Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Yet her father was deadly serious. She could see as much. And from Baret’s expression she now knew that he realized it as well.

  “And if I refuse?” said Baret.

  Sir Karlton met his gaze evenly, refusing to give an inch. “Then you’ll be stripped of all buccaneering honor. You’ll be banned from Tortuga.”

  Emerald’s gaze went past Baret to the doorway where a handful of pirates had entered, tall lean Frenchmen with a challenging way about them. She stiffened as one of them approached. Levasseur!

  Her cousin’s face was sullen, and his gaze angrily took in the scene, then fixed upon Emerald on the steps. His shrewd black eyes flicked then to Baret.

  “And what is my alternative to an honorable duel?” came Baret’s voice.

  Emerald noticed that Baret was now smiling slightly, as if he understood something that she completely overlooked. But the next words spoken by her father brought her clear understanding.

  “You will marry my daughter, Captain Buckington.”

  “No!” Emerald found her voice saying loudly and with dignity. “I will not marry him, Papa!”

  “Silence, lass, ’tis your father who will arrange your future.”

  “And if I marry her,” said Baret smoothly, “will you end this duel to the death?”

  Sir Karlton smiled for the first time. “If you marry her, you’ll be my son-in-law now, won’t you? Now, how could a father be going to duel his own son, I ask?”

  Laughter began, quietly at first, and then, as it began to dawn on the pirates what Karlton had intended all along, the laughter turned uproarious.

  Baret turned and looked up at her, a dark brow lifting.

  Emerald glared down at him. “No,” she said, but her voice sounded feeble in the laugher.

  Baret walked toward the steps, and a smile formed on his mouth, a sardonic lazy smile, she thought, blushing furiously at this despicable scene.

  He swept off his hat and bowed. “I accept your terms, Karlton. I will, on my honor, marry your daughter.”

  A roar went up.

  She caught her breath.

  “On one condition, however.” He turned toward Karlton, who was having a difficult time masking a triumphant smile.

  “What condition?” asked her father.

  Baret looked up at Emerald and gestured easily. “That my betrothed go to London first to attend to schooling and social customs, which she lacks. After all, gentlemen,” he said to the room full of buccaneers. “I am a viscount.”

  Again there was laughter.

  “And a foul and wicked pirate too,” came a good-natured gibe.

  “Granted,” said Baret indifferently. “But I shall not marry her in Tortuga. After all, the lady deserves more than a haggle of pirates apt to swing at Execution Dock for her wedding audience. Surely you agree, Karlton?”

  “Aye, indeed, your lordship! Most heartily agree! To London it is! To school and fair social graces, and then to your side.”

  “I accept,” said Baret. He looked at Emerald, and as she stared at him, aghast, his dark eyes challenged her. “Well, madam? Do you accept your destiny fairly enough?”

  Emerald’s throat was dry, and no words would come. Surely he didn’t mean it—he couldn’t—what of Lavender?—what of her lowly position and all the horrid gossip?

  “She accepts, your lordship,” came Sir Karlton’s firm voice. “It is settled. I give you Emerald my daughter to be your betrothed, to be married at the fitting time.” He smiled and rubbed his palms together.

  Suddenly someone was pushing through the throng. Levasseur, wearing a lean smile on his swarthy face, confronted Baret.

  “It is not settled yet, Monsieur Foxworth.”

  The laughter subsided into a deadly hush, and the buccaneers moved away, leaving Baret and Levasseur alone in the middle of the room.

  Levasseur stood arrogantly, one hand on his hip, the other sweeping back his cloak. “You have betrayed me once too often, monsieur. First with Lucca, now with my cousin Emerald. I will yet find the treasure of the Prince Philip, for I call you a liar and thief! And added to this effrontery you would also take the girl from me. Not so!” He whipped out his rapier and stepped back. “Harwick will not duel to the death, monsieur, but I will.”

  “No, Rafael,” called Emerald. “No!”

  Levasseur smiled. “Did you not offer to duel for her aboard the Regale before you offered twenty thousand pieces of eight?”

