Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Levasseur lifted a hand to his heart, his wrist sprouting cream lace. “Monsieur, you offend my honor. If I am aboard your ship, it is because I am no fool. And do you think I will impart information without adequate guarantees? If I had not insisted on sailing on the Regale to our point of rendezvous, you, Monsieur Foxworth, would have all to your advantage.”

  “My advantage?” Baret feigned innocence.

  “Oui! You would have both the information on the location of Lucca and the fair demoiselle. And I! I would have nothing to guard me from treachery once I left your decks. Yes, yes, monsieur, I am too careful for that.”

  Baret regarded him, looking contemptuous. “Do you think I’ve willingly left my title and inheritance in England to come to the Caribbean only to cheat you? If you would altogether lose hope of gazing upon Spanish gold, talk to me again of threats and betrayal. It is true that I need you and Maynerd, but your need of me is even more dire. Lucca will talk to no one but me. Will you stand here bickering and risk losing a fortune?”

  His words brought disappointment to Emerald. It seemed obvious what his plans were—piracy and treasure. “Then you are working with Levasseur. All your fair words of gallantry meant nothing. You are a pirate!”

  Levasseur seized the moment with satisfaction. “I have doubted your most excellent and honest intentions to carry through on piracy, but now you may prove your true intent.”

  Emerald realized her error, but if Baret was placed at a disadvantage, he showed no outward concern.

  Levasseur smiled. “What do you say, monsieur? Shall we talk of terms like true Brethren of the Coast? You will sign the Articles with me, here and now. Why wait until the rendezvous?”

  Emerald’s heart felt unexpectedly dull and heavy.

  Baret appeared unintimidated. He turned to Hob. “Bring ink and paper.”

  Levasseur gave him a measured look, as if his willingness took him by surprise. “Very well, monsieur. On what terms?”

  Baret leaned against the rail. “For myself, as captain of the Regale, a fifth share of the prize when we have it.”

  “A fifth share!” Levasseur pressed impatiently. “He says a fifth. Even the customary sixth is too much, since it will be my ship that will risk the Spanish waters.”

  “The treasure,” Baret blandly reminded him, “is worth a million pieces of eight.”

  Emerald’s breath caught. She looked from her cousin to Baret, and now both men appeared to be unaware of her.

  Levasseur’s eyes narrowed. “Before he was hanged, monsieur, Charlie Maynerd swore it was fifty thousand pieces of eight.”

  “Swore to whom? Jamie?” Baret smiled as though Levasseur were a child. “Did you expect him to share all the truth with his little brother? Maynerd was a smart man until he permitted my uncle to trap him on Barbados.”

  Levasseur grew uneasy. “Are you saying Lord Felix Buckington also knows of the treasure of the Prince Philip and where it is? That he made Maynerd talk?”

  “Of course.”

  Emerald watched Baret, masking her doubt.

  Baret observed the pirate crew, listening with avid interest. “I remind all of you that it was my father, Captain Royce Buckington, who took the Prince Philip. For its great treasure he was betrayed by my uncle and men aboard his own ship and brought to a Spanish prison! Lucca knows where he is, and I intend to find him and free him if I die doing it! As for the Spanish treasure—only Lucca remains to tell. And being the good friend he was to my father, he will die before he reveals it to anyone but me. But if you play fair with me, I shall see that you have many fat pieces of eight.”

  He looked at Levasseur, who was scowling, no doubt because Baret had the attention of his crew. “But if you, Levasseur, seek treachery, I shall hang before I ever breathe a word to any man.”

  Levasseur sprang to the center of the deck, furious. “Ah, hang, no! But you have forgotten this?”

  He strode to one of his Frenchmen, who handed him what looked to Emerald to be a beaded cord. Levasseur held it up. “Surely, monsieur, you know what this is?”

  There came a deadly silence as Baret’s demeanor changed. Emerald saw his jaw set with anger.

  “A Rosary of Pain it is called. One that has wrought many sudden incantations. It is able to squeeze a man’s eyes from his head.”

  Baret drew his sword.

  Emerald reacted with a brief cry of horror, but his blade slashed the cord from Levasseur’s hand.

  “And if you so much as mention such a threat to me again, it shall be your head rolling across the deck instead of the smooth rosary stones.”

