Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  There was silence, then she heard heavy footsteps and a bolt sliding back. The door jerked open wide.

  11

  SECRETS AND SCHEMES

  Startled, Emerald faced her father, looming in the doorway. She said nothing for a moment as she gazed at him. The attire of a well-dressed Jamaican planter had been exchanged for that of a man prepared to go to sea.

  Her distraught gaze drifted over the sleeveless woolen tunic that reached to the thighs of his rugged leather breeches. A long cloak was thrown over his strong shoulders, and the lantern light fell on the silver cross that rested on his broad chest. The cross she had seen many times. “A gift from your mother,” he had told her.

  A big man, Sir Karlton Harwick was nevertheless light on his feet, and he stood blocking the doorway with the dignity of an earl. His short pointed beard, auburn in color, curled upward, but his wide brows were straight and slashed across a roughened bronzed face with piercing eyes that could look almost silver in hue.

  Emerald stepped back, hands pressed against the sides of her satin skirts, and her eyes dropped to his leather boots. Beyond him she could see his familiar scarred sea trunk, apparently packed and ready to go, and she felt her throat cramp.

  “Papa! Where are you going?”

  His eyes softened as they gazed down on her, and he reached an arm to draw her to him, planting a kiss on top of her head.

  “To sea again.”

  Her heart wrenched. “But you just came home—and you promised me you’d give up the ways of a privateer.”

  He looked a bit sheepish. “So I did, and it’s a lesson to me never to make vows impossible to keep. God forgive my rash tongue. ’Tis necessary, little one. Hush now,” he soothed. “There’s nothing to worry about. I’ll not lose our sugar holdings to the rest of the family, not if there’s a ship to sail or a sword to be had.”

  He smiled, patting her back. “I’ll even bring you back a pretty. Maybe pearls from Margarita, if Morgan goes that way.”

  Her eyes widened. “Morgan! You’re not sailing with that pirate?”

  “Buccaneer,” he corrected with gravity. “Nay forget the difference between the two. A most astounding difference, to be sure.”

  She wasn’t so certain. Her frustration mounted. “It’s Lord Felix, isn’t it? He’s the one to blame. He’s goading you into taking this risk. I wish he wasn’t marrying your cousin.”

  His eyes hardened. “Aye, Geneva’s making a mistake. I told her so, but she’s not one to listen.”

  “You saw her?” she asked quickly. “You talked to her?”

  He looked troubled. “Aye, last night. I let her know what I think of Felix.”

  She wondered why Geneva had said nothing about the meeting to Great-aunt Sophie.

  “As for what I must do, I’ll see my debts paid and our future on Foxemoore secure. You don’t need to worry about that.”

  “By turning to buccaneering?” she protested, her eyes pleading.

  “Now, now, none of that, lass. Naught will befall me with Morgan that won’t worsen if I stay and do nothing. Felix intends to control all Foxemoore through marriage to Geneva, but he won’t get my portion of the estate! I’ll soon pay the debts I owe the family.”

  “You know the English penalty for piracy,” she whispered.

  “Piracy, she says! ’Tis war, that’s what—war to weaken Spain’s ability to wage the Inquisition in Europe, and why shouldn’t we sink her galleons, I ask you?”

  “Call the trade what you will. On pain of hanging, His Majesty calls it piracy.”

  “Aye,” he remarked as though memory brought him down a forbidden path. “And the noose also swings at Port Royal. Pirates have been hanged recently.” His eyes hardened. “And we can thank the Spanish sympathizers in the Jamaican Council for that—especially Felix.”

  Emerald shuddered. Her father had known many of the more respectable pirates, whom he had insisted were not pirates at all “but excellent captains, navigators, explorers, and maritime seamen. All having fought valiantly against Spain.” She looked up into his rugged face and saw that his silvery eyes gleamed, and she guessed that he was not thinking of the Jamaican Council but of his love for the sea, of the waiting treasures of spices, silver ingots, pearls, and gold.

  He must have noted her concern, for he smiled tenderly. “Fear not, little one. Your father is not going off in a crazed fit, brandishing a cutlass. Despite Drummond’s concerns for his moody master, I’ve been planning this voyage for a year, though I’ve kept it from the family. And for good reason,” he said dourly. “Enough, now! Cease your fretting. I’ve not gone a bit daft, if that’s what you be thinking.”

