The Pirate and the Puritan (18 page)

Drew contemplated the expanse of
choppy sea separating their ship from the other vessel. Even if he wanted to,
he couldn’t forget Solomon’s brush with slave-hunters years after his escape
from slavery.  Solomon’s emotional scars remained too close to the surface.
Escaping with Hugh had been the only thing keeping him alive after the loss of
his beloved wife Marguerite at the hands of the slavers. Not a day went by that
Solomon didn’t mourn her loss.

Drew’s reluctance to attack a
pursuing ship went against everything they both had done to survive. Conquer or
be conquered. The motto took on more consequence when one had something to look
forward to, and for the first time, Drew did. She awaited him in his cabin.

Solomon continued without waiting
for Drew’s answer. “Do I have to remind you what we are?” He lost his pretense
of patience, balling his hands into fists. “We are pirates. We survive by being
ruthless. If you show weakness we’ll eventually be crushed. These seas are no
place for the weak.”

The
Rapture
’s change in
direction thrust them forward. The tack did the same for the merchant ship
following them.

“Raise our standard and let’s see
what that accomplishes,” Drew said.

Solomon lifted his brows. “Does
this mean you’re ready to do battle? Once you reveal your hand, you must play
it out.”

Drew refused to think that for
ahead. Once the other ship knew whom it was dealing with, perhaps it would turn
tail and run. He would let it. “I’ll do what I must.”

After Solomon shouted the command
to change the flags, he turned to Drew. “I’m relieved you’ve come to your
senses. Your recent fame should ensure an uneventful surrender.”

Drew sighed. “Since the bloody
reputation was thrust upon me, I might as well use it to our advantage.”

He swung his gaze from the other
ship to the flag he’d designed unfurling in the wind. A white, devil-like
skeleton complete with pointed ears and forked tail danced against a black
background. In its right hand it held a sword with which it skewered a red,
bleeding heart.

His personal standard had been a
tribute to his escape from a Spanish prison off the coast of Hispaniola.
Stealing the heart of a senorita with keys to the prison won him the nickname.
Her father had claimed only
El Diablo
himself could seduce his daughter
and flee his hell. Through the years, the name had stuck.

The sound of a cannon, followed
by a spray of water as the ball missed her target, was the other ship’s answer
to the raising of his standard. A second shot immediately followed, skidding
off their bow and splintering wood in the process.

“What the bloody hell?” Drew
blinked to clear the fury from his vision, then readjusted the telescope to
survey the opposing crew. Merchant ships never fired on the better-manned and
better-armed pirate vessels. Either he was being pursued by pirates using the
British flag as subterfuge, or the captain of this particular vessel was a
total incompetent. The rapid approach of the other ship, combined with the aid
of the telescope, soon gave Drew his answer. The corpulent captain standing on
the other deck came close enough to reach out and throttle. Captain McCulla.

“Captain!” Solomon’s deep voice
sliced through Drew’s thoughts. He dropped the telescope but prevented the
vellum tube from hitting the deck by catching it with his other hand. After his
recovery, he glared at Solomon.

The man shrugged. “I wouldn’t
have shouted, but you didn’t hear me the first time. I’m going below to check
on the damage done by the shot.”

Drew suspected Solomon meant to
check on Hugh. He needn’t bother; the shot had landed on the opposite end of
the ship from where the boy hid. Felicity and Hugh were safe, but revealing
they were together in his cabin had to be delayed. Drew couldn’t afford another
opponent just now.

“Don’t bother. Hugh’s safe. We’ve
got more immediate problems. That’s a New England Trading Company ship.”

“Are you sure?” Solomon grabbed
for the spyglass.

“I recognize the captain.”

“Do you think Ben sent them after
his daughter?” asked Solomon.

Drew hated the idea of Ben
turning against him. Ben might not even realize he had Felicity, but if he did,
his blind spot where his daughter was concerned might provoke him into doing
something rash. Drew’s own experience showed him how easy it was to overlook
the unpredictable shrew behind those liquid brown eyes, especially if she was
on your side. Yet if Drew could believe he had gained Felicity’s loyalty, he
had to trust her father. Ben had proved deserving of the gift over the years.

