The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  “You do,” Robin quietly insisted. “We peel potatoes better than anyone. Mickey says so.”

  The thought of the aristocratic young lad happily peeling potatoes under their Irish cook only briefly amused Alex. He did not like being manipulated, even by Meg and Robin. He did not like the prospect of even more danger.

  They had been lucky thus far, and that, he feared, gave them a false sense of security. They’d encountered no British warships, and their first capture had been bloodless. One shot and the ship had lowered its colors. He wondered whether Burke’s pipes had anything to do with it. He’d stood on deck, blowing away as if he’d been on a battlefield. The sound carried across the sea and probably sounded frighteningly eerie to the British crew. Sailors the world over were a superstitious lot.

  But not every ship’s crew would be intimidated by his limited number of guns or Burke’s pipes.

  “You can stay,” he said. “For now.” In truth, he had no choice. He could hardly dump them in the sea. He could take them to Martinique, but what then? He could not leave them there alone, and now he needed every man jack he had.

  The two children grinned and then slipped away before he could change his mind.

  Aboard the Charlotte

  Jenna took a deep breath of tangy night air on the quarterdeck as the ship bucked in the heavy seas.

  Celia was in their cabin, praying for the voyage to end. She had weathered the first days nicely, but rougher seas had brought on illness five days ago. She now looked dreadful, her face pale and her eyes dull. The mistress had become maid.

  That did not bother Jenna. It was good to do something, to be useful. To be needed.

  It also felt wonderful to be out of the stifling air of the cabin. Although it was the largest of six passenger cabins, it was still small and cramped, and she had given up her privacy to share the cabin with Celia. She was grateful, though. The captain at first had been reluctant to take them as passengers without a chaperone, but then had relented when a gentleman agreed to book Maisie’s unused cabin at a higher fare.

  Captain Talbot had turned into a guardian of sorts, taking it upon himself to look out for her, and also for Celia when she’d been accosted by a member of the crew. He was greedy but he also seemed to be a gentleman. Meals were delivered to her cabin except for those rare occasions when she agreed to eat at his table with the other eight passengers. Celia, as a servant, was not invited. Despite years of being served, Jenna’s view had changed; Celia had become her friend and ally, and she didn’t want to leave her to eat alone in the cabin.

  At least now she had enough money to pay for her and Celia’s fare if they had to leave Barbados.

  She wore the customary long-sleeved gown and gloves, but as the large ship reached warmer waters, she longed to go without them, to feel the wind touch her arms, her hands. But concealment had become a way of life to her and she knew she would have to become used to the warm temperatures and bright sun after the cold, biting winds and mist and rain of the Highlands.

  Despite the heaving of the ship, she enjoyed the voyage. She had the instincts and feel of a natural sailor, the captain had remarked.

  The observation had pleased her. If she were a man, she might well pick sailing as a way of life. She didn’t even mind the storms. In truth, she had reveled in them, while poor Celia had lain gasping in her bed.

  The captain joined her at the rail. “A brisk wind, and we’ll be docking in Barbados in two days.”

  “I will miss the sea,” she said.

  “Ah, you will probably be seeing it every day,” he said. “Barbados is not a large island. I don’t know where your Mr. Murray lives, but you will not be far from the sea.”

  “Tell me about Barbados.”

  “It’s a paradise, my lady. The water is a hundred shades of blue and green. You will like it there.”

  She had not told him she had never seen her prospective husband. It was humiliating that the only way she could get a husband was to accept one who had never seen her, who was apparently as desperate for a wife as her parents had been to lose a daughter.

  Be honest. You wanted it, too.

  She bit her lip as she stared at the sky. It looked like a bolt of midnight blue velvet spread across a surface and decorated with a giant ball of gold and sprinkled with diamonds. She felt small, very small. Very unimportant. And yet it awed her, too.

  “How is your Celia?”

  “She will be very happy to put her feet on the ground.”

