Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  One of the pirates loitered, gesturing to the dead. “What about them?”

  “D’ye think we got time for burial? Don’t be a bloke, Wooton.”

  “Who’s talkin’ burial? We ain’t divvied up their belongin’s.”

  Thorpe spat. “Divvy ’em up, then. Vane’s pistol is mine—so’s his ring.”

  “It don’t come off.”

  “Then cut it off, ye cur, an’ be quick wi’ ye.”

  Emerald picked up a half-empty water skin and brought it to her father. Kneeling, she tipped it to his cracked lips.

  “Where’s Zeddie?” he rasped.

  “He escaped,” she whispered. “He’s gone to Cumaná to find Baret.”

  A sigh escaped his lips. “Thank God. Lass, I’m sorry … Thorpe … more clever than I thought. I … came back when Minette screamed … thought they had both of you … couldn’t get away again …”

  She leaned her forehead against his shoulder and held back her sobs.

  Karlton’s hand came weakly to console her. “Baret … will come yet.”

  5

  ENCOUNTER ON THE BEACH

  The evening stars paraded forth on a battlefield of black sky. In stained jerkins and leather breeches, the captain and remaining crew of the Black Dragon gathered on the beach where white waves rolled in from the bay and scattered foam like tiny bubbling pearls.

  Thorpe sat on an empty cask, his telescope turned upon the sea, growing more impatient as the late hours dragged by and the Venture did not appear.

  Even the arrival of her French cousin Rafael offered more encouraging possibilities than being left alone with Thorpe, Emerald thought. She sat next to her father, who lay propped against a bleached sand dune. By moonrise, she had become so exhausted that soon not even her fears could keep her alert.

  Karlton’s head moved, and he seemed to tense, looking past her into the night. Emerald’s love and pity stirred her to action; she knew he needed water. But Thorpe had already confiscated the skin when Levasseur did not show as expected.

  “Any w-water?” he whispered through parched lips.

  Offering a prayer for help, Emerald struggled to her feet. Every movement brought discomfort to her swollen ankle. She was unable to stand her father’s suffering and was forced to confront Thorpe. She looked across the sand at him, still seated on the cask with the telescope, now and then cursing under his breath and muttering, “If we don’t get outa here soon, the Spaniards may come again.”

  Thorpe saw her edging across the stretch of sand to where the water skin lay near the cask. He snatched it up, stood, and walked toward her. He stopped, uncorked the skin, and drank long and deep, then wiped his mouth on the back of his hand with a satisfied sigh. He dangled the skin just out of her reach. “Lookin’ for this?”

  Emerald closed her eyes in frustration.

  “Is that any way to wait on a future countess, Thorpe?”

  Emerald’s breath sucked in and held. The voice coming from the darkness behind them was wonderfully familiar. It sounded too pleasant just now, tinged with danger.

  Startled, Thorpe and his diminished crew looked back toward the opposite end of the beach.

  In sharp silhouette against the glassy bay, where brilliant moonlight fell as from a lantern in the sky, stood a rugged form scrupulously dressed in white, ruffled buccaneer shirt and black breeches. An ostrich plume curled about the broad rim of his hat. His hair was held back from a suntanned face that was devastatingly striking and comely. Yet the expression he wore now was dark and ruthless.

  “Foxworth!” Thorpe threw down the water skin with an oath.

  Emerald’s heart pounded, but she remained utterly silent, uncertain whether or not Thorpe would unsheathe his sword.

  The pirate crew gathered cautiously around him, eying Baret uneasily, as if wondering how his appearance were possible when they hadn’t seen his ship.

  Captain Foxworth walked toward them, his black leather boots sinking into the dry sand. Then out of the shadows came his officers, ranging themselves for swordplay if it came to that.

  Emerald crept back toward her father, silent as a kitten.

  Baret’s gaze evidently was quick to note her injury. He walked toward her, caught her beneath her arms, and lifted her to her feet. She covered a wince, but he noticed, and his dark eyes flashed with anger. Turning her toward the moonlight, he cupped her chin and studied the bruises and cuts on her face.

  His finger gently touched her cheek. “Who did this?”

  Having longed for Thorpe to be brought to justice, she now held back. She feared justice would come too brutally at Baret’s hand, adding to his difficulties with the Jamaican authorities.