  Levasseur stared at him, stupefied. He reached for his rapier, but Emerald found herself brave enough to step quickly between them.

  “Stop it. Stop it. Are you both so intemperate? If it is Spanish gold you want, Levasseur, threatening the captain of the Regale will get you nowhere.” She looked at Baret, who watched her with a brief glimmer of respect.

  “And I suggest, Captain, a more sanctified use of your sword.”

  He bowed from the waist. “A thousand pardons, madam.” He sheathed his blade and turned to Levasseur. “In the letter I received from my father when I was in London he wrote of a million pieces of eight.” Baret’s baiting words spread like honey among the pirates. “But in order to divvy it up, we must all work together. And since the Regale is my ship, I shall be in command while we are at sea.”

  At the mention of the treasure, the pirates grudgingly sat down.

  Emerald looked on as Hob reappeared bringing pen, ink, papers, and a small table. His brows furrowed as he set them before Baret.

  “Ain’t be easy to explain your signature to the Admiralty, Cap’n. Be sure your uncle, Lord Felix, will see you hang all right. We all be twistin’ in the salty breeze, says I.”

  “The terms,” growled Levasseur, “are to be drawn up according to buccaneering custom.”

  “As I fully intended,” said Baret smoothly.

  Emerald watched her cousin’s two chief officers walk up, their eyes shrewd.

  A moment later the two top men from Baret’s crew joined the signing ceremony. One of these, she noted with curiosity, was an older dignified man who looked to be more a scholar or a chaplain than a pirate. And it was during a moment when Levasseur unexpectedly took his two henchmen aside to talk in private that she overheard the scholarly man speaking in a low voice to Baret.

  “If you have any decency, Baret, you will not worry the child before others so blatantly.” The man he called Cecil sighed. “I am a spiritual physician who seeks to treat the ill in soul. Knowing you to be a scamp since you were eight, I cannot give up on you yet. But the sooner you get this French pirate and Maynerd off your ship, the safer your own neck will be.”

  “Unfortunately my hands are tied at present, but when we reach the point of rendezvous—”

  He stopped when Levasseur and his crewmen returned.

  “We’ve parleyed, monsieur, and decided you must sign your name for what it truly is—not ‘Foxworth,’ but the English ‘Viscount Baret Buckington.’”

  While Baret remained unreadable, Emerald felt the tension her cousin’s demand had caused. If they were ever arrested for piracy, the English Admiralty Court might not know who Foxworth of the Regale was, but there would be no mistaking the name of Buckington.

  She watched, expecting him to decline. Her dismay must have shown as Baret picked up the pen, dipped it, and a scratching sound broke the silence.

  Baret set down the pen and met Levasseur’s gaze evenly.

  Levasseur snatched up the articles, checked the signature, and, satisfied, signed his name beneath. The others followed. Emerald was curious to see if the scholar named Cecil would sign.

  As he picked up the pen, Baret laid a hand on his arm. “You represent the courts of heaven, Sir Cecil. You dare not play the fool for my sake.”

  “Yet you have done so.”

  “I have no choice if I would find my father. What is your reason except y
our loyalty to me?”

  The almost affectionate glance between them alerted Emerald and helped to soothe her disappointment. Truly there was more to Baret Buckington than what he had portrayed himself to be.

  But Levasseur was not moved by the sentiment. He gave a laugh. “Ah, my Captain Foxworth, you delight my heart. We are all witnesses. If one hangs, we all hang.” One of his men had brought him a flagon, and he raised it in a toast with the blue Caribbean behind him and the canvas billowing.

  “To the Brotherhood!” He passed the flagon to Baret with a challenge.

  “To the Brotherhood,” said Baret.

  Levasseur’s smile faded. “You did not drink, monsieur.”

  Suddenly Baret seemed wearied with them all. “In respect of all that is holy, have you no conscience? Sir Cecil Chaderton was head Master of Theology at Cambridge. He finds your rum-sodden debauchery offensive.”

  Levasseur frowned. “You offend me.”

  “You are too easily offended, and for the wrong reasons, my captain. You’d best get used to my intolerant ways.”

  A lean and swarthy-faced pirate slurred, “Let me kill him, Monsieur Captain Levasseur.”

