Her warm brown eyes faced the sea. “Mathias was the one bright spot in my life.”
“And now he is gone. But there is One who will never go away nor abandon you. Christ is the true bright hope in your life.”
She looked at the elderly gentleman almost wistfully. “A light for my path,” she murmured thinking of the verse in the Psalms.
“And a lamp unto my feet,” he added softly. “With such blessed light to warm and guide us, what fear need we have of all our tomorrows? Today, this moment aboard this ship, even among lost pirates and buccaneers, there is His presence.”
“Yes,” she murmured, her heart suddenly winging upwards, and she lifted her eyes to see the white billows of canvas snapping in the warm breeze. “He has spoken to me through you, Sir Cecil.”
Thank You, heavenly Father. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies, she thought. Today she had feasted on heavenly food while buccaneers and cutthroats far from God manned the ship she sailed on.
She sighed and stood from the daybed, moving from the shadow of the awning to the taffrail to stand beside the godly old scholar and follow his gaze to Baret below.
The captain wore a full white cambric shirt with laced drawstrings above black breeches, and a broad dark hat that curved upward on the left-hand brim. He looked cool and, for all outward evidence, seemed oblivious to them.
Sir Cecil leaned his forearm against the rail with a musing smile. “If I didn’t know him so well, I’d vow he was as dangerous a pirate as Levasseur. I suppose, in some ways, he is.”
She snatched the opportunity she’d been secretly waiting for. “Tell me about him, Sir Cecil. What is he truly like? I understand his concerns to find out about his father, but how could he have turned from his life in London as the grandson of an earl?”
Sir Cecil’s eyes were troubled. “That question has no simple answer. I suppose the seed was sown when as a small boy he overheard his father and grandfather discussing the hideous suffering and death of his mother.”
The miniature with the golden hair woven into a cross—the pearl pendant, she thought. His mother had died a martyr’s death at the hands of Spain’s Inquisitors.
Emerald felt a tug at her emotions as she watched Baret below, coolly indifferent to emotional display.
“Her death not only gravely affected him but completely altered the life ambitions of his father. When the Civil War broke across England, Royce chose to avoid sides. Though he was a Royalist, he preferred to take to the Caribbean as a buccaneer against Spain.
“The day came when the earl and his family chose to leave England to follow Charles into France, joining his exile. And during that period, Baret adored hearing of his father’s exploits.
“We returned with Charles the Second after Cromwell’s death and entered Cambridge, and I spent long days with Baret. I taught him well.”
He chuckled, remembering. “He had tried several times as a lad to run away to find his father in Port Royal, but his grandfather had him watched. He was brought back under robust guard. After a hearty disagreement with the earl, while I waited in the library assured of the outcome of their debate, Baret would return with me to school. I knew his feelings, of course—there was little he kept from me.”
“His mother—she was from Holland, wasn’t she? I once saw her portrait in a cameo with a cross woven from her hair. She must have been a saintly woman to arouse such strong emotions in both her husband and son.”
“She was, indeed, very genuine. There was naught about her that was insincere. She loved the Lord deeply. I think she would have counted it her highest honor as His child to die rather than deny His redemption and deity. It was she who had plans for Baret to attend Cambridge to learn the Scriptures.”
As Emerald considered, trying to imagine Baret bent over books of learning, Sir Cecil broke the spell with a chuckle. “I’ve known him since he was seven—a horrendous child, one who got the best of me on more occasions than I care to admit.”
She smiled. “I suppose he was a typical son of a viscount—I mean—so wealthy, so important.”
“Very customary indeed. He’d been presented to His Majesty early and attended the royal tournaments with his father before the war. Both Baret and the viscount were well thought of and deemed by the Court to be among the king’s favorites.”
When she inquired about his attendance at the Royal Naval Academy, Sir Cecil sighed.
