“Until we rendezvous with the Venture there is little I can do about him. I’ve got to wait until Emerald is safe. I sent a message to Karlton the night we sailed. He’ll be arriving near the place of rendezvous.”
“I should hate to deal with Levasseur when he wakes on the morning of rendezvous and discovers his ship was followed by Sir Karlton.”
Baret tossed aside the sketching pen and stood. He looked over at Emerald, who was stirring, moaning faintly.
“Say nothing yet about her father arriving. I want to be certain first. She’s had enough disappointments for one day.” And saying thus, he left Cecil and went to the companionway for his meeting with Levasseur.
28
THE ENCOUNTER
As Emerald stirred to consciousness, it all returned. Jamie was dead. She kept her eyes tightly closed, hoping to shut out the hideous sight. Despite her dismay, there were no tears to overflow from the well of her soul, so dazed was she over the dreadful situation she found herself in. Despite his having deceived her, despite all that he was, she pitied him.
She covered her face with her cold palms, feeling the grief of a smitten conscience. Never once had she taken time to discuss her Christian faith with him. She had agreed to marry him, but had she cared enough for him to first consider the eternal danger threatening his soul?
Now she could admit that she had shut the issue from her mind due to her intense desire to escape the unpleasant situation at Foxemoore. She might have even been able to help Jamie walk the right path had she brought him to Mathias. But she had made her plans without asking what the Lord wanted—Jamie was to be the instrument of her escape.
Mathias’s gentle exhortation walked softly across her troubled mind. Dear Emerald, yield yourself as clay to the potter’s hand. Trust the Master Designer to shape and form a vessel of His own choosing. He knows His good plans for you.
All of her self-reliance and conniving had done little to gain her the respect and fulfillment she longed for. My harvest is naught but a den of pirates! And Jamie is at the bottom of the Caribbean.
Mathias was right, she thought again. Only a trusting, loving relationship with her heavenly Father could bring the sense of self-worth she needed.
It seemed that a thousand years had passed over her soul before she wearily turned her head and opened her eyes. With a start she noticed that her trunk was open and its contents dumped in the middle of the cabin floor.
She remembered—Levasseur’s jewels! Had he been here? Or that dreadful Sloane! She shuddered. What if he had returned to resume the search? She could not endure the sight of him again.
She wished for an inner bolt on the cabin door.
Not that it would aid me if any scoundrel chooses to come, she thought. Baret was her one source of protection.
She knelt beside the trunk and began tossing her frocks aside. She came across the Bible that had belonged to Mathias and lifted it out, feeling a surge of hope. At least she had been wise enough to remember to bring it. Then her hand touched something else.
She lifted her father’s fine leather pistol case from the trunk and placed it on the lap of her billowing skirts. With a small key on a chain about her throat she opened the lock and lifted the lid to reveal a long-barreled pistol with a walnut handle inlaid with pearls from the Spanish island of Margarita. The gun’s breech and barrel were filigreed in Peruvian silver. Yet the small coat of arms on the wood appeared to be English, and Emerald had no idea where her father had gotten it. She assumed it had been taken from a treasure galleon.
She removed the pistol from the case and drew in a small breath, staring at the weapon in her hand, remembering how her father had taught her to load. She snatched the powder flask and pulled back the trigger, holding the stop spring down hard with her thumb while she inserted powder inside the chamber. She pressed in the wadded balls and fastened the cap, then set the pistol aside.
Swiftly she withdrew her frocks and laid them in a heap on the floor. Then she stopped.
A small leather bag had lain hidden beneath a petticoat. Where had it come from?
She stared, then snatched it up. With trembling fingers she opened the drawstring and poured out the contents. She sucked in her breath, awed by the rubies, the emeralds, the gold and silver nuggets, all sparkling beneath the lantern-light.
Oh, no … but how! Impossible! Where had they come from?
Then with a start she realized that the frayed petticoat she had removed from the trunk was not hers, but Minette’s.