  “You might warn her that the land will rock, too, for a while.”

  She turned and looked at him.

  “Aye, my lady. It will probably rock harder than this old lady has.”

  She looked out at the darkness again, the sea illuminated by the moon. “Do you ever see any other ships out here?”

  “No. Most of the pirates plying these seas have been caught.”

  She shivered in the warm air. “I’ve heard of them. Are there none left?”

  “A few who call themselves privateers,” he said with distaste. “But they are nothing more than pirates. British warships have cleared out most of them.”

  She wondered what kind of man would turn to piracy. They were all said to be murderers as well as thieves, barbarous men who enjoyed killing their victims. She shivered although the air was warm.

  “But you carry guns,” she said.

  “Just four old ones,” he said. “We just never took them off when the waters became safer.”

  The ship plunged into a wave and water sprayed over them.

  “You’d best go inside, my lady. The wind is increasing and we might well have a storm tonight. It will be best if you stay in your cabin.”

  She nodded. Celia might need her. She started to turn back toward the hatchway, then looked back. “Thank you for being so kind.”

  “It was easy, my lady. I was not happy to have unattached and unaccompanied ladies with me and I almost turned you away. But you have been no trouble.”

  “Thank you,” she said wryly. “I’m glad I was no trouble.”

  She could feel his embarrassment. “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant,” she said gently. “And I am grateful for your protection.”

  “In truth,” he said, “I will miss you. So will the crew.”

  The words pleased her. Although the other passengers ignored the crew, she had found them intriguing. She had soaked up their stories of ports and storms and adventures. One even claimed to have been captured by pirates. They had killed those who would not join them, he’d said. So he joined them, then escaped as soon as he could.

  “I love the sea,” she said. “There’s a freedom here I did not find at home.”

  “You’re a good sailor. Every other passenger has taken to their bed.”

  She’d known that. In fact, she had been on the receiving end of glares because she did not share the misery of the others. Her fellow passengers included one husband and wife headed back to their plantation in Antigua, another one of the ship’s ports of call. Two were government officials being sent from England to Antigua. Another was a bookkeeper who had been hired by a shipping company on Barbados. He was the one who had purchased her cabin.

  The men had all been attentive at first, even though they were quickly informed she was to meet her intended husband. As the seas became rougher, they had succumbed to mal de mer. During the last two days, she’d seen no one but the crew.

  The captain turned and went back to the wheel. Jenna lingered for another few moments, reluctant to return to the stifling cabin.

  Just a few more days. Her sense of freedom was gradually evolving into apprehension, even dread as she considered meeting her prospective husband, anticipated the disappointment, even distaste, when he saw her birthmark. She shivered in the warm tropical air, then headed toward the companionway.

  “Sail ho.”

  Alex heard the call of the lookout and looked toward the east.

  “Bonne chance,” sai
d Claude, who stood next to him at the wheel.

  Alex put the spyglass to his eye and stared in the direction pointed out by the sailor in the crow’s nest far above him. “Where away?” he shouted upward.

  “Broad on the starboard bow,” the lookout cried down.

  Alex found the sail, and blessed the seaman’s good eyes.

  A merchantman flying the British flag.

  He hesitated. He had been shorthanded since he’d sent a prize crew to return the one ship to France. They’d captured a second and sold it—with all its goods—in Martinique.

  Alex believed the sale had produced enough gold to trade for diamonds. He had not lingered on the island. The governor of Martinique had been nervous. He too knew a peace treaty was near. He’d advised Alex and Claude to end their privateering.

  Alex had intended to follow that advice until he saw the large merchant ship and its English flag.

  “Should we take it, Captain?” Claude asked. “It would not hurt to have more coin.”

  It would not. Alex had no idea how much he would have to pay for the diamonds in Brazil, how many bribes would be required.

  The merchant ship looked fat and benign. It looked like prey, and Alex was still hungry for prey.