  When she said nothing, he looked down at her ankle.

  “Did he do this to you?”

  “She tripped,” Thorpe said coldly. “We was runnin’ from the Spaniards. Tell him. Tell him how I tried to help you.”

  Baret waited for a truthful answer, but her eyes faltered.

  “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she whispered. “You’re here now. I’m all right.”

  He turned his head and looked at Thorpe.

  Among the buccaneers who had arrived with Baret was another captain that she recognized, the fair-haired and handsomely somber Erik Farrow. At his side stood his lieutenant, a massive African with shaven head glinting in the moonlight. A large gold hoop ring dangled from his left earlobe.

  Baret handed her to his officer Yorke, then doffed his hat in mockery to Thorpe. “Good evening, my captain. You’ve been awaiting my arrival anxiously, I see. My apology for the delay. We watched the gun battle between the Black Dragon and the Madeleine with grave interest.”

  “Did ye, now? An’ how could ye ‘ave watched when your ship was nowheres about, I ask? Are ye tryin’ to cozy up to me, Foxworth?”

  “Would I so presume, Lex? You, a captain of honor and worthy esteem among the Brotherhood?”

  “Honor, he says! Esteemed, he says! That’s a good play! An’ what’ve ye got on your mind, Foxworth? Ye know why I’m here. So if ye’ve come to sign articles, where’s your ship? And why d’ye come on cats’ paws like Spaniards?”

  “Yes, I know why you’re here. It was necessary to put into a cove across the islet. We’ve walked across to pay you our fairest greetings.” And he gestured a hand flashing with gold toward his officers and Captain Farrow. “I’ve brought the best of honorable captains just to greet you—of course, I had no idea most of your crew would be dead so quickly. It proves a grievous disappointment to us, doesn’t it, gentlemen?”

  “Aye, captain, we’re sorely aggrieved.”

  Thorpe’s bulging eyes darted from Baret to Erik, then skimmed over the buccaneers with them. “Are ye now? Fife! Ye’re all a glad cockle of rotting fish bait! I say ye’re pleased me men are dead!”

  “Lex, your suggestion is indeed provocative!”

  “Provocative, he says.”

  “I also came to give you a message from our warmhearted Frenchman Captain Levasseur.” Baret lifted a folded white paper from his shirt and held it up. “He’s returned to Tortuga without a share in the treasure of the Prince Philip.”

  “That ain’t possible. We left Tortuga together.”

  “He decided to return—at my orders.”

  “Whaaa…at your orders? Now I’ve heard everything, Foxworth!”

  “Yes, at my orders. It was either beat a path back to Cayona Bay or find the Venture sinking to the bottom of the Caribbean, the Frenchman with it. He took my threat seriously, Lex. A pity you are not as clever as Rafael.”

  Thorpe stared at him in sheer amazement. “It’s lying ye are, ye fancy daw cock!”

  Baret pretended offense, then gestured toward Emerald and Karlton. “I am disappointed to arrive and find you’ve neglected your manners. Why are my friend Karlton and his charming daughter in such foul condition? Is this any way to treat honorable guests?”

  Thorpe said nothing but eyed him cunningly. “So ye’ve not come p
eaceably after all.”

  “You attacked the Madeleine, the ship of a fellow buccaneer. You know the Brotherhood Articles, Lex. There is honor among the Brotherhood. And how is it I arrive to find that the Spaniards have taken Karlton’s ship? He is wounded and his daughter mishandled. Did you think I would take this lightly? Now, what do you think I ought to do about it?”

  In comparison to the unkempt pirate and his crewmen, Baret stood out as the image of excellence, however arrogant, and his disposition suggested that beneath his affected calm lived a man every whit as dangerous.

  Thorpe’s eyes narrowed. “It was a mistake, Foxworth. As captain of the Black Dragon, I didn’t know it was Harwick’s ship.”

  “You thought it was the Regale?”

  Thorpe glowered, then shrugged. “What if I did?”

  “A pity we didn’t meet.”

  “It were Levasseur’s idea to take Harwick on. He had a notion of learnin’ from his uncle where the treasure was. Things got a mite outa hand was all.”

