Read The Pirate and the Puritan Online
Authors: Cheryl Howe
The Pirate and the Puritan
THE PIRATE AND THE PURITAN
by
Cheryl Howe
First Printing, September 2003
Copyright 2003 © by Cheryl Howe
First Kindle Edition, March 2013
Copyright 2013 © by Cheryl Howe
All rights reserved. No part of
this book may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, distributed, stored in or
introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by
any means, whether electronic or mechanical, without express permission of the
author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or
are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons,
living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover art by Kimberly Killion,
The Killion Group
To Cid and Orlando Stephenson and
Ella Fleming, my first fans. Thank you for loving my books and always wanting
to read the next manuscript.
And to Lorelle Marinello, my
friend, critique partner and shoulder to cry on. Thank you for your genuine
support and encouragement.
Barbados, British West Indies,
1721
Felicity Kendall fumbled beneath
her collar to unbutton the high neck of her wool bodice, the tropical warmth
overriding her sense of decorum. Today’s welcome escape from the floating
torture chamber that had carried her from Boston hadn’t eased her discomfort in
the least. The solid ground now beneath her feet amazingly continued to lurch.
She used the flat of her hand to shield her eyes against the unrelenting sun,
feeling as vulnerable as if she’d been set down in the center of Babylon
instead of the British West Indies.
Desperation forced Felicity to
trudge on, despite the fact the ground still swayed with each step as though
she were still on the ship. No one had ever mentioned that seasickness lasted
beyond the confines of the sea. With faltering steps on the weathered dock, she
carefully rounded the growing pile of her father’s unloaded cargo.
A sailor she recognized from her
voyage hoisted another large crate onto the stack. He’d removed his shirt, and
Felicity turned away. That she’d greatly underestimated the ease with which
she’d fit into her new home unsettled her stomach all over again.
“Excuse me, sir,” she called to
the sailor over her shoulder, her face averted. “Is my father’s bookkeeper
about?” Someone should be recording the stock and he’d certainly be able to
escort her to her father.
The sailor stepped onto a crate
and scanned the crowd, then pointed. “Over there. Captain McCulla, he works for
your father. He’ll help ya.”
After taking a deep breath and
clutching her black leather valise close to her body, Felicity plowed past
half-dressed natives selling fruit, equally disrobed women selling themselves,
and a horde of unwashed sailors. Under the eaves of a brick warehouse, she
found a portly man asleep in a barrel-backed chair. A boy crouched at his feet,
his arms and legs caked with layers of dust and dirt.
“Captain McCulla?” She tapped her
foot as she waited. Explaining why she’d traveled across an ocean uninvited
appeared less of a problem by the moment. With no bookkeeper in sight and an
inattentive captain, it seemed more and more obvious her father needed her
organizational skills desperately. She’d made the right decision.
“Captain McCulla!” she said,
unable to mask her impatience.
The boy jumped to his feet. “Can
I help you, miss?”
“I’m Benjamin Kendall’s daughter
and I’m looking for my father.”
The boy’s hazel eyes widened.
“Did one of your kin die, Miss Felicity?”
“Oh, no, that’s not why I’m
here.” The boy’s comment gave Felicity renewed hope her father might also
assume her unexpected arrival was spurred by tragedy. Perhaps he’d be so
relieved to discover all was well in Boston he’d be happy to see her after all.
At least it appeared he’d spoken of her since the child knew her name.
“Then why are you dressed all in
black? You don’t have to lie to me just ’cause I’m a kid. I know a lot about
dying.” The boy’s red brows drew together in an expression much too old for his
age. She couldn’t help wonder what else this young boy had been forced to
endure in his short life.
Felicity offered a smile, one
she’d normally never give to a stranger, not even a child. “I’m of the Puritan
faith,” she explained, “and we don’t believe in excess of dress or mannerisms.
It’s godly to be somber, but I’m not in mourning. Truly.”
The furrows in the boy’s brow
grew deeper, assuring Felicity she’d only confused him further. The truth was,
she didn’t fool him any more than she did herself.
“Perhaps you should take me to
find my father,” she said with a subtle nod of her head, wondering what else
she could do to persuade him.
“Yes, miss. This way.” The
barefoot boy turned toward the street. “I'm Tanner,” he said over his shoulder.
Felicity hesitated, happy he’d so
easily granted her request but she couldn’t help turning back to the captain,
wondering if it was wise to leave him. “Tanner, wait—does this man need help?”
She scanned the red-faced man, still slumped in the chair, for signs of life.
An enormous black fly landed on his bulbous nose and he reflexively slapped it
away.
“He’s always like that. Come on.”
Deciding to trust the child’s
judgment, Felicity followed Tanner up the cobblestoned road marked Broad
Street. Rows of planked buildings painted bright pink and greenish-blue shaded
their way. The fragrance of magnolias drifted on a soft breeze, mercifully
diminishing the stink from the dock. Felicity took a deep breath through her
nose. Babylon or not, she hoped she could finally find peace in this strange,
vibrant place.
Tanner suddenly turned and walked
back toward her. “My folks were Scottish. I'm glad they weren’t Puritan,
because you look awful hot. Is your father a Puritan?”
