Charlisse entered the captain's cabin, her bare toes sinking into the soft fibers of a Persian rug. Sloane followed close behind. The cabin carried a dark and mysterious atmosphere and smelled of spices and wood. The décor was masculine and austere like its master, yet expressed a taste of nobility, which seemed at odds with its owner. A grand mahogany desk stood to one side, covered with maps and books in disarray. Brass candlesticks, silver trinkets, and a small gold chest filled with glowing pearls also sat haphazardly upon it.
A bookcase made up one wall, filled with all manner of scholarly tomes. Next to it rested a beautifully-crafted armoire. A small bed, framed in carved oak, filled the left corner. Beside it, a large stained-glass window showered myriad delicate colors across the oak floor. A teakwood trunk lay open next to the bed, overflowing with vests and doublets, black suits, and fine ruffled Holland shirts.
Exhausted, Charlisse sunk into one of two cushioned leather chairs.
"Cap'n says ye best stay here, miss, fer yer own protection," Sloane said. "I'll bring ye some tea after we set sail." He closed the sturdy oak door with a thud.
Charlisse snuggled into the soft leather, enjoying the feel of a chair beneath her again. She sighed. She had simply gone from one prison to anotherfrom the deserted island to a cage with four walls. At this point, she had no idea which one she preferred, although at least this prison moved and could possibly take her to Port Royal. No matter what she faced along the way, she must surviveif only to look into her father's eyes just once.
Scanning the room for a weapon, her eyes landed on a leather-bound book on the desk. A Bible? She got up to examine it. Indeed, it was a Bible. Puzzled, she picked it up and shuffled through the pages. A pirate who was a man of faith? What a dichotomy. Or perhaps he simply possessed the holy book in the hopes of gaining favor with God. Thoughts of her uncle instantly flooded her mind: a bishop in the Church of England, complete with flowing robes and a golden crucifix. A perfect picture of sacred piety. Yet inside he was naught but a twisted, enraged man. Why, when she was thousands of miles away, could she not forget him and the horror he had inflicted on her? "Hypocrites, all of them," she spat, tossing the book back on the desk.
Shouts startled her, along with the loud clap of the sails as they caught the wind. The ship heaved, and she grabbed the desk to keep from falling as fear rose to taunt herfear of once again being completely dependent upon the mercies of a man. Making her way to the window, she sat on a cushioned ledge and peered out at the retreating island, unable to control her trembling and cursing herself for her weakness.
She must have eventually dozed off, for a quiet tapping on the door woke her, and Sloane entered with a tray of tea.
"Here ye go, miss, some nice hot tea an' biscuits fer ye." He placed the tray on a small table by the bed and stood, waiting. She gave him a blank stare, then continued to gaze out the window.
"Come on, now, miss. Ye needs to be eatin' somethin'." He poured the steaming liquid into a cup. "I know yer skeered."
The savory scent of biscuits drifted around her, alluring her with their sweet warmth. Her mouth watered. Finally, she gave in, grabbed one and sat in a chair. The dough was hard, but it had a buttery flavor, and she couldn't remember the last time she had eaten anything so delicious.
"How did you become a pirate, Sloane? You don't seem to fit in with the rest of these scoundrels."
He gave a hearty chuckle. "Well, miss, I thank ye fer that." He shuffled his feet. "I was a common sailor once." He looked at her with a sideways glance and a gleam in his eye. "A respectable one, that is. Didn't know me mother or father. An orphan was I, wanderin' the streets of Aruba till I snuck aboard a merchant vessel anchored near the island. Well, instead o' throwin' me off, the captain kep' me on and made me his cabin boy. As I grew bigger an' stronger, he taught me the ways o' the sea, an' I became a midshipman." Sloane smiled. "A good man was hea finer captain could ne'er be found. The only father I ever knew."
Charlisse sipped her tea, intrigued by the story. "What happened to him?"
