The Jezebel's Daughter

by Juliet MacLeod

  The night air felt like warm velvet and the skies were clear. Breezes were perfumed with flowers, smoke, and roasting meats. The streets were crowded with ladies and gentlemen promenading, going in and out of taverns and inns and private residences, talking and laughing. In Le Cap, as I had heard residents refer to the town, the French gentry had made a miniature Paris in the middle of a tropical forest. I'm sure behind the closed doors I passed, they were holding salons, where bright young people might discuss politics, literature, and art. I yearned for that life, the life that I might have lived in Antigua had the Resolution not sunk and forever changed the course of my future.

  We soon made it to the Bird and Bottle Tavern, and the carriage driver helped me alight. I moved up the steps and through the front door and was pleasantly surprised by the interior. Most taverns, in my experience, were dark, smoky, filthy places filled with loud drunkards and whores plying their trade. There were also, of course, plenty of pickpockets to be aware of and one would be wise to keep their purse on the table in front of them or stuffed down their boot for safe keeping.

  The Bird and Bottle, however, was none of those things. It was a tidy establishment, with whitewashed walls, clean pinewood floors, and plenty of warm, inviting candle light. The hearth, located at the far end of the room, looked as though it was swept daily, and a charming painting of a small sparrow or perhaps a robin sitting on the edge of a stone bottle hung proudly above the mantel.

  I looked around the room, searching the crowd for Captain MacIsaac, and nearly missed him. He'd obviously gone somewhere to clean up and change clothing as well. His hair had been washed and combed neatly; it shined in the firelight like a fox pelt. It was clubbed at the nape of his neck and tied with a bit of peacock-blue ribbon. He was dressed in dark gray coat and breeches, a snowy-white shirt with frothy lace at the cuffs and throat, and a familiar black waistcoat, embroidered with Chinese flowers in peacock-blue thread. On his feet were proper shoes with silver buckles and a long-bladed sword hung at his waist. He looked every inch a gentleman. I smiled when I saw him.

  He stood as I approached the table, his eyes moving over my gown and my hair, a tiny smile on his lips. “You look lovely, Lady Weymouth,” he said as he helped me into my chair. He signaled to a barmaid, who immediately brought over a bottle of dark red wine and poured glasses for us before disappearing again.

  He retook his seat and sipped the wine, his eyes still on my face. I could feel heat creeping up my cheeks and lowered my eyes, not because I was trying to be coquettish as my mother had taught me, but because I didn't want him to somehow discern any of the conflicting feelings I'd had for him. Surely he would be able to read my thoughts in my eyes just as easily as I could read words on a page.

  I took a deep drink of the wine, not really tasting it, and put the glass back on the table in front of me. “I almost didn't recognize you, Captain,” I said, looking up at him from underneath the fringe of my lashes. “You're not what I expected.”

  “Please, call me Sebastian,” he said. “Surely we can do away with the Captain and Mr. Jones, just for tonight?”

  I smiled and nodded, happy to pretend for a night that we were other than we had been just that morning. “I will call you Sebastian if you call me Loreley.”

  “You have yourself a deal. How do you like the wine?”

  “Oh. It's delightful,” I said and took another sip, this one smaller and more ladylike. I was finding it more difficult than I had anticipated to move past the pirate and embrace the lady I had been. “You have been here before?”

  “Yes, once or twice. I know the owner, sailed with him on the HMS Nightingale.”

  I snickered and bit my lower lip so I wouldn't laugh outright. “The Nightingale? I'm sure you struck terror into the hearts of your enemies.”

  “The HMS Squirrel was in the group with us,” he said with a serious face, though his eyes sparkled with laughter.

  This time, I could not hold back my laughter. It bubbled up and spilled over. It felt good and the smile on the Captain's—on Sebastian's—face warmed me down to my toes. “The Squirrel and the Nightingale, the scourges of the high seas,” I said once my laughter died down. Then I remembered the reason I'd agreed to dine with him this evening and asked my first question. “How did you become a naval man?”

