"Oh… do you mean Danielle Rochette?" Lady Elizabeth asked in surprise.
"The very same, Madame," his voice curt. "Could you tell me where her destination was to be on the mainland?"
His tone made the shackles raise on her temper. "How did you come to know the woman, Scott? Why do you wonder where she went?" For once her questions did not continue as she frowned suspiciously at the man in front of her. She noticed his agitation as he stepped from one leg to the other.
"I met her on my ship. She was sort of a… passenger there." He fought for words to explain so she would answer him.
Elizabeth raised her eyebrows and turned to look at Ricardo. "Well?" was all she said.
Ricardo could not lie to her. "She jumped ship and swam here," he said simply.
"She jumped your ship?" the woman screeched. She started pacing back and forth across the tapestry rug, waving her hands in the air. If looks could kill, Scott would have been lying dead at her feet. Never had they seen this jovial woman in such a state of temper. "And why on earth did she need to jump ship, may I ask? Were you harming her?" Lady Elizabeth was stalling for time. She knew she could never reveal Danielle’s whereabouts without endangering the carefully kept secret of Scott’s mother’s participation in their efforts to help the French refugees. Scott’s reputation for his hatred for the French had not missed the Scilly Islands.
"No, she was not harmed! Damn it, Elizabeth. I just want to find her!" his voice was raised.
"Why?" She wished she could have heard the story from Danielle’s own lips. The entire situation spoke of intrigue.
"Let us just say for personal reasons and leave it at that. Do you know where she is?" He wanted answers.
"I’m sorry, Scott. I don’t know where the young miss is at this moment. She mentioned wanting to find a post of some sort on the mainland… perhaps London. That is all I can tell you," she lied.
"Then," he spoke gruffly, disappointed. "I will bid you good day as I have to reach London soon myself." He nodded his head in farewell and with long strides quickly left the room. "Ricardo!"
Ricardo kissed Elizabeth’s cheek. "Sorry to rush off, but Scott’s mood is not to be pressed. I’ll explain it all someday. Give my best to Sir Francis." He turned and moved swiftly in the Captain’s wake.
"What now?" Ricardo asked out of breath as he caught up with Scott, who was already halfway back to the waiting longboat.
"Back to The Scarlet Eagle. We’re going to London. Then, Ricardo, I will search this entire British isle until I find Danielle again.
"Damn!" Ricardo muttered under his breath. "I wish to God we had never captured that French Merchantman."
Scott glared at him over his shoulder without breaking his stride. "What did you say?" he asked threateningly.
"Nothing, Captain," Ricardo growled. "I’m not anxious to spill my blood here on this beach."
But Scott did not wait to hear Ricardo’s answering reply. He ran hard toward the longboat drawn up on the beach, waiting to carry them back to the ship.
The Scarlet Eagle slid quietly out of the harbor of St. Mary’s and turned north-eastward beside the island heading along the coast of England in the direction of London.
Ricardo, standing at Scott’s side, cleared his throat.
"What is it, Ricardo?" Scott asked.
"This quest for Danielle," Ricardo spoke lightly so as not to be heard by any of the men who were standing no more than a few yards away… "You’re not going to tell the men?"
Scott’s firm mouth widened into a slow, careless smile. "No, I am not," he said. "You worry too much."
"I’ve reached middle-age by thinking things out very well," Ricardo said dryly. "You would be wise to consider the possible results. You have a responsibility to the men, Scott. You cannot sacrifice them in your search. Unless they find enough booty of value to make the voyage worthwhile…"
Scott gazed upward where the men were swarming amid the rigging. When he turned to Ricardo, his eyes were smiling.
"When I die," he said, "it will be on a great bed in a huge estate home, not on this sea, Ricardo. Besides, a body like Danielle’s should be caressed in something better than a small bunk aboard a ship. She deserves satin coverlets against her skin in a large canopied bed. What vessels cross our path, we take. Rest assured we will continue the hunt."
"Good enough!" Ricardo grunted, slapping Scott on the back with hearty relief. "We are making good speed," he added, "the wind is almost dead astern!"
Within two days the ship moved toward the dock in London, the bustling waterfront coming into view. Scott stared out to landward, deep in thought. His eyebrows were slanted inward and a frown creased his otherwise smooth forehead. How could he possibly find Danielle in a town this large? Would she even be here?