“Minette,” she whispered. Had she managed to take these from Levasseur on her own? She must have! How else had they gotten in her trunk wrapped in Minette’s clothes?
“Levasseur would as soon throw me overboard as lose these,” she breathed, sifting the jewels through her fingers.
She wrestled with the temptation to touch and adore. God forgive me, she prayed. My heart can be as greedy as theirs. And swiftly she returned the gold and silver nuggets to the pouch, keeping the jewels on her lap to hide elsewhere.
Boot steps sounded in the outer companionway. Emerald’s head turned sharply toward the door. Then she glanced about wildly for a place to hide the gems. If they caught her with these, they’d never believe her. Not in a hundred years.
Her fingers moved painfully slow as she gathered the rubies and emeralds from her lap. Then she scrambled to her feet, catching up her skirt and petticoat and glancing about for a likely place to store them. Minette—just wait till I see her again!
She hurriedly glanced about. Inside the lantern glass? The shadow might show. The desk drawer? The first place the scoundrels might look.
The steps halted at her door.
Her anxious gaze stumbled upon her cloak, tossed carelessly on the floor. Inside the hood. No one would bother to look there! And if I leave it carelessly abandoned on the floor as though it’s ruined from the rain …
She sped across the floor, snatched it, placed the jewels inside, then left the cloak where it was.
Her father’s pistol was on the floor by the trunk, glinting in the lanternlight, and Emerald picked it up, surprised at her calmness. At the sound of the key in the lock and the turn of the knob she stepped behind the door, concealing herself as it opened wide, then shut.
Baret stood there. He glanced about his cabin until his gaze confronted hers, then dropped to the pistol in her hand.
She stared into his intense dark eyes, and her hand wavered.
He removed his black velvet cloak trimmed with silver, and the vesture beneath was a distinctive shade of muted green.
She saw his gaze taking in her frock, and she became aware that it was one of her best, worn for the first meeting with Jamie. Like the burgundy velvet left behind at the bungalow, this dress was also Spanish in origin and ornate, its puffed sleeves and V-shaped bodice layered with amber fringe on yards of golden-brown satin. Her hair was still in disarray because of the wind, and the gown was damp with salty spray.
She could tell nothing by his expression. He was a master at affecting calm indifference.
“A word of advice,” he stated. “You best exchange the frock for those calico drawers. At least until I get you safely off my ship.”
Again his gaze dropped to the long-barreled pistol in her hand. “I assume it’s loaded and that Sir Karlton taught his daughter how to shoot. Would you mind pointing it elsewhere?”
She lowered the pistol to the sides of her skirt. She felt her strength coming back and said with a surprisingly calm voice, “A certain alarm is to be expected after the hideous display I was forced to behold this afternoon. You might have announced your presence, sir, instead of sneaking in and scaring me. With madmen running about shooting people, what do you expect to greet you but a weapon?”
His mouth turned. “You can expect a good deal more trouble if Levasseur discovers ‘Jamie Boy’s little sweetheart’ totes a dueling pistol. Anyway, I wasn’t sneaking into my cabin. And as for that pistol, it won’t hold pirates off for long
if they’re determined to break in. As I said before,” he suggested easily, “your best chance for protection rests in their believing I’ve claimed you.
“Keep the door locked,” he said. “And I’ve convinced Levasseur you didn’t come to meet Jamie Boy but the gallant Captain Foxworth.”
“Please stop calling him that. He’s dead and can’t defend himself.”
“He played the fool trying to deal with Levasseur. He should have come straight to me.”
“His folly proves he wasn’t a true pirate,” she countered.
“Whatever he was, he was poor at it.”
There was no sympathy in his voice, but he studied her face. “Well, your eyes aren’t red from weeping.”
“How can you!”
He hesitated, then must have decided to hold nothing back. “I’m not convinced you loved him.”
Her gaze wavered.
His mouth turned. “I thought not.”
