In a Pirate's Debt Page 13

  The captain stopped chewing. “You don’t say? Now that’s not what I’m thinking. I expect we’ll find someone back in Charles Town who might—or perhaps someone in Jamaica.” Then he burst into loud guffaws.

  So Roger Poole had planned the whole thing. Travay lost her appetite, but she finally took a few bites when prodded by Merle, who whispered, “My dear, we must keep up our strength.”

  In the late afternoon the next day, Travay stood on the deck with Merle, getting some fresh air. Suddenly, one of the crew, a boy of seventeen or eighteen, came running up to them and jerked off his grimy hat. “The Cap’n, he says you must get below deck. A ship’s a-coming and we don’t know what kind it is. It don’t look friendly at all.” Fear, stark and vivid, glittered in his eyes.

  Merle turned to him. “Do you think we will be in a battle, or will we outrun it?”

  The young man twisted his hat. “I kinnot say, ma’am, but it’s my strong hope we outrun it.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Lucas awoke and groaned as a rat scurried across his chest, down his leg, and dropped to the floor. He rubbed his eyes, wrinkling his nose at the sickening odor, and remembered where he was. He was in the hold of the pirate ship, the Fortune, that had sailed into a secluded cove on their island for careening and had rescued him, Thorpe, and Sinbad.

  Lucas glanced around his prison cell in the stinking hold. Some rescue. This was where refusing to sign ship’s articles had gotten him. Both he and Thorpe rejected the evil code of operations lived out by the bloodthirsty Captain Edward Low, better known as Ned, and his crew. Sinbad, however, did sign and winked at Bloodstone while doing so. The big man intended to intimidate the rest of the crew and make sure Lucas and Thorpe didn’t starve.

  “Captain, you having bad dreams again?”

  Lucas peered across the blackness toward Thorpe’s voice, in the cell next to his. “Yes, and I’m mad enough to do about anything to get us out of this hellish hole.”

  “I’m with you, Captain. I’m with you. And you know Sinbad will help any way he can.”

  The hatch door above opened, and a shaft of light flooded down into the soggy darkness.

  “It’s me, Cap’n.” Sinbad’s large form descended the creaking rungs. He carried a loaf of bread, and a flask hung about his neck from a cord. “I got some good food this time, Cap’n. No weevils.” He handed the food to Lucas and the flask to Thorpe.

  “Thank you, dear friend.” Lucas smiled at the man, and he and Thorpe devoured the bread and washed it down with the flagon of water in short order.

  Sinbad sat back on his haunches. “Cap’n, I got some news. The Fortune is preparing to enter into battle with a smaller brigantine. The lookout saw its sail in the dawn, and we gave chase. We’re about to get into firing distance.”

  Lucas gave the man his full attention. “What flag does it fly, Sinbad?”

  “The Jolly Roger.”

  Thorpe frowned. “Why would Captain Low trouble fellow Brethren of the Coast? And why waste time on a small pirate vessel when it is the Spanish ships that carry the treasure?

  “He’s just that wicked, Thorpe.” Lucas had heard the tales of Ned Low’s inhumane cruelty. “Nothing is sacred to him, and no one is safe from him. He’s the kind to destroy any ship for the wicked pleasure of killing and torturing its crew.”

  He turned to look at Sinbad. “I know you’re watched, but when the fighting begins, try to get the key to our chains.”

  “Yes, sir, Cap’n.”

  Lucas knew when the battle began and how short was its duration. As he and Thorpe heard the shouts of victory and the hooks being thrown from the Fortune toward the other deck, they also heard Sinbad returning to the hold.

  He came quickly to them and unlocked their cells.

  “I found the quartermaster breathing his last and managed to get his keys,” the man exclaimed, and he went to work unlocking their leg irons.

  As the Fortune crew boarded the smaller ship and got busy with cutlass and knife, Lucas and Thorpe slipped up on the deck and took swords from fallen sailors. They pretended to join the attacking crew on the beleaguered ship but actually worked to save the lives of the other ship’s crew.

