The Redemption (Legacy of the King's Pirates Book 1) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Front Matter

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9: Aboard the Redemption

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17: The Galleon

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Excerpt

  I dedicate this book to the only father I have ever known and the greatest Father in all of eternity: The Father of all Fathers, my Lord and King, Jesus Christ.

  The Redemption

  by MaryLu Tyndall

  The Redemption

  Legacy of the King’s Pirates 1

  © 2014 by MaryLu Tyndall

  Published by Ransom Press

  San Jose, CA 95123

  ISBN: 0991092155

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9910921-5-4

  E-Version ISBN: 978-0-9910921-4-7

  All Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the written permission of the author, MaryLu Tyndall.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is on file at the Library of Congress, Washington, DC.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, incidents, and dialogues are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual people, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental

  Cover Design by Dineen Miller

  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost all praise goes to God, my Father, who gave me the idea to write a story about a Christian pirate all those years ago. I thought I was hearing things, but I’ve learned that if it sounds crazy, it’s probably from God! Thanks to Becky Germany and Barbour Publishing for taking a chance on this new author and publishing my Legacy of the King’s Pirates series. Thank you Susan Lohrer and Traci Depree, my very first editors on this book, and many thanks to my final editor on this copy, Lora, you’re fabulous! ( EditsByLora.com )

  Thank you judges of the prestigious Christy Award for nominating this book. What an honor! It also won the Inspirational Readers Choice Award! Special mention goes to Dineen Miller, who designed the gorgeous cover.

  Last but not least, thank you, my readers, for reading my books and escaping with me to distant lands in distant times where we find that God is not only a God of adventure, hope, joy and peace, but He’s a God of romance as well.

  Chapter 1: Shipwrecked

  1665 – The Caribbean

  Charlisse bolted upright, her heart pounding. The ship’s tiny cabin bucked like a wild stallion. She grabbed the bedpost to keep from being thrown onto the floor. Books flew off the shelves. A wooden chair tumbled across the room, crashing into the far wall. The ship lurched. She lifted off the bed, then plunged back onto the hard mattress, smashing her elbow on the bed frame. Burning throbbed up her arm. What was happening?

  Charlisse tried to remember where she was. The merchant ship. She had bartered passage from London to the Caribbean in search of her father—a man she had never met—and the only family she had left in the world. After spending the afternoon enjoying the fresh ocean breeze up on deck, she had come down to her cabin for a nap. In just a few short hours, the gentle rolling sea had transformed into a raging demon.

  From outside the cabin, she heard a deafening roar—like a giant sea serpent—followed by pounding on her window. She looked up at the round porthole. Fierce tentacles of water clawed to gain entrance.

  Her body dove through the air, crashing on the hard deck. Pain shot up her back, piercing her head like the thrust of a sword. The cabin door swelled and groaned, creaking and moaning like an overstuffed belly. A flood of seawater burst through the oak planks and shoved her to the back of the cabin. Her head slammed against the bulkhead. She gulped for breath and flung her arms through the turbulent water searching for anything solid to cling to.

  The ship lunged in the other direction, and the water gushed back out the door, carrying Charlisse with it. She grabbed the door frame. Her muscles strained to maintain a grip on the slippery wood, but the force of the torrent flung her out into the hallway.

  Muffled screams barreled down from above. Fighting her way up the companionway ladder, she braced against the blasts of water. Finally, she forced her head above deck. A swirling tempest crashed over her, choking her and crushing her back against the ladder railing. Saltwater stung her eyes. A deluge of rain assaulted the ship so thick it obscured everything into twisted, surreal shapes. The deck tilted to the left, sending a cascade of water over its side. Broken riggings and sails, still attached to the mast, flung back and forth in the onslaught, threatening to knock overboard anyone who crossed their path. Angry black clouds growled and hurled bolts of lightning toward the ship.

  This could not be the end of her life, not when she had finally gotten the courage to flee from the clutches of her depraved uncle. She could not die like this, not all alone, in a foreign sea, never knowing if she was ever loved—by anyone.

  She saw the captain clutching the quarterdeck railing. She wanted to reach him, to hear him say they would survive the storm, but dread of the tempest gripped all her muscles and froze them in place.

  Another burst of wind and rain slapped her, stinging her face and shoving her down into the seawater that rose up the ladder. Drenched, she clambered upward again and fought to pull herself onto the slippery deck, deciding to brave the storm rather than drown below in her cabin. A surging wave assaulted her and thrust her against the mainmast. She clung to it as the ship rolled right.

  Sharp pebbles of rain pounded on her skin from every direction, carried on blasts of wind that pushed her one way and tugged her the other in a frenzied contest to dislodge her.

  She made out the blurred shapes of men up in the top riggings, battling with the sails. Each heave of the ship tossed them about like paper dolls. Lightning cracked the stormy sky, illuminating them for a brief second, leaving the disastrous scene imprinted on Charlisse’s mind.