  Baret angrily ripped off rings and jewels and tossed them on a table. “For thirty thousand pieces of eight!”

  “To the death,” said Levasseur.

  “As you wish.” Baret drew his sword.

  And Emerald gave a cry.

  “Zeddie! Take her to her room,” Baret called up.

  Emerald struggled to free herself from Zeddie’s grasp as both he and the crewman guarding her came to whisk her back up the steps to her room.

  Minette loitered at the open doorway, pale and shaking. “God help them,” she breathed.

  Emerald tried to break free, but Zeddie held her.

  “Now, m’gal, be the lady you are and sit tight. There’s naught a thing you can do now. None of us can. It’s been movin’ to this moment since they set eyes on each other aboard ship. There’s no stopping it.”

  Dazed and shaken, Emerald sank into the chair, head in hands, as Minette hurried to solace her.

  The door locked behind Zeddie and the crewman.

  “Oh, Minette! A duel! Oh, this is truly the most horrid moment of my life!”

  “Least his lordship agreed to it. That says plenty to me. I’m thinking now that he wants you more’n Lavender. Think of it,” she breathed. “Why, Emerald! If he marries you one day—why, you’ll be a countess.”

  Emerald groaned. “Do you think I care about that? What if he’s killed? Levasseur is an excellent swordsman!”

  “And so’s the viscount, so they say.”

  Emerald fell to her knees to begin urgent prayers, tears welling in her eyes.

  35

  THE DUEL

  The buccaneers withdrew from the tables to line the walls, and silence filled the gaming room.

  Baret removed his hat and outer jacket—as did the pirate—and Erik came to take them. He was poised, but there was tension in his face. “Caution, your lordship. He is quick and deadly. Permit me to cause an argument with him that I may take your place.”

  “I fight my own quarrels, Erik. You should know that by now. But your friendship is worthy of remembrance. This quarrel is over Emerald, and it must be settled between myself and Levasseur.”

  Erik was grave but said no more. Taking Baret’s hat and jacket, he stepped back.

  Baret unsheathed his blade. He had no desire to kill Levasseur, but the man was leaving him no choice. It was kill or be killed. And there was no mistaking that the pirate was an excellent swordsman.

  And now he faced Levasseur.

  “To the death,” Levasseur repeated.

  Levasseur came toward him with confidence, an arrogant smile on his thin mouth. “I was always the better swordsman, monsieur. You play the fool.”

  “A man’s boast often leaves him in an embarrassing situation, Levasseur,” said Baret and began with care, for he knew the Frenchman’s reputation.

  Levasseur turned Baret’s blade, but he parried the blow, and for an instant he was out of position. Baret might have killed him then, but he stepped back.

  The pirate, briefly humiliated, turned color.

  “So, soon?” Baret taunted. “Is your reputation all boast, Captain Levasseur?”

  Levasseur came at him with French fury, and Baret was then fighting for his life. Desperately at times, almost wildly, he fought off the pirate’s rushes.

  “Ah!” cried Levasseur jubilantly, nicking Baret’s wrist, then narrowly missing his throat. “Come, then, Englishman!” And wearing a scornful smile, he moved in steadily.

  Suddenly Baret shifted his feet, feinting as Erik had taught him.
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br />   Levasseur reacted quickly according to pattern, and Baret’s sword point made contact.

  Levasseur drew back, and Baret moved in. His slashed wrist was bleeding, and he worried that it would make his grip slippery.

  Around them the buccaneers could no longer keep silent at the fever pitch of the swordplay. Up and down the room they fought, and the buccaneers were upping their ante and throwing pieces of eight on the table as they gambled over who would win.

  Levasseur was a wiry man, apparently full of boundless energy. But Baret had trained long and hard, and he could see signs of exhaustion beginning to show in the Frenchman’s face. He saw as well that Levasseur was unfamiliar with the tactics he had learned from Erik. Baret wanted the man to taste defeat, to savor humiliation, and he pressed him harder. Coolly, deliberately, he began to teach Levasseur what he did not know.

