Chapter 11: The Storm Within

The rain came in torrents, pounding mercilessly on the window of the cabin, trying to reach in and grab Charlisse and plunge her into the sea once again. With each crashing wave, the ship bucked feverishly. Charlisse clung to her bed, sick to her stomachnot sure whether her sudden illness was caused by the rolling of the ship or her nerves.

A flash of lightning streaked the darkened sky, followed by an enormous boom that rumbled through the ship, testing each timber and bolt with its fury.

The cabin door opened, and she looked up to see Merrick removing his hat. Water poured from its brim onto the floor.

He looked at her. "Merely a summer storm, milady. It should be over soon."

"We will not go down?" Her voice quavered.

A smile curved his lips. "One never knows with these squalls." He shrugged off his drenched waistcoat and threw it on a chair.

The drip drip accompanied the awkward silence filling the room as Charlisse felt her panic rise. But then she saw the teasing lift of his eyebrow, and anger replaced her fear.

She worked to unclench her hands and tried to sound as unconcerned as he. "When will we get to Port Royal?"

Removing his baldric and cutlass, he sank into one of the leather chairs and shook his wet hair, raking a hand through it before fixing her with an intense gaze.

Charlisse shifted her eyes away.

"About two days," he finally answered.

She nodded, glancing out the window. Another burst of thunder trembled the sky.

She jumped.

"I assure you, milady, you are quite safe."

She snapped her gaze to his. "Am I?"

A playful twinkle crossed his eyes. "From the storm, at least." Eerie shadows swayed across the cabin from the lantern overhead as Merrick rose and poured rum into a dirty glass.

Someone tapped on the door, and Sloane entered carrying a tray of tea. "Jist some dried beef an' old biscuits tonight, I'm afraid, due to the storm." He set it down and looked from Merrick to Charlisse.

The captain slammed the rum to the back of his throat then sat back down. "Sit, eat with us," he insisted.

"Why, thank ye, Cap'n. Don't mind if I do." Sloane offered a biscuit to Charlisse and plopped into a chair beside Merrick.

The ship continued its chaotic rolling, and she wondered how anyone could eat anything at all. Yet the two pirates consumed biscuits as if they were enjoying a picnic on dry land.

Another clap of thunder bellowed. Charlisse sprang from the bed and began pacing, her silk skirt swooshing with each step. Her head spun and her stomach churned. The ship lurched to port. She stumbled but caught herself on the bedpost.

"You'll get used to it after a while." Merrick chuckled. "Maybe you should sit down." He pointed to the bed.

"I prefer to walk."

"Some tea might settle yer belly," Sloane offered.

Yet after several minutes of barely keeping balance on the heaving ship, along with a terrifying vision of herself sprawled on the deck in front of these two men, skirts flung over her head, she finally sat and accepted the cup from Sloane's outstretched hand.

The warm tea soothed her throat. She hoped she would keep it down.

Leaning back in his chair, Merrick propped his boots on the table, while Sloane continued to devour biscuits. Charlisse could see where the old sailor got his corpulent figure.

"Do tell, Miss Bristol, what draws you to Port Royal?" Merrick asked.

She hesitated, wondering whether he was searching for information or just passing idle moments. "My father is there." Before the words left her lips, it occurred to her that claiming to have a strong, protective father waiting for her in Port Royal may keep this pirate captain at bay.

"Ah, yer father," Sloane exclaimed. "That be good, miss."

"Is he awaiting your arrival?" Merrick asked, his tone suspicious.

"Of course he is. And if I am delayed," she added for good measure, "I assure you, he will spare no expense to search for me and exact revenge on those who kept me from him."

"Is that so?" Merrick smirked. "Then I expect he's out looking for you now since your arrival has already been delayed by a shipwreck?"

Ignoring him, she fingered a lock of hair that had fallen in her lap, wishing she had pins with which to put it up properly. How improper and undignified to have her long curls flowing in abandon around herespecially in front of these men.

"What does your father do?"

She fixed him with a cold eye. "He's a merchantman, if you must know, based in Port Royal. He sent for me to come and live with him."

"Hmm."

"You don't believe me?"

"What does it matter?"

"I believe ye, miss," Sloane announced between bites.

Merrick chuckled. "You'd believe her if she said she was the queen of England, you gullible old fool."

Sloane grinned and offered Charlisse more tea.

She declined, her stomach still uneasy.

"You're from London, then?" Merrick continued his questioning.

"Yes."

"Where in London?"

