Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “How can you say that!”

  “A gentle word of advice. Treat Grayford well. He truly loves you. You’re not likely to find another man who’ll be as wholeheartedly devoted to you when he knows how scheming you are.”

  “You’re teasing me. Of course, you are. You’ve always loved me. You once told me you’d do anything for me.”

  “Did I? I must have been naive—or else it was all that Latin and Greek prose Sir Cecil boggled my mind with.”

  “Baret!”

  “Seriously, Lavender, it’s over between us.”

  She reached both arms for him, her eyes imploring. “I won’t believe it. I can’t accept it. I was foolish and, oh, so wrong about Grayford. Do say you’ll forgive me and love me again. I promise to make it up to you.”

  He ignored her arms. “What was it about Emerald you wished to discuss?”

  “How I feel about you isn’t spoiled … and I do feel ill.” Her head dropped into her hands.

  “Lavender, my dear—please. You’re making it harder on yourself and me.”

  “All right, I need Emerald with me at Foxemoore. When you and Grayford go to war, it will be dreadful. We’ll need each other. You will talk to her? You’ll ask her to come and stay with me?”

  He stared down at her for a long moment without speaking.

  “Please, Baret. I’ll need her desperately now that my mother is dead. And Sir Karlton is gone. And Aunt Geneva is ill.” Tears welled again. “Oh, this dreadful war! If only we could have sailed to England first.”

  He stood. “I’ll speak to her,” was all he said.

  “Baret—it’s not too late for us. My heart is betrothed to you, even if I wear Grayford’s ring.”

  He frowned. “It’s over, Lavender. I’m going to marry Emerald.”

  He was walking to the door when she called: “I’ll make you change your mind one day. You’ll see. You don’t love her.”

  He opened the door, pausing to look back, and felt an odd pity at the stricken look on her face.

  “You’re wrong,” he said clearly. “I haven’t told her yet, but I will.” He turned away and walked out into the hall.

  Emerald sped up the flight of steps to avoid the governor and Lord Felix at all cost. But as she rounded the corner into the upper hall, a door was abruptly thrown open in front of her, and a clear, strong, familiar voice said, “You’re wrong. I haven’t told her yet, but I will.”

  And Baret came through the door.

  Seeing Emerald, he stopped short. They stared at each other, equally surprised.

  Emerald knew she must appear pale and disheveled by all of tonight’s madness that stalked her fleeing steps, and now had she walked headfirst into an emotional scene between Baret and Lavender? She could endure no more! She turned and fled to the stairs.

  “Emerald—wait!”

  She raced down the steps, her feet flying as swiftly as a hind’s, her heart racing. She darted by the cracked door and back through the governor’s office, past a startled governor and Lord Felix, out through the drape partition into the wrap room, the salon, and outdoors onto the rolling front lawn facing the Caribbean.

  Her breathing came painfully and stabbed her side. But she ran on through the twilight, past gaily clad mulatto slaves carrying trays of citrus-rum coolers. The heads of loitering guests turned toward her. Female brows probably arched, but she was past caring.

  Escape! Escape! she thought, feeling the sod sink beneath her feet. On she ran.

  A blue-gold star blazed above the bay, yet visible in the twilight. The wind blew in from the harbor, ruffling the water’s surface and cooling her skin. She ran until, finally, she could run no more.

  She was, she thought, a safe distance away from the lawn guests. She grasped hold of a tree with both arms and sank against it, resting her head against the rough bark. Her breath came in ragged gasps.

  As Baret sprinted down the steps in pursuit, something far different from romance arrested his attention. He noticed that one door on the corridor ahead stood slightly ajar, and his instincts halted him. Whereas an ordinary guest would not have noticed—or, if he had, would have paid no attention—a life surrounded with danger kept Baret’s suspicions on guard. When he stopped, he heard a faint sound from behind the door, as though a breath drew in with the realization that the advantage of surprise was lost.