"Ah, he retired, miss. Went back to England, he did, an' I got work on another merchant vessel after that." Sloane scratched his thick beard and shifted uncomfortably. The cutlass strapped to his hip reminded Charlisse that he was just as dangerous as the rest of them, no matter how friendly he seemed.
"And how did you come to sail with Captain Merrick?"
A smile crossed his lips. He sat down and took a biscuit. "Well, that be a story fer sure. Ye see, I worked me way up to first mate. We was sailin' on a merchant ship when we was attacked by pirates."
"Merrick?"
He nodded and took a bite. "He took our ship with nary a shot an' gave us all the option o' dyin' or signin' pirate articles an' joinin' him." He chuckled, crumbs flying from his mouth. "It weren't much a choice, if ye ask me."
Charlisse frowned. "How long ago was that?"
Inching fingers beneath his purple headscarf, Sloane scratched his head and stared out the window. "Nigh on three years, I figure." He shoved the rest of the biscuit in his mouth and grabbed another.
"And do you enjoy being a pirate, Mr. Sloane?"
"It's not what ye be thinkin', miss. The pirate life be free an' wild an' plenty more lucrative then bein' a merchant sailor, says I. But," he added, "I would only sail as a pirate under Merrick's flag."
"You do seem to admire him."
"He's a good man. Ye'll see, miss." He stood. "But now I have to be gettin' back to me duties." He grinned, then left, locking the door behind him.
Charlisse paced the cabin, jiggling the lock on the door more than once, and wondering where she would go if she could free herself. Sifting through the papers and charts on the desk, she searched for a knife, a pistol, or even a letter openeranything she could defend herself with. She opened drawers, examined every book on the shelves, and finally sat, exasperated, on the window ledge, distressed at the horrible twist fate had thrown her way.
Despite her predicament, a glorious sunset spilled across the horizon in a stunning canvas of coral, ruby, and lilac, slowly absorbing all traces of blue from the ocean, leaving only black in its place. A chill sped across her back. So often the most beautiful things in the worldlike the ocean or the skycould also be the most deadly.
The door opened, startling her, and in walked Merrick, filling the room with his presence.
"A gentleman should knock before entering a lady's room," she blurted.
"Well." He cocked one eyebrow. "That would imply I'm a gentleman, and you are a lady. Neither of us has conceded to either title as of yet." He slammed the door, pulled off his waistcoat, and threw it across a chair. "Besides," he added, "this is the captain's cabin, not a lady's boudoir."
The gleam in his eyes softened. He sighed, then removed his brace of pistols and placed them on the desk, leaving his cutlass hanging at his side.
Charlisse watched his broad back as he fumbled with something on the desk. Her eyes moved to the pistols. Tension formed knots in her stomach as she waited, wondering, dreading his next move.
"I've arranged for a bath and some proper clothes for you," he said without turning.
"I don't want them."
He faced her, his lips curving. "Take them or not, that is up to you, Miss Bristol. But I don't recommend you remain so … sparsely dressed," he gestured toward her apparel, "with fifty disreputable men on board."
A blush warmed Charlisse's face, and she turned away, hoping he hadn't seen. A knock on the door brought a welcome interruption.
"Enter," Merrick said.
"Here ye go, Cap'n." Groaning, Sloane carried in a large wooden tub and set it on the deck, then removed the green gown and towel from his shoulder and tossed them on the bed. Behind him, two men followed, carrying steaming jugs, which they quickly emptied into the tub. Not, however, without repeated glances toward Charlisse that made her squirm.
"That'll be all," Merrick said, sending Sloane and the two men out of the cabin. He faced her. "You have twenty minutes before I return. 'Tis your choice what to do with it." Then turning, he followed his men out the door and shut it behind him.
Charlisse couldn't figure out if he was being kind or just cleaning her up to satisfy his ribald whims. She hesitated, unsure what to do. The warm water looked inviting. And she was horribly filthy.