  Baret turned and measured the nameless crewman. “It is to your advantage that I’ve a sweeter cause on my mind now than to be bothered by croaking frogs. But if you are so bloodthirsty as to wish to kill, then may I suggest that you wait until we meet the Spanish galleon of the Queen Regent, the De La Cruz. She is in these waters, and her wretched galley slaves are Protestant prisoners from Holland. Prove your courage with the blade by freeing them!”

  Baret turned to walk away.

  The French pirate cursed him and impulsively reached for a dagger.

  “Baret! Look out!” cried Emerald, but a shot cracked the air bringing the pirate down, dagger still in hand.

  Baret saw the seaman sprawled upon the deck. His gaze swerved to Levasseur, who held the pistol.

  “Save your gratitude, monsieur. Spanish gold is the cause for my action.” He walked to the crew member who had drawn the knife.

  The pirate was yet alive and pushed himself up to an elbow. “Monsieur Captain!” he cried.

  Levasseur drew a second pistol from his bandolier—primed and cocked for firing. He aimed the long barrel straight into the pirate’s chest. “You are too much trouble, Pierre.”

  Emerald screamed at the earsplitting blast. A cloud of white smoke surrounded Levasseur when it was over.

  She clutched the rail, pale and shaking, watching as the foul smoke blew away in a gust of wind. She heard the big man Sloane laughing.

  “Heave his carcass!”

  Emerald was still clutching the rail when Baret walked up, frowning a little.

  “I’m sorry. You’ve had a trying day, haven’t you?”

  Pirates came to lift the dead man and carry him to the ship’s rail, chanting.

  “One, for ’is wench, who’ll cheer at ’is goin;

  Two, for the sea, who’ll drag ’im below;

  An’ three for the devil who’ll claim ’is soul.”

  A moment later she heard the splash. She winced and turned her head away.

  “I’ll bring you to the cabin. From now on I’ll keep the key on me. Zeddie is no match for the men we now have on board.”

  Sloane called out with a chuckle. “Har, what’s ’anging on the topgallant yardarm?” His laughter echoed on a breath of wind.

  Emerald tensed, noticing Baret’s hardened expression as he turned to follow Sloane’s pointing fist. Fearful of what she would find, she cautiously lifted her gaze, a whispered prayer on her tongue. “Please, God, no.”

  But the shocking sight sickened her. Twisting in the sunlight was a dead man, hanging by his neck. It was Jamie.

  Emerald’s hand clutched her bodice as Baret called out with exaggerated disdain, “Levasseur, you boast your crew of cutthroats are fighting men. These are not warriors worthy to walk the deck of a man-of-war—they are buffoons, fit to be the king’s minstrels. And I risk my reputation as captain of the Regale in service to Morgan to have them aboard!”

  Levasseur stood with his hands spread in mock helplessness. “Alas, Captain Foxworth and Mam’zelle Emerald, but what could I do? He mutinied against me, his captain.” And Levasseur raised his eyes aft. “Cut him down. Send him to keep company with our unfortunate brother.”

  Emerald breathed deeply of the salty wind, trying to keep herself steady yet finding herself slipping slowly to the deck while staring up at the bleak, ghoulish sight.

  Swiftly Baret caught her and swept her up. Her head fell back across his arm as she fainted.

  Baret laid Emerald across the bunk in the Great Cabin, frowning down at her unconscious form with her hair strewn across the pillow. This was no place for a girl of her sensitivity, and he found his self-rebuke growing with each passing day she was aboard. He should never have kept her on the Regale—and he wouldn’t have, had he the foresight to have guessed the outcome.

  His frown deepened. I should have sent her back to Sir Karlton when I had the chance, he thought. Yet at the time he had convinced himself he had no choice. Now he wondered. Had he been irritated over her willingness to run away with Maynerd? His eyes narrowed under his lashes. Perhaps he had been too hard on her.

  Well, he thought, angry at himself, I’ve done more than teach her a lesson.

  With a hand on the baldric housing his long-barreled pistols, he stood quite still, looking down at her face and no longer seeing her as Karlton’s amusing and feisty little brat. He saw a lovely young woman, whose predicament and safety rested in his hands. She would be surprised to learn that he thought her quite noble, and, thinking this, he became aware that the disturbing vision rushing through his mind came as a surprise to himself.