  Then the door flung open. Baret glimpsed a gloved hand and ducked below the trajectory of a silvery glint of steel as it whispered past his head and solidly impacted the wall. In the next second, Baret whipped his pistol from beneath his jacket belt. The assassin at the Bailey had escaped, but this one would not be so lucky.

  He approached the darkened chamber and pushed the door back with a foot, anticipating an explosion of gunpowder to greet him. Silence bade him enter. A trap?

  He hesitated only a moment, then stepped inside with caution, prepared to be jumped from either direction. Nothing stirred except the curtains in the muggy breeze. Moonlight flooded in by way of a railed balcony that looked down upon the governor’s garden. Had the man gone over the balcony? He looked. But the wisteria had not been damaged, and no one could have climbed down and disappeared so quickly. Then the man was still inside.

  Baret surveyed the large chamber. It offered numerous hiding places. A heavy brocade drape moved, or was it the breeze? Then, from behind it a door hastily opened and shut. Baret leaped over a divan, swept aside the drape, and grabbed the knob just as a bolt slid into place. Clattering footsteps bounded down some stairs. Then this door led down onto the garden.

  He returned swiftly to the balcony, swung one leg over the railing, and grabbed the woody, meandering vine. Three armsized branches twisted together to form a trunk. He swung his other leg over the rail and, after testing the giant wisteria for strength, eased himself down, using his feet to brace himself in the descent.

  He landed in the courtyard a moment before a man wearing a black mask emerged from around the side of the house.

  “Halt, assassin! You will unmask yourself and the man who hired you, or die in your own blood!”

  The man, as lean and muscular as a trained acrobat, was clothed all in black and wore a scarf concealing his hair. He sprang, his sword glinting like a silver ribbon in the moonlight.

  Baret sensed his assassin’s power and confidence. His own blade met the aggressive attack, but it was clear that he was in for the fight of his life. This was a swordsman with fencing abilities equal to … Sir Erik Farrow’s.

  For a moment Baret felt his stomach lurch with sickening disappointment. Erik?

  No, impossible! Erik would not betray him to death—but how could he know for sure, since the man’s face and hair were completely masked? They fought in the shadows as distant laughter and music came from the front lawn, the guests of Governor Modyford unaware of the deatth-fight in the solitude of the back garden.

  The assassin turned his blade and lunged, narrowly missing Baret’s throat and nicking his shoulder instead. Baret fought off the attack but could not gain the offensive as up and down the courtyard their steel blades rang.

  Then, finally, all Baret’s training came to his aid like emotional reinforcements. His Toledo blade found an opening and bit hard, making contact. His sword swept a circle before him, and the assassin fell back with a slash across his forearm. Baret came at him powerfully now, beating back his enemy’s blade.

  The blood streaming toward the man’s wrist threatened his grip. He was unsure now, and his cool confidence appeared to wane as Baret smashed a ringing blow. The stranger staggered, then recovered. Baret pressed him harder. The man sprang like a wounded tiger fighting for his life, lunging in a last desperate attempt to run him through. Baret shook the sweat from his eyes and savagely beat down the blade, feinted back, lured the man in. He took the bait, leaned in to take advantage, but Baret was prepared and met him with a direct thrust. The assassin stumbled, fell, and the hired sword clattered to the cobbles.

  Baret approached
his fallen foe, reluctant to discover who the killer might be. He stooped and pulled away the mask. Their eyes locked. And relief poured through Baret’s soul. Not Erik.

  “Who hired you?” he breathed. “My uncle?”

  He didn’t expect the man to answer and was surprised when he did.

  “Jasper,” he whispered bitterly. “At the order of Felix.”

  So …

  “At the Bailey too?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who are you? Where do you come from?”

  “Doesn’t matter … Harwick alive …”

  “Karlton?”

  “Galley slave … slave ship … on way to Spanish colonies …”

  Karlton was alive?

  The attempted assassin stared up at Baret, trying to speak again, but his words ended in strangled silence.

