Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  His pointed beard, auburn in color and curling upward, had grown an inch or two in captivity. His once fine shirt was tattered and his leather breeches soiled. His straight wide brows slashed across a roughened face that showed the marks of hunger, and his piercing eyes were sharp with intensity.

  “Better to break your chains here on the coast of Cuba than have to search for you all the way to Madrid,” said Baret with a laugh. “Convincing His Most Excellent Catholic Majesty King Philip to free you might be a bit harder than releasing you from Lex Thorpe. Well, you’re looking fair enough, considering you’ve been a galley slave for the Dutch and then a prisoner of Lex for weeks.”

  Karlton’s smile turned lean and hard. He pulled aside his tattered tunic and showed the marks of a whip across his chest and back.

  Baret made no response, but his anger churned when he also saw the deep bruises caused by chains around his wrists and ankles.

  “Who did this? Lex, or the slave ship?”

  Karlton’s eyes reflected the depth of his troubling thoughts. “When a man is treated as naught but a work ox, it matters not whether the Dutch own him or the Spaniards. It all comes out the same brew. It happened as a galley slave. And I’ve Felix to thank for my abduction that night in Port Royal. Him and Jasper both—” His eyes turned to gray stone. “And Pitt. Wait till I wring the man’s neck!”

  Baret was concerned over what Karlton would do when he learned the worst of Pitt’s deviltry, which had resulted in Emerald’s incarceration in Brideswell. Now did not seem the time to add fuel to his fiery rage.

  “Don’t worry about Pitt. I’ve left him to Sir Cecil until we return. Pitt will get his due reward in time. First we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “Where’s Emerald?”

  “Aboard Morgan’s ship.”

  “Morgan!”

  Baret smiled. “Guarded by both Ty and Zeddie and being escorted tomorrow to a meeting on the beach. Calm yourself, Karlton. The public betrothal to me has already taken place. I’ve every intention of marrying your daughter—and the sooner the better. Now that you’re here, I don’t see any reason to wait, do you?”

  Baret masked his amusement as he watched Karlton’s concern turn to surprise, then satisfaction.

  “Aye, my goodly lad, so it’s come to it at last, has it? Well, now! And who is to say a wedding among the Brethren of the Coast is to be scorned when the merry groom is a viscount?”

  Baret felt anything but a merry groom. “There’s Levasseur to deal with first, and Lex. We’d better get off this foul ship. Any other poor prisoners aboard?”

  “Bah, who’d survive long under Lex? Nay, nary a one, but I can’t say the Same for the Dutch ship. There were plenty who went to the bottom of the Caribbean, thanks to Lex and Rafael. I tell you, Baret, being a slave meself for a time turns the light on the whole matter of slavery. I’ve some deep changes to work on Foxemoore when I get back.”

  “Emerald will give you all the encouragement you need.”

  A voice spoke from the dark confines of the hold. “Ye’ve forgotten one man, Harwick—that wretch I picked up floatin’ on a piece of the Dutch ship.”

  They both turned toward Hacket. Baret had almost forgotten he loitered in the shadows and wondered that he’d bother to mention a prisoner. Would Hacket be a thorn in the side, or was he a kinder man after all? If so, he ought to get away from the Black Dragon before all his sensibilities were warped beyond repair.

  “Aye, I forgot about him,” agreed Karlton thoughtfully and looked toward the stern.

  “What prisoner?” Baret looked to Karlton for explanation.

  He shook his head. “I’ve never spoken to him—on the Dutch ship or here. I only saw him hauled down here soon after the ship was sunk.”

  “He’s in poor shape,” Hacket said. “We was soon to throw him overboard as feed him. Says he was a prisoner in Havana and escaped. Then the Dutch picked him up.”

  Any man who had once been a prisoner in Havana was an excellent source of information.

  “Bring him,” Baret ordered.

  16

  ENCOUNTER ON THE BEACH

  After arriving at the rendezvous with his ships from Port Royal, Morgan waited for the Tortuga buccaneers to arrive, ship by ship. The moment a vessel was sighted, his buccaneers would prepare for battle, never certain if it was a Spanish galleon from Havana that had unwittingly come upon them or merely one of the Brotherhood of the Coast. But the sails spotted almost inevitably belonged to another privateer coming in to rendezvous with Morgan and receive a legal commission from Governor Modyford.

