“I’ll get him,” Denny promised. He delivered her to the deck of the La-Di-Da and hastened back to the Charlotte. With his bosun, Woodruff, at his heels, Denny scoured the ship until he followed the sounds of faint moaning and found a young man, half conscious and chained to the wall in the stowage. Both Woodruff and Denny were horrified by the man’s inhumane conditions. The stench of piss, feces and vomit was strong, and Denny had to hold his breath as he helped lift the near-skeletal creature.
“Shoot me. Please kill me,” the man begged, his fetid breath almost knocking out Denny. His blue eyes stared at him from beneath ragged, crusted eyelashes, but Denny ignored him and carried the man in his soiled clothing off the ship and onto his own. He couldn’t believe how light the man was, and the protruding bones emerging from his ripped clothing looked damaged and bruised.
Denny carried him to the ship’s sickbay. “He’s been beaten,” Denny murmured as he and Woodruff stripped him of his disgusting clothing. The young man couldn’t sit or speak but seemed to understand questions. His breath came in putrid gasps.
“What is his name?” Denny glanced at the young man’s sister.
She ignored Denny the first few times he asked. She had come aboard with them and kept close, pacing and wringing her hands. The woman hovered over her brother as though Denny might snap every bone in his body.
“Careful,” she kept saying. “Think of him as precious cargo.”
No. I was thinking of him as dinner.
Denny’s thoughts raged. Wasn’t it obvious he was helping her brother? “Get the surgeon,” Denny instructed Woodruff.
Woodruff retreated and soon returned with Arthur Fellows, the best ship’s doctor Denny had ever worked with in his seafaring career.
Woodruff beckoned Denny aside. “I’m scouting for survivors. Only four deaths.” Woodruff was a kindly man for a pirate. Big-hearted and, well, big all over, even his whisper sounded like an exploding cannon.
“None of our own have perished?” Denny asked, concerned.
“None, sir. Couple of injuries. Pride wounded more than anything, but one of the pirates from the Charlotte is missing.”
The patient stirred. Denny lowered his voice. “Which one?”
“They say it’s a rough lad named Scruggs.” The oblivious Woodruff kept booming as he went on. “They say he was responsible for this. Got a real mean streak in him.” Woodruff gestured to the patient, who became agitated at the mere mention of Scruggs’ name.
His sister knelt beside him, soothing him.
Woodruff pulled Denny outside the room and managed to drop his voice to report, “We found two dead bodies in the same room we found our patient.”
“Go. Keep me informed.” Denny had never felt so angry or helpless. Suddenly, early retirement in Cornwall seemed very appealing. Denny had never seen the point in killing for its own sake, especially in such a cruel, inexplicable way.
Woodruff left, and Denny returned to the sickbay, where he and the woman stood by as Fellows examined the patient.
Denny stole a couple of looks at her. She was thin, but not underfed. Her eyes were pale brown. Hazel, Denny thought they called it. Her long hair was dirty and matted, but must have shone like spun gold when it was clean. He glanced at her brother. As long as he lived, Denny would never forget the frightened-cow eyes of the starving young man as Fellows examined him.
When Denny asked the woman once again for her brother’s name, her face looked like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Several moments went by before she said, “Merritt,” as though giving up some huge secret. The surgeon looked up at them.
“Kindly fetch boiling water. And Denny, bring me my medical supplies.”
Denny went and got the kettle from the galley, clean towels and sponges, and a large bowl. He grabbed a cake of plain white soap and dashed back to the sickbay. Fellows kept examining Merritt as his sister gently bathed him with the sponges and bucket after bucket of hot, soapy water. Merritt looked a bit better but the smell of rotting flesh didn’t leave him.