Quickly disrobing, she climbed in. With one eye constantly on the door and one hand holding a towel to cover herself with, she scrubbed the dirt from one section of her body at a time, cleansing the fading insect bites, soothing her dry, sun-baked skin, and rinsing the salt water from her hair.
Growing worried about the time, she dried herself and hastily donned the gowna beautiful jade green with lace at the collar and sleeves, a tight-fitting waist, and long, flowing silk skirt. For the first time in a month, she felt clean and refreshed. Almost like a lady.
She looked around for a mirror, and her gaze landed on Merrick's pistols lying on the table. How could she have forgotten about them? She glanced at the door, hesitated, then hurried and grabbed one. It was heavier than she expected. Now, what should I do with it? The bed. She could stuff it under a pillow until she needed it.
The door creaked. She swung around, holding the pistol behind her back as the captain entered.
His eyebrows shot upat her appearance or that she had done his bidding, she couldn't tell.
"Much better," he said.
"I hope you know, sir, I have no intention of becoming another trinket with which you adorn your cabin," she shot back at him.
"I fear, milady, this will be a very long trip if you insist on being so contrary." His dark eyes glinted with humor. "Especially since we will be sharing such close quarters together."
Charlisse glanced at the small bed behind her, feeling a pounding dread pulsate through her veins. She turned back around. "I beg your pardon. Sharing quarters?"
He sauntered toward her, his boots echoing ominously on the wood floor. "This is the captain's cabin, and I am the captain. Surely you don't suggest I sleep with the crew?" A hint of a smile played on his lips, and Charlisse wasn't sure if he was serious or simply enjoying her discomfort.
"I don't care where you sleep, as long as it's not here." She attempted a defiant tone, but her cracked voice betrayed her fear.
The closer he came, the more she shook. He had removed the scarf tied about his head. His black hair was pulled back, revealing handsome features. Dark stubble covered his chin and the muscles beneath his tight-fitting shirt twitched as he approached. He loomed over her by at least a foot.
"Stay away," she warned him, backing up slowly. She ran into the bedpost and could go no farther.
The mocking grin remained on his face.
Charlisse's fingers ached under the weight of the pistol. It began to slip in her sweaty hands. In a burst of desperation, she flung it in front of her and pointed it straight at Merrick. Or as straight as she could make the wobbling weapon.
"I will shoot you!"
Merrick crossed arms over his chest, his smile broadening. "Is that so?" Nodding at the pistol, he added, "You might want to load it first."
Charlisse stared at the gun, then back at him. Was he lying? How could she tell? She had no idea how to use one of these hideous things. His eyes revealed no fear, only glittered with their usual cocky arrogance. The gun continued to waver.
With lightning speed, Merrick seized it from her grasp. Gasping, Charlisse glared up at him, then slumped down on the bed to await her fate.
Head down, she heard him chuckling as he returned the pistol to its brace. "I suggest you not kill the only man on board this brig who is protecting you."
Tears welled in her eyes, but she fought them back and lifted her chin, unwilling to show any sign of weakness. "And who, sir, will protect me from you?"
His wanton gaze covered her from head to toe. An uncomfortable silence stretched between them. Self-conscious under his scrutiny, Charlisse dropped her gaze once more.
"That will have to be God," Merrick said.
She looked up at him. "Then, I fear my situation is hopeless."
His eyebrow rose. "You have no faith in God, milady?"
She sighed. "He gave up on me a long time ago."
He paused. "Perhaps 'tis the other way around." He flung the brace of pistols over his shoulder and walked toward the door. "I will have dinner sent to you. I make no habit of dining with someone who has held a pistol to my chest." He grinned. "At least not on the same day." He opened the door.
"Captain?"
He stopped in the hallway and turned to face her. "Yes?"
"Was the pistol loaded?"
"I always keep my pistols loaded, milady." Amusement twinkled in his eyes before he shut and locked the door.