  The black ocean raged all around them, licking its lips in foamed peaks. Thunder blasted across the sky, shaking the ship from stem to stern. Each bone in Charlisse’s body shuddered with the massive jolt.

  The ship careened to the right, riding on the swell of a monstrous wave. Her feet left the deck. Clutching the mast, she closed her eyes and clung to it with all her strength. Her fingers slipped over the groaning pillar. Shouts echoed through the pounding rain, joined by the stifled voice of Captain Hathaway
. The ship righted, hovering in the air above the tempest, before it landed with a thud on the other side of the wave. Her feet pounded on the deck. The skin on her hands and arms burned raw with splinters from the mast.

  She gasped and opened her eyes to see Captain Hathaway beside her. Fear etched the features of his old, weather-beaten face.

  “Get below, Miss Bristol,” he shouted, “’Tis not safe!”

  No sooner had he spoken than the ship dove to the left. The captain vanished into a blast of water plunging over the deck. The flood punched Charlisse with the force of a cannon shot and muffled her scream, filling her mouth with the murky taste of seawater.

  She searched for the captain and was relieved to see him hanging on the side railing, shouting orders to the few crewmen who were still struggling to save the ship. One of the sailors scrambled up the ratlines, following his captain’s orders. A wall of water struck him, flinging his body into the churning sea.

  Charlisse closed her eyes. We’re all going to die.

  The roar of the storm dimmed. The tottering ship eased into a heaving roll. Charlisse pried her eyes open to see the waves no longer bursting over the deck. Wiping wet, tangled hair from her face, she glanced around the ship. She heard someone throwing up. Captain Hathaway bellowed orders that sent the remaining sailors scrambling. Is the storm over? Did we survive? Her eyes met the captain’s. She smiled at him, hoping for reassurance, but he glanced upward, his face turning ghostly white.

  Following his gaze, Charlisse saw a wall of black water towering over the ship. It pulled the sea from underneath them and rose like the wings of a dragon, white foam salivating on its tongue as it curled over the tiny vessel, ready to pounce. Terror stuck in her throat, choking her. Trembling, she clutched the mast as tightly as she could.

  The crew froze, staring at the monster. A few crossed themselves. The captain yelled, “Hold on!”

  Then it hit.

  The mountainous surge of water shoved Charlisse overboard and plunged her headfirst into the raging sea. Disoriented, she flailed in the cold, churning water. The salt stung her eyes. Darkness surrounded her. Underneath the surface of the sea, the deafening sounds of the storm became a muted rhythm of swirling bubbles.

  An eerie peacefulness engulfed her. Lured by its deception, she ceased struggling, wondering if it wasn’t better to fade away into this serene underwater world. But then she remembered. She must find her father—to know if he loved her, wanted her. How could she die without ever knowing that at least one person in the world cared for her? A strong voice inside told her to hold on, don’t give up yet. God help me, she prayed.

  Her head popped above water. Instantly, chaos assailed her. Her lungs heaved for air between the waves that crashed over her head. The rolling tempest hurled her up and down, making her nauseous. Her muscles ached. Seawater poured into her lungs and stomach. As the energy drained from her body, dread consumed her. She was going to sink to the bottom of the cold sea and die alone and unloved. No one would know what had happened to her. No one would care.

  Something hit her from behind. She turned to find a bulky slab of wood. With her last remaining strength, she hoisted herself onto it and collapsed, coughing and spewing out seawater.

  Lightning flashed and she caught a glimpse of the ship several yards in the distance. It lay on its side, masts along with sails, sinking fast into the raging sea. Several heads bobbed in the water. The terrified wails of the crew sent icicles down her spine.

  She paddled in their direction, not wanting to die alone. But with every inch of progress, the storm tossed her farther away.

  Looping her arms through an iron bar fastened to the wood, she wedged herself tightly against it and hung on with all her might. Another large wave hit, carrying her upon its massive swell. From its crest, Charlisse saw the last remnant of the ship’s sails sink beneath the dark waters.

  Chapter 2: The Privateer

  Captain Edmund Merrick pressed the spyglass to his eye, steadying it against the rolling of the ship. A Spanish merchant vessel loomed on the horizon. Sailing east from the port of Maracaibo on her way home to Spain, the ship undoubtedly held precious cargo. Unfortunately for her, she would never make it. He had hoped to find another ship today—one he had been tracking for months, but this Spanish conquest would surely bring enough treasure to satisfy the greedy appetites of his crew, as well as please the governor of Jamaica. Merrick had received a commission from Sir Thomas Moodyford in the name of King Charles II to “set upon by force of arms, and to take and apprehend upon the seas, or upon any river, or in any port or creek, the ships and goods of the King of Spain, or any of his subjects whatsoever.”