  The attacked crew battled valiantly and killed several of Low’s pirates, but they were outnumbered. The last survivors, including their captain, were soon backed into a corner as fires burst up from below deck. Lucas, breathing hard but with every muscle ready, stood with Sinbad and Thorpe beside the captain, guarding the survivors from Low’s men.

  Captain Low, circumventing the now numerous blazes on deck, swaggered up before Lucas and the wide-eyed victims. Never did a man look more like a demon from hell, with his clothes blood splattered, his straggly hair and watery eyes wild, his sword dripping. The fires behind him seemed like part of his attire and suited him well.

  “I see you have rounded up our victims, and for that I thank you.” Low mimicked the voice of a gentleman, as he was known to do before some of his most cruel acts.

  “Why would you want to kill these men, worthless as they are? Why not just maroon them on an island for a much slower death?” Lucas prayed his appeal to the evil imagination of the pirate might work.

  “Well, yes, that would take longer to die, but why should I bother when I can kill them now after we have a little fun with them?” He waved his sword menacingly toward the men and licked his lips.

  Terror registered on the faces of the captured men, all of them bleeding from wounds.

  “Captain, look what we found below on this here Talon.” The pirate crew dragged two women across the bloodied deck and threw them at Low’s feet.

  Lucas’ face paled under two week’s growth of beard. Blood crawled cold to his heart, then flung back in a burning tide, leaving a red haze before his eyes and a taste like brass in his mouth. Travay and her aunt, their faces carved in terror.

  Shock, then hope, lit their countenances as they recognized him.

  Ned Low spat tobacco juice on the deck beside Travay. “I see you recognize the young one, and she you. What is she to you?” He took his lusting eyes off her long enough to glare at Lucas.

  Lucas, his color returning, didn’t move a muscle. “She’s my very own sister. And I ask for her life and that of my aunt with her.” His voice was casual, but his eye twitched in spite of his effort to prevent it.

  “Sister, huh? Now why should I believe that? Lover is more like it, and as captain, I can have my pick of women captives.” He looked back at Travay and licked his lips.

  “I can’t allow you to do that, Captain. Not my sister.”

  Captain Low growled and swished his sword toward Lucas. “And what will the notorious Captain Bloodstone do about it? Do you dare challenge me, Ned Low, to a sword fight?”

  “Yes. But first, you must agree that whoever draws first blood will win the two women’s safety.”

  “Rules? You, my prisoner, dare quote rules to me?”

  Captain Low swung his filthy sword over his head and yelled, “Whoever lives takes all, my ship and these women.”

  The bellows of the raucous crew deafened Lucas’ ears. The men stamped and clapped, ready to see more blood spilled, even their captain’s. They gave way and made a circle around the two men.

  “I will quarter you and hang your head from my mast.” Captain Low swished his sword toward Lucas and cursed when he missed him.

  Thorpe and Sinbad dashed to Lucas’ side. Thorpe whispered hoarsely, “Don’t do it, Lucas. The man is mad and has unnatural strength. What will happen to them if you lose?”

  Sinbad growled.

  Lucas didn’t hesitate. He planted his feet firmly on the deck, thrust his sword toward Low, and whispered to the side, “I won’t lose, but if so, you and Sinbad must kill them both before this demon from hell and his crew can get to them.”

  Travay’s stomach threatened to spill its contents. The smell of smoldering fires and fresh blood, even now red on her hands from the soaked deck, churned acid up her throat.
The ungodly faces of the growling crew made her think of how hell must look and sound with its demons dancing around the Devil himself.

  “Travay, pray like you have never prayed.” Merle’s whisper made Travay swallow the nausea and follow her aunt as she crawled as far away from the battle as they could.

  God, if you are up there. Save us. Save Lucas.

  CHAPTER 16

  Lucas sidestepped from the second blow of Captain Low’s sword, aimed to sever his arm. The air swooshed just beyond Lucas’ left shoulder.

  Around and around the smoldering deck, the two circled, clashing steel until sparks flew like lightning in a summer storm. Lucas, weakened from three days in the hold, had all he could handle keeping Ned Low’s sword at bay while sidestepping the fires breaking through the deck and jumping over the bodies of slain pirates. Meanwhile, the ship took on water.