The helmsman slid The Scarlet Eagle in among the other privateer craft, manned by men of a score of nations, anchored in the Thames.
Ricardo looked at Scott, who was dressed after a fashion that would delight many a female’s eye. He hoped that perhaps tomorrow, after a night in London, the captain would forget all about Danielle. The chance of ever finding her was impossible and he did not want his friend to pine over something he could not have.
"I think the maidens of joy will receive their fair share of our spoils this night from the lusty looks of the men," Ricardo mused.
Scott frowned, his eyes catching the pinpoints of fire from the dancing waves. "I do not care for the honor," he said quietly, "but there is a matter I must attend to."
"Which is?" Ricardo asked, somehow knowing what Scott would say.
"A certain little gypsy with long black hair and a quick fiery temper," Scott answered simply. "Come, we’d best be putting ashore. It seems that the citizenry along the waterfront are preparing their usual hearty welcome." Beneath the broad, well-turned brim of his felt hat and the snowy white of the ostrich plume, Scott’s curly mane gleamed in the evening light. His hands checked unconsciously the silver hilt of his sword and dagger. The dagger was the kind used by the ancient Romany gypsies, its red velvet sheath showing beneath his now black sash. He lifted the dagger from its sheath, its mother-of-pearl handle changing colors with the reflection from the light. He rolled the handle between his thumb and finger, thinking of its previous owner. With a sigh he shoved it back into its hiding place.
By nightfall the docks were loud with revelry. After months aboard The Scarlet Eagle, the crew found their freedom quite enjoyable. But Scott walked alone on the docks, stopping now and again to question one of the men working there. It was here Ricardo found him.
"Scott," he said, "it is bad to be alone on a night such as this. Come, the women are aplenty… and also quite lovely to look at!"
"They interest me not," Scott said morosely. "Since there is not one among them with dark gypsy eyes, and hair that hangs to her waist in waves that resemble the sea on a starless night."
Ricardo laughed. "So, the wind still blows to that quarter, eh? You don’t even know if the little black-haired one came by way of the sea. If she went to Land’s End she could have just as well came inland by coach. If that is the case you will never find her. London is much too large. She could be anywhere. Come with me and we shall see how long this obsession of yours can withstand the sweet caress of flesh and blood."
"Forever!" Scott growled.
"Forever is a long time," Ricardo said. "Come, let’s away."
They marched side by side along the darkened cobblestone streets until they came to one of the largest waterfront pubs. Through the doorway there sounded the roar of his seamen, singing with gusto their sea chanteys with the boom of deep male voices. Ricardo hung back while Scott put his head inside the door. Instantly there went up a great bellowing roar of welcome from his men.
Still Scott hesitated in the doorway. While he stood there, a group of women, numbering in years between sixteen to not more than thirty, all sizes and shapes hurled their bodies at him. With screeches of delight they ran their fing
ers through his dark curly hair, pulled at his arms, dragging him into the tavern. Grinning from ear to ear, Ricardo entered in the captain’s wake and closed the door behind him with a thankful sigh.
Six
Danielle awoke to the sound of the wind whistling about the chimneys, rattling the shutters fastened tight against the gale force of the wind. She snuggled deeper into the heavy quilts in a half-sleep state of consciousness. She thought of a hard, muscular body pressed tightly against hers, his arms holding her possessively even as the quilts held her petite body pinned beneath their weight. His clean scent filled her nostrils and she felt a warm, secure peace. There were no regrets in her gentle dream when she slipped back into slumber.
The routine noises of a household starting a new day wakened her with the feeling of well being as the last traces of remembrance faded from her mind. She found herself with a voracious appetite. She dressed quickly, joining Jenny Dominion in the morning room for breakfast.
"Sir Francis is still asleep," the older woman answered her questioning glance about the room. "I doubt whether he is strong enough to leave his bed yet, anyway. Though heaven knows he would try if given the chance."
"Does that mean he won’t be able to travel as soon as he’d planned?" Danielle asked.
"We shall see," Mrs. Dominion answered knowingly. "He’s well past any danger and I know the strong love he feels for Elizabeth. His desire to get home to her is magic enough to hurry his recuperation."