  His confident words did little to cheer her. Another long voyage on the Main only meant that her beloved father would be gone another year, perhaps much longer. His stalwart presence at Foxemoore so recently rejoiced in would be taken away. She thought of Jamie. If he could only escape Port Royal and she with him …

  “I’m doing it for you, little one,” he said quietly. “This house at least, and my share of the cane fields, will not revert to Felix. I’m determined to see you have a secure future should anything happen to me.”

  He stepped out and closed the door behind him. “But what is this you say? Baret is here at Foxemoore?”

  Baret? Did her father call the viscount by his first name?

  “Papa, I fear his presence brings trouble. He’s come to side with his uncle against us.”

  He sobered. “If there’s trouble he’s come about, it’s not over Foxemoore.”

  “He’s the nephew of Lord Felix,” she reminded him cautiously. “How can you be so confident?”

  “I’ve my own reasons.”

  He walked down the hall, and she followed him.

  “And he’s a man of the sea, even as I, with a hatred for Spain.” He scowled. “Nor does he have allegiance to Felix.”

  She did not share his confidence and wondered at it.

  There was also the possibility that the viscount had learned who the “cabin boy” aboard his ship had been and had come to inform her father about her and Zeddie’s excursion.

  “He is in a great hurry,” she protested, walking beside him down the hall. “I met him on the road. He and his men nearly ran me down,” she said a little crossly.

  He paused, cautious. “He’s not alone then?”

  She wondered at the change in his mood. “A man is with him, fair but somber. He’s dressed all in black.”

  He gave a slight frown as if he guessed who it might be.

  “You know the viscount’s friend?”

  “Sounds like Erik Farrow. He’s been knighted by Felix.”

  “Yes, I remember now—he called him ‘Sir.’” She studied her father’s profile and saw his displeasure. “You know him also?”

  “I knew him when he was a lad aboard a slave ship.”

  At the mention of the slave trade, Emerald felt her stomach turn into knots. She would need to tell him about Ty and how Jamie had escaped, or did he already know? If he had met with Geneva last night, she would have told him—yet he showed no alarm.

  “Farrow later took to privateering as though born in the water. Recently he’s been too friendly with Felix. I wonder that Baret would have him at his side. ’Tis a curious thing. As for myself, I question if Farrow can be trusted.”

  He gave her a hard look. “And you, lass—the quicker I take you from here the better. After this night, London cannot come too soon.”

  She halted, thinking she had misunderstood him, and they stood facing each other. Surely he would not be thinking of sending her to London!

  “London?” she said weakly. “Oh, but—”

  “Aye, I’ve a distant cousin there. John Clark and his wife are humble farming folk in Berrymeade Village, but he will treat you well enough, and they’ve a daughter near your age. But even my cousin’s farm isn’t good enough for you. I vow! When the wretched debts are paid, I’ll put you in a finishing school. You’ll
marry nobility if I die seein’ to it.”

  Her eyes searched his with trepidation. “You know it’s impossible, and I wish you’d not say such things, Papa. After the ugly things said about my mother? A pirate’s daughter! That’s what they think of me!”

  “Enough!” He raised his big hand, his eyes like silvery ice. “I know what the sharp-beaked carrion say, be they family or strangers. The refuse they feed upon ’tis not worthy for your godly tongue to repeat. Your mother was a lady of the French aristocracy who fled France in the persecution of the Protestants. Later some of the family went to the French island of Tortuga, and that’s where I met her when my ship docked. Your mother died of the fever soon after you were born.” He looked at her. “That is all you need to know to hold your fair head high.”

  Yes, but no one else believes it, she wanted to say.

  The look of sorrow on his face touched her heart. He had loved her mother. No matter what the family said, he must have loved her very much.

  “Yes, Papa. I didn’t believe their gossip,” she hastened to say. “Not for a moment.” Her gaze faltered.

