Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  Baret watched him intently. He did not like this unlikely turn of events.

  “I wish to speak with you, monsieur.”

  “In private,” Baret rejoined. “You and I, alone.” He looked directly at Levasseur’s relative Montieth.

  “Of course, monsieur, alone,” said Levasseur. “What else?” And he spread his arms wide. “The beach?”

  “After you, my captain.”

  Levasseur bowed, pushed his way through the musing captains, and sauntered on ahead toward the shore, while the remaining pirates listened and watched with a new caution of their own.

  “Captain Foxworth,” called Warwick as Baret turned to follow. “I am most serious about meeting with you. When can we talk?”

  “Tonight, at the Sweet Turtle. Captain Farrow and my lieutenant will make arrangements with you.”

  “Very well,” he said disconsolately. “I had hoped to get this over with and return to Jamaica.”

  “What, monsieur!” mocked the French governor. “You do not appreciate the company and climate of Tortuga?”

  “No offense, Governor,” Warwick hastened to add and cast a knowing glance toward the flagless ship at anchor in the bay.

  The French governor was foxy enough to notice his look, as did Baret.

  “Then you will stay, monsieur,” he stated quietly. “Not one day only, but several days at least. Oui, oui, I insist!” He held up a big hand when Warwick protested. “In the name of His Majesty of France, would you insult me?”

  “Well no, naturally not, Governor—”

  “Good, else the Brotherhood would need to insist otherwise.” The warning was disguised with a smile. “You see, we must entertain you at the fort. Yes, and my wife and daughters too. They will make you most comfortable.”

  “Well—if you insist.”

  “We insist, monsieur. Most definitely.”

  His voice ebbed away on the breeze as Baret walked across the sand with Erik. So the baronet recognized the Dutch war vessel.

  “I do not like any of what is going on,” Erik said. “Knowing Felix, he may have sent Levasseur to try to trap you.”

  “My thoughts as well. Neverthless, let us see what he has to say about Emerald. Wait for me at the Turtle after the govenor’s meeting. The baronet, too, is to be considered with caution. We’ll see what message he claims to bring from Modyford.”

  Baret parted from Erik and walked alone toward the beach, the wind blowing against his hat and shirt. The mention of Emerald had sobered him. If more than her voyage to England had gone awry, why hadn’t Karlton come to tell him? Levasseur had just arrived from Port Royal and would know what was happening there, but trusting any information from the wily Frenchman was always a risk. He could not forget that Levasseur had met with Felix. Whatever information he now brought might indeed be the makings of a trap.

  Levasseur stood waiting, his face hidden beneath his cocked hat, one lean, wiry hand tapping his baldric. Behind him the sun glittered on the water, and the bay shimmered with silvery ripples.

  Baret paused a few feet away from him, hand resting on his own baldric.

  “I bring news, captain.”

  “As friend, or enemy?”

  “Monsieur! You hurt Rafael’s heart. You speak of the duel?” He waved a hand. “Ah, that. It is nothing. You let me live. What peasant would argue with the withdrawing of the rapier!”

  Baret smiled crookedly. “You would, Rafael. On with it. Where is the letter from Captain Harwick’s daughter?”

  “There is no letter.”

  Baret’s expression did not change, but his eyes flickered.

  “I shall explain,” Levasseur said.

  “See that you do.”

  “My beloved English uncle, Karlton, was arrested for piracy and accused also of working with you, monsieur, in the Maracaibo incident that took poor Lucca’s life. I, a blood kin and friend, used all my skill to help him escape. But, alas—”

  “Where is he?”

  Levasseur sighed and lifted a helpless hand. “Dead, monsieur. Shot in the back on the wharf while seeking escape to a longboat. It is most sad.”

  Baret watched him, restraining his shock and dismay. Dare he believe him?

  “How do you know he’s dead?”

  Levasseur laid a hand to his heart. “Me? I too was in Port Royal, where I waited to set sail aboard the Venture. I was expecting Karlton to follow aboard the Madeleine. He was coming here, so he said, to find you, to warn you of Monsieur Felix. But, alas! A boat arrived late with a member of Karlton’s crew, a man you know and trust—Monsieur Tom is his name—and he told me the monstrous news of my uncle’s death. I came here at once, bringing with me Monsieur Tom so that you would trust me, for there is yet more to this sad tale.”