“He abandoned his divinity training. I suppose the Lord never called him to the pulpit of Saint Paul’s. Baret preferred battles of another kind. He wished to serve His Majesty in the Royal Navy. But when the First Dutch War broke, it provided the opening for the Peace Party in Court to move King Charles to make a treaty with despised Spain.
“Baret heartily disagreed. At the same time his uncle, Felix, brought word to the earl of the piracy charges against his father. Then came the shocking announcement that he’d been killed in a duel at Port Royal. One thing led to another. Soon he believed his father had met with treachery instigated by Felix and enemies in the Peace Party.
“He left the Academy and came to the West Indies to seek his whereabouts. You know the rest, my dear. I fear Baret too may soon be wanted for piracy. But it is a small price, says he, if he can find his father.”
“But how will he free the man he calls Lucca from the Spanish dungeon? They will know he is English the moment he sets foot on any of the colonies.”
“It is a great risk—one that could easily cost him his life or, far worse, Spanish imprisonment. But you have seen the manner of man he is, my dear. If there is the slightest hope of finding Lucca, he will go.”
She shivered silently in the warm breeze. “He now concerns himself with Sloane. How can he trust these men when they set foot inland?”
“I believe each captain will have an equal number of men loyal to him. I would not worry about a betrayal. Levasseur and Sloane need Baret as much as he needs them. This is one time they will guard each other to the point of death.”
She contemplated this odd situation. “When will we rendezvous with the Venture?”
He gestured to Baret, who was turning his telescope out to sea.
“Soon. We are near what the buccaneers call Monkey Bay, and Baret speaks of good fortune. It seems not only the Venture waits, but another ship. I think you will be pleased at what the next day may bring you.”
She looked at him, surprised, and he replied with a smile, “He informed me at breakfast that I could break the good news. Sir Karlton Harwick’s ship sails with the Venture. Within a day or so you are to be turned safely over to your beloved father.”
She stared at him. “My father! This is the first I’ve been told of it.”
“Baret did not wish to disappoint you. And Levasseur does not know about it yet, so say nothing.”
Her father! Her heart sang. “But how?” she whispered. “How is it that he would know I was aboard the Regale and sail to meet us?”
“Baret sent a longboat back to Port Royal the night we left. News was brought to Sir Karlton to follow your cousin’s ship to our rendezvous.”
Emerald was quiet for a long time. She watched Baret, then turned to Sir Cecil. “I was wrong about him.”
He smiled. “Yes.”
She gripped the taffrail, searching his eyes. “You must love him a great deal. You too left the scholar’s life to sail with him these years, risking your reputation.”
His eyes softened. “Baret is the son I never had. I thought much of his father as well. It is unfortunate the earl has chosen to believe Felix instead of Baret.”
Sir Cecil looked at her long and hard.
“You are a fine young lady, Emerald.”
“A … lady …”
“Our Lord has woven something deep and precious into your spirit that has not yet fully come to the sunlight. But I’ve every confidence in Him that it will. It is for you to see that you feed and tend it with prayer and the study of His Word. Who knows? Li
ke Esther, you may yet come to the place of authority at a dangerous time.”
She looked at him, awed by the thought, yet wondering what he might mean. To have Sir Cecil Chaderton speak so well of her brought moisture to her eyes.
“Your compliment means more than you could ever know.”
He smiled gently and took both of her hands into his. He grew sober. “Let us pray together, my dear, to seek heaven’s benediction on your path.”
As she heard him praying, speaking her name before God, she remembered Mathias. It seemed the two men had become one in cause. Emerald felt her heart warmed, and a sweet reassuring peace of the Lord’s direction flooded her soul. She prayed silently, All that I am and hope to be in this short life by Your grace, I trust to Your nail-pierced hand. Take me. Use me to glorify You. Amen.
Emerald knelt before the teakwood chest. It smelled of old things. Books. Lots of them! Books by the Puritan fathers in England, Reformers Martin Luther and John Calvin, and a Bible. She picked it up gently and opened it, finding the pages worn, underlined, and with handwritten notes. “In a different language at that!” she breathed aloud.