“No. Definitely not.” Felicity
grinned again at the boy’s bold response. Though her father had always
supported her mother in thrusting the children into the Puritan faith, no one
had ever maintained the notion of bringing jovial Benjamin Kendall into the
fold. As affable as he was, the man had never been prudent, pious, or thrifty a
day in his life.
“I didn’t think so. Your father’s
a fine man. He gave Captain McCulla work ’cause nobody else would. The
captain’s not my papa. He just takes care of me ’cause I don’t have nobody
else, neither.”
Felicity gazed over the boy’s
head. A team of horses pulling an overstuffed wagon careened onto the narrow
street. “Look where you’re going before you get hurt,” she warned.
Tanner blushed at her concern, as
if she had just paid him a compliment. “Aw, I’m fine.” He pranced forward a few
feet, then stopped and turned to face her again. “Your father gives me boiled
sweets whenever I want. And Lord Christian’s gonna give me one of his coats
when I’m big enough. He’s got one in every color. Even orange.”
Felicity herded Tanner to the
side of the street before the wagon rattled past. “Who might this Lord
Christian be?”
“He’s one of them haughty nobles.
That’s what Captain McCulla says. Lord Christian and the captain don’t like
each other much on account of Lord Christian wanting to give the captain the
boot and find me another place to live. For my own good, he says. But I told
Lord Christian I didn’t want to have to live with somebody new again, so he
gave up. We’re still friends, though.”
“And Master Marley, how is he
faring?” Felicity had expected to see her father’s longtime business partner at
the docks and a pang of concern lingered still.
Tanner’s grin slid from his face
along with its color. His freckles stood out in bold contrast. He abruptly
turned and ran ahead, forcing Felicity to raise the hem of her skirts to keep
up. What was the child not telling her? The pang of concern blossomed into
apprehension.
No doubt her father and Marley
had had another falling out over her father’s impulsive business practices.
That had to be it. Whoever this Lord Christian might be, she had a feeling he’d
have to go. Her father’s tendency to trust the wrong sort had obviously flared
again. Once again she knew it had been right to come. Her father needed her.
They reached a tall white
building with NEW ENGLAND TRADING COMPANY carved into a wood plaque overhead,
and Tanner burst through the door. Felicity paused just long enough to retrieve
a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from her brow. She needed to be calm and
confident when she faced her father, not wilted and slightly unnerved. This
would be an important encounter, and one she didn’t have the luxury to repeat.
Her entire future rested upon convincing her father that her arrival was an
unexpected blessing rather than an unpleasant surprise. She drew her lips into
what she hoped was a self-assured smile before stepping inside.
Her father stood near a
paper-strewn desk, frozen in the motion of handing Tanner something wrapped in
pink-and-gold paper. Seeing the way her father’s plump figure had swelled,
Felicity would have guessed it was a sugar plum—his own favorite—even if Tanner
hadn’t already given him away.
Tanner glanced at her, then back
to her father. “I forgot to tell you I brought Miss Felicity.”
The expression of sheer horror on
her father’s face told her she’d obviously beaten the
Queen
Elizabeth
’s
captain with news of her arrival. Even so, her father seemed indisputably and
instantly displeased. Felicity strained to keep her smile in place, reaching
deep inside for the poise that now seemed so elusive. The fact that he didn’t
want her either, hurt more than she dared dwell on at the moment.
Heavy boots dropping to the wood
floor drew Felicity’s attention to a man seated behind an adjacent desk. Immediately
she knew he must be the flamboyant nobleman Tanner had mentioned earlier. His
taste for Europe’s latest fashion bordered on the extreme. His excessively
powdered face and hair only emphasized his angular male features, calling
attention to his ruggedness rather than taming it. Hastily smeared rouge on his
contoured cheeks and full lips spoke of aggression instead of refinement. To
the further detriment of his appearance, he sported a finely made and surely
expensive suit of vibrant blue satin of a shade that would force even a peacock
to blush. He seemed more a caricature of an aristocrat than an aristocrat.
There was most definitely something contrary about him, something she couldn’t
quite place. One question surfaced, though. How could her father be taken in by
this garish man?
The stranger stalked in her
direction. He was too large, too tall, to be wearing such effeminate dress. It
was as though he were hiding beneath a disguise. But why would he? She
stiffened, holding her chin up, not about to be intimidated by him.
He smiled, but to her it seemed
as though he were mocking her, or even that he was about to make fun of her.
She most certainly didn’t like the fact that she couldn’t interpret him or his
intentions.
“Lord Christian Andrews at your
service. May I be of assistance?” He bowed at the waist, then stood up as he
stared at her, offering a tiny glimpse of the real man beneath the paint and
silk. All she knew was that this man was definitely not what he appeared to be.
His sea-green gaze snared hers in
a most surprising way. It was nothing she would have expected and she found
herself drawn to them. She had the physical sensation of being touched despite
the fact that neither of them had moved. Something simmered beneath the man’s
now neutral expression. Of that she was certain, but of what, well, she had no
clear idea.
“Dear God!”
Felicity’s attention returned to
her father in time to see him barrel around the desk.