  25

  PROMISE ME FOREVER

  The sun had long ago set. A blue-gold star, blazing its glory above the bay, was yet visible in the twilight. How long Emerald had simply leaned there against the tree, resting before the long walk back to the lookout house, she did not know. She saw that the moon was now making its way across the ebony sky to dip into the Caribbean.

  She now wished she hadn’t sent Zeddie off to Foxemoore, for the walk ahead seemed a horrendous task. Still, she must get home. And she couldn’t remain here much longer without detection by some meandering couple enjoying the last of the moonlight.

  She left the tree, walking slowly now through the shadows, away from the guests, away from Baret.

  Palm trees became shivering silhouettes in the purple twilight that enveloped the smooth lawn and towering trees of the garden. Long beds of red hibiscus, peonies, and roses, growing in profusion, scented the breeze.

  Raising her eyes, Emerald looked ahead and then stopped, tensing. Baret leaned against a palm, arms folded, his buccaneer shirt showing white in the semidarkness.

  “You can run all you want,” he said. “You won’t get away from me. I won’t let you. I would have come sooner, but a small incident delayed me.”

  The irony in his voice alerted her. She doubted it had been a small incident.

  Still, she didn’t want to risk her emotions further. She darted away.

  He caught her and turned her around to face him, enclosing her in his embrace. “Will you surrender peaceably, madam, or do you encourage me to use other means?”

  “Let go of me, please.”

  “No.” His brow lifted, and his mouth showed a hint of smile. “One other time you ran away from me and jumped ship. This time, I’m not about to let you escape.”

  Emerald stared up into warm, intense dark eyes and felt herself weakening. She noticed a silver pendant about his throat, saw that for the first time he wore the family coat of arms, showing he was heir to an earldom. And then she saw the fresh bloodstain on his shirt.

  “You’re hurt! But how? In the governor’s meeting tonight Felix admitted you were the king’s agent—you were to be safe!”

  “It’s all right. The wound is minor. I have much to explain, and I have some wonderful news for you, but now I want to talk to you about us,” he said softly.

  Could there be such a thing as wonderful news after all she’d undergone, after what both of them had been through? It hurt too much to hope again.

  “I must go now, please!”

  “I have so much to say. Will you listen?”

  A weighty silence settled between them.

  “Perhaps this will partially explain … I have something I want to give you.” He reached into his shirt and handed her a small, ornate silver box that danced with brightness in the moonlight. Then he took her hand, opened it gently, and set the box on her palm. “This is for you. With my deepest apologies, and my heart’s devotion.”

  Her own heart bounced to her stomach then back to her throat. Her eyes closed to hold back the tears. She knew what it was, and she was afraid to open the box, for her emotions were ready to burst. “I can’t,” she whispered, her throat dry. “Not now, not tonight—”

  “Open it.”

  She swallowed. Her trembling fingers fumbled with the catch, lifted the lid. What lay inside was not the Buckington ring that would vow their public betrothal, but she was far from disappointed.

  “It belonged to my mother. In giving it to you, I compare you with all that is fine, noble, and pure.”

  Her breath caught. A single ruby pendant glimmered like a wine-colored rose, drenching with sweetness and dew. “Oh, Baret …” Her voice failed.

  He lifted her face. “‘Who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies.’” He kissed away the tears welling in her eyes. “My beloved is undefiled. ‘Thou art all fair, my love; there is no spot in thee.’” His arms enclosed her in a heart-stopping embrace, secure, and wonderful.

  “Baret, you can’t mean that you’re actually in love with me?”

  “My love is unquenchable. Is that strongly worded enough, or would you like more?”

  Joy that was strong and blessed swelled in her heart. “Yes,” she said softly, hoping her voice wouldn’t tremble. “It is enough.”

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. “I need to ask your forgiveness.”

  “No,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes. “You do not.”

  “I’ve finally allowed reason to prevail and took time to look into the matter—something I should have done at the start. You never gave me reason to mistrust you, but ‘love is strong as death; jealousy is cruel as the grave: the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame,’” he quoted Solomon. “When you told me you were at the hacienda for just two days, I went back. The house slave explained the truth. I confronted Carlotta, and she admitted she lied for reasons of her own.”