“Greek. A difficult language, I assure you. Sir Cecil was a hard taskmaster. Depending on how I look at my past, I either suffered unbearably or was blessed to be so nurtured in soul and intellect.”
At the sound of Baret’s voice coming from the cabin doorway, Emerald might have jumped to her feet and whirled about as though a child caught with hand in the cookie jar, but she took a deep breath and counted to five.
“You have found what you’re looking for?” he asked a moment later.
Fingering his Bible, she knew the answer was yes, but she dare not be so bold as to admit it. Since yesterday afternoon when Sir Cecil had informed her of Baret’s background, she had been motivated by growing curiosity.
She returned the Bible to the chest and silently shut the lid. Rising to her feet, she turned, knowing there was color in her cheeks.
Baret watched her. His garments of finery had been replaced by a leather jerkin, calf-length boots, a loose-fitting navy blue tunic open at the front, and a belted scabbard. One thing remained—the wide-brimmed hat. This one was less fashionable, a dark blue, absent its cocky plume. Unlike the “viscount,” he did not remove it and bow.
She could never tell his mood by his smile or what thoughts might be churning about in his tough mind. It was the eyes that disturbed her. For they did give him away this time. They were brilliantly dark beneath narrowed lashes. Emerald knew that despite his casual manner at catching her in his things again, he was not pleased.
He stood, arms folded, and if she now searched for the divinity student who had risen before dawn to study Greek and recite long passages in both Greek and Latin, he did not emerge.
His gaze fell on his chest of books. “I don’t know why I brought them with me,” he said too casually. “To appease Cecil maybe.”
“I think it was more than that.”
He seemed surprised.
Emerald quickly walked over to the door and looked out, seeing Levasseur below with the telescope. Baret had previously given orders to heave to, and they were stopped. She glimpsed a distant shoreline rippling with fringed green palms.
“We are near the rendezvous?”
“As near as it is safe to bring you. Cecil told me he informed you of the news of Sir Karlton’s ship. You’ll be transferred tonight.”
She turned happily and smiled at him. “Yes, he told me. I’m deeply grateful.”
“Well—that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”
“Perhaps it’s my first cause in weeks. I feel I’ve much to be thankful for. Not only my father’s ship, but I’ve a friendship with Sir Cecil which has brought me new wisdom.”
He studied her. “It does you well.” He then turned away, whistling, and unlocked another chest that he hauled from beneath the bunk.
She smiled. “I promise not to break into any more of your drawers and trunks,” she stated lightly.
“So you’ve been reformed at last,” he said. “Does this mean I shall miss seeing you in pirate drawers and head scarf again? Rather disappointing.”
Her smile turned rueful. She watched him remove a black-and-silver costume that would have passed for one belonging to a Spanish cavalero. Remembering the dangerous trek inland to locate Lucca, her smile left.
“A clever disguise,” she said. “But dangerous.”
“Let us hope it remains clever under Spanish vigilance.”
She tensed. “Have you any notion yet where Lucca is held?”
“It remains secret until I board the Venture. I’ve my guess, however. Since they chose Monkey Bay for the point of rendezvous, it can only mean somewhere near Porto Bello.”
“Porto Bello! It will be heavily under guard! The viceroy is stationed there.”
“So he is.” He stood and tried on the Spanish hat, squinting at his reflection in the glass, and touched his pencil mustache. “At least my Spanish is fluent. Another gratitude to Cecil. After my mother’s martyrdom I despised the language and refused to try to master it until Cecil baited me. ‘You’ll need it when you attack Madrid’s galleons,’ he used to say.” Baret smiled, remembering. “I wonder what he would have done at the time had he realized he would live to board a galleon with me.”
“You were privileged to have a friend like him.”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “Very honored.” He looked at her. “You like him.”