  He made a disagreeable sound as he strode on. “A pack of clods, the whole lot of ’em, my cousin Geneva included. Got no more sense than to go around hissing lies. But the wise won’t listen to their adder tongues. Yes, your mother’s father was a boucanier on Tortuga—and I’m proud of it, and so should you be. He was a gallant swordsman, and your mother a fair mademoiselle. If she could walk here again on Jamaica soil for a day, she’d put them all to shame with her beauty and her soul.”

  He glowered. “Mean and small they are, like croaking frogs in a stagnant pool. Aye, she was godly,” he repeated, pausing to look down at her. “And fair to look upon.”

  He took her by the shoulders and gave her a slight, affectionate shake. “And that goes for you too. None of the young girls compare to you, and none of the men in Jamaica are good enough to marry you. And that goes for that indentured renegade Jamie Bradford! Ah yes—I know all about that, so don’t look so stricken. The sooner they catch and hang the rascal the better. He’s a pirate, and so is his brother! And you’ve been deceived by him. I’m ashamed of you, lass.”

  “A pirate! Jamie? Papa, it isn’t true. Jamie is—”

  “An indentured servant for the time he’s been on Foxemoore, but I know his past. As for your wanting to marry him, I know all about that too. Do you think your father doesn’t know what’s going on? The rascally mouthed wolf in sheep’s garb is a runaway looking for a ship to steal! A pirate, that’s what he is, and I’ll vow to it. And if he shows up in Port Royal looking for you, I’ll duel him in the street!” He looked down at her with a scowl. “And win, I will.”

  “He’s not a pirate! He unloosed Ty, who was chained mercilessly to the whipping pillar. For that, Mr. Pitt had them both put in stocks. Ty was branded in the square this morning, and Jamie escaped. I’m glad he ran away!”

  “You won’t see the lad again,” he ordered. “I’ll shoot him fair and square if he shows up on Foxemoore.”

  “Papa, you wouldn’t!”

  “Oh, wouldn’t I? I’m going to see you marry nobility, either in London or in Jamaica. Preferably a Buckington.”

  A Buckington! The idea was so preposterous that she momentarily forgot the disagreement over Jamie. Emerald nearly laughed. “Since when would blooded nobility in England marry me?”

  “You’ll see.” His mouth curved above his beard as if he nurtured some secret plan. “The viscount will do nicely.”

  Emerald drew in a breath. The horror of the previous night came rushing in.

  His eyes twinkled mischievously as he smiled down at her.

  “A handsome rogue that one. I suppose you noticed?”

  “No. I think he is quite knavish—and arrogant.”

  “It’s lying you are. Why are you blushing? Aye, you like him. Good, then.”

  “Papa, no. Please don’t embarrass me before him—”

  “Well, your shyness is to be expected. But I’ve good reasons for seeing you his wife. Baret has the blood and wit of a buccaneer, despite his father packing him off to Cambridge to study Latin and Greek. Aye, he’s a man of character, and a fiery hatred for Spain is newly kindled in his bones. It pleases me to no end.” He chuckled. “He knows the ways of the Brotherhood all right, and is smooth with a blade. If I didn’t know better, I’d vow he’s the one who’s the offspring of a French pirate.”

  “Papa!”

  He glanced at her with a twinkle. “But he’s not French. He’s a cold-blooded Englishman, that one. Nerves like steel. Just the man to protect my daughter from the hissing adders in her path.”

  Emerald felt her cheeks flaming, for she did not wish to entertain such thoughts about “Captain Foxworth.” How could her father even suggest the possibility of marriage?

  “Surely you’ve a tropical fever,” she breathed. “The man’s a viscount, the grandson of the earl himself!”

  “That he is,” he said calmly. “His bloodline goes back to the Earl of Essex. And since his father was the firstborn son of the Earl of Buckington, Baret is primary heir of the title and inheritance—plus a lordly portion of Foxemoore.”

  “You’ve forgotten Jette,” she said shortly.

  “Nay, and neither has Baret forgotten. Jette’s his brother. And he’ll take pride and pleasure in the little rogue.”

  “Even if such an unlikely thing could be, ’tis cousin Lavender he wishes to marry. He’s in love with her.”

  “That bluestocking? Whisk! And what makes you think so?”