  “Because of Jasper?”

  He hesitated. “I’d prefer you didn’t ask me her reason, since it will cause more pain for everyone involved, especially you. Can you be satisfied with my knowing the truth?”

  She suspected Lavender, but anger and jealousy toward her conniving cousin no longer seemed to matter. No longer did Lavender stand between them. Baret believed in her again. What else mattered beneath the sweetly rising amber moon? He’s in love with me.

  “I would like our public betrothal settled and out in the open before I sail in three weeks,” he said. “I’m fully convinced of what I have felt from the beginning. Convinced enough to ask you to marry me, not because of a duel, or my grandfather’s expectations, but because I want you for my own. And I’m willing and anxious to prove it. Tonight, if you like. There’s no reason to wait, is there?”

  No reason to wait, her mind repeated in a dazed fluster. “Here?” Her voice failed in a whisper. “Tonight?”

  “Cecil is here to marry us. Tonight I would honor my beloved before all. The governor is giving a celebration. Why not make use of it? Anyone of importance in Jamaica is here, including my grandfather. And you,” he said, giving her a little squeeze, “look delectable enough to be a bride.”

  Emerald gave a nervous laugh. “But we mustn’t. We can’t. I mean, we couldn’t—I couldn’t marry you tonight—not yet!”

  He persisted with a kiss that left her breathless. “Why not?”

  She tried to pull away. “It wouldn’t be decent after all the things said about me. I—there must be at least a year’s wait …”

  “A year!”

  “You know what they’ll think, what they’ll say, if you suddenly marry me now—tonight!” she blurted out.

  His mouth curved with irony. “As long as I know the truth, what does it matter?” Then he laughed, seeing her expression. “Very well. I see your point, and it’s well taken, especially if you wish to start that Christian singing school. Your pristine reputation we shall guard to the very end! But we’ll have the betrothal at least. How and where do you want it?”

  She tried to calm the pounding of her heart. “Foxemoore. In—the Great House, with candles burning and everyone there,
including—” She paused.

  “Lavender?” His dark eyes bore a malicious twinkle. “So you do have a villainous streak after all.”

  “I was going to say Minette,” she said with a laugh.

  “Whatever you want. Foxemoore it is. But it will need to take place before I sail with Morgan.”

  She was still troubled by another thought. “But—how can I marry you when your reputation is restored with Earl Nigel? You’re a viscount!”

  His eyes laughed at her. “Then I’ll become a pirate,” he said glibly. “And if my reputation is ‘restored,’ as you put it, I restored it so as to come back to Port Royal to find you. To storm Brideswell if I had to.”

  “For me! It wasn’t for Lavender, then?”

  “For you. And from now on I will do everything for us. And now …” His eyes held hers. “There’s something you’re forgetting, something I want from you and have waited to hear. So far I’ve done all the committing. I’ve spoken all the words of love. Don’t you have anything to commit to me before God?”

  She smiled, tears softening her eyes. “I have much to say to you. I have set you as a seal upon my heart, for ‘many waters cannot quench love.’” She wrapped her arms about him, taking pride in him, gazing up at him fervently. “My heart, I commit to you forever. Oh, yes, I shall confess. I love you, my lord viscount.”

  Thoughtfully he wrapped about his finger one of her lustrous curls that had come undone. “Well said. And what of that blackguard pirate Foxworth? Could you love him too?”

  “Well … if you promise not to tell.”

  “Your dark secret is safe.”

  “I confess I love him equally.”

  “Well enough. He may resort to his old habits. And if he does, you may yet need to be swept away on a pirate’s ship. With your endeavors at Foxemoore, and mine with Morgan, we may both end up fleeing for our lives to the Carolinas after all.” He smiled. “And now, there is something else. Happy news. Perhaps you should sit down on the grass. I don’t want you to faint.”