  The barmaid reappeared with platters of food—roast sirloin of beef, stewed chicken with rice and onions, red lentils in a creamy sauce, roasted artichokes with butter, and fist-sized loaves of brioche. My mouth immediately began watering as I waited for Sebastian to be served, and his wine glass refilled. Then I received my own meal and conversation stalled as we sampled everything. The beef was juicy and tender and the artichokes were delicious as well. I had never had lentils but after a taste, I found that I quite liked them.

  Once our plates were mostly clean, Sebastian answered my question. “My family is well-known in Edinburgh,” he said. “My father was an advocate with a degree from St. Andrews, and I was expected to follow in his shoes. The law never appealed to me, however. I wanted to sail. But my father insisted upon a good education, so I went to Edinburgh University for a year to make him happy. He died when I was eighteen and being a young man with a willful, untamed nature, I left school and joined a merchant company. We sailed regularly between The Shore, in Leith, and Le Havre, in the north of France. It was exactly what I wanted. Sailing, adventure, fighting off pirates.”

  “Is that when Graves found you?”

  “No, that wasn't until later. I was impressed three years after joining the merchant company. Stolen right off the docks and put aboard the Nightingale.”

  “But you were a gentleman!” I protested. “They couldn't impress you!”

  He smirked and shook his head. “I tried telling them that. They wouldn't listen. My father was gone and there was no one else to speak for me, so I served until the Nightingale was decommissioned two years later. Then they put me aboard another ship, the HMS Speedwell. That's where I met Graves.”

  “Graves took a ship of the line?” I was astonished. Ships of the line carried no less than fifty guns at all times. The Jezebel, before Sebastian had modified it, hadn't had anything more powerful than swivel guns. There was no way I could think of that she could have stood up to a powerful man-of-war. “How?”

  “No, no. It was nothing like that. The Speedwell wasn't a ship of the line. She was a twenty-gun, sixth-rate frigate. Graves had Hornigold with him. Hornigold was captain of a thirty-gun sloop called the Swan. Together, they made fast work of the Speedwell. The officers, they put to the sword, but the sailors were offered passage or a chance to join up with one of the crews.”

  “And you jumped at the chance to be a pirate,” I said with a knowing smile.

  “Yes, I did,” he said returning my smile. “Graves took me aboard on the Jezebel. He always surrounded himself with educated men. He couldn't read or write, but he understood the power of an education. Hornigold gave the Speedwell to his quartermaster, Edward Teach, and the three ships sailed into Nassau a week later.”

  “And thus did begin the illustrious career of Captain Sebastian MacIsaac, commander of the pirate ship Jezebel.”

  “Precisely.” He put more food on my plate and then on his and we fell into another companionable silence, eating and drinking like civilized people in a genteel setting. I was determined to enjoy as much of the evening as I could and store up the memories of how the food looked and tasted and smelled, how Sebastian looked and the sound of his voice, the velvety softness of the night air, the sound of the conversations around us. It was a night I knew I would think about long after I left the Caribbean and returned to England.

  The dessert course was fruit tarts, sweetened with honey and sugar, and some delicate, lacy cakes, rich with the flavors of cinnamon and heavy cream. My thoughts were of dinner parties my parents had attended and I suddenly felt extremely homesick. “I have enough to buy passage to London now,” I said. “Might I find a ship here to take me?” />
  “Probably not,” he said. “This is a French port, after all. You might be able to find a ship out of Spanish Town, though.”

  “Oh, yes. Of course. Will we be heading there soon?”

  He nodded. “We'll begin another round of the spy network there. If we leave tomorrow and the winds are with us, it should only take three days to sail there.” His mood had changed somehow, become less lighthearted and more serious. I wondered at it and almost asked if something was troubling him, but was too timid to inquire. Perhaps it was because he was thinking of the work to come, the dangers he might face. Perhaps it was because he would be leaving a place where he was free to dine with a lady in amongst polite society.

