Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Emerald set her mind with cool resolve, but doubts still nagged at her soul, causing unease. Why was he late? Ships could sail in worse weather, and the water did not look so rough as to hinder the longboat’s arrival.

  Keeping close to the overhang, she paced the wooden planks, which creaked beneath her slippers, and decided that her concerns were due to a restless conscience. Her father would be disappointed in her—and if Uncle Mathias were alive, what would he say about her deceit?

  She whirled toward the sound of running footsteps. It was Minette, and Emerald breathed a sigh of relief. “Well?” she inquired anxiously.

  Minette gestured down the darkened wharf. “The longboat’s down by the other landing steps. See the lanterns? They’re getting ready to pull away now.”

  “He must have forgotten we were to meet on the north end.”

  “But they say there’s no crewman with them named Bradford.”

  “Jamie’s a passenger, same as we. No doubt he’ll be going under the name of a gentleman. We must hurry! If they leave without us, he’ll think I’ve changed my mind.”

  Minette raced back down the wharf, and Emerald hurried as swiftly as her cloak and slippers would allow.

  As she neared the landing steps, several yellow lanterns were glowing in the night, and she saw men getting into the boat while others on the seawall kept guard.

  “Wait,” she called breathlessly. “In the name of Jamie Bradford!”

  Their heads turned sharply. She rushed to the landing, and to her surprise, two men drew swords and a third crouched, holding a dagger that glinted in the yellow light. They looked past her as though to see whether she was alone. Startled, she stepped back. If she didn’t know better, she would think she had come upon smugglers.

  Emerald pulled her hooded cloak about her throat, glancing about. Where was Jamie?

  A thickset man with a wide neck stood up in the boat. From beneath a scarf tied at the back of his head his lank hair whipped in the breeze. For a moment he appeared to study the situation.

  “Oui, mam’zelle, an’ so you’re Miss Harwick?”

  She felt relief. He at least knew who she was. Her gaze swept his face, searching for some sign that he was a fatherly old gentleman with white hair and ruddy cheeks. His shrewd swarthy face provoked a shiver instead.

  She glanced narrowly at the men around him, wearing faded head scarves and calico shirts, some with a single gold earring. All appeared to be French.

  How rough of skin they are. They’ve been months at sea. I know a gaggle of pirates when I see them. Could Jamie have bought passage on a pirate ship?

  She wisely kept her distance, aware that Minette behind her was plucking nervously at her cloak. “Let’s go,” she kept whispering.

  “Yes, I’m Miss Harwick. Where’s Mr. James Bradford?” she asked the Frenchman in the boat.

  “Ah, you’re asking about Jamie Boy, are you?”

  Jamie Boy?

  “He’s expecting me. He’s bought us passage to the New England colony.”

  One of the others laughed. “So this is the lass the captain speaks of. And no wonder.”

  “You daw cock! Turtle your mouth!”

  Her heartbeat quickened with caution. “I’ll not get in the boat unless he shows himself.”

  “Ah, he is here, mademoiselle, to be sure. He’ll show himself.” He turned to one of the men. “Get the fair mademoiselle’s trunk. Then see her safely aboard.”

  “But we’re supposed to bring her to his ship—”

  “Silence, do as I say.”

  Minette plucked again at Emerald’s cloak, whispering, “Emerald, no—”

  The man called up, “Stop your chittering, my fair songbirds, and come aboard, both of you.”

  Emerald sensed danger and, grabbing Minette’s wrist, started running down the wharf.

  “Quick, ye napes! Grab her!”

  A crewman was swiftly at her heels, and before she could scream, he clamped a big hand across her mouth. She kicked and struggled, trying to bite his fingers as he carried her down the steps to the waiting longboat.

  “Easy now, you stick of a wench! We’re taking you to your precious Jamie Boy.”

  Emerald sought to jerk free, twisting and clawing at the pirate’s face. Above them on the cobbled street, horses’ hoofs clattered.

  “The patrol!” a pirate warned.

  “Gag the mam’zelle,” ordered the man in charge.

  She grappled to break free of his hold as a wadded scarf was pressed against her clenched teeth. God help me, please!

