Merrick strode onto the main deck. The Redemption had entered a morning fog that hovered upon the sea like a bird of prey, creating a ghostly silence as the ship slid through the calm water.
Edward Terrance Bristol. Just hearing that name spoken out loud set every muscle ablaze. Surely, he had misunderstood her. The Edward Bristol he knew could not possibly be her father. The Edward Bristol he knew was a wicked pirate who'd been terrorizing the Caribbean with his cruelties for yearsthe same man Merrick had been hunting these past months, the same man he intended to bring to justice for his murderous atrocities. Rubbing his pounding temples, Merrick shook his head. Impossible. But how many Edward Terrance Bristols could there be? He glanced over the horizon then up at the man in the crow's nest.
"What say you, Royce?" he bellowed.
"Sail ho," he repeated. "Two points off the starboard side."
Leaping to the foredeck, Merrick joined Kent, who had already positioned his scope in that direction.
"Sleep well?" Kent teased.
Ignoring him, Merrick snatched the looking glass out of Kent's hands. Charlisse was not a topic of discussion, especially with this young firebrand. "What did you see?"
"I can't quite make her out, a small merchant vessel, perhaps. She drifts in and out of the fog."
Merrick positioned the scope, holding it steady. The gray mist presented a blank canvas, peaceful and unnervingly quiet. After a few minutes, a brown hull slowly formed, appearing for a second before being swallowed in the haze again. A few more minutes and it materialized once more, staying longer this time, affording him a better look. Straining his eyes, he scanned for the familiar markings that would tell him this was the ship he searched for. But, he found none. Perhaps it was for the better. This was not the time for a battle with a vicious pirate, not with a lady on board. The sooner he could remove her from his ship, the sooner he could resume his hunt for the vile man.
Closing the glass with a snap, he handed it back to Kent and stared off into the fog. "Stay away from her," he ordered, knowing Kent would understand to whom he referred.
Kent was silent beside him, but the tension rising between them was as sharp as a blade.
"Of course, Captain," the first mate finally said as his hand inched to the hilt of his cutlass.
"Do not cross me, Master Kent. You will regret it." Merrick returned the man's defiant stare as a chill crept into his bones. From the fog or his friend's unspoken challenge? The first mate's harried breathing joined the rustle of water against the hull as the ship cut through the sea and indecision cut across the man's brown eyes.
Kent slowly released his grip on his cutlass and looked away. "What about the ship, Captain?"
"Leave her be. Something's not right. I feel it."
"But she's within our grasp."
"We have more than enough to trade at Port Royal." Merrick started down the ladder. "She doesn't look big enough to be worth our time."
"She'd be an easy target. We'd be foolish not to take her." Kent's voice pooled with lingering contempt as he followed his captain.
Merrick continued walking.
"Let's put it to vote." Kent protested.
Halting, Merrick rubbed the back of his neck. Blast the man, he was right. As stated in the articles the crew had signed, the pursuit and acquisition of all targets was to be decided by majority. Merrick had no choice. And he was sure he knew which way his greedy crew would vote.
After gathering the pirates, Merrick explained the situation, and by a showing of hands and a chorus of ayes, his prediction was confirmed. They would pursue and capture this easy prize.
The fog slowly dissipated and the trade winds picked up, affording the Redemptionwith her yards full and her canvas billowinga speedy course toward her intended prey.
Excitement charged through the crew as they armed themselves. Some clambered into the shrouds while others hung on the bulwarks, longing for the ship to come closer into view. The gun crew gathered powder, wicks, matchsticks, and shot and readied the guns to fire their deadly missiles.
Kent and Sloane joined Merrick on the main deck as he extended the looking glass once again.
"What be wrong, Cap'n?" Sloane asked.
"Something is amiss," Merrick mumbled. "Surely they have spotted us by now." He narrowed his eyes, peering through the glass. "Yet they sail on as if we were not here.
"May I?" Kent asked.
Merrick gave him the telescope.
Seconds passed before he folded it and shrugged. "Perhaps they are just too stupid or too consumed with drink."