  “You bore me, Levasseur.”

  Sweat beaded the Frenchman’s brow, and his face paled, but his black eyes flashed with hatred. He lunged, but Baret turned the blade and wounded his arm.

  Enough, thought Baret.

  Levasseur’s sword arm was weak now, and as Baret feinted, the pirate was too slow to parry. Baret could have run him through but with a ringing blow struck the sword from his hand. It clattered across the floor out of reach as Levasseur lost his footing.

  A cheer went up from the buccaneers.

  “Kill him,” someone shouted.

  “Run the Frenchman through,” another challenged.

  Baret walked over to Levasseur, who stared up at him, exhausted and beaten.

  “So run me through, monsieur!”

  Baret was grave as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. “It is enough, Levasseur. Do you admit I have won the right to speak for Emerald?”

  Levasseur gritted. “You have won. But may your way be cursed!”

  Baret’s mouth turned grimly.

  Then unexpectedly someone rushed through the door, shouting.

  “War! England and Holland are at war—and France has sided with the Dutch! To arms! To arms!”

  Baret’s eyes met Levasseur’s, whose gaze narrowed. “So, then, monsieur! What will you do!”

  Baret stepped back, and Hob rushed forward with a cloth to clean his blade. Then Baret sheathed the weapon.

  “Go,” he said to Levasseur.

  Levasseur stared up at him, clearly surprised yet refusing to show gratitude. He managed to get to his feet as members of his sullen French crew came to his aid, bringing his sword. Levasseur turned arrogantly and walked out the door followed by his crewmen.

  War …

  The duel was already forgotten. The roomful of buccaneers drifted away, soberly discussing the conflict and whose side they would fight on. Among the buccaneers there was little anger toward Holland, but rather staunch loyalty among the Protestants, be they English, Dutch, or French. And the thought of attacking Dutch ships was met with reticence.

  Left to himself now, Baret sat down. His wrist continued to bleed.

  Sir Karlton smiled grimly and joined him. “Well done, Baret, my son. I am grieved that I had to place it upon you. ’Twas not my first thought to do so.”

  “I would never have fought you, Karlton. But Levasseur—he would not have been content otherwise.”

  His men moved aside, and someone pushed through the throng. He masked his surprise as he saw Emerald, her anxious gaze scanning him, centering upon the blood. Baret took satisfaction in the look of anguish that came to her eyes.

  “You are wounded, m’lord!” she breathed.

  Erik Farrow, Sir Karlton, and Hob exchanged subdued glances. Then, as though on cue, they drifted away, followed by the rest of Baret’s crew, leaving them alone.

  Emerald had brought clean white cloth and wine to pour on the wound, and she knelt before him. He extended his wrist and saw her wince. He watched her, drinking from the flask as she attended him.

  It was quiet in the large room, except for the voices outside discussing the war.

  Her eyes lifted to his, and he saw faint embarrassment mingled with something else. There was a glow in her warm eyes, a lovely flush to her cheeks. He took in her hair, the lovely contour of her face.

  “You—you need not keep your bargain,” she whispered. “I understand it was a task of honor—that you fought my cousin to spare me from his claim. And my father!” Her blush deepened into one of exasperation. “It was a sorely evil trick he played upon you. Demanding you duel him to death or marry me! He did so knowing you would not harm him, forcing you into obliging his unreasonable request. And I … well … I want you to know that I am not so bold as to think you meant it, seeing how you are a viscount and I am only—” She stopped.

  He watched her, wondering at his own boldness to have made such a commitment, wondering over the mixture of odd feelings that stirred like the restless sea in his heart.

  “The commitment was unjustly forced from you,” she repeated.

  His mouth turned wryly. “You underestimate me, Emerald. I am not a man who allows himself to vow lightly.”

  He unwillingly thought of Lavender. Irritation set in. He knew it was wrong to take advantage of the girl before him.

  “I have every intention of making good. A bargain is a bargain.”