  “Roll her tight in that fish net. Where’s the other wench?”

  “She got away.”

  The odorous net wrapped about Emerald like seaweed, and she was carried like baggage.

  Horse hooves pounded up the street.

  “Hold fast, longboat!” came a distant shout from below the fort’s guns.

  “Oars, pull away!” ordered the Frenchman.

  “Turn back, you smugglers, or we’ll blow you to pieces!”

  The pirate carrying Emerald across his shoulder lost his footing in his haste to take cover. She felt a sharp pain on the side of her head as she landed hard against something in the boat. Her mind was spinning. Waves of darkness pulsated before her eyes, trying to drag her into an abyss of unconsciousness.

  The boat was shoving away from the landing steps as the remaining crewmen scrambled to the oars.

  “Fire!” commanded the English soldier from above.

  Emerald cringed at the loud blast, and acrid smoke befouled the air. A second blast boomed, showering her with salty brine that took her breath away. The boat pitched, bringing a sickening sensation to her stomach. Emerald allowed the welcome blackness to seize her.

  24

  PIRATE’S BOOTY

  Emerald stirred, becoming aware that the longboat was no longer tossing in the water. She reached a weak hand to her mouth—the gag had been removed. She was lying on her back on something hard and damp—her hand touched the deck of a ship!

  Emerald’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment that seemed endless she looked up at blurred faces and glowing lanterns. Above the voices she heard boot steps coming down from the quarterdeck.

  “Inform your captain that if he wishes to sign buccaneering articles with me, it will be done my way. Circumstances require a change of plans.”

  “But Monsieur Captain! You were to come with us to meet on his ship tonight as agreed upon! They’re waiting for you now.”

  “We’ll meet tomorrow—here. Aboard my ship. Understood?”

  “What of her? He expects her aboard the Venture.”

  “She stays.”

  “He will not like this, monsieur!”

  “Then let him come and tell me to my face.”

  The group of pirates surrounding Emerald stepped aside to let two men through. They looked down at her.

  With a start, Emerald looked up at the viscount. No, Captain Foxworth, the buccaneer—or pirate? She stiffened as their gaze locked.

  Then he scanned her and smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. “Ah, my dear Lady Harwick. What a pleasant surprise. Welcome aboard the Regale.”

  Bewilderment held her. She struggled to make sense of what was happening. The Regale? Baret’s ship? she thought numbly. She was supposed to meet Jamie on another ship, taking them as passengers to Boston. Was Jamie here also? He couldn’t be. Captain Foxworth wasn’t sailing to Boston.

  What had Baret just said to that odious French pirate who had brought her here? That his captain was to come to the Regale if he wished to sign piracy articles with him?

  She attempted to sit up, but dizziness assailed her. She must have struck her head badly in the longboat.

  “Jamie. Wh-where is … he?” she demanded weakly.

  Baret’s mouth curved. He folded his arms, the wind touching his dark hair. “So … you wish to venture upon the high seas with ‘Jamie Boy,’ do you? And just what, madam, may I ask, is wrong with the Re
gale or its captain?”

  Speechless, she stared up at him. Had she heard him correctly?

  Bending down, he swept her up into his arms.

  Emerald looked into his dark warm gaze, and her breath paused.

  “You’re an exceedingly lucky young woman, Lady Harwick, to find yourself aboard the Regale instead of the Venture,” he said in a low voice.

  Was she? “Put me down.”

  “You are at the disposal of a gallant captain instead of a ruthless pirate. However, I suppose the latter wouldn’t make much difference to you since you expected to run away with him.”

  “Jamie’s no pirate—”

  “You have me mystified. Can this be the noble young woman called of God to carry on her uncle’s work on Foxemoore?”

  “I have my reasons. Put me down—”

  “I shall be interested in your reasons, madam. But they must wait. There is no Jamie Bradford. There is only James Maynerd, younger brother to the pirate Captain Charles Maynerd—who was hanged at Port Royal.”

  “I-I don’t believe you—put me down—”

  “Yorke!” he shouted to one of the men.