  Thus far, they had been lucky. Neither merchant ship had fought back. He’d had no injuries among his crew or the enemies’ crews. But it wouldn’t be long before the news spread from island to island, then to England, that a privateer was attacking English vessels in the Caribbean. He did not believe it wise to hover in the area.

  He planned to change the name of the ship, forge a new logbook, and sail for Brazil.

  “We can claim it,” Claude said, the edges of his mouth turning upward.

  Alex wasn’t sure why Claude hated the English, but he knew his first mate’s fury equaled his own, though neither had talked about their backgrounds, or what had turned them into hunters.

  Robin appeared beside him, his eyes squinting, trying to see the distant ship.

  “I want you and Meg to go down to my cabin,” Alex said. His cabin was on the other side of the ship from the powder magazine.

  “I can help take powder to the cannon,” the boy said. He’d never looked less the lord he’d been born to be. He had discarded shoes long ago, and his trousers were torn. His shirt was stained with dirt and sweat.

  But the boy’s eyes gleamed. His skin had been darkened by the sun, and his hair was overlong. Meg had cut her hair with a knife until it was shorter than Robin’s. She looked as much lad as lass.

  After the first captured ship had sailed to France and the second was taken to Martinique, Alex had given up trying to return them. They’d made it clear they were not going to be returned, and they would steal, cheat, and starve to get their way.

  “No,” he said. “You will not go anywhere near those cannon.” He paused. “Swear it.” The one thing Robin did not do was lie. Not to him.

  Robin was silent.

  “Swear it,” Alex said again, “or I’ll keep you two locked in my cabin until I find you passage to France.”

  Meg crept up to them. She had obviously been listening. She nodded. After a moment, Robin did, too.

  “Say it,” he insisted.

  “I swear,” they said in unison.

  “Now go to my cabin,” he said.

  Both gave a reluctant nod, but Robin kept turning his gaze toward the British ship.

  Once they were gone, Alex ordered his crew to fly the British flag, then called for more sail. Although he’d picked up several crewmen in Martinique, he knew the ship was woefully undermanned, yet there was not one complaint as they went to battle stations.

  The sun hovered on the horizon, spreading trails of gold along the sparkling emerald and cerulean blue of this most beautiful of all seas. His gaze swept the horizon, the interweaving of blues and greens, and the merchantman in the distance. Once more, he hesitated. Perhaps he was pressing his luck. Perhaps he should just turn away and head toward Brazil as he had planned.

  He looked in the spyglass again. Four guns. Small ones.

  Arrogance. The confidence of Britain. Bitterness boiled up inside him again. He touched the scar on his cheek and felt the pain that never went away in his leg. In his mind, he heard Cumberland’s order over and over again: “No quarter.” He heard the moans of the wounded and the prayers they uttered as the English and their Scottish allies went from man to man, finishing them.

  He’d held his breath when they came to him. He thought he would die of holding it in. Then they’d left and gone to the next wounded man. He would never forget those moments.…

  He wanted to puncture that arrogance.

  “They have guns,” he said.

  Claude took the eyeglass from him and looked. “They are nothing.”

  “There’s the children.”

  “The guns are nothing,” Claude said again. “They probably will not even fire.”

  Claude’s assurance wiped away his last reservation.

  “Claude, set the royals. We’re going to take it.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” his first mate said with a gleam in his eyes. He bellowed out orders, and the seamen started climbing the rigging, piling on more sail. Others went down to the gun deck to man and load the cannon.

  Alex reached the quarterdeck and took the wheel, reveling in the way the ship responded to him, and the sails to the brisk wind. He had more sail, more maneuverability than the English ship.

  This should be easy.

  Jenna couldn’t sleep. Celia remained sick, unable to keep food down. Despite the fact that the pitching had lessened, the maid did not seem to improve. Jenna feared the land would be the only cure. It would be Celia’s salvation and her own confinement. Jenna wished she could stay aboard forever.