“He has been beaten,” Fellows whispered to Denny. “Woodruff mentioned to me that you observed this and it’s true. But some of the bruising and marks are scurvy. Obviously he is suffering severe malnutrition and advanced scurvy.” He pointed to the dark spots all over Merritt’s arms and legs and raised his voice. “His severe lack of vitamins has affected him tremendously. We can help him recover quickly with fresh sweet peppers. We have a supply of capsicums on board. Fresh fruit would help.” He paused. “Tropical fruit and broccoli. We have some of both.” He glanced at Denny, inclining his head. “We will discuss more privately.”
They took a moment to walk outside. Fellows looked shaken. “He was sodomized and has not healed well. I think it’s more than I can handle.”
Silence fell between them, and Denny swallowed. “Is that the smell?”
“Yes. He does not seem in pain, but there is some sort of anal fissure, which explains the smell. I’d like to suggest a treatment of leeches.”
“Absolutely not.” Denny had never approved of the method of putting blood-sucking worms on a man’s skin. “He doesn’t have any blood clots that I can see.” Blood-letting would surely kill poor Merritt faster than allowing him to rest and heal.
Fellows looked disappointed. “My leeches won’t survive if I don’t give them fresh blood soon.” He cast a hopeful glance at Denny, who shook his head.
“Don’t look at me. I hate bloody leeches!”
He returned to Merritt, whose gaze kept flicking around the sickbay. He let out a gasp when Denny left a few minutes later, as though he wanted to speak but couldn’t. Denny quickly returned with some of his own clean nightclothes out of his cabin. He helped the woman dress Merritt.
“Food,” Denny muttered. “I’ll get him some.”
“No!” she commanded, looking terrified. What was going on? Was it just their recent captivity, or something else?
“You’re safe here,” he assured her. “Nobody will hurt your brother anymore. Not on my ship.”
She didn’t seem convinced.
“Where are you from?”
“Soriano,” she responded, her eyes downcast.
“I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s a small volcanic island off the coast of Honduras. Not many people have heard of it.” She lifted her head and her defiant gaze made her eyes seem black. She blinked and they were a warm chocolate brown.
He’d been sure her eyes were blue but maybe he was wrong. It had been a weird day, after all.
“And what is your name?” he asked.
“What is
your
name?” she retorted, her tone prim.
“Captain Denny Derrick Dalton. At your service.”
“My name is Fortunata.” She looked at him as though expecting him to know of her name, then gripped his hand with a fierce shake of her slim fingers.
He almost screamed in pain when a couple of his bones cracked. She didn’t break them but he was certain she could crumble rocks with those frightening digits.
“Okay,” he said, breathing through the surge of agony. “If you would like to supervise the cooking, I’m sure the cook won’t mind.”
Ebba and her brother Larks had left the ship a few weeks before, and though Denny had adored Ebba’s cooking, he knew she would never have tolerated Fortunata’s scrutiny.
Merritt’s sister disappeared then returned twenty minutes later with a beef stew Merritt took in small, hesitant bites. He also nibbled at the strips of red capsicum that she fed him. He fell back against his pillows after a few spoonfuls, as though the effort had cost him. And it probably had. Denny had never seen somebody in such a bad state. Fellows told him later that day that Merritt would have been dead within two days had help not arrived. The crew of the La-Di-Da found the missing pirate floating out at sea. He had taken a barrel of rum from the Charlotte’s stocks but had somehow drowned. Denny’s men brought the barrel aboard and left Scruggs out there, lifelessly floating in the water.
Denny didn’t know how the man had died and didn’t care. He, like Fortunata and Fellows, worried about Merritt’s shut-down condition. Over the next two days, various crewmembers sat with Merritt so he was never alone. Somehow, he improved dramatically. One evening, Denny went to visit him with a bowl of stew that included the remains of the Italian pasta they’d traded with a Sardinian ship docked in Nantes, France.
Merritt seemed to like the small, toasted balls of pasta called fregula. For the first time, Denny and Merritt talked. Merritt’s cheeks were filling in and he laughed at Denny’s pronunciation of fregula. He’d said Freg-you-la.
Merritt’s eyes danced with amusement as he said, “It’s freg-oola.”