  Merrick smiled. He had gone from being a ruthless pirate one minute to being a soldier in His Majesty’s service the next. He snapped the spyglass shut and barked orders to his crew. With additional sails hoisted and a slight veer to port, the Redemption would overtake the slower trading ship. His crew strapped their pistols and cutlasses to leather belts, then flung them over their shoulders and around their waists in preparation for battle.

  “They’re signaling for a show of colors, Captain,” the first mate shouted.

  “Run up the Spanish flag,” Merrick ordered, “but keep my ensign close at hand.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain.”

  “Prepare your weapons for battle, gentlemen.” Merrick leaped down the quarterdeck ladder. “Clear the gun tackles and load the guns,” he ordered the master gunner. “But don’t run them out until my order.”

  Merrick scanned his raucous crew as they prepared for battle, salivating for the treasure that soon would be theirs. Never had he seen a more unsightly bunch of miscreants. Clothed in tattered, unmatched apparel “borrowed” from prior conquests, they strutted across the deck shouting obscenities toward their enemy. The stench of their unwashed bodies and foul breath wafted over Merrick as he stood before them. Despite their disorderly appearance, he knew if he didn’t command their respect at all times, he would one day find a knife in his back.

  “Take no life unless you have to,” he commanded. “But make it quick and painless if you do. It’s the treasure we’re after.”

  He assigned ten men to remain above deck disguised as common fishermen, and sent the rest scrambling down the main hatch out of sight. Merrick slapped a large floppy hat over his blue bandanna and hid his pistols and cutlass under a long, black fishing coat. He hoped his trap would work. If need be, he could pursue and outrun the merchant vessel, but he much preferred a quick and easy conquest.

  Merrick leveled his spyglass on his prey once again as she came more sharply into view. Her crew sauntered about the deck, performing their duties, still unaware of the menace creeping up on her. A few more minutes and she would be within range of the Redemption’s cannons.

  By his side stood Master Kent, his first mate, and Sloane, his quartermaster and old friend. Kent was the only pirate, other than Merrick, who had been graced with a formal education and who knew how to speak and dress in polite society. Merrick assumed the lad, who could be no more than nineteen or twenty, had been born to nobility, but Kent preferred to keep the details of his past to himself—a sentiment Merrick both understood and respected. Truth be told, the boy reminded Merrick of himself not ten years ago. Skilled in seamanship and able to command respect from the crew, Kent had earned his post as first mate.

  The young lad glared at the merchant vessel, his eyes holding no fear, only an insatiable lust for blood and treasure that gave Merrick pause. He handed Kent the telescope, allowing him to peruse their enemy at close range. The boy stood near Merrick’s height, a vigorous lad with curly brown hair and barely a whisker on his chin. His eyes twitched in excitement as he gazed on their victim. Giving the glass back to Merrick, he stood waiting for his command.

  “Have the master gunner ready the gun crew,” Merrick ordered, and the first mate spun on his heels and rushed down the companionway.

  Merrick bowed his head and offered a quick pray
er for the success of their mission and a minimal loss of life.

  “I hope he heard ye,” Sloane said.

  “He always does, my friend.” Merrick smiled. “But it’s His will that will be done in the end.”

  Nodding at the quartermaster, he returned his gaze to the Spanish vessel, now less than two hundred yards away. The Redemption flew down upon her, parting the calm sea with assurance.

  Merrick slapped his hand on the railing and strutted across the deck. He ordered the gun crew to position a warning shot over the bow of the merchant ship, giving the Spaniards a chance to surrender without bloodshed. The master gunner ordered the crew to fire, and the shot let loose with a reverberating boom, shaking the ship to her keel and sending up a plume of gray smoke. It splashed, as intended, in the water on the starboard side of the merchant ship, and sent the crew of the Spanish vessel into a frenzied panic. Down came the red and white flag of Spain from the mainmast of the Redemption, and up went the ensign of Captain Edmund Merrick.

  The remainder of the Redemption’s crew came up from under hatches, growling and shouting like a pack of hungry wolves bursting from a cage. The pirates on deck discarded their fishing garb and readied their weapons.

  Would the vessel heave to and surrender? Or would she run? Merrick glared at the merchant ship through his spyglass as the distance between them lessened. His answer soon came in the form of raised sails, including topgallant and outer jib, that caught the wind in a billowing display of snowy canvas. Merrick cursed their captain under his breath. Why would he—outgunned, outnumbered, and heavier—choose a course of action that could only end in disaster?

  Turning, he shouted orders for his own sails to be spread with every inch of canvas to their yards. Upon catching the wind, the Redemption cut a white slice through the Caribbean waters in swift pursuit.

  Time seemed to move in slow motion, heightening Merrick’s senses. Every sound was magnified—the sea splashing against the hull, the jaunty snap of the wind in the sails, the shouts of excitement from the men readying themselves on deck, even his own breathing.