  The crew followed the battle, jumping about and screeching like lunatics.

  Lucas, his breath coming in short spurts, gathered his strength and stormed toward his enemy.

  Backing away from Lucas’ punishing sword, Low stumbled on the bloody deck. Lucas quickly knocked the sword from his hand and stuck his blade tip to the sweating man’s throat. A trickle of blood ran down into his filthy shirt. He fell to his knees.

  The raucous crew clapped and yelled, “Kill him. Kill him.”

  “No.” Lucas stood over the now pale man, ragged breaths bursting from his taut throat. “I’ll do exactly what I tried to get him to do with the prisoners—lower a longboat.”

  The pirate captain was hauled into the small boat by the same crew he once commanded, and the boat was lowered to the water. He cursed his crew and all aboard, shaking his fist at them before grabbing the oars.

  “He better get away from this sinking ship fast.” A crew member looked over the railing then back to Lucas. “And so had we.”

  Lucas wiped the sweat from his brow and sought Travay’s face among the huddled prisoners behind him. Relieved breaths sounded from the five captives. But where were Travay and Merle?

  Sinbad and Thorpe gathered at Lucas’ side.

  Thorpe leaned toward him and whispered, “The moment you won, the ladies rushed below deck to gather what they can of their possessions before this ship goes down.”

  “There’s not a moment to spare. Go after them, Thorpe.”

  Thorpe hurried away, but Sinbad stood with Lucas as he prepared to address Low’s ragtag, blood-splattered crew.

  “I’ve won the ship and the safe passage of all prisoners. If anyone harms them, he will have me to answer to. Understand?” He scanned the dark, dirty faces in front of him, pointing his sword melded to his fist at them. “Now, abandon ship!”

  “Yessir, Captain,” voices rang out. The crew scurried back aboard the Fortune, dragging whatever of the ship’s stores they could.

  Thorpe escorted Travay and Merle aboard, and another sailor dragged their trunks after them.

  As the Fortune sailed away, Lucas approached Merle and Travay, who watched the Talon upturn and sink beneath the waves.

  Merle turned to Lucas. “Captain Bloodstone. I want to thank you for saving our lives and delivering us from that monster.”

  Lucas gave her a slight bow and looked at Travay. Where were her thanks?

  She stared at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Lucas, we—we heard you were dead.”

  Was that relief on her face?

  She fell into his arms. He drew her to his chest and cupped her chin tenderly in his hand.

  “Do you really care, Travay?”

  Before she could answer, an excited pirate rushed up, and Lucas released her.

  The man bowed to the ladies and extended his hand to Lucas. “Sir, I’m Bart, once captain of the Talon. I don’t know who you are, but we thank you. Who hasn’t heard the tales of Ned Low’s savagery? Thank you for delivering us.”

  “Captain Bloodstone, privateer in His Majesty’s service. At what port would you like us to drop you and your men?”

  Bart smiled, showing yellowed teeth. “Jamaica will be fine, Captain.” He winked. “Or as close to there as you can get. I’ve got to give the bad news to the Talon’s owner. He’s a gentleman with wealth, but he’s not going to like this tale.”

  Thorpe walked up. “What are your orders, Captain? Where do we sail?”

  “Get our bearing and head for Jamaica.”

  Grumbling broke out amid the crew, who preferred heading into Spanish waters to hunt treasure ships. But after one look at Lucas, and Sinbad’s glaring dark presence beside him, they scurried to their posts.

  Travay and Merle fell onto their cots below deck after washing up as best they could.

  “Thank God,” Merle said. “Thank God, we made it through that, that—”

  “That hell,” Travay supplied. She turned to look at the ceiling. “Is that how God and prayer work? He keeps Lucas alive so he can rescue us?”

  “Travay, child, I am not about to try to explain how all this has happened. I am just thankful to still be alive and not in the clutches of that fiend Captain Low.” She turned on her cot. “And I thank God for Captain Bloodstone—I mean Lucas. He risked his life for us, for you.”

  The older woman sat up to peer into Travay’s face. “What are your feelings for him, Travay?”

  “Aunt Merle, he is a pirate. What feelings can I possibly have?” She closed her eyes, signaling an end to the conversation.