  Shaken, Emerald grew more confused by the glint of warmth in his dark eyes. She swallowed. “I—I would not marry a man because of a bargain, sir, even if he did risk his life to spare me marriage to a pirate.”

  She thought she noticed a spark of irritation.

  “Nevertheless,” he said, standing, “I have not only bought you from a pirate but fought another for you. Your father and I have made a bargain. It is now a matter of honor. And you have very little to say about it.”

  Startled, she caught her breath and stood to her feet. The challengelike statement left her not only bewildered but strangely hurt.

  “Have you forgotten your vow to Lavender, m’lord?”

  She saw his jaw tense.

  “I have not forgotten,” he stated. “We’ll not discuss that now. You’ll be sent to England as I agreed upon with your father. I have a war to fight.” He added, “A few years of growing up will benefit you.” He picked up his jacket and placed his hat on his head. “I shall be in touch with you in London.”

  Emerald thought herself already quite mature. She watched him, offended, smarting beneath the businesslike attitude. And yet there had been that earlier moment when he had seemed vulnerable to her. Had she only imagined that? Or did he care? Was it possible?

  But what of Lavender? Was he choosing of his own accord to break his engagement and marry her instead? She wondered, but she dare not consider for long.

  His distant attitude remained, and she found herself matching it.

  “Is there anything else, m’lord Buckington, before I leave for England?”

  A slight smile showed. The change in his eyes caused her breath to pause.

  Sir Erik Farrow appeared at the doorway. “Pardon my interruption, Lord Buckington, but Henry Morgan has arrived.”

  Baret turned to face him, and she could see his alertness. “Yes?”

  “The governor of Jamaica has issued letters of marque to attack the Dutch settlements in the West Indies. Morgan’s own uncle will be leading a force against the Dutch-held island of Statia. He bids you come to the gathering of captains aboard his ship. Will you be joining him?”

  Emerald could see that the thought of war with Holland troubled Baret. She thought of his mother’s ancestry.

  “Give me a minute longer,” he called to Erik, who went out, and Baret turned back toward her.

  “You will fight against Holland?” she asked dubiously.

  He frowned. “I vowed to my grandfather. I am, after all, obligated to King Charles.”

  She said nothing, distressed by the thought of war. She tried not to look at him, thinking that it would be perhaps three years before she would see him again if he did carry through on his bargain.

 
He seemed to read her thoughts. “You will have much to keep you busy in London. I’ve spoken to Sir Cecil. He will see you have the best schooling and training. And there is Jette.” His eyes searched her face. “I understand he attended the singing school your uncle began.”

  She nodded. “Mathias taught him well.”

  “And you helped?”

  She felt a small surge of pride at having been involved in the honorable work during her years on Foxemoore.

  “It was a cause Mathias lived for, died for. I have his unfinished work with me and will bring it to England.”

  “A noble beginning. Jette will be going to England also. Since you think highly of him, I’ve left word with Geneva that you are to help Cecil with his care.”

  She felt honored that he had already seen to the matter. She also knew that her heart was beating much too fast, and she struggled against the feelings sweeping over her.

  “You won’t mind?” he asked quietly. “About Jette, I mean?”

  She shook her head no and smiled. “I’ve deep affection for him.”

  His eyes held hers.

  She looked away. Then, not trusting her own confusion, she said, “Good-bye. May God care for you in the war.”

  As she went past him, he caught her and drew her back and into his arms.

  “Please don’t,” she said quietly. “You won’t come to England. We both know that.”

  “I don’t know that. Neither do you. I will come,” he promised. “If I live, I will make good my vow to your father.”

  Her eyes went to his. It was not Baret’s vow to her father she wished for, but his vow to her.

  He won’t come, she thought again. Once I’m gone, he will forget all about me. It is Lavender he loves.

  And yet he reached a hand behind the back of her head and drew her face up toward his. “Until England.” He bent, his lips on hers.

  Her heart pounded and weakness assailed her. She swiftly pushed away from him.

  She saw him looking at her with faint surprise, though whether at himself or her was not clear.