She turned her back. “You needn’t make it sound so cold and heartless. It was wrong of me, I know …” She weaved a little, the pistol swaying at her side.
He caught her, plucking the weapon with deft fingers.
“I’d better take that before you shoot your foot. Here, sit in the chair.”
He placed the pistol on the desk, then went to a satchel and took out a small flask, offering it to her. “Medicine,” he said flatly.
She turned her head away with distaste. “No.”
“I won’t have you fainting,” he said. “Take a sip.”
“I’m not going to faint, Captain.”
He scrutinized her with a slight frown, replacing the flask. “I’ve a habit of sounding a little too abrupt.” He threw his cloak impatiently across his desk. “I’m sorry I insisted you stay. Matters have turned out differently than I had anticipated.”
She looked at him, somewhat mollified, but pressed, “Sorry because of that horrid pirate Sloane or for my reputation?”
“The tongues of gossips cannot be silenced. If one wishes to think evil or to malign the innocent, they will surely find a cause, real or imagined. No, it is the risk we are both in that worries me now.”
“A recompense for your deed of holding me prisoner, m’lord.”
“Thanks,” he said flatly. “But if this is the only sour fruit I shall reap for my wayward ways, I shall have much to thank God for.”
Emerald turned her face away, thinking of Jamie’s death.
“Go ahead and cry,” he said tonelessly, preparing to offer a handkerchief for her tears.
“I’m not going to cry,” she said dully. “There are no more tears left for Jamie.”
He leaned against the desk, watching her with a somewhat curious appraisal. “Your precarious circumstance will remain until we rendezvous with the Venture. After that I may be able to alter your situation. But I can’t promise it.”
“Isn’t there some way you can bring me to a harbor? I shall find passage back to Port Royal to my father!”
His gaze narrowed, and a brief expression of impatience crossed his face. She could almost think it had something to do with a twinge of conscience.
“My dear, we are on the Spanish Main. Either pirates or Spaniards prowl on every island. Why did you even risk coming to meet Jamie? Did I not tell your father I’d see to your betterment in England?”
His rebuke shook her back to awareness. “On my word, sir, I didn’t want to go to England. I wanted to marry Jamie!”
He cocked his dark head. “Dear Jamie was also a rogue, madam. Surely you knew that.”
“I did not know. I vow it’s true. I didn’t know him as well as I thought,” she confessed. “I know what it must appear like, but I see it was all a dreadful mistake now.”
A smile touched his mouth. “Ah. If only yesterday’s errors could be erased as easily as youth’s burning love so quickly turns to ashes.”
Her temper got the best of her, mostly because his gibe at her foolishness was true. It was too much to endure, and she lifted her chin and walked across the cabin, her back toward him.
Her foot touched something on the floor. Her eyes fell—the cloak!
But no, he would not choose this moment to show some gallantry and feel a need to pick it up.
“Allow me,” came his voice.
“No! I’ll get it, m’lord.” She hastened to stoop, to snatch the hood, hoping against hope that the jewels …
But he was there beside her, lifting the cloak. There came a small clatter, and a sparkle of rainbow colors spilled across the floor. Rubies, emeralds, and a cameo brooch studded with gems lay under the lantern light, boldly smirking up at them.
Emerald’s hands flew to her mouth, and her eyes raced to his.
He stood staring down.
She turned her head away, feeling the blood move from her throat into her cheeks.
There was a long moment of awkward silence.
“Ah, a tempting morsel of Levasseur’s treasure after all. What luck,” he said with smooth sarcasm. “What you couldn’t find in my cabin, you found elsewhere. How did you sneak aboard Levasseur’s ship?” came the lightly mocking question. “I hope you didn’t need another midnight swim.”
“Nay,” she breathed, her hands clenched at her sides. “They’re not mine. You must believe me. They were taken by Minette—I’m certain of it, since they were wrapped in her clothing and she expected to leave Port Royal with me. Not that I expect you to believe me.”