  A big man with a thatch of gray hair appeared from the shadows of the deck. “Aye, Captain!”

  “The thief in calico drawers has returned as a mermaid wrapped in a fish net. Deposit her in a safe place until I decide what to do with her.”

  Do with her! She must find Jamie! Captain Foxworth was ruining everything!

  Emerald protested as he passed her to Yorke as easily as though she were a cloak. “I shall decide what to do with myself!”

  Baret ignored her. “Have Hob take a look at that bump on her head,” he said.

  Yorke’s bushy red brows glowered. “An’ where do I bring her, Captain?”

  Baret smiled at Emerald. “Put her in my cabin.”

  25

  THE BUCCANEER CLAIMS EMERALD

  Emerald did not know how long she had slept, but when she awoke, sunlight poured in through a stern window, and pleasant breezes smelling of the sea ruffled her hair. She could see a patch of blue sky, and the calm water told her the storm was over.

  Her eyes followed the sunlight to where it fell in a stream across the captain’s desk. Her gaze darted up to the lantern that hung from the dark beam, and to her relief it was not swaying, a sign surely that the Regale had not yet left the bay. The wick was burning low from the night before—no one had entered the cabin that morning to turn it down. And she wondered if the door was still locked from the outside. And who might have the key.

  She glanced about uneasily, noting that everything was just as it had been the night before when the man named Yorke had left her.

  It took considerable effort to sit up and pull herself out of the bed, holding onto a nearby chair as the blood surged in her temples.

  She felt a tender bump on the side of her head, but the skin was not broken. Her hooded cloak lay on the chair, and her shoes were nearby, but she had not been strong enough to remove her elaborate dress, worn to meet Jamie. It was still wet and portions of the billowing skirt were soiled. Her imagination told her that it bore the smell of that horrid fish net. She glanced about for her trunk and saw that it was not there. Had the men left it in the longboat? It was not only her clothing she worried about but the satchel holding the prized work of Uncle Mathias.

  Suddenly Emerald caught her breath. Minette! Where was she?

  As dizziness overcame her she slowly lowered herself into the chair, trying to think back to the last time she had been aware of Minette’s presence. She remembered a remark from a French pirate that “she got away.”

  She told herself to remain calm, that if Minette had escaped capture she would seek help from her father. Emerald took courage. Even now her father may be out searching for her. Yet no sooner had she taken hope than her dilemma came crashing into her mind like the ocean waves at high tide. Jamie—a pirate? Impossible! How could Baret suggest such a thing?

  During Jamie’s indentured service on Foxemoore he had never once mentioned that he even had a brother, let alone that his brother was the pirate Captain Charles Maynerd. She shuddered. Baret said Maynerd had been hanged.

  She grimaced as she stood from the chair and made her way slowly across the floor to what appeared to be a wall cupboard. Instead, it proved to be a wardrobe holding a fine array of Baret’s garments, a sea chest—locked, no doubt—and a number of other commodities and toiletries. She searched for a comb, and in the process tried to keep a distinct mood of indifference to the man whose cabin she was confined to.

  “It wasn’t my intention to be here,” she told herself stiffly, “but his.” And as she thought on this, her eye fell on—yes—she was not deceived—another smaller door. Could it be? Emerald held her breath, hoping. Yes! It proved to be the delightful discovery of a closet bathroom.

  There was a ceramic basin and a jar of water, and she was able to wash her face and hands and clean her teeth. She managed to comb her disheveled hair back into an arrangement of curls and was just coming back into the cabin when there was a discreet knock on the door and it opened a crack.

  “Who is it?” she demanded uneasily.

  “Be only of Hob, miss. Be bringin’ you a can o’ hot water and some turtle soup.”

  “Come in,” she said warily, and he opened the door wide, letting in morning sunlight.

  Her eyes cautiously studied the familiar turtler from Chocolata Hole. Was he now serving Captain Foxworth?

  The short grizzled man stood there in canvas breeches and a sea-initiated tunic. His hair was thick and peppery gray, tied to hang down his slightly hunched back. His pale eyes were shrewd, yet full of ironic good humor. In his hand was a makeshift tray, recently made, she suspected, for her convenience.