She searched the captain's face. His lips wore naught but the insolent smirk that frequently played there. What mischief was he about? "Hampstead."

Merrick sipped his tea, nodding. "I know the area."

"What of it?"

"You come from a noble family."

Charlisse said nothing.

"Fine gowns, jewels, balls to attend, the best tutors?"

Charlisse lifted her chin. "What is it to you?"

Merrick sighed, his brow furrowing.

"Something troubles you, Captain?"

He tore off a bite of dried beef and lay back in his chair, his gaze never leaving her. "So you left the comforts of home, bartered passage on a lowly merchant vesselwithout benefit of escortand embarked on the dangerous crossing from England all by yourself?" One dark brow rose.

"That I did. And I don't see how it is any business of yours." She met his stare defiantly. What would he do when he discovered she had no sheltering father waiting for her in Port Royal? Every ounce of her hoped that she did. It could be true, after all. But this pirate was not dull of wit.

"'Tis mighty dangerous to be travelin' alone, miss," Sloane added. "Especially a lady as young as yerself." He stuffed a clump of beef into his mouth.

"With that I will agree." Merrick set down his tea. "Whatever the reason, you have my utmost regard for attempting such a precarious journey. I know of no other lady who would have been so brave and resourceful."

The esteem in his gaze and sincerity in his tone both shocked and unnerved Charlisse. She shifted on the bed. "What do you mean whatever the reason? I told you my reason."

"Do you know what I think?" Merrick leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees, looking at her with those imperious eyes.

No, she actually didn't wish to know what he thought.

"I think you're running away from something."

"Your opinions are of no interest to me, Captain."

Merrick leaned back, a faint smirk on his mouth.

"If you must know, my mother died," she uttered in a shaky voice. Well, it was true, though it happened twelve years ago. "And as I have said, my father sent for me."

"He sent for you but provided no means for you to get there, nor a proper escort for your protection?"

"How dare you insult the honor and intentions of my father, sir!" Charlisse's stomach clenched and made a gurgling sound she feared would give away her nervousness.

"I beg your pardon, milady." Merrick dipped his head. "That was not my intention. I was only inferring that if you were my daughter, I would not let such a precious creature travel these dangerous waters alone."

"I assure you, sir, I can take care of myself," she snapped, not missing his compliment.

"Indeed, so you have shown."

Charlisse sighed and looked toward the window. The rain had stopped, but a sudden chill came over her. She rubbed her arms. Was this the price of her passage to Port Royal, to endure these probing and insulting questions? She had never met such a pompous and infuriating man. It was as if he could see right through every lie she uttered, only to toss each one back in her face. Yet, if these childish banters were the only cost of the voyage, she resolved herself to endure them. She feared, however, she would pay a much higher price before reaching her destination.

Sloane lay back in his chair, hands folded over his full stomach, watching them with odd glee.

From the corner of her eye she caught the sultry glare of the captain still upon her, causing a shudder to traverse her spine at the thought of becoming his unwilling mistress. A few strands of wet hair had fallen across his cheek. He reached up to scratch the stubble on his chin.

"You have no other family?"

"None that I trust." Unwanted tears burned behind Charlisse's eyes, but she forced them back.

"Never fear, milady." Merrick's tone turned oddly kind. "We shall get you safely to Port Royal."

Sloane inched to the edge of his seat in an effort to rise. "'Tis a brave thing ye be doin', says I." He stood and grabbed the tray.

Merrick nodded. "I'll be up in a minute."

With Sloane's departure, the mood in the room changed to one of tense apprehension. Did the captain have this affect on every woman who found herself alone with him?

He remained seated, perusing her, a grin hovering over his mouth.

"I perceive you are enjoying yourself at my expense," Charlisse stated, rubbing her arms from the cold that had crept into the room.

Merrick stood and headed toward the armoire. "Aye, I am enjoying myself. I'll admit to that." He retrieved a blanket.

Charlisse's stomach dropped.

"But I could be enjoying myself much more." His grin was wolfish as he walked toward her. Each thud of his boots on the wooden floor set her nerves on fire as memories of a horrid past rose to torment her.

He sat next to her on the bed. She refused to flinch. She refused to cower. Instead she met his gaze and willed herself to show none of the fear that pulsed through her body. The sharp look in his eyes gradually softened. His damp hair, the color of ebony, touched the collar of his white shirt. He smelled of rain and musk.

He reached up and swung the blanket around her shoulders. Its warmth brought instant relief and momentarily allayed her fears.

