.
“I am sorry to awaken you,” Elisa continued. “I fear it will be quite some time before I can forget the horrors of Captain Collier.”
“How did you come to be on his ship?”
“He raided my town, Barracoa. He and Mer…your husband.” Her gaze lowered to the floor.
Charlisse gulped. Merrick on a raid? So, it was true. He had turned to pirating. “I’m sorry for what you must have gone through.” Dare she inquire as to the specifics? Perhaps it was best left unsaid. “Is there something I can get for you?”
“No, señora, you are very kind.” Elisa dropped her head into her hands and sobbed.
Pushing her jealousy aside, Charlisse eased beside her on the cot and gently placed an arm over her shoulders. “There’s nothing to fear anymore, señorita. You are safe on this ship.”
“Please call me Elisa,” she sniffed and gazed at Charlisse with glassy eyes. “I hardly shed a tear when I was with Collier, but now that I’m protected, I find I cannot stop weeping like a baby.” A sorrowful giggle escaped her lips.
“That’s to be expected.” Charlisse rubbed her back, remembering all the times she’d broken down and wept after she’d survived a terrifying event. “Go ahead and cry. You’ll feel much better.”
And cry Elisa did—for the next hour—pouring out in between sobs the story of her kidnapping, Collier’s attempts to ravish her, the times he’d struck her, and finally how he’d dragged her to the Drunken Skunk in an attempt to sell her to the mob.
Charlisse cringed. “How horrible! I can’t imagine how frightened you must have been.”
“Your husband. He saved me. He pretended to buy me for the whole night, but that beast Collier would not let him go.”
Images of Elisa on Merrick’s lap flashed through Charlisse’s mind. He had been trying to save her just as he’d told Charlisse, but still she could not forget that look in his eyes as he’d buried his face in Elisa’s neck. She glanced down at the woman’s lips and thought of the kiss Merrick said they’d shared. Pain squeezed her heart.
“My husband is a good man,” Charlisse said, trying to focus on the fact that he had risked his life to save Elisa.
“Si señora, you are very lucky.”
“You care for him.” Charlisse stated, sadly, instead of questioned.
Elisa let out a tiny whimper and pursed her lips. “I do, señora.” She shifted her gaze away from Charlisse. “But I would not have allowed such feelings to grow if I’d known you were alive. Please believe me. Besides”—she folded her hands on her lap and looked down—“he loves only you.”
Tugging on a lock of her hair, Charlisse twirled it around her finger and watched the candle flickering across the room. Elisa’s last words pierced the dark shroud around her heart like sunlight on a stormy day.
“It is true.” Elisa grabbed Charlisse’s hand. “I see it in his gaze when he looks at you.”
Tears burned behind Charlisse’s eyes, but this time they weren’t tears of anguish, but tears of joy. Perhaps Merrick had been hasty in his affections toward another, but what did Charlisse know of the sorrow he had endured when he believed she was dead? Could she forgive him?
“Go to him,” Elisa urged her. “Go to your husband.” Her excited smile held the hint of sorrow.
Charlisse squeezed her hand and embraced her. “Thank you.” Then jumping to her feet, Charlisse stepped to the door, turned, and smiled at Elisa before opening it and darting down the hallway and up the companionway ladder.
She scanned the deck, searching for Merrick. Pirates stood in clusters by the larboard railing. On the foredeck up ahead, a tall silhouette loomed. A half moon draped its milky light over him, setting him apart from the shadows of rigging and mast.
Charlisse rushed to the ladder, then softly walked toward the dark figure until she stood beside him. His arms crossed over his thick chest, and his hair blew behind him in ebony strands. With firm jaw, he stared over the raucous ocean.
She turned her gaze to the sea as well. The moonlight dabbed sparkling light on chosen waves, brightening their journey through the dark world.
“I spoke with Elisa.”
“You did?”
“She’s very sweet. I see why you like her.”
A hint of a smile toyed upon Merrick’s lips. “But I love you, Charlisse.”
“So she told me.”
He snorted and shook his head, offering her a sly glance. “I would hope you would be able to see that for yourself.”
Charlisse grinned and inched closer to him, feeling his warmth dispel the chill of the evening. “I should have. I’m sorry.”
“I was so miserable without you.” Letting his arms fall, he turned toward her. “I didn’t know what I was doing. Nothing made sense.” He pulled Charlisse into his embrace.
She fell against his chest and allowed his warmth to engulf her. Melting into him, she took a deep breath of his scent, and for the first time in a month, let her guard down, releasing all the tension within her in tears that spilled down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Charlisse. I never meant to hurt you.” He stroked her back and ran his hands through her hair, kissing her forehead. “Please don’t ever leave me again.”
She stood back. “It was you who left me, if you remember.”
Merrick pushed the hair gently from her face and ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping away her tears, his dark gaze riveted to hers. “A mistake I intend never to make again.”
The Reliance lunged over a swell, and Merrick steadied himself and grabbed Charlisse. She buried her face in his chest and sighed, feeling safe at last, surrounded by his strength. Her body warmed and she gazed up at him.