She smiled. “He prayed with me about my future. I’m at peace now.”
He said nothing and, turning away, lifted a tight-fitting black jacket with silver, scrutinizing it. “Peace of heart, of purpose—it does not come easily. One must surrender to Another’s lordship first. I take it you’ve done so.” His gaze came to hers. “I’m glad for you, Emerald. I want you to believe in yourself. You can, if you know He has planned a fair future. All His children have equal acceptance. There’s no room to think less of yourself, no matter your earthly parentage.”
Her heart warmed. “You’ve never spoken that way to me before.”
“No, I suppose I haven’t.”
He seemed to wish to dismiss the personal seriousness as quickly as he had permitted it to surface. He scowled a little and changed the subject. “I’ve planned and waited for this moment of finding Lucca for several years. Risk is a part of life, no matter how you live it. To find him will be worth the danger. I’ll know the truth then. No more wondering whether my father lives in suffering or is peacefully buried somewhere. Lucca holds the key.”
“And God holds Lucca in His hand.”
“A pleasant thought.” He turned and faced her fully. “I shall come to see you in London.”
She colored. “I would like that very much. I shall be at Berrymeade.”
“Ah, yes … the Clark farm, poor relations of your father, I understand. I think not.”
“What?”
“I think London will be better suited for what I have in mind.” He tried on the Spanish jacket.
Her heart paused. “You … have in mind?”
“Yes. School.”
“Oh.”
“Several long tedious years of it.”
“Oh … yes, of course. Very generous of you to see to it, your lordship.”
His dark eyes glinted with malicious amusement as they came back to hers. “Do you think so? After twenty thousand pieces of eight, I’ve good cause to see to the betterment of my investment.”
She turned away and looked back out the cabin door. Levasseur was still at the rail with the telescope. “What makes you think my cousin and that awful Sloane will allow me to board my father’s ship?”
“They won’t like it, of course. Neither man yet knows your father is coming. I’ll insist on your departure.”
His indifference troubled her. “How can you be so casual?”
He looked over at her somewhat surprised, and his eyes held hers. “My feelings are not at all as you su
ggest.”
For a moment she could almost vow he had meant more than what was on the surface of those words.
From behind them Hob said, “Cap’n, that barracuda Levasseur be calling for you urgentlike. Spotted more in that glass than one ship, says I.”
“Ah … the second ship.” He smiled, satisfied. “That should make him sweat. Where’s Sloane? Have you seen him?”
“Throwing dice with the sharks. Sopping up on rum.”
Baret left the Spanish uniform on the bunk. He took hold of her arm. “Wait here. There may be trouble.”
Levasseur lowered the telescope and spun around to glare at Baret, who walked up with a smile. “A bright and comely morning, my captain.”
Levasseur abruptly handed him the telescope, his eyes narrowing. “It seems, monsieur, we have unwanted company.”
Baret feigned innocence. “Indeed? Well, well! A fat Spanish galleon perhaps? What luck,” he said softly, “to find it here ripe for picking.”
Levasseur’s black eyes were malevolent. “Such jests I can well do without. It is English,” came his menacing tone. “And I would swear to it that you, monsieur, knew all along it would be here waiting for us when we arrived.”
“You give me uncanny powers, Levasseur. I am not certain I wish to claim them. How would I arrange such a feat? Have you and Captain Sloane not kept from me the point of rendezvous with your ship?”
“Ah, yes, yes, but I now suggest you knew all along it was Monkey Bay where my crew would be waiting.”
“A convenient guess perhaps, made so by my experience in this area of the Caribbee and by the direction of our sail these weeks. But alas! I could not have known of our rendezvous while in Port Royal.”
Levasseur was furious. “That night! When the half-caste slipped away in a cockboat, I should have killed him then. You sent word to Sir Karlton of the demoiselle’s presence aboard the Regale. You must have given him orders to follow my ship when it sailed!”
Buccaneers Series Page 36