  He watched Levasseur, searching for evidence that he was lying, but there was nothing in the man’s face to convince him the story was fabrication. Tom, a friend of Karlton’s, was a man Baret knew to be trustworthy because of his Christian testimony. If he was here with Levasseur, then the news must be true.

  “Tom waits in the Turtle,” said Levasseur, as though reading his mind.

  Then Karlton is dead.

  He thought of Emerald.

  “What other news?”

  “Demoiselle Emerald used a pistol to shoot an innocent man. Now she is being held in Brideswell as a murderess.”

  Baret stared at him. Murderess? Impossible! He cast that notion aside and concerned himself instead with the fact that she was locked up in Brideswell. He knew it was a foul and filthy place and that the guards could not be trusted.

  Levasseur appeared pleased at his shock.

  “When?” Baret demanded.

  Levasseur spread a hand. “Two weeks, maybe three.”

  “And you only now come to inform me!”

  “Monsieur captain! I only now learned of it!”

  “And the man they claim she’s murdered?” asked Baret.

  “The overseer of Foxemoore. She may hang, monsieur.”

  The overseer. Baret tried to place him. Had she not warned him about the man? What was his name? Pitt? He had arranged for her cousin Ty to be branded as a runaway. If she had shot the man, he thought he knew the reason.

  “When did this happen? Before Karlton’s death?”

  “Afterward. He came to the lookout house to take her to Foxemoore.”

  “More likely to take advantage of her situation now that her father was dead.”

  “Perhaps, monsieur,” he said agreeably, and Baret measured him, not liking Levasseur’s humility or apparent friendliness. Nothing had changed between them. Not even Emerald’s incarceration could bridge the dislike they felt for each other. What was Levasseur up to? Had Felix sent him, using Emerald’s situation and Karlton’s death to lure him back to Port Royal?

  “Who else was involved in her arrest beside Felix?”

  Levasseur shrugged. “I do not know even that he was involved. I have seen no one, Foxworth.”

  “Sir Jasper?”

  “Who is to say? What will you do, monsieur? If you will do nothing, then I will see to my cousin’s rescue from Brideswell.”

  “Rest assured, my captain, I have every intention of returning to Port Royal. I made a vow to her and Karlton, and I’ll keep it in due time.”

  Levasseur smiled coolly for the first time. “There is no reason now to keep the vow, monsieur. A suspected murderess has no reputation to defend or protect.”

  “I will be the judge of that.”

  Levasseur’s black eyes snapped with energy. “She should be brought here to Tortuga to live among her relatives—and mine. It is here she belongs, and always has, not on Foxemoore, or in your England. If she goes anywhere else, it should be to France—with me. You will surely change your mind about her now. There is also the matter of Mademoiselle Thaxton.”

  Baret grew uncomfortable as he always did at the mention of Lavender.

  “There is something you must know, monsieur.”

 
; “Suppose you tell me what it is about Lady Thaxton I should know.”

  Levasseur now looked amused. “The marriage, monsieur, has not happened yet. The war has separated the two lovers. Mademoiselle is now vowing she made a rash mistake in breaking off her engagement to you.”

  This, added to the news of Karlton’s death and Emerald’s being held in Brideswell, was too much for one day. For a moment Baret felt nothing. Then, the implications of the triangle cut deep. He felt a surge of excitement at the news that Lavender was unmarried and immediately became angry with himself.

  Levasseur eyed him, cautious, pleased, evidently guessing the blow his words had delivered. “It is said, monsieur, by men who know you, that Mademoiselle Lavender sent you a letter of her marriage when we rendezvoused with Captain Farrow. Did you think her married before our duel? If so, that changes matters considerably, does it not? Emerald will not be pleased you wished only to marry her because your true love had married another.”

  Baret’s jaw tensed, and he placed his hands on his hips. “Yes, I knew about her plans. I admit I was angry.”

  Levasseur smiled. “It is expected, monsieur, yes. I quite understand. Women are miserable creatures. We cannot live with them, nor without them. Tell me, Monsieur Foxworth, would you have agreed to marry Emerald and dueled me if Mademoiselle Lavender had not sent you that offending letter?”