Instantly his lips were on hers, drawing her into him. Charlisse’s heart melted. To taste him again. To feel his passion, his love. Her world spun. The kiss ended too quickly. Leaning down, Merrick swept her up into his arms and marched across the deck and down the ladder. Ignoring the snickers around them, he descended to their cabin. With one thrust, he kicked the oak door aside and gently placed Charlisse on the bed, before closing and latching the door. Then turning, he sauntered toward her, unbuttoning his shirt, a grin playing on his lips.
Charlisse could resist her husband no longer. Nor did she want to. A warmth stirred within her, spreading over her in waves, and she opened her arms to receive him.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Stolen Treasure
Isabel sat on the window ledge in the cabin and gazed over the turbulent sea. A half-blackened moon cast its paltry light upon the dismal scene, only increasing the hopelessness that had taken residence within her heart. It had been five days since Captain Carlton had stormed aboard Charlisse’s ship and stolen Isabel, once again dragging her back into her worst nightmare.
Since then, the captain had been naught but kind, offering her every comfort and never forcing his attentions upon her. However, his visits had become less frequent, and she sensed uneasiness in his demeanor that frightened her. Perhaps the cost of maintaining his gentlemanly facade was taking its toll on him, and soon he would revert to the lecherous brigand he truly was. It was his nature, after all—the nature of all those born common.
As the arduous days and nights passed, Isabel had resigned herself to her fate—to be the captive of a pirate captain for the rest of her days. No one knew where she was, save Charlisse, and why would Lady Hyde risk her life for someone she barely knew? By now, surely she had reunited with her husband and they were beginning their life anew.
The idea of Charlisse’s God hounded Isabel day and night—not the god Isabel had learned about in church. This God was different, full of power and love. Was it possible He loved Isabel too, just as Charlisse had claimed?
One night, when the reality of her situation had pulled her into despair, she’d called out to Him. But although she’d felt some peace and a sprinkle of hope that lifted her spirits, her situation hadn’t changed. Whether God had heard her prayer or not, she determined to remain strong and not allow Kent’s feigned benevolence squirm its way through the bitter casing around her heart.
And she had much to be bitter about. Isabel clutched her stomach. The child would make himself known to the gazes of others in only a few months. She loathed the babe growing inside her—a pirate’s child.
The grating of the latch sounded, and the door creaked open. Kent swaggered in, pocketing the key, and eyed her with concern. He doffed his hat and bowed, loosing a strand of dark hair across his cheek. Tossing it back, he perused her with a tender gaze that leeched her resolve.
“I trust you are feeling well, milady.”
Isabel snorted and turned away from his dauntless figure. “As well as can be expected.”
“Oh come now, surely you have been treated like royalty aboard my ship.”
“Pshaw, you know nothing of the finer things in life.” She glared at him. “Your measly attempts at presenting a table a true noblewoman would enjoy are laughable.” No sooner had the words escaped her lips, than Isabel wished to recall them, as fury stormed on Kent’s face, causing his upper lip to twitch.
Shifting his gaze away, he tossed his hat onto the table.
“And yet your food has been the finest ever served aboard this ship.” He marched to the desk and began rummaging through drawers, slamming each one in turn.
His salty, spicy scent wafted over her.
Kent pulled out a bottle of rum, uncorked it, and drew two huge gulps from its mouth. He sighed, closing his eyes. “Why do I always feel the need for rum in your presence?”
“Why do you blame others for your own weak nature?”
Chuckling, Kent opened his eyes and took another swig. “Egad, your mouth spews a more deadly blast than any broadside.”
“Then perhaps you should avoid setting it off.”
“Here, here.” Kent pressed the bottle to his chest. “You have cut me to the quick, milady.”
Was that a shimmer in his eyes, or was it only the rum taking effect? Isabel glanced down, wrapping her arms around her belly. She heard the liquor slosh inside the bottle. Was he going to drink it all?
Tears burned her eyes as she thought of her home in New Providence, of her father and mother and the dreams she’d once had of marrying a rich nobleman, of living a life of wealth and luxury. Now, even if she could get free from this villain, what true gentleman would have her, defiled and sullied as she was?
The thud of boots on the wooden floor drew her gaze upward to Kent, stumbling toward her. He set his half-empty bottle on a table and settled the tottering flask before continuing his approach. His eyes shone with the haze of alcohol and something else Isabel could not determine.
She backed against the window and cringed, her breath quickening. Visions of the captain’s assault upon her two months ago twirled like phantoms in her mind. It had happened so quickly, and he had been so benevolent since, that if not for the child growing with her, she would have thought it only a nightmare.
He stopped before her. She lowered her head. The pungent odor of rum stung her nose, and she twitched it, trying to loosen its grip on her senses.
Placing a finger under her chin, he lifted her head until she could not avoid his intense gaze. “What is it you find so repulsive about me?” His deep voice simmered.
Isabel gulped. She sensed a tremor cross the thick muscles of his chest. Surely, he was jesting. “You need ask?”
Turning his back to her, he balled his hands on his hips and looked down. Waves of long umber hair spiraled down his back from the tie that held them in place. “I never meant to harm you,” he said.