  “So it appears.”

  “Harwick drugged the rum, but I was too clever for him. Then them filthy Spaniards attacked us. He tried to escape to find ye at Cumaná, but I fooled him and was waitin’.”

  “You’re indeed clever. It’s fortunate your devious ways must come to an end.”

  “An end, he says! An’ what have ye in mind? D’ye think to kill me? I’ll carve your hide first.”

  “Kill you, Lex? There’s no need to bloody my sword. I intend to leave you and your brilliant crew to face the Spaniards again.”

  Thorpe’s color changed, and he chewed his lip as his eyes ran over Baret. “Surely ye’re makin’ sport, Captain Foxworth. Ye wouldn’t leave me here. It ain’t human. Ye seen what them fiends did to Vane and the others?”

  “I’m well acquainted with the creativity of the soldiers of the king of Spain.”

  “They skinned ’em alive and rubbed ’em with pepper!”

  “Gentlemen, all. You’ll make fit company for the guarda costa, my captain. They may even learn a thing or two, should you share some of your own tactics with them.”

  “Now wait a minute—” Thorpe began. “Ye can’t do this, Foxworth! Some o’ that treasure is mine!”

  “Is that so? Now this is uncanny! Since when have you sailed with Captain Royce Buckington under commission from Cromwell?”

  “Cromwell! Let him rot. I’m cuttin’ meself in this booty by sheer cunning.”

  “Then I advise you to begin to build yourself a canoe, Lex. And when you’ve paddled up the coast of Venezuela, dodging Spanish galleons, we can discuss it again on Tortuga.”

  “The devil take ye, Foxworth! I’ll kill ye first and spill your innards on the sand!”

  “I was hoping you would suggest that.”

  Thorpe hesitated, then decided against whipping out his sword. “I won’t duel ye, seein’ as how ye’ve an uncanny way about ye. I’ll survive, Foxworth. An’ I’ll come after ye, ship to ship!”

  “A wishful thought.” Baret looked briefly at the other members of Thorpe’s crew.

  They turned their backs and walked away to slump sullenly onto the sand.

  “Your men,” said Baret flatly, “wait for your company.”

  Thorpe’s lip curled like a snarling dog’s, forced to retreat. When he was far enough away to guard against a sudden attack, Baret turned to Yorke, a huge, burly man, and gestured that he should carry Karlton.

  Emerald looked on, totally taken with the incident. She held to an empty cask to keep her balance, becoming aware that he had turned to her. Self-consciously she looked away, brushing the hair from her cheek as he walked up to her.

  “We met Zeddie on the way. He’s all right and waiting with Hob. And you? Other than cuts and bruises, you’re all right?”

  “Yes, but my father—”

  “Yorke will take care of him. He’s brought along medical supplies. Better let me treat that ankle—”

  “No … it can wait.”

  “You’re sure? I’ll carry you back.”

  “My pistol and cloak—I’d rather not leave them. They’re ahead in those trees.”

  “It’s too dark to find them tonight. I’ll see that you have another weapon.” His mouth curved up. “Next time, use it.” He turned as one of his buccaneers approached.

  “Sorry, captain. Jeremy’s come to report a Spanish galleon. Looks to be heading toward Margarita. And what do you think the illustrious capitán is hauling in her wake? The wounded Madeleine.”

  “Ah! What of the Black Dragon?”

  “No sign of her. Maybe she’s headed with the barca longa for Porto Bello. Sweet pickings, captain.”

  “Sweet pickings at Porto Bello must wait till we sail with Morgan. We’ll settle for the pearl islands,” he said. “The galleon towing Karlton’s ship is booty enough.”

  “Aye, captain. When do we move out? Our skin’s beginnin’ to crawl with the thought of Spaniards. Yorke had us make a hammock to carry Captain Harwick.”

  “Start out now. I’ll join you in a minute. I’ve one last thing to do.” He turned. “Erik?”

  Captain Farrow sauntered up, and Baret said casually, “Her ankle is sprained. See to her safety, will you? I’ll catch up.”

  Emerald glanced at Baret, wondering why he wished to remain behind. She looked uneasily toward Thorpe, who hadn’t budged from the sand.