  A fine quandary I’m in, he thought dryly. If the Admiralty discovers I’ve signed articles with Levasseur and housed these jackanapeses aboard my own ship, I too will hang. And two men had been murdered—aboard his ship.

  Sloane—now here was a ruthless beast. And yet Levasseur with his calculating temper was more dangerous. Baret’s hand absently touched the pistol. He knew that he would need to confront Levasseur eventually over Emerald.

  Again he thought of James Maynerd. He’d been no match for a shrewd man such as Levasseur, who had played him false from the beginning. Baret had expected Levasseur to move against Maynerd, but not this soon. He had hoped trouble would wait until Lucca was found and the location of the Prince Philip’s treasure was made known.

  Sometime last night Levasseur and Sloane must have forced information from Maynerd as to Lucca’s whereabouts. Baret had been at the helm until the third watch, when he had retired exhausted, leaving charge to his trusted men. He had given orders to watch Emerald’s cabin, omitting concern for Maynerd.

  He turned his head as Sir Cecil entered, the lantern’s glow casting his lean shadow across Emerald.

  The first glimpse of the scholar’s hawklike face with its sharp disapproving gaze enlightened Baret’s conscience. “Don’t say it. I am well aware of my grievous error in bringing her aboard.”

  Sir Cecil’s mouth turned downward. “That you admit it is most wondrous indeed.” He glanced toward the girl. “Poor child. Did she love the rascal?”

  His words oddly provoked Baret. “You mean Maynerd? Of course she didn’t love him. How could she?”

  Sir Cecil’s white brows lifted inquiringly. “That is usually the cause for running away to marry a man, is it not?”

  Baret’s eyes narrowed. “Or to escape from her reputation in Port Royal. Even though Maynerd had no money—until I emptied my fortune into his greedy palm. I wonder who collected the rubies after he dangled. Levasseur, no doubt. If she did love him, it was only because she was desperate. He was not worthy of her—he was a pirate.”

  Sir Cecil’s mouth twitched with good humor. “And of course, my Right Honorable Lordship—you are not.”

  “No,” came the flat retort. “It is a role I must carr
y through to the end. How else do you expect me to find my father?”

  Sir Cecil sighed, and Baret knew the fine scholar did not believe that Royce lived. But Baret only knew that he must find Lucca and learn the truth. Even if he were dead, there could be no rest of purpose driving his soul, no peace or plans until he knew.

  He turned away with weariness and leaned against the desk, watching Emerald. A dark brow lifted. “Now what shall I do with her?”

  Sir Cecil brought his palms together, thoughtfully tapping his fingers, his wry gaze scanning Baret. “You’ll need to marry her, you know. You’ve been so bold and reckless as to ruin the child’s reputation.”

  Baret gave him a scrutinizing look. “Marry her, did you say?”

  “I did suggest that, yes. I suppose I might perform the ceremony here aboard the Regale.”

  Baret’s gaze narrowed. “Now? You’re not serious?”

  “Perhaps. But what do you think?” he mused. “Will she make a noble countess? You are, after all, a viscount—if,” he added dryly, “you survive these dark and odious years in the pirate-infested waters of the Caribbean.”

  “I am to marry Lavender. You know that.” And when Sir Cecil gave him a searching look, Baret added flatly, “By free choice, Cecil. And no—this girl, however charming, will not make me a suitable countess should I return to London one day.”

  He scowled and waved a hand impatiently, for the conversation was proving nettlesome. He turned from Emerald and began to sketch, as he usually did when deep in thought, paying scant attention to what he was doing.

  “Think of a more logical and fitting future for her. Perhaps a baron … what of a knight? Or even a lord? Surely you know of a kind and gentle man at Cambridge. One who will keep her out of trouble, for she surely has a disposition for such.”

  Sir Cecil smiled wanly. “With gray hair and rheumatism in his bones?”

  Baret ignored his goad. “Enough said. I shall see to the matter myself in London. A few years in school will do her wonders.” He made a bold stroke with his sketching pen.

  “A wise idea. But you’ll need to send her to some private school. Talk will circulate in London like bees robbed of honey. And until then you’ll need to guard this cabin day and night. That despicable Sloane is the devil in shoe leather.”