  Baret looked out at the silvery ripples on the bay. How could he answer? He himself did not know.

  “Monsieur, let us put the duel behind us. The woman you love is not married. She longs to break her engagement to your cousin. Mademoiselle is surely fair of reputation and of noble English blood. Whereas the woman I want is more fitting the rogue that I am. She is an accused murderess. Her mother was the daughter of my uncle—a worse pirate than I. Is it not plain which woman should belong to whom?”

  Baret continued to stare out at the calm sea, his insides a storm of conflicting emotions. He could, if he wished, give Levasseur more reason to hope. He suspected Emerald of caring for Levasseur more than even she knew.

  “What do you intend to do, Monsieur Foxworth?”

  Baret looked at him narrowly. “I intend to give myself time to think matters over. Karlton’s death is a serious blow. Nor could I live with myself if I did nothing about Emerald’s situation.”

  Levasseur showed his pleasure. “Agreed, we cannot leave her in so filthy and lewd a place. You will go with me to Port Royal to free her by our swords?”

  He would be a fool to allow Levasseur to know his plans. Even if what he told him were true, Baret was certain Felix was behind it somewhere. Cecil had seen Levasseur leaving his presence. That Levasseur might be working for Felix, taking the place Erik had once held, seemed feasible. But neither would he let Rafael think he suspected him.

  “We will do what we must to see her out of Brideswell.”

  “A wise decision, Monsieur Foxworth. When do we leave?”

  “Soon,” he said evasively. “Perhaps tomorrow. Tonight there is the meeting in The Turtle with Modyford’s man. I will see what he has to say for himself and the governor.”

  “A fair arrangement,” said Levasseur after a moment, “but whatever happens, I will not leave Cousin Emerald in Port Royal. She is safer here.”

  “Whatever is decided will be decided by myself and Emerald,” corrected Baret. “You can rest assured I’ll care for her future now that Karlton is dead.”

  “As you wish. It is not the answer that pleases me, but I can see it will need do for now, monsieur captain.”

  Why was Levasseur so obliging?

  “Then we will make arrangements to quietly visit Port Royal,” Levasseur said. “Our plans, do we make them aboard my ship or yours?”

  Baret scanned him. “We will make them at the Sweet Turtle after we hear what Warwick says.”

  “You will not change your mind?”

  “Nothing could keep me away—including Felix—or Gallows Point. I am sure, Captain Levasseur, that is as planned.”

  “Then we see eye-to-eye, monsieur.” He bowed and walked past him to rejoin the meeting underway beneath the sailcloth.

  Baret looked after him. He was still standing there when a watchful Erik walked out on the beach to join him.

  “Trouble, my lord viscount?”

  Baret looked at him grimly. “Karlton is dead.”

  Erik was clearly startled. “A duel?”

  “No. Levasseur says he was killed by the militia when trying to escape. I have another notion of how it might have happened.”

  “Miserable luck. And if you return, you too will be arrested.”

  “I must take the risk.” He looked at Erik. “Emerald is being held for attempted murder of Pitt, the overseer of Foxemoore.”

  “Impossible, your lordship! She would never do such a thing. It’s a trap set for you. You can look no further than Lord Felix.”

  “And Sir Jasper.” Baret’s eyes hardened, and he tapped his fingers against his pistol brace. “I will sail for Jamaica tonight.”

  “A mistake. It is what they expect and wish you to do.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “And you’ll go to Gallows Point?”

  “I have a plan … you can help by diverting Levasseur and his relative Montieth. I’ll need to slip away without his knowledge.”

  “I’ll help, but it is better that I sail with you. If you get caught in Port Royal Bay, you will never get past the guns of Fort Charles without help from the Venture.”

  Baret smiled thinly. “I know, but I’m not fool enough to sail under the guns of the fort. Not yet. I have another option.”

  Erik lifted a golden eyebrow. “I can think of no option, your lordship.”

  “When it comes to a woman, Erik, never take a man’s loyalties for granted.”

  “You have me at a loss.”