  Erik seemed to know, but something more appeared to be on his mind. She had noticed earlier, during the discourse between Baret and Thorpe, that Captain Farrow took a brief stroll around the immediate site as though casually curious about something. Now Erik glanced about again. His ice-cool gray eyes flickered as the wind moved his fair hair away from his chiseled face.

  “Your flighty French cousin—the one with all the hair—did she not board with you at Tortuga? I thought she was going with you to London?”

  “Thank God you and Baret have come, but if—if only you’d come last night—” Her voice failed.

  Erik seemed to be more interested now, and anger sparked in his eyes. “What did they do with her—Thorpe, I mean?”

  She hastened to assure him. “They did nothing. My father made certain of that. But the Spaniards took her away with them. I must find her! You and Captain Foxworth will help me?”

  His hand tightened on his belt. “The soldiers took her?”

  “No, the Franciscan. She was under his protection. I am thankful for that. They sailed on the barca longa.”

  Was she mistaken, or was there a restrained look of relief on his face? What Minette would give to know of Erik’s strong reaction to her abduction!

  “I won’t offer more hope than what’s reasonable. We’re on our way to rendezvous at Margarita and should locate them on the way. The viscount’s friend Captain Pierre LaMonte is already in those waters. Knowing the condition of the three ships involved, including the Warspite,” he said of his own vessel, “I don’t think your cousin will remain a prisoner for long. You’ve given me even more reason to intercept the Spanish ship.”

  “Then you’ll help rescue Minette?”

  He looked at her, and for a moment she thought she had misread his concern, since his face was calm. His words, however, assured her.

  “If Pierre has not taken the ship by the time we arrive, then I will. I’ll return your cousin.”

  Her fear relieved, she could even smile, though wearily.

  “At the viscount’s request—” And he picked her up in his arms and walked toward the beach.

  Emerald glanced over her shoulder to try to see where Baret was, but the trees blocked her view.

  “Do you think he’ll kill Thorpe?” she asked quietly, tensely.

  “No.”

  She was silent, still uneasy. “Then why did he remain behind?”

  “You’ll need to ask him that.”

  Baret approached Thorpe, and the pirate stood.

  “I’ve had a change of heart where your crew is concerned, Thorpe.”

&nb
sp; Thorpe looked at him cautiously. “You’ll let us board the Regale?”

  Baret looked at Thorpe’s few men, who likewise anxiously scrambled to their feet.

  “Aye, Cap’n Foxworth,” one said. “We swear we ‘ad nothing to do with the debacle where Harwick and his lass was concerned.”

  “I’ll take you as far Pierre LaMonte’s vessel.”

  “A deal, Foxworth! And we ain’t be forgettin’ your kindness!”

  “Then get on with you. I’ll join you soon. Not you, Lex.”

  As the pirates ran ahead through the sand, Baret turned to Thorpe, who was gnawing his lip.

  “What d’ye have in mind?”

  “You’re a foul and worthless coward, Lex.”

  “If ye ‘ave a mind to duel me, then draw your cursed blade!”

  “For those cuts on her face—and your little game with the water skin—”

  Baret’s fist landed a vicious blow to Thorpe’s face and another to his belly. When the pirate doubled, he struck a hammer blow to his neck. Thorpe jarred to his knees with a curse hissing between his teeth.

  Baret looked down upon him. “An end far too kind for you, Lex. Adiós!”

  Captain Erik Farrow and the buccaneers brought Emerald to a deserted inlet, one among many other cays along the Venezuelan Main. Miles of deserted beach shielded by thick palms and protected by barrier reefs made havens for the buccaneers to rendezvous with less chance of detection.

  Here at this unknown cay, as dawn arrived, flooding pink and gold above turquoise water, the Regale and the Warspite were anchored, safely camouflaged from the patrolling guarda costa, which Captain Farrow informed her sailed regularly in and out of their headquarters farther west at Caracas on the lookout for trespassers.

  She learned that another buccaneer captain from Tortuga, a Frenchman named Pierre LaMonte, was a few miles down the coast, also out of sight and waiting to spy a certain Spanish ship from Cartagena on its way to Margarita. The three captains with their combined crews of a hundred men had come with plans previously made at Tortuga to seize the Spanish ship.