“You are right. I don’t.”
He gathered the jewels, then held the brooch toward the lantern to inspect it more carefully.
“The Infanta will be disappointed. How cruel, life,” he mocked. “You have her brooch.” His glinting gaze, rife with amusement, met hers. “I admit you have the throat to do it justice. I hear she is squat and thick.”
Emerald walked to the desk, her back rigid. “I told you, I didn’t take them from Levasseur. And if he knew they were here, he’d draw sword on you to claim them.” She looked at him defensively. “I see no reason to be cross-examined.”
“On the contrary, madam, I am risking my head to safeguard your presence. And you must come clean with your tales about carrying aboard your lover’s loot.”
“I didn’t take them. Yet think as you will,” and she again turned her back, tears smarting her eyes. “You will anyway. After all, what can one expect from a pirate’s daughter,” she said ruefully.
“Sir Karlton would draw sword for that remark.”
“There isn’t a soul in all Port Royal who doesn’t believe it of me, regardless of his determination,” she said wearily. “Especially Levasseur!” She looked at him accusingly. “And you, sir!”
“You underrate me. As for that daw-cock cousin of yours, it is well for us both that his greed now centers on the supposed treasure of the Prince Philip.”
She looked at him quizzically. “Are you saying there is no treasure?”
“Did I say that?”
“You implied it. If it is but a fancy, then why did you sign articles with him? Was it not for the gold?”
She saw him musing over sober thoughts. “I suppose you’ve deducted the cause for Maynerd’s death?”
She moved uneasily. “I suppose because of Levasseur’s greed for the treasure.”
“It is the way of the Brotherhood to eliminate competitors. And Jamie competed for more than treasure.”
She knew what he meant, and that she was included. She rubbed her arms as if cold, searching his face for information.
“Jamie learned about Lucca and the treasure from his brother, who was hanged before he could contact me—which he fully intended to do. But Jamie went to Levasseur instead. He intended to keep silent until the point of rendezvous, but Levasseur and Sloane forced him to talk.”
She swallowed, trying not to think about it. “Are you certain Lucca knows where your father is held prisoner?”
His dark eyes glinted. “If he does not, then I shall never know the truth. Felix is a master at
hiding his slimy tracks of betrayal. He works with certain Spanish sympathizers in the court of King Charles. And I’m certain he has spies in Madrid as well. My worry is that Felix will find Lucca before I do and silence him. Only when I know if my father lives can I feel free to go on with my own plans.”
And what are they? she wanted to ask but refrained. To marry Lavender and return to Buckington House to serve King Charles, of course.
She wondered if Lavender had accused him yet about their perceived clandestine meeting in the garden that night at Foxemoore, but decided she would not have had time to do so during the slave uprising.
She told him then about the dreadful rebellion, mentioning the death of Lavender’s mother and her own Great-uncle Mathias. She was surprised when he admitted that he already knew.
“Mathias and his work will be a loss to Foxemoore,” he said.
She had no time to consider his words and walked to the desk to where her father’s pistol lay, thinking to replace it in her trunk.
As she picked it up, he came alert, staring intently as the light of the lantern shone down on the weapon’s vein of silver. His blunt voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Who gave you that pistol?”
She tensed. Did he now think she had stolen it as well?
He strode to the desk where she stood and, ignoring her protest, snatched it from her, turning it over in his hand to inspect it with care.
“Your lordship! I object! ’Tis mine. And the jewels were not stolen by me. By the way—” her eyes narrowed “—where are they?”
His gaze held hers. “Who gave this to you? Levasseur?”
“No. It belongs to my father.” She added defensively, “And he is not a thief, nor am I.”
She took a feeling of satisfaction over the change in his expression, but it did not last long.
“Karlton? You are certain?”
“Quite certain, your lordship. I took it when—” She stopped short.
When she hesitated to go on, his brow lifted. “Yes? When you decided to run off with Maynerd?”
Buccaneers Series Page 34