  After dessert and its dishes were swept away and we sipped sweet wine, he produced a book from his lap and handed it across the table to me. I smiled and peeked at the spine. “Les aventures de Télémaque,” I read. “Telemachus? Ulysses's son?”

  “Exactly the same. The book expands on Telemachus's adventures with Mentor. The author, Fénelon, wrote it as a criticism of the Sun King's rule. In fact, Louis exiled Fénelon from Versailles because he was so scathing in his rebuke.” He shrugged, seemingly somewhat embarrassed by his choice in books. “I thought perhaps you would enjoy it. I did.”

  I stroked the spine, the bumps of the waxed cords used to tie the pages of the book together standing out in stark relief. It was covered in good leather, nubbly in a few spots where the animal's hair had not been completely removed. I covertly raised it to my face and inhaled. There was nothing like the scent of a book. “I won't be able to read it in three days' time,” I said regretfully. “I would have liked to discuss it with you.”

  “I would have liked that as well.” His smile was tinged with sadness and I sighed softly. The mood had soured and I saw no way out of it. It was late, as well, and I felt I should get back to my rented room at the White Horse Inn.

  “Perhaps you could ask to have my carriage pulled around?” I asked Sebastian. “I have a room with a proper bed and I've been looking forward to sleeping in it all night.”

  “You are staying at the White Horse?”

  “Yes. Thank you for the recommendation.”

  “It's not far. I'll escort you.”

  “You don't have to do that,” I said. “The innkeeper hired a carriage for me. I'll be fine.”

  He stood and extended his hand to me. “I insist. If we are to go back to Captain MacIsaac and Mr. Jones tomorrow, I would like to spend a little more time with Sebastian and Loreley. If the lady agrees?”

  I nodded and slipped my hand into his, allowing him to help me to my feet. His hand was warm and rough with callouses. I gripped it as he turned to face the door and tucked my arm inside his, laying my hand along his forearm. “The lady agrees,” I said, looking up at him, overwhelmed by his nearness. I could feel the heat of his body through the layers of our clothing and he smelled of spices and citrus and something masculine and musky. My heart was pounding so hard I was certain he could feel it through my fingertips.

  For a brief moment, I entertained a dream of asking him to leave behind the Jezebel and go back to London with me. He could become a merchant with a fleet of ships. We could marry, have children, be happy in a civilized, safe place, far away from rape and murder and violence. Reality crashed back in when I remembered that he was Scottish and a Jacobite. No one in London society would accept him. Maybe Edinburgh, then? He said his family was well-known in the city. Surely we could make a place for ourselves there.

  “You're thinking about something,” he said as we left the tavern and went down the stairs to the street below. “I always know when you're thinking about something. Your eyes narrow and you get this vertical line right here.” He raised his free hand and gently pressed his forefinger to a spot directly between my brows.

  I smiled and shook my head a little. “Just thinking about tomorrow. About bindings and breeches and pistols and maps.” He nodded, his eyes far off in his own thoughts.

  We paused long enough to dismiss the carriage and driver for the evening. Sebastian tipped him modestly before the man and his horses left. The night was cooler than it had been when I arrived, but Sebastian's heat kept me warm. We strolled along slowly, nodding and exchanging brief greetings with other couples and groups we passed along the way to my inn.

  I soon became engrossed by the architecture of the town. The houses were so different from the ones in Nassau, which were by and large as colorful as the caged birds in the Earthly Delights courtyard. The houses in Le Cap were whitewashed and all sported black shutters and doors. Each one was surrounded by a lushly planted garden. Flowers of every color and hue in the rainbow made a riotous picture against the stark white of the homes. I paused by one and examined it closer, intrigued by what I saw and smelled.

  There was a large vine creeping along a black wrought-iron fence that wrapped around the front of the house. The vine's leaves were glossy and emerald green, and delicate, star-shaped flowers grew on little spears, covering the vine. The most amazing, heady fragrance I'd ever encountered wafted from them and I gasped in sheer delight, completely forgetting myself to press my face into the bunches of blooms.

  Sebastian chuckled softly and plucked a large bunch to hand to me. “Star jasmine,” he explained as I took the posey from him. “It only blooms at night.”

