Chapter Three
Mercy looked up – and up – straight into the piercing gaze of Captain Teach. Reputed to be a grandson of the infamous pirate Blackbeard, Teach had inherited his ancestor’s huge frame. He stood head and shoulders above his bedraggled crew. Despite the howling winds and pelting rain, he stood straight as one of the enormous masts bearing the sails of the Queen Anne’s Redemption. The wind whipped his long dark hair back, revealing a square jaw and eyes as blue as the sea on a sunlit day.
At the moment, he looked every bit as fierce as his ancestor was reputed to have been.
“Bloody hell! What the devil are you doing here?”
Mercy slipped into character. “Monsieur Capitaine, there is no need to resort to profanity,” she replied tartly. “I am but a poor handmaiden of the Lord, and I beg your forgiveness for coming uninvited onto your ship. However, I…”
“Silence, woman!” he thundered. “We’ve no time for idle chat. I must get back to the helm or we may none of us survive this night.” He turned to the cowering sailor by her side. “Quit sniveling. She’s no evil spirit, just a soaking wet Bible-toter. Get a rope and tie her down tight.”
He glanced down at Mercy, still on her knees. “As for you, I’ll deal with you later. For now, lash yourself to the rail and pray to your God we make it through this storm alive.”
He turned away, muttering under his breath “And I’ll pray He listens to you.”
Hours passed, endless hours of torture. Over and over, the ship was buried under the weight of thousands of tons of water crashing down on the deck. Later, it was discovered two crew members had been washed overboard during the long night. No one knew when. Their cries had been drowned out by the even louder screaming of the wind.
A thick hemp rope around her waist bound Mercy securely to the rail, where she had no shelter from the storm’s fury. She knelt with her head bowed. She had no need to play a part. Her prayers were as long and as fervent as those of any pious virgin walled away in a convent for life.
Whenever the driving rain let up for a few seconds she caught a glimpse of the captain. His feet were planted like a stone monument at the helm, all the struggle and pain taking place in his upper body as he fought to keep the ship headed into the wind. Hour after hour, he took the brunt of the gale, the punishment of the waves, never faltering, all the while shouting encouragement to his crew. Mercy prayed for him, too, prayed he would have the strength and the skill to get them safely through this night in hell.
Dawn was breaking as they finally left the storm behind. Mercy uttered one last prayer, this time that her beloved home would be spared the full wrath of the hurricane as it tore a path straight as an arrow toward the island she’d left behind.
Like a cruel joke, the sun suddenly burst through the clouds, shining cheerfully on the wreckage littering the deck. The seas calmed. It was as though the tempest had never occurred.
Mercy surveyed the devastation wrought on the Queen Anne’s Redemption. Near her, crewmen who had cowered in fear muttering prayers more pious than hers only moments before struggled to regain their bluster.
* **
Wearily, James gave the helm once again to his first mate and began examining the damage to his ship. Everything on deck not tightly secured was gone. One of the cannons had been washed overboard, tearing a huge gap in the ship’s gunwale. When he took roll call he found out about the missing deck hands.
Knowing their morale needed a boost, James assembled the crew.
“We’ve survived the worst King Neptune could toss at us, and we’ve yet to pay a visit to Davey Jones’s Locker,” he announced. “I know you’ll have extra work to do with two mates gone, but you could look at it as your good fortune they’re not with us any longer. That’s two shares of the ship’s profits to be divided amongst the rest of you.”
He surveyed his men, exhausted and half-drowned. “I know you’re tired. But we have work to do if we’re going to salvage any profits from this voyage. Let’s get some rum in you and then set your backs to work. We need to rig the jury mast amidship, and the gunwales need repair. There’ll be supplies and cargo to be brought up on deck and dried out before they’re ruined from the drenching they got.”
After seeing to the well-being of the ship and crew, his attention finally came to rest on the solitary figure standing silently by the sturdy ship’s rail that had saved her life.
She was tall for a woman, clad in waterlogged black robes covering every inch of her frame. Expressive dark brown eyes surveyed her surroundings, noting everything that went on. A black veil covered her head and hung down below her shoulders. Her face, what little he could see of it, was framed by a stiff white head covering that disappeared under the veil. All that was visible was her soft, unlined skin, kissed by the sun. Not a child, but not yet old, she appeared to be around the age of thirty.
Though dressed as a pious spinster, the soaking-wet garments she wore clung to every curve of her body, making it clear his stowaway was a ripe, full-figured woman.
James sighed. He couldn’t have a female on deck with his crew, even one swathed in religious garb. Once his men got a few tankards of rum in their bellies, they’d be speculating about what lay under those robes. There’d be hell to pay trying to keep her from becoming the target of their lecherous attentions. Damnation! There was no place to put her where she’d be safe…except in his cabin.
He caught a flicker of fear in her eyes as he strode toward her, but she never flinched.
“Bonjour, Capitaine,”she stated coolly, before he could say a word. “I heard your speech to the crew. Would it not be proper to have your men give thanks toLe Bon Dieufor sparing our lives from the wrath of the tempest before they fill their bellies with demon rum?”
“Don’t start lecturing me, woman, or I’ll forget I’m a gentleman and give you over to them, nun or not,” he snapped.
Hell and damnation! She’d only spoken a few words, and already she’d aroused his ire. He’d met a few nuns over the years but he’d known many a female. Handmaiden of the Lord she might be, but she could nag as well as any woman. James took a deep breath.
“Before you start preaching to me, you need to answer a few questions. What in bloody hell are you doing on my ship?”
“There is no need to resort to profanity,” she replied tartly. “My name is Sister Bertilde of the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary. Sister Madeline and I were sent to St. Thomas a few months ago from our convent in France at the request of Monsieur Whitaker. He requested we establish a school for the children of the workers on his plantation. Unfortunately, Monsieur Whitaker was felled by the fever sweeping the island, along with my dear Sister Madeline. His wife and daughter succumbed as well. The entire Whitaker family was wiped out.”
She raised the silver crucifix dangling from the rosary beads clutched in her hand and crossed herself. Tears filled her eyes, and she paused to compose herself.