  But nothing could erase Lucas’ face from her mind, her heart. Even with two or three week’s growth of beard and his clothing looking and smelling like a pigpen, she could not deny how her heart had sung to see him alive when they were thrown at Captain Low’s feet. But he was still a pirate. Maybe a rung or two higher than Ned Low, but a pirate even so. Would he ever give it up? She sighed and drifted off into a fitful sleep borne of shattered nerves and exhaustion.

  A few hours later, when Thorpe came to bid them to the captain’s table, Travay shook her head, and Merle asked that a tray be sent down to them.

  Lucas invited Captain Bart to his table that evening.

  The man’s dark eyes searched Lucas’ face. “How did you and your men become prisoners of the notorious Ned Low?”

  Lucas held his knife in midair over the meat on his plate. “After my ship was sabotaged and sunk a few weeks ago, two of my men and I ended up on a deserted island. Low’s Fortune came to the island for careening. We were glad to get off the island, but when Thorpe and I refused to sign articles, we were thrown in the hold.” Lucas turned back to the beef with vegetables and hard bread.

  “So you lost your ship. I can sympathize.” A shadow passed over his face. He glanced around the table but then looked directly at Lucas. “You say it was sabotaged?”

  Lucas nodded.

  “I heard a couple of pirates we picked up some time back bragging about that kind of thing—something about sinking the Blue Heron.”

  Lucas dropped his knife. Thorpe choked on his mouthful of bread and coughed.

  “When I overheard them, I threw them off my ship at the next port. If they would do that to one, they might try it with me.” Bart stopped and raised questioning brows toward Lucas.

  “The Blue Heron was my ship.” Lucas’ voice had turned hoarse.

  “And I know just the two,” Thorpe ground out.

  “So do I.” Lucas stared at Captain Bart. “What port did you leave them in?”

  “One of the Bahamas. Didn’t much care where I left them, to tell the truth.”

  After dinner, Lucas walked up on the quarterdeck, breathing deeply of the salty air, enjoying the last of the sun feathering his face. The sails billowed out in a fresh, new wind, and the sloop skimmed across the sea. He offered a brief prayer of thanksgiving for having a ship to sail again. Looking out across the turquoise waters turning red in the sunset, anything seemed possible—even finding the Spanish captain who possibly took his mother prisoner.

  If he could only find out what truly happened to her, then
he would leave privateering forever, maybe. He might even be able to forget the loss of the Blue Heron. His gut told him Byron Pitt was involved in the ship’s destruction.

  His next thought drove all other thoughts from his mind. Travay was just below deck. He could feel her presence on the ship. Eventually, they would talk again. He worried about how she was coping with the whole ordeal but thanked God that he had saved her from a sentence worse than death. He remembered her terror when she was thrown at the feet of Ned Low. He grimaced and slammed his fist into his palm at the thought of where she would be now had he not won the sword fight?. How had the two women ended up as prisoners on a pirate ship anyway? He needed to know the story and to get them safely home.

  As twilight fell, Travay grew restless. The long afternoon nap had refreshed her, and she longed to stretch her legs on deck. She looked over at Merle, who had fallen asleep after their dinner. Softly, so as to not disturb her aunt, Travay slipped a shawl around her shoulders and made her way from the cabin. Her steps turned toward the quarterdeck.

  She heard the thick thud of Lucas’ fist and saw his face contort as if in pain.

  She stopped and would have gone back, but Lucas turned at that moment. Her breath caught at the sight of his handsome, clean-shaven face and fresh shirt. A red sash held a cutlass at his side. His plaited hair was pulled away from his tanned, square face in a queue. He stood with his back to the sunset, which cast a golden glow about him.

  He bowed when he saw her. A smile flashed across his lips, and he held out his hands to assist her up the steps.

  She ignored his offer. She had to find out what his plans were. Would he remain a pirate, or had he had enough close calls? But before she could ask, he spoke.

  “Travay, how did you and your aunt end up on Ned Low’s ship?”

  “We left Charles Town for England, and our ship was waylaid—twice, actually.”

  “England? Why were you and Merle headed to England?”