  “Because I saw her photograph on his—” She faltered, her eyes swerving to his.

  But he had missed the slip of tongue. He waved a careless hand. “Aye, no doubt she’s sweet on him, and the family will try to pawn her off on him.” He gave her a crafty glance. “But even the earl will agree you make the better match for the viscount when I return with a fortune fat enough to bring you to Buckington House in London.”

  Her nerves grew taut. Again she thought of Jamie. “I don’t want to go to London, Papa. There’s only one man I want—Jamie Bradford. Please understand.”

  “There’ll be no Jamie,” he said flatly. “And it won’t be Lavender who’ll have the most to offer the viscount in marriage. They’ll want to keep my newly acquired fortune in jewels in the family—and that means that Baret must marry a Harwick.”

  Emerald fidgeted as she thought of the man downstairs. She could not imagine Baret as the sort who would permit himself to be manipulated into anything, least of all marriage. And a dowry heavy with Spanish treasure was not likely to win him. The thought that her father might try was embarrassing, considering her position, her mother’s reputation, and that he had caught her breaking into his cabin. She must not see him. How could she?

  “I don’t want you to scheme on my behalf,” she pleaded. “Uncle Mathias prayed with me to yield my life to whatever God may call me to do.”

  “Did he, now!”

  “And Mathias speaks kindly of God’s providential grace in leading us through this life, and surely Jamie—”

  “And surely Jamie’s not the scoundrel the Almighty has in mind for my lass. I’ve not left God out of my plans for your future. I confess I unwisely lived my better years without seeking Him. Ah! But you—you, little lass, have your entire life before you, and I have consistently pleaded for you since I have tasted His grace.”

  “And so you’ll go with Henry Morgan!”

  “’Tis war. Spain persecutes the Protestants, and she must be stopped.” He added with a merry glint in his eyes, “’Tis enough argument now. I shall see you marry Baret Buckington.”

  She stopped, feeling exasperated. “I won’t allow myself to be caught up in dreams—I don’t want to be hurt anymore.”

  “Cease! In one breath you have confidence of God’s ways, even urging your sinful father to lean hard on His grace. In the next you balk like a mule stiffening its legs. Nay speak a thing about the doings of the Alm
ighty. He is sovereign and does what He may. And He is always right. Remember that. And most of our pains we cause ourselves or taste because others force their miserable dregs upon us.”

  Emerald wrapped her arms around his waist. “And you tell Mathias you don’t understand theology,” she said with a little smile.

  He winked. “’Tis to keep a meddlesome uncle in his place. He’d make me a planter if he could.”

  She sighed. “Oh, Papa, I am going to miss you!”

  He gave her a gentle pat, smiling down at her, his eyes shining. “Now you listen to me. When I return from Morgan’s expedition I’ll be a wealthy gentleman again. We’ll go to London. You’ll soon see how quickly the fiery tongues of the bluestockings are silenced when they know that Lady Emerald Harwick is very wealthy and soon to become the bride of the viscount.”

  Her smile faded. She took anxious hold of his woolen sleeve as they moved toward the staircase. “Please don’t talk like that. He’s downstairs now. If you say anything so blatant, I shall simply die. He’ll laugh, and I’ll feel a fool!”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry. Your father is not that arrant. I won’t need to be. Baret will have his own mind where a woman is concerned. I know him well enough. He is a handful even for the domineering likes of the earl.” He appraised her with pleasure, throwing an arm about her. “You’re a delight to the eyes, and—knowing him—he’ll be agreeing.”

  She stiffened. “I—I can’t meet him, Papa. I won’t.”

  “What’s this chatter?”

  “Um—well, he hasn’t come on a social call. I could tell by his manner. Something is wrong. Something troubling enough to bring him here unexpectedly.”

  “Then I’ll find out what it is. Now go and freshen up a bit. You’ve got a smidgen of dust on your nose.” He appraised her dress. “And where’d you get the frock? From Lavender?”

  She wondered that he didn’t remember the trunk at the lookout—unless he didn’t know about it yet.

  “No matter,” he said. “Now go and prepare your hair, lass. Then come down. I’ll be showing him what a fine young lady Sir Karlton’s lass has grown to be.”