  Baret turned and looked out toward the Dutch ship. “We both know whose ship that is.”

  Erik followed his gaze, dubiously. “A Dutch captain’s.”

  Baret glanced at him. “You mean, the Dutch Admiral de Ruyter.”

  Erik’s cool silence admitted that he also knew.

  “I suspect,” said Baret, “he’s come to do a good deal of mischief to an English island—what do you think?”

  Erik was expressionless.

  Baret’s mouth turned. “Antigua, do you think? English Harbor will have ships aplenty.”

  Erik squinted at the vessel. “Or Barbados.”

  So he did know. “Barbados. I suspect the Dutch admiral has a fleet.”

  “It is a good thing that you and I are loyal to Holland in this war.”

  “Yes,” Baret agreed. “Because if we were not, we might slip away with our pompous Baronet Warwick, make a daring run to Barbados to warn the English governor, and—” Baret deliberately stopped and waited for Erik’s sagacity to catch up with his own. He was taking a risk in letting Erik know his plans. Erik could refuse to cooperate and instead alert the French governor to warn Admiral de Ruyter by firing the fort’s guns.

  Erik folded his arms. “And having warned Barbados and foiled the Dutch, we could return to Port Royal and most likely find good favor with Modyford, your grandfather, and—”

  Baret smiled dryly. “His Majesty King Charles. The very circumstance my grandfather wishes for. Viscount Baret Buckington would at last be viewed as the king’s honorable and gallant privateer, rather than a pirate awaiting capture and Gallows Point.”

  “And in doing so Lord Felix would be defeated in his purpose to have you arrested and tried as a pirate. At least for a time.”

  “Time enough to rescue Emerald and see her settled safely elsewhere,” said Baret casually. “Time enough, perhaps, to even find out who murdered Karlton.”

  “A cunning plan, my lord Viscount.”

  “Yes…”

  “A pity our hearts are not in it.” He looked out longingly at the Dutch ship.

  “Admiral de Ruyter is a Christian gentleman,”
said Baret sadly. “An excellent captain.”

  “Yes, and the English are too arrogant. They need a lesson in humility. If the Dutch took Barbados—”

  “The H.M.S. Royale is there,” said Baret. “And Grayford is a miserable naval captain. If they capture the English ships there, he is likely to go down to defeat. But it’s not for him that I turn against Holland.”

  No more needed to be said. It was for Emerald. A heroic deed would allow him to move to protect her.

  “Did you notice Warwick earlier?” he asked.

  Erik looked at him. “Yes. He guessed the ship was Dutch and that the governor was giving him refuge until he chose to move against English holdings.”

  “And Warwick was itching to board and leave at once to warn Modyford, but the Frenchman was too clever and guessed. He’s being kept here until the admiral gets away. But you and I don’t need to warn Modyford. We can be at Barbados with Warwick in time to help Grayford and the H.M.S. Royale hold off the Dutch attack.” Baret cocked his head, watching him, his dark eyes lively and growing impatient. “Well? Are you with me or not?”

  Erik’s bored expression remained unchanged. “As you wish, your lordship. Anything for a Stuart king.”

  Baret thought he might just as well have said, “Anything for Madrid,” so slight was Erik’s enthusiasm for attacking the admiral’s fleet.

  “Not a Stuart,” said Baret, feeling irritation not with Erik but with himself. “Rather, anything for Harwick’s daughter. I won’t leave her in the filthy confines of Brideswell. The turnkeys are little better than the pirates here. If anything has happened to her, Felix will wish he’d never been born.”

  “Your daring may be to set Emerald free, but Lavender may think you do it for her beloved husband. Need I remind you she could soon be a widow?”

  Baret eyed him. “I see your mind can be as wretched as mine. True evidence Calvin was right about the total depravity of man. You will be pleased to know you need not wish for the worst—our sweet, fragile rosebud is not yet Lady Grayford. The marriage was postponed until after the war.”

  Erik stared at him.

  Baret frowned at his response. Erik looked as though he’d been pardoned from being a galley slave aboard a Spanish treasure ship. Baret lowered his hat, and the plume danced in the wind. “You don’t stand a chance. Forget her. You’d do well to take another look at Emerald’s cousin.”