Denny laughed too. He didn’t feel mocked. He was certain Merritt liked him. The young man was recuperating faster than Denny had expected, but Fellows had advised him that with constant helpings of fresh fruit and sweet peppers, Merritt could regain much of his strength and gain significant health within a few weeks.
This both pleased and devastated Denny. He knew Fellows wanted to take Merritt to the local hospital in San Juan, the Puerto Rican port that, weather permitting, they would reach in about three weeks. Denny wanted Merritt to regain his health and his masculine confidence but he feared losing the one man he felt he could talk to. Denny knew he was setting himself up for a collision course with disaster because he was falling in love. Merritt became his focus, and his joy. Minutes with him became precious. He adored every second with the magnificent young man whose gaining vitality revealed a little more of the vibrant, handsome Merritt really was.
Denny never spoke of his rising feelings for Merritt. He cradled his love within, like a mother hen protecting a hard-laid egg. He had never felt such tenderness or such incredible passion for another man. It took Denny another week to realize his feelings were being returned. And one person was acutely aware and not at all pleased. His frosty, controlling sister, Fortunata. Sometimes Denny caught her looking at him in a way that made her seem more fearsome than even the strongest, most homicidal men he’d encountered on the high seas.
And yet, she was beautiful, and could be charming when she chose to be so.
I don’t trust her
.
I have a horrible feeling she could be the death of me.
Chapter Seven
Merritt sat against a rock eating an apple picked from a tree on the outskirts of Gremma’s property. Now that his faculties were returning to him he could see the almost invisible, shimmery web that she or, more likely, Fortunata had cast on the ground and trees. He doubted it was the work of Gremma because she’d been surprised to find Cillian lying dead on the ground.
“But there is nothing here that would ever harm an animal,” she’d told Fortunata.
Now that he saw the invisible force field, Merritt knew his favorite
horse’s death had not been the result of poisoning. The apple Elvin had given Merritt hadn’t been tainted and the cut inflicted on Cillian hadn’t led to his death. The force field had killed him, but what evil, potent magic had been in it to inflict such harm? He sighed, relieved at least that Elvin hadn’t plotted Merritt’s death.
Fortified once more, Merritt moved forward, determined to grab the cloak, confront Gremma and finally end his sister’s cruel practices. He swayed suddenly and blinked.
It’s Denny. I think he’s here.
The knowledge both pleased and frightened him. Denny was close. They’d been so far apart, and yet, he would go on trial, and with the bizarre jury running the court these days he could hang before nightfall, or be kept in leg irons for months.
He hurried toward Gremma’s house. He flicked a hand toward the bewitched land but nothing moved.
Still cursed
.
Damn. I need the cloak. I must tear it apart to destroy its power.
Merritt took a few more steps and heard ragged sobs. Following the sound, he took care to be quiet. Merritt was stunned when he saw Gremma sitting, sprawled on the ground, examining her face in a green, handheld mirror. She looked even more decrepit, and older than she had the day before, but in the mirror, she was young and beautiful again.
“Merritt,” she breathed, lifting a tearstained face up to him.
“Gremma.” In spite of all that had happened between them, in spite of all the rotten things she’d done over the years, he pitied her. “I can save you.”
Her eyes shone, tears still leaking down her face.
“But you must do everything I tell you to do, and when it’s done, you must leave this island.”
“Leave?” She looked shocked.
“Leave,” he repeated. “Forever.”
She looked surprised, then wary and angry. Another wart sprouted on her hand. She gave a little shriek. “I’ll do it. I’ll do whatever you say, only make this stop,” she begged.
“Where is my sister?” he asked, dropping beside Gremma.
“I haven’t seen her. She disappeared yesterday, and then this happened.” She dropped the mirror in her lap and opened the top button of the coat she was wearing. Oozing, green sores appeared all over her neck. “Are you sure you can save me?”
Lightning crackled overhead.
Merritt glanced up at the sky and smiled. “I think my sister just realized your magic is not only failing, but coming back to hurt her. Twofold.”