  First light filtered through the porthole. She rose and dressed. There would be coffee available. She had become used to the bitter brew, and found she liked it better than tea. She was discovering a great deal about herself, exploring feelings—even sensations—she’d never dared to entertain before. The wind was like a caress, the sea sometimes like a cradle, sometimes heaving with rage. She liked both equally, calmed by one, exhilarated by the other.

  Swaying with the rhythm of the ship, she made her way down the companionway to the galley for a cup of coffee. Then balancing carefully, she took it up to the main deck. She loved to watch the sun rise over the Caribbean waters.

  Seamen were piling on sail and with each pull she could feel the ship give a little kick as if delighted at the chance of dancing across the ocean.

  Dancing, of course, was an exaggeration. The ship was more a lumbering laggard, but still she liked the image.

  “Sail ho,” cried a sailor above her.

  She strained to see, but though she had excellent eyesight, she saw nothing of a ship.

  She felt something though. The seamen moved a little faster, and their faces tensed. She walked over to where the captain stood next to a helmsman.

  His lips turned up in a smile as he saw her. “First one up again this morning, I see,” he said. “How is Miss Celia?”

  “She will never be a sailor,” Jenna said.

  “Not like you,” he agreed. “If you were a man I would hire you straightaway.”

  “I could always cook,” she said, only half in jest.

  “Ah, but you would have the crew in a twist,” he said. “It is no job for a lady.”

  Being a lady was a bore, she thought, but instead of arguing, she turned back to where the phantom sail had been sighted.

  “Is there really a ship out there? I can’t see it.”

  “Williams has the best eyes on the sea,” Captain Talbot said.

  “Another merchantman?”

  “Most likely,” he said, but she could see little lines of worry dart away from his eyes.

  She sipped the coffee as they both strained to see the distant ship. The sun rose, detaching itself from the sea. Against its background, she saw a sail.

/>   “It’s coming toward us,” cried the lookout.

  The worry on the captain’s face deepened. “Can you make out a flag?”

  “Nay,” came the answer.

  The captain turned to the helmsman. “Helm a’weather,” he said, ordering a turn. “Let’s see if she follows us.”

  She stood, listening to the calls, the new urgency among the crew. Why? They had passed other ships along the way.

  But she didn’t want to interrupt the captain, who was conferring with his first mate and helmsman. Instead, she went over to the rail and stared out at the sea.

  The sun had risen farther, and they seemed to be sailing away from it, fleeing from the streams of light it sent cascading into the sea. The sail had disappeared again.

  She breathed easier.

  But the deck was still busy, and she decided to fetch tea and crackers for Celia. The rhythm of the ship had increased, as had the voices. She had hoped Celia would get some sleep while she was gone, but now she doubted it.

  The cook, an east Indian, gave her a grin full of teeth as she collected more coffee, bread, salted fish, and cheese for herself, and crackers for Celia, along with hot tea, then made her way to the cabin.

  When she opened the door, she found Celia asleep. She set the tray down on a table bolted to the floor.

  Quietly, she sipped her coffee, nibbled on the bread and cheese, and picked up a book of poetry she had brought with her.

  She’d read for perhaps an hour when she heard a loud voice outside the cabin. Celia jerked awake, looking bewildered. “What …?”

  Jenna opened the door. A sailor was knocking on each of the doors.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A ship is closing on us,” he said. “The captain fears it might be hostile.”

  “Hostile?” Celia’s trembling voice came from behind her.

  “Yes, ma’am. The captain wants the passengers to stay in their cabins.”

  Jenna glanced over her shoulder to see Celia sink back on her bed. When she turned back, the sailor was down the companionway, knocking on another door. “Stay here,” she told Celia. “I’m going to see—”

  “But he told us to stay here.”

  “I will be right back,” she said, slipping out the door before Celia said any more and before the sailor turned around. She sped through the ship, out to the quarterdeck, seeing no sailors along the way. They must all be at their posts. The captain had turned the ship; she knew that from the position of the sun.