Heat flooded hera heat that both terrified and confused her. Why was she feeling this way? This was certainly not the behavior of a lady. A true lady should not feel desireespecially not for such a rogue. Shame swept the heat away. Her uncle had been right about her. Clearing her throat, she scooted back on the bed, avoiding his gazeand those penetrating dark eyes.

He raised his hand. She flinched. He hesitated, searching her eyes. He reached up again, more slowly this time, and caressed her cheek, moving a strand of her hair aside.

Bewildered by his tenderness, Charlisse turned her face away. "How did you become a pirate?" she asked, hoping to distract himand herself.

For a moment, all was silent. She felt his gaze scour over her. Then he chuckled. "'Tis a long story. But, I daresay, we may have more in common than you would think, for I, too, left my home and all I knew to come to these adventurous waters. Though for different reasons, I assure you. You came to find your father. I came to lose mine."

He looked away and Charlisse stared at him, watching his stubbled jaw flex. He ran a hand through his hair and returned his gaze to hers, and for the first time since she'd met him, no haughty sneer shielded his features.

Reaching up, he pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

The familiar action sent Charlisse's heart racing. "You do not intend to harm me." Her words sounded more like a statement than a question.

Merrick grinned. "Such boldness from so young a lady." Regard shown in his eyes. He shook his head. "Quite the contrary, I assure you."

A flicker of gentleness passed across his expression. Hope sprouted within Charlisse but was instantly crushed as his perusal of her grew more intense and his steely fa?ade gained dominance once more. Charlisse sensed a battle brewing behind his eyes.

He reached up to touch her again, then dropped his hand and turned away. Bolting from the bed, he buckled on his baldric and cutlass, grabbed his coat and hat, and slammed out the door without saying a word.

Several hours later, Charlisse heard him return. Sleep had not come to her, no matter how desperately she beckoned it. The storm had finally subsided, and a deadly silence had overtaken the ship. It only added to her already frayed nerves.

She heard him removing his boots, coat, and weapons. Peeking from underneath her coverlet, she saw him standing in the darkness, a shadowy outline, barely discernable. His presence filled the room with danger, like a panther ready to strike. He stood silently for several minutes before he finally lay down on the floor.

Charlisse remained rigid as she waited for the sound of his deep breathing, assuring her he was fast asleep.

Wherefore let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. There hath no temptation taken you but such as is common to man: but God is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that ye are able; but will with the temptation also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear it.

Merrick closed the Bible and prayed silently. You are faithful, Lord. I believe your word and put my trust in you. Rid me of my evil thoughts and ways, and create in me a new heart. Make me a man of honor and integrity as I serve you, my King.

Looking up, he saw the angel sleeping in his bed. She did look like an angel, especially when she was asleepand her mouth was shut. She intrigued him: but why? What was it about her that allured him? Surely, it wasn't just her beauty and refinement. He had met many such ladies before and found most of them tiresome. Charlisse was hardly that. She was unpredictable and mysterious: terrified, yet more courageous than any woman he had met; vulnerable, yet defiant and independent; extremely feminine, yet with a man's strength of mind and will; cautious and distrustful, but with a hint of concealed trust and reliance.

Where other women swooned under his attention, she resisted his charms, not offering him the slightest flirtatious glance. Maybe that was it. His pride was bruised. Finally, a woman who did not crave his affections, and he couldn't stand it.

He got up from his desk and strapped on his weapons. The noise stirred her from her sleep, and her eyes openedthose ocean-blue eyes.

She made no comment, merely watched him.

"What, no complaint about me sleeping here with you?"

She sat and pulled the quilt up to her chin. "Would it do me any good?"

He smiled, buckling his baldric and grabbing his boarding axe and knives. "Tell me your father's name."

"Why?" Charlisse rubbed her eyes.

Waking from her slumber, she seemed so childlike, but even in her sleepy state, she had a petulance that pricked his pride. "Perhaps I can help you find him."

Charlisse's eyes narrowed as she studied him. Finally she sighed. "Edward Terrance Bristol."

Merrick stopped short. He felt the blood drain from his face. Edward Terrance Bristol. The name hung in the room like a dank vapor.

"You know him?" Charlisse's face brightened.

"No." Merrick shook his head, a chill coursing through him. "That's impossible. I must be thinking of someone else. I don't know any Edward Bristol."

"Sail ho!" a voice boomed from above deck.

Tying his pirate's scarf around his head, he grabbed his hat and walked out the door, unable to look at her pleading eyes.