“No,” he finally said. “Ben
wouldn’t send McCulla. Something’s wrong. Let’s come around beside her and see
what Captain McCulla has to say for himself.”

Solomon pointed to the swiftly
approaching ship. “We’re already too close. Their next shot will do irreparable
damage.”

“We’ll tack around and approach
on her leeward side. She’s heeling enough to send her cannons underwater.
McCulla probably won’t think of that.”

“I’ll give Avery the orders. I
need to go below.” Solomon turned without waiting for Drew’s reply.

Drew grabbed Solomon’s arm. “He
won’t be there. He’s in my cabin.”

“With Felicity?” Solomon swung
around.

“And a good thing I sent him
there. That shot might have ripped right through the galley.” Drew ignored his
friend’s scowl. “You can thank me later. Right now I believe you have orders to
carry out.”

Solomon’s narrowed gaze promised
he’d be doing more than thanking Drew after the battle. With his hands cupped
around his mouth, Solomon bellowed orders that sent a dozen barefoot men
scrambling.

Drew’s swift sloop sailed circles
around the bloated merchant vessel. He maneuvered out of cannons’ range on the
ship’s windward side. Sailing around her stern brought him close enough to read
her name without the aid of magnification. As Drew predicted, the wind filling
the
Carolina
’s sails dragged her gun ports below the waterline. Drew
didn’t bother to order his raised.

“Bring me that brass
speaking-horn.” Drew had watched the sailors directed by Captain McCulla
scramble like scattering geese as they battled the strong wind and the
maneuvering of Drew’s vessel. The result placed them exactly where he wanted
them—helpless.

Avery arrived with Drew’s request
almost instantly. Solomon raised a dark eyebrow. “I thought you hated that
thing.”

“The horn is to be used for
calling to other vessels across the sea, not across the deck to harass the
captain. It’s a useful tool when handled properly, Mr. Quartermaster.” The
message Drew had was too important to be misinterpreted. He still hoped to disengage
himself from this situation without bloodshed.

“Lower your sails or we’ll send
you to hell.” Drew’s booming voice cut through the roar of waves and wind.

The men on the
Carolina
stared back at him. McCulla pushed aside his motionless crew and leaned over
the rail. Drew stood close enough to see the veins bulging in his crimson neck.

“The bloody hell we will, you
bastard,” the other captain called. “We know all about your promises, Lord
Christian Andrews—or should I call you by your true name, you spawn of the
devil!” McCulla turned back to his crew and shouted orders no one seemed
obliged to follow. After frantically waving his arms, he managed to send one
man sprinting across the deck.

Drew tossed down the brass
speaking-horn. He held a mask of fierceness in place while his insides slowly
slid into his boots. McCulla’s revelation was not good.

“If you know who I am, then you
know my reputation. Lower your sails and there will be no need for a fight,” he
boomed in the harshest voice he could muster.

In answer to Drew’s second
request, the
Carolina
fired a cannon from her deck, shooting a hole
though their mizzen topsail. A hunk of canvas fluttered to the deck like a
wounded seagull—inconvenient, but not strategically important unless one
factored in the uncontrolled fury it caused in Drew. McCulla whooped
triumphantly, acting as if he had taken out their mainmast.

Drew’s command was low and
controlled. “Take down her sails and prepare to board.”

Solomon nodded. His expression
matched Drew’s grim tone.

Within minutes, chain shot flew
and hit its mark. Smoke from the cannons choked the air and watered Drew’s
eyes, but he didn’t blink. He watched the mainmast of the
Carolina
topple, leaving her crew covered in a shroud of white sail. His well-trained
men secured grappling hooks to the disabled vessel before the sailors could
again see the blue of the sky.

He unsheathed the well-used
cutlass Avery dutifully brought him. The leather grip had worn through to metal
in places, but the blade was always honed to a deadly edge.

“Take as many prisoners as
possible. I want the captain,” he yelled above the excited voices of his men.

By the time he leaped onto the
other vessel, McCulla had disappeared. Some swords clanked in futile struggle,
but many men threw down their weapons as soon as the pirates swarmed their
deck. Drew’s crew quickly disarmed the few foolish enough to fight. He
continued his search undisturbed by the one-sided battle. Not even the boldest
of the
Carolina
's crew seemed willing to engage him.

“Captain, we found him,” called
Avery.