  By the appointed date in March, a dangerous group of some seven hundred buccaneers had arrived at the rendezvous.

  The Regale and Warspite were the largest ships, then Levasseur’s Venture, Sir Karlton Harwick’s Madeleine, now captained by his friend Hannibal, and Pierre LaMonte’s Bonaventure. Morgan’s old friend Capt. John Morris had the Dolphin.

  Baret knew that, for the most part, the pirates preferred the smaller vessels so that they could maneuver easily among cays where the cumbersome galleons from Madrid could not follow. The large open boats were fitted with a single mast and a swivel gun in the bow, similar to the vessel that he, Erik, and Pierre had used to surprise the San Pedro. These smaller vessels were decked over forward to provide shelter for the crews in the frequent rainstorms and a somewhat dry place to store provisions. The distance they could sail was often governed by the amount of liquid they could carry for drinking and by how long the men could stand being soaking wet—as they were bound to be in a stiff breeze.

  The pirates manning them were not seamen in Baret’s thinking, because he had graduated from the Royal Naval Academy. The pirates rarely would attack a Spanish vessel. They instead preferred to anchor in some cay or other shallow near a Spanish town such as Villahermosa, then march secretly many miles overland to attack the town as marauding soldiers. This strategy was Morgan’s way, as Baret well knew, since he had voyaged with him to Gran Granada.

  Many of these men, like Morgan, had not been seamen until coming to the West Indies but had served as soldiers in the land wars of Europe. They reasoned in terms of overcoming a town’s militia rather than of taking Spanish ships.

  Baret and Erik Farrow preferred ship-to-ship fighting, but now—sailing with Morgan—they were prepared to march inland to assault the Spanish garrisons.

  The Golden Future was anchored as close to shore as the coral reefs would allow. The midday sun was scorching, and while the vessels waited at anchor, men rigged awnings of canvas and fished, hoping to lure a big grouper or snapper. Others were gambling, using playing cards made from leaves of the signature tree, which could be carved and dried until they were durable like thin pieces of leather.

  A longboat had been lowered to bring Emerald to the beach where Morgan was convening his meeting between Baret and Rafael.

  She waited on deck, in silence looking out at the sea and the ships, feeling the wind and smelling the salty air. She was still wearing her betrothal gown. Its yards of pale blue satin and ribbons of velvet embroidered with gold were now torn and soiled. The ripped two-inch trim of cream lace fluttered at the edge of her bell sleeves. Her dark hair, once meticulously arranged in countless French curls was partially undone, though she had tried to rearrange it upon learning to her joy that Baret would be at the buccaneers’ meeting.

  Then she was taken to shore in the company of Zeddie and her cousin Ty Levasseur. Two of Morgan’s crewmen dragged the longboat up onto the beach, and Emerald stepped out onto the wet sand, trying to prevent a wavelet from frothing over her ankles.

  Quickly her anxious gaze scanned the meeting place up from the beach, but she did not see Baret. Could something have gone wrong?

  She sent up a urgent prayer, pleading for the Lord’s intervention, yet her storm-tossed faith was troubled as the ordeal was prolonged and she began to reason how impossible it was that the Lord could work out her circumstances for good. Matters were too
dark. How was it possible to escape the snares? Her beautiful and sentimental betrothal ceremony had been ruined, just as her dress was ruined. All her wonderful plans for serving the Lord at Foxemoore had come unraveled like the lace on her sleeves, and here she was among hundreds of pirates in the South Cays of Cuba with Henry Morgan!

  “Could anything more go wrong?” she murmured, lifting the hem of her dress as she ascended the wet sandy shore under the broiling tropical sun.

  “Ain’t all sulphuric news, m’gal,” Zeddie said cheerfully as he strode along beside her. His leather sling with pistols had been returned to him by Morgan’s crew, and except for a new bruise on the back of his head, acquired at the manor house when he had spied Levasseur and gone there to see what he was up to, he seemed in robust health.