"Cap'n." A voice drew Merrick's gaze to see Jackson his master gunner approaching. Bare-chested, his ebony muscles bulged beneath a sheen of sweat while three gold earrings hooked in his right ear glittered in the sun. A rather imposing figure alone, but armed with pistols, a boarding ax, and a knife as long as his arm, his appearance would surely send terror through any enemy.
"Yes, Jackson?"
"The guns be run out an' loaded."
Nodding, Merrick faced the merchant vessel. An unusual shiver of trepidation sped down his back. "Hard to starboard, Kent. Bring our guns to bear, but keep a quick pace with her."
Kent headed off.
"Jackson, fire one warning shot over her bow on my order."
"Aye, aye, Cap'n." The huge man stomped away.
"What 'bout the girl?"
"Keep her in the cabin. She'll be under your charge. Do you mind?" He patted Sloane's back with a grin.
"Me? Why would I mind sittin' with a pretty girl instead o' fightin' an' hollerin' with a bunch o' ugly, sweaty men?" Sloane chuckled.
"Why, indeed?"
Merrick watched as the pirate turned and headed down the companionway. He prayed the crew of the merchant vessel would surrender quickly without bloodshed, for he had no desire for Charlisse to witness the bloody carnage that would surely sever her already frazzled nerves.
Kent approached and stood waiting further orders. The captain gave the nod, and the first mate shouted for Jackson to fire. The warning shot served its purpose. The merchant vessel slowed its course and raised a flag of truce.
Never in his career had Merrick seen any ship give up so easily. He eyed them cautiously as the Redemption approached on the ship's larboard side.
The sharp rays of the rising sun had scattered nearly all the fog, and the temperature had risen rapidly. Even so, Merrick felt a chill he could not shake.
Preparing to board, his pirates flung vile curses at their enemy to frighten them. If they could force them to surrender without a fight, it would save damage to either ship and prevent loss of life. Yet as the faces of the merchant crew came clearer into focus, no fear registered on their expressionsnone. Instead, they stood there quietly, hands in the air.
Something was terribly wrong.
"Sail ho," an agitated voice shouted from above Merrick.
He turned just in time to see a jet of gray smoke coming from a massive ship that emerged from the fog behind them. A second later, a cannon sounded, and a spray of water splashed the hull not two feet off their stern.
Merrick bellowed a string of orders, instantly shifting his attention from the small merchant vessel to the looming giant that was attacking from behind. His crew, at first stunned into silence, quickly recovered and scrambled across the deck, obeying his commands.
"All hands on deck," he roared. "Unfurl the topsails. Set the stuns sails and the outer jib." "Helmsman, hard aport." He hoped the turn would give the approaching ship a smaller target for her guns. The Redemption picked up speed.
Men raced into the shrouds to give the sails every inch of canvas as they turned toward the wind.
Pistol shots rang through the air, whizzing by his head. The sailors on the merchant vessel fired upon his men. Puffs of smoke filled the air. The stench of gunpowder stung his nose. Someone screeched behind him. He turned. Hawthorn, one of his youngest men, fell to the deck, clutching his shoulder.
Plucking a pistol from its brace, Merrick scanned the deck of the merchant vessel, and upon seeing the sailor whose smoking gun was still aimed at the Redemption, he fired. The man dropped, holding his leg. His wide-eyed friends grabbed him and leapt down the hatch. By now, the merchant ship was out of range. Merrick returned his pistol to its brace, cursing himself for a fool.
Brighton knelt by Hawthorn, pressing a cloth to his wound. "Take him below," Merrick ordered, flinging himself up the ratlines to the main cross trees. He braced himself, holding the telescope steady as the Redemption sliced through the water.
Through the glass he spotted the gold-and-scarlet banner of Castile flapping tauntingly from the ship's main mast. A Spanish Galleon. And one that now veered starboard, presenting her guns.
Lowering his glass, Merrick scanned the sails. The Redemption had every inch of canvas stretched to her yards. Checking the direction of the breeze, he ordered a ten-degree turn to larboard. The ship veered, and the Redemption's sails caught the wind with a jaunty snap. Soon they would be flying through the Caribbean at top speed. But would it be fast enough to outrun the Spanish vessel?
Another cloud of smoke spewed from the galleon, followed by a thunderous boom. Merrick barely had time to warn his crew before the shot tore through the tip of the mainsail.