Two of Drew’s men dragged McCulla
above deck and shoved him before Drew. The rest of McCulla’s crew, a total of
thirteen, were disarmed and herded into a circle.

“What the hell is this about,
McCulla?” Drew demanded.

McCulla smelled as if he’d
undertaken the voyage sealed in a cask of rum. “It’s about the reward,
El
Diablo
.” Liquor made McCulla bold when he should have cowered.

Drew raised his cutlass and
touched it to the man’s throat. “What is this about, man?”

“Murderer,” McCulla squealed as
he tried to back away. “You’ll murder me in cold blood just like you did Marley
and his missus. I knew you weren’t no duke’s son.” McCulla didn’t get far,
Smythe, the one-eyed pirate who had pried him from his hiding place, pointed a wickedly
sharp dagger at the center of McCulla’s back. Drew waited for McCulla’s retreat
to bring the blade in contact with his flesh. It didn’t take long. The captain
jumped forward, howling as if he’d been run through.

“What do you think you know?”
Drew wanted to learn what Ben and the others on Barbados knew, but feared
giving away information McCulla didn’t already have.

McCulla composed himself and
lifted his trembling chin. “You ain’t no better than me and never was. I know
it was you who talked old Ben into taking away my command. And now we’re all
going hungry ’cause you murdered the hand that fed you.”

Drew glanced over McCulla’s
motley crew. Despite their overgrown beards and rum-soaked eyes, Drew
recognized a man or two, though they’d all seen better days. He returned his
gaze to McCulla. At least he wasn’t wholly responsible for the man’s downfall.
“You’re out of work because you ran a ship loaded with sugar aground.”

“You won’t get away with this.
Everyone knows about you, and there’ll be others wanting the reward. And don’t
be expecting any help from Ben Kendall. The governor knows about him too,”
taunted McCulla. “How he helped you sell pirated goods.”

“I needed someone as a front for
my diabolical schemes. You idiot Barbadians conveniently found one for me,”
said Drew with more control. He pretended to examine his nails. “Of course, I
didn’t think anyone would believe simple old Ben could knowingly be a partner
with pirates. I obviously underestimated your stupidity.” If Drew kept McCulla
talking, he might find a way to help Ben. Drew would never be able to set foot
on Barbados again, but he had hope that Ben could still be redeemed.

McCulla smiled. “It’ll all come
out in the trial. For now, Ben’s locked up and the governor seized his
property. They gave me this ship to go after you, and they’ll help anyone else
who wants to bring you to justice.”

“Excellent. That should tie up
some of the governor’s men, guarding Ben. Maybe hanging him will make them all
satisfied and they won’t waste time on me. That is, if they are satisfied
hanging a man without proof.” Drew called upon the acting ability he’d gained
during his impersonation of Lord Christian to hide how badly McCulla’s
revelations shook him.

Though things looked bleak for
Ben as well as himself, Drew wouldn’t tip his hand to anyone—not even McCulla.
Drew had bluffed his way out of far worse situations, though at the moment he
couldn’t recall how.

“You want proof? Well, I think a
blooming duke is proof enough.” The fool McCulla actually smiled. “The Duke of
Foxmoor came to Barbados to pay you a visit. Thanks to Marley.”

Drew’s narrowed gaze was the only
hint the blow hit its mark. Marley had wanted out of their scheme of selling
pirated contraband as legal imports. At the time, Drew couldn’t really blame
the man. After all, he’d just married a young wife and, even at his advanced
age, hoped to start a family. But never had he suspected Marley would turn him
in. Well, maybe he’d suspected, but Ben had assured him Marley wouldn’t. It
looked as if they had both underestimated Marley’s greed.

“That’s right,” continued
McCulla, apparently encouraged. “Marley figured out you weren’t who you said
you were and wrote to the duke. You knew Marley was on to you and so you killed
him and his wife. And you might have gotten away with it, if the duke hadn’t
shown up to see who had the nerve to sully his good name.

Solomon’s gaze darted to Drew,
but Drew had no answers for his friend’s silent questions. That the Duke of
Foxmoor, Drew’s father, would travel all the way to Barbados to confront his
illegitimate son seemed unlikely. He’d never given Drew the time of day when
they resided on the same estate.