  “Captain Foxworth’s here, to be sure. He’s a rare man to reckon with, and the infamous blackguards all know it. If Levasseur was cocklebur enough to abduct ye like this, it’s because he expects ye to side with him to save Sir Karlton. But ye heard what Ty told ye this morning, and I’m thinkin’ he’s right. Your father’s here is my guess. See that ship? What else could it mean? ‘Twill be a snowy day in Jamaica when I don’t recognize Lex Thorpe’s pirate vessel. See yonder?”

  Emerald shaded her eyes and looked with a shudder at the Black Dragon. She grimaced as old memories came flooding in. Zeddie had pointed out the ship to her when they were still aboard Morgan’s vessel, and she had experienced again the past horror of having confronted Captain Thorpe near Margarita. Now, as Zeddie had just said, Ty had reason to believe that her father was on the Black Dragon, held for ransom by Thorpe and Levasseur. The payment would be her cooperation at the buccaneers’ meeting, where she would tell Henry Morgan that she had willingly left with Rafael and still wished to go with him. If she did not, the fate of her father aboard the Black Dragon would remain precarious, left to the cruel whims of Lex Thorpe.

  “I don’t see how you can be optimistic, Zeddie. If Thorpe has my father, it’s because he’s working with Rafael. Together, they’re not likely to have left anyway for me to escape.”

  Her heart ached as she thought of Baret. Would he understand that she must cooperate with Rafael?

  No, he would not. And how could she deny him before the host of buccaneers?

  Remembering her past ordeal with Thorpe on the Venezuelan Main, when the pirate had boarded her father’s ship and taken them captive, brought a rush of despair.

  What if Baret didn’t come at all? What if she were alone here among all these scoundrels?

  No! She must not allow her heart to create fears and her mind to persistently mull them over. Her trust remained in her heavenly Father, who was all-powerful and ever faithfully in control.

  As she walked up from the wet sand, she looked cautiously about, still hoping to see Baret.

  He wasn’t there!

  What if—her mind screamed with sudden panic—what if they had overcome him last night? And where was the Regale anchored? Why hadn’t Zeddie and Ty been able to point it out this morning when they had spotted the Black Dragon?”

  Her feet sank into the soft dry sand as she continued to walk away from the beach. A few hundred feet ahead, perhaps a dozen buccaneer captains and their men were gathered beneath an awning of faded sailcloth, watching and waiting. Her heart fluttered. She must be brave.

  A buccaneer was walking toward her. She paused and shaded her eyes, staring intently. He wore a gaping white shirt of cool cotton, dark breeches, and the inevitable brace of pistols. The breeze played with his blue wide-brimmed hat and curling ostrich feather.

  Zeddie and Ty stopped, and Emerald broke into a smile. Picking up the hem of her skirts, she ran toward Baret.

  They met in a sweeping embrace, and she clung to him as their lips met. A shout of laughter arose from the buccaneers, but Emerald hardly heard them, for she felt as though she stood in the court of King Charles in Whitehall.

  “You’re all right?” Baret asked.

  “I am now,” she whispered, her eyes clinging to his.

  As they looked at each other, an angry voice shouted. “Monsieur Foxworth!”

  She stiffened at Rafael’s voice but saw only irritation mixed with boredom in Baret’s face. His eyes narrowed.

  She gripped his arms. “No, please don’t duel him. You know I love you. Is there no other way?”

  “Maybe, but the man grows more burdensome by the hour.”

  Her eyes pleaded with his. “Please … you must understand what I’m about to do. I … I must go with him. For … for a short time is all. He has my father.”

  His eyes narrowed further. “You would deny me for him in front of the captains?”

  Her heart wrenched with pain. “Oh! How can I?”

  His eyes softened then. “It is unfair of me to even suggest you must.” He held her close. “But you’ve a happy surprise coming. Your father is with me, but Rafael and Lex don’t know that yet. Shall we surprise them?”

  She sucked in her breath. “With you? But how? I thought—the Black Dragon—”

  “You were right. But we were able to get aboard last night and free him. He’s recuperating aboard the Regale with another notable prisoner that Lex was too blundering to realize was a friend of Governor Modyford.”

  Her heart swelled with laughter. She threw her arms around his neck and drew his head down toward her face. “I love you, Baret Buckington!”

  “Enough to marry me now?”

  Her lips parted with surprise, but the longer his gaze held hers, the more confident she became that it must be this way. It was inevitable, and she wished it to be so.