  “It's lovely. Do you think it would grow in London?” I pressed my face into the flowers and inhaled deeply again.

  “There's probably specimens in the hothouses in town. I'm sure there are some at Kew Park, as well.”

  “I should like one in my house. I wonder if the Marquess would be able to get one for me?”

  I looked up to find him staring at me, a most earnest expression on his face. It was very much like the expression on Graves's face the first time he saw me after an extended absence. But while this look on Graves's face terrified me, on Sebastian's it had an altogether entirely different effect. My blood ran hot, my pulse pounded in my ears, and I could feel a fire being stoked down deep in my belly.

  He raised his hand and gently cupped the side of my face, his fingers splayed out over my cheek. His thumb traced my lower lip for a moment before he lowered his mouth to mine, never letting go of my gaze. He kissed me, his lips warm and soft and pliant, the motion tentative, as though he was asking for my permission. It dawned on me that he was doing exactly that.

  I reached out with my free hand and took his, giving it a gentle squeeze, hoping that would convey to him just how much I wanted his kiss. It must have been effective, because he closed his eyes and his lips became insistent and demanding, his hand on my face possessive. I closed my own eyes as the kiss deepened, became hungrier. I felt the tip of his tongue sliding over my lips, gently pushing between them. I opened my mouth and hesitantly touched his tongue with my own, tasting the wine we'd had for dessert.

  I made a tiny noise as the fires rose in my belly. He let go of my hand and gripped my waist, pulling me against his body, holding me tightly. His hand slid back into my hair and I raised my free hand to his face, my fingers tracing his jaw. The stubble of his beard was endearing and I smiled into the kiss. He rewarded me with a smile of his own and we reluctantly drew back, just enough that we could look into each other's eyes without going cross-eyed.

  “Stay with me,” he whispered, the blue of his eyes nearly swallowed whole by the black of his pupils. “Don't go back to London, Loreley.”

  I blinked and my hand fell away from his face. “Stay with you? On board the Jezebel?” He nodded, his hands still in my hair, on my waist. “As a man?” I asked, my brow furrowed.

  He shook his head and stepped back, letting me go. “No, you're right, of course. You'd be in danger if anyone ever found you out. And they would. I can't...” He broke off, turning away and looking up at the house we were standing in front of. He took a deep breath, straightened his coat, and squared his shoulders. “You want to return to England, yes?”

  “Of course.
I don't... I can't stay here, Sebastian. Not alone and I cannot be... what I was in Nassau.”

  “No, you deserve more. But have you considered what your life will be like once you're in your uncle's home?” He turned to face me once more, his eyes hard now, the corners of his mouth lacking their usual secretive smile. “You were raped, your virginity taken from you. You will have a hard time finding a husband because of it, and only someone desperate for an heir or perhaps the Marquess's influence or fortune would marry you. At best, you'll be in a loveless, joyless marriage. At worst, you'll be an embarrassment to your family and kept out of society, a thing to be pitied and gossiped about for ages to come.”

  His words were like fists to my gut. I felt breathless, panicked. I turned to grip the pickets of the fence, feeling the day's lingering heat in them. He was right. I knew he was right, but it didn't take the sting out of his bluntness. My panic morphed into anger and I whirled on him, stabbing him in the chest with my forefinger. “How dare you, sir? How dare you say those things to me! I will not be a thing to be pitied or put aside. I will not be forced into any such relationship as you have described. I will have love. I will have happiness.” I nearly stamped my foot. Some small part of me said I was acting like a childish, spoiled brat who was throwing a tantrum because she couldn't have another sweetie. But I didn't care. How could he ruin such a perfect night by saying those ugly things?

  He took another step back, taking himself out of the range of my ire, and held his hands up in front of himself in surrender. “Just think about my offer. And think about London society. Think about the kinds of people who might influence your uncle's decisions. You'd be completely at his mercy, Loreley.” He paused and stared hard at me then nodded once, curtly. “I'll walk you to your inn now.”