Chapter 6: Island Captive

Charlisse looked up into the piercing gaze of the most fearsomely handsome man she had ever seen. He towered over her, the breadth of his shoulders hinting at a powerful chest and arms hidden beneath his baggy white shirt. He wore dark breeches tucked into black boots that climbed to his knees. Two leather belts, one strapped to his shoulder and the other around his waist, held pistols, one large knife, and a cutlass. A blue scarf covered the top of his head, under which a mass of jet-black hair fell in wild disarray to his shoulders. His lips parted in a playful smile as his penetrating stare dove deep into her soul. The warm chunk of meat slid from Charlisse's shaking hand and landed in the sand by the stranger's feet.

Merrick had noticed the girl's presence as soon as she entered the camp. With his head lying on a fallen log, he'd watched her from under his hat. She looked harmless enough, but his curiosity piqued on two accountswhere on God's green earth could she have come from, and why would any woman take such a risk? As she crept toward the pot of meat near the fire, he realized she was after the food, and he decided to have a bit of fun with her.

Now, she stood shaking before him, a ragged, pathetic thing covered with filth and bug bites. Twigs, grass, and dirt matted a tangled mess in her long hair. Her feet were bare and bleeding, and she wore the remnants of a white petticoat, now soiled and torn. Slowly she raised her face to his, the moonlight illuminating her features.

Merrick lifted his brow in pleasant surprise. "Alas, what rare beauty hides beneath this ragged disguise?" he quoted from a poem he had read recently.

She stared at him wide-eyed for a second before narrowing her gaze. In a quick burst of energy that belied her condition, she dashed off toward the jungle. Merrick caught up to her in seconds and clamped his arm around her waist. She thrashed in his grasp like a wild animal. Then suddenly spent, her body sagged against his.

Charlisse heard male voicesat first faint and muffled, then growing louder, then fading away. An irritating buzz rang in her head as a pulsating heat enveloped her.

Something cool touched her forehead.

"Wonder where she came from, Cap'n?" A gruff voice said. The coolness migrated to her neck. "Pretty young thing. Looks like she's been here awhile."

Charlisse tried to open her eyes, but they felt as though they had been pasted shut. She managed to pry her lids apart and was confronted by a vicious-looking man with long brown hair, an earring, and a patch over one eye. Startled, she gasped and struggled to sit.

"Whoa, little one." Strong hands forced her back down. "I think she's comin' to, Cap'n."

Her head throbbed. Above her, palm fronds fluttered like feathers, providing shade from the searing sun. The crash of waves and chirp of birds swirled atop a humid breeze, making everything seem like a hazy dream. A man knelt beside her. She remembered those dark, intriguing eyes from the night before. Was it last night? How long have I been unconscious?

"Can you eat?" he asked.

Charlisse attempted to rise.

He propped blankets behind her and nudged her back down. "You have a fever, miss." Then glancing over his shoulder, he called for someone to bring soup.

Everything spun. She peered through her lashes at the man beside her. A striking man with a firm jaw and eyes the color of ebony. A brace of pistols crossed his chest and a cutlass hung at his side.

The man with the eye patch laid his hand on her forehead. "She be in the thick of it, Cap'n, but I don't think it'll kill 'er."

"This is Brighton, our ship's doctor," the dark-haired man reassured her, "and I'm Captain Merrick."

The soup arrived, carried by a short, stout man with shaggy gray hair that sprouted from his head and chin. His smile revealed two gaping holes on his bottom row of teeth as he handed the bowl to Brighton.

Charlisse gazed at the three filthy brutes and knew her situation was extremely perilous, no matter how courteously they behaved at the moment. Visions of Jack flung over the pirate's shoulder, limp and quiet, passed through her mind. She shuddered. Closing her eyes, she wished for death and whispered, "Pirates."

One of them chuckled, and suddenly strong arms reached behind her and raised her up.

"Try to eat something," a deep voice said.

The broth smelled delicious. The bowl touched her lips, and she took a sip, allowing the warm liquid to slide down her parched throat. Another sip and she forced her eyes open. The captain crouched only inches away, supporting her back. A musky, briny scent drifted around her as his warm breath caressed her skin.

"Jus' a wee bit more, miss," the doctor said, tipping the bowl.

After gulping down her last swallow, Charlisse sank onto the sandy blankets and looked up into the captain's dark eyes. He was saying something about sleeping and getting well, and that she was safe, but she couldn't quite make it out. She was sure she must be dreaming anyway.

Images like the scattered pieces of an incomplete puzzle drifted through her mindthe bright stars of the night sky, the cool ocean breezes, someone covering her, the heat of the day, the scorching sun flickering in her eyes through the palm fronds overhead, the sound of laughter, shouting, a bird squawking.

Brief memories of being fed more soup, of male voices around her, and muscular arms supporting her, flickered through her thoughts. One minute she burned up with fever, trails of perspiration trickling down her face and neck, the next minute she woke, shivering uncontrollably.

More than once her mind drifted from her present agony, venturing to a dark place where painful memories lurked, waiting to torment her. But she did not allow them dominion for long. Instead, she clawed her way back to semi-consciousness, preferring her present suffering to the agony of being trapped forever in her past.

Captain Merrick supervised the careening of the ship, doing his best to speed up the process. His men toiled, bare-chested and sweating in the blistering sun, scraping and burning weeds and barnacles that were cemented on the Redemption's keel. Nearly done, they were now patching places where the wood had begun to rot.

"Prepare the pitch, Jackson," he commanded.

"Aye, Cap'n." The bulky man's deep voice resounded as he marched off. Jackson, the ship's master gunner, stood a head above Merrick, his black skin glistening with sweat in the blazing sun. His shaved head resembled a cannon ball, except for three gleaming, gold rings that dangled from one ear. Merrick had rescued him from slavery aboard a Spanish merchant ship a year ago and offered him his freedom and a pirate's life.

Now, he must rescue this abandoned lady. A far harder task. Once the ship was ready, he would bring her on board, where he would have a better chance of protecting her. The woman added an unwanted responsibility to his already arduous tasks as captain. He saw the way the men looked at her, despite her disheveled and sickly appearance. He knew that with a little rum and an opportunity, they wouldn't think twice about taking advantage of a young, sick girl who could not defend herselfeven though they had signed Merrick's articles to the contrary.

The girl's fever had broken early that morning and she slept peacefully now. She had been anything but peaceful during the past few days. At the height of her fever, she had screamed out in anger, pleading for help, terror distorting her comely features.

Something terrible had happened to this girl. What, he could not imagine, nor how she came to be alone on this island. One thing was certain, a young, fragile thing like her did not belong in the middle of the Caribbean, especially not with a band of pirates. He must take her to the nearest civilized town as soon as possible, away from his menand away from him.