  “Pert day, it is. Sea as calm as a lookin’ glass. But no wind. So we sit.” He set the tray down. “You took a nasty tumble, you did. If I be you, I’d rest meself a day more.”

  “Oh, but—” She stopped. It would do no good to vent her frustration on Hob. She must speak to the viscount at once.

  “Is the captain well this morning?” she inquired with a wry note, for she had expected him to have come by now and explained her situation.

  “Aye, he is.” A lopsided smile came to the wrinkled face. “Alway in a fair mood, him.”

  “I’m pleased to hear that,” she said too sweetly. “I shall appreciate it, Hob, if you would tell the viscount I wish to speak to him immediately.”

  He scowled innocently. “Viscount?”

  “Lord Baret Buckington,” said Emerald tonelessly.

  “Aye, you mean Captain Foxworth, you do.”

  “I admit his behavior is best suited to a pirate. Among other things I wish to discuss, my trunk is missing. And I want to be brought immediately to Mr. James Bradford.”

  If he heard her, he evidently preferred to behave as though he had not. He set the turtle soup before her and rubbed his gnarled hands together as he feasted his eyes on the bowl. “Best soup I made in many a day, says I. Cap’n says you’ll be takin’ your supper at the captain’s table tonight.”

  “Tonight! Am I to be kept a prisoner in this cabin?”

  She expected Hob to hastily assure her such was not the case, but his calculating eyes gleamed as he grinned. “You best be askin’ him that tonight, seein’ how’s he’s the captain, an’ he’s a mite busy to spare the time now.”

  “Busy, indeed! I wish to be set free at once.”

  He grinned. “I’ll tell ’im. But he be layin’ plans for the expedition, he is.”

  At once she came alert. “Expedition?”

  “’Tis a secret just where we be goin’, but since there be no one to tell ’board ship who don’t know an’ who ain’t also mighty loyal to the captain in ’is cause, I’ll be letting you in on the secret, miss. No doubt be Porto Bello to rendezvous with Cap’n Henry Morgan.”

  “Porto Bello!” she gasped and stared at him. “But—I-I can’t sail with him
to Porto Bello!”

  Hob assured her with grave delight that it was their prestigious destination, and he ambled out, promising to deliver her message to the captain.

  Porto Bello! Henry Morgan! But she must find Jamie!

  When he left, Emerald tried the turtle soup, and though it was well prepared, she could only taste it. But the coffee was perfect.

  She frowned. Baret had to be in error about Jamie. Did Jamie know she was aboard? Where was he? Was he also a prisoner? But why?

  She paced the cabin. Oh, what must Baret Buckington have thought when he found her unconscious on the deck wrapped in a fish net and expecting to meet a man that he believed to be the brother of a pirate?

  “No,” she murmured aloud. “It’s even worse.” Baret had said Jamie was a pirate like his brother.

  She’d prove him wrong, and to salvage her stung dignity she turned her scrutiny upon his own ambiguous behavior. She was certain she had overheard him say to that dreadful Frenchman that he would sign articles with the man’s captain.

  Her eyes narrowed. She remembered that night in her father’s office at the Manor when he had told her that Baret was searching for his father. She could understand his reason for leaving a wealthy and comfortable life in England to risk the Caribbean waters, but becoming a pirate himself …

  Perhaps Royce had been a pirate as the Admiralty Court judged him to be. Perhaps Baret too had a heart for adventure and danger, and his search could simply be a ploy to let him do as he pleased.

  Her eyes narrowed as she thought back to the night she had first met him, when there had been a disciplined boldness emanating from him. But she remained dubious about whether that strength was harnessed for good or ill. Her father had told her little about him, and that appeared rather strange to her now that she thought about it, in light of the fact that her father entertained the unrealistic notion that she would marry him.

  Marry him! What a jest!

  What was Baret truly like? she wondered and glanced about, remembering what she had discovered about him during the last unfortunate incident aboard this ship. As she stood in the silence, the cabin took on the life of its owner and seemed to rebuff the female who had intruded into its hallowed cloister. But she was quite wrong about its disclaiming all women.