  “You’re serious?” she whispered.

  “Of course.” His eyes teased her. “Do you think I’d give up my cabin again?”

  Her laughter died as Levasseur strode toward them and stopped some twenty paces away. The wind pulled at his hat, and his black eyes blazed.

  “Monsieur! She comes with me! Step aside!”

  “No, Rafael!” she shouted. “No!” She started to step between them, but Baret took her arm and whirled her behind him.

  “I have had more of you than I can take, Rafael. What will it be, the blade or pistol?”

  “Pistol!”

  Emerald’s hand flew to her mouth. “No—”

  “Stay your hand, you rogues!” shouted Morgan, striding toward them with a black scowl on his rugged face. “Miss Har-wick has yet to choose her man! We’ve agreed the choice is hers alone. You, Rafael, and you, Baret—you agreed to the terms aboard my ship only last night. Will you keep the bargain of faith or nay?”

  Levasseur smiled confidently. “Let her choose. I will abide the answer, but will Foxworth?”

  Baret smiled too and offered a brief bow. “It is a bargain, Rafael. The demoiselle will choose, and we will both abide her decision.” He turned toward Emerald.

  She walked forward, looking from Baret to the scowling Morgan to the smirking Rafael.

  “Remember, Mademoiselle Emerald,” said Levasseur, “what we discussed at Foxemoore the night you willingly left with me.”

  Her eyes chilled as they raked him. “I remember well, Rafael.”

  He stood cockily, one hand on his hip, his booted foot out in front of him on a rock, and looked at Morgan. “You have heard her, Monsieur Colonel Morgan.”

  “Aye, I heard her,” snapped Morgan and looked at Baret.

  Baret gestured with a jeweled hand in airy dismissal. “Proceed, my captain!”

  Morgan turned and beckoned for the captains, and eight or ten sauntered forward through the sand.

  Their gaudy outfits reminded Emerald of a flock of strutting peacocks. There was a flash of purple, blue taffeta, gold lace, and a round of hats—all were decked with pirated Spanish gems and plumes, each one seeking to outdo the other in gallantry and dress. They bowed, somewhat clumsily, and a number of accents filled her ears in a garble of French, Dutch, and blunt English.

  Morgan cleared his throat. “As you kno
w, Lady Harwick, we are all about the king’s business. And the fair Governor Modyford of Jamaica has given me commission to take Spanish prisoners and find out what devilment Madrid is up to when it comes to landing Spaniards on sweet English territory. We’ll be gone some months, and it’s no fair place for a lady to be—unless, of course, she’s with her husband. And even then,” he warned with a glower, “she’ll keep from flaunting her fair face among the seven hundred buccaneers sailin’ under my commission. Is that clear?”

  Emerald retained her cool dignity. “Yes, Colonel Morgan, of course. And I assure you, the last thing I wish is to become a problem among seven hundred ogling buccaneers.”

  The captains laughed until they looked at Baret and saw the glitter in his steady gaze.

  “Which means,” belabored Morgan, “that you’ll choose your man now and that you’ll marry aboard his ship, on which you will promise to remain.”

  Emerald swallowed nervously, and her damp hands clutched her skirts. “I have decided those to be fair terms, Captain Morgan.”

  He looked suspiciously from Baret to Levasseur. “Fair enough. Then which of these two dawcocks do ye wish to marry?”

  Emerald, with heart pounding, walked over to Baret, keeping her back toward Levasseur. “I wish to marry Captain Buckington.”

  Baret’s arm went around her, drawing her toward him. But she saw that his gaze remained upon Levasseur, where it had been all along, as though he expected him to react violently. She saw Baret’s hand resting on his pistol.

  Levasseur cursed. “No, Monsieur, no! It shall not be. She cannot!”

  “Har!” Morgan shouted. “We all heard Lady Harwick’s choice. Ye’ve vowed ye’d stay by the decision, Rafael.”

  Emerald stood with anxiety, fearing there would yet be a duel. Please, she kept praying, make him leave peacefully. Please protect us.

  “Mademoiselle Emerald! And what of Uncle Karlton? Have you forgotten? I will do as I have said at Foxemoore!”

  Emerald took confidence from the squeeze of Baret’s hand, and she turned her head to look over at Rafael.