Later looking into Sir Francis’s face, noticing he had gained back some of his color, Danielle spoke. "You look much better this morning."
"Yes, thank you. I feel better. I shall be ready to leave tomorrow. However I shall miss all this cosseting my hostess has been giving me. Jenny, I will never be able to thank you enough for your kindness. If there is anything I can do… "
"Nonsense, Francis. The great service that you have done for so many other poor human beings is enough. I’m just sorry that there isn’t someone that knows the coast of France so they could take your place while you’re recovering." She smiled weakly at the reclining figure.
Danielle still could not get over the fact that Mrs. Dominion was trying to save the French, while at the same time, her son was trying to kill as many as he could. This lady was truly a compassionate, loving woman. It was obvious that her bitterness against the Count did not include his fellow countrymen.
Danielle spoke up, thinking of what Mrs. Dominion had just said.
"What do you mean, madam? Will the trips stop now? Is there no one to take Sir Francis place? Can’t his men go without him?" Danielle burst forth.
"No, my dear," Sir Francis said gently. "I’m afraid not. My men speak only English and without someone to lead them they are too unorganized. I’m sure they could find the spot in France where we pick up our passengers, but they need an iron hand to keep them under control."
"But Sir Francis, I speak French and English! My father was a great believer in educating women. I grew up with an English nanny and governess and my fluency and accents in both languages are flawless.! Couldn’t I be of assistance? Let me take your place!" Danielle implored without thought.
"What? No! It’s absolutely impossible!" He raised himself halfway up from the bed. "You’re a woman for one thing," he sputtered, "and the men would never serve under your command. It’s out of the question… absolutely absurd! And besides," he said adamantly, "what if you were attacked? Can you shoot a musket? Can you use a sword? It’s ridiculous to even talk about it. So let’s hear no more of this ludicrous idea!"
"But Sir Francis, hear me out!" Danielle begged. She was on her knees by the side of his bed now, one of his hands clasped tightly between both of hers.
"It will be months before you are healed enough to make another trip to France. Think of the poor unfortunate people that may be killed because they could not escape in time." She noticed the expression softening.
"And though I can’t explain how it happened, I was once on a ship dressed as a man and neither the captain nor the crew suspected a thing. I can be most convincing when I want to be. As for musket and sword, my father taught me. I don’t have to be an expert, just good enough to protect myself. I could cut my hair and no one would ever guess. I know I could do it, Sir Francis! At least let me try." She looked to Jenny Dominion for support.
"It might be possible, Francis… " Jenny broke in. "If I were her age, I would endeavor to do it myself. Surely young David Fitzwater can be trusted, and I’ve heard that he is quite proficient with the necessary weapons. He could also be her first mate and help her with any sailing difficulties she may have. I could alter some clothes of my son’s enough to help with the disguise. Well, what do you say? This way, before the month is out your ship could be under sail and on its way to France."
The silence was almost unbearable as it stretched out until Danielle thought she would scream. Both women stared with bated breath, at the man stroking his chin, deep in thought. Slowly he drew his eyes back to the dark ones staring up at him from the side of the bed. His face broke into a grin.
"All right ladies, I concede. It’s at least worth a try… and may God have mercy on my soul, if anything should happen to you. I would never forgive myself!"
Danielle jumped to her feet, kissing Sir Francis soundly on the cheek in her exuberance. "How soon can we start? I swear to you I will not let you down. You won’t be disappointed in me."
Sir Francis, staring first at the sparkling eyes of Danielle, then at the smiling face of Jenny Dominion, prayed silently that he was doing the right thing.
"Well, Jenny, shall we send a message to young David? The sooner we start those lessons the faster we will change a beautiful woman into a sea captain. Ugh!" he grimaced.
Danielle sat back deep in her thoughts. Maybe in this fashion she could erase the hatred of the French king and his murderous soldiers from her memory by saving other Huguenots from suffering her parent’s fate. For every one life she could help escape the tyranny of the French king, would be one more person to build a new life as she was trying to do in a new land.
~ * ~
Scott awoke the next morning with a pounding in his head. Slowly the memory of the night before returned. Ricardo had brought him to this inn hoping, with the help of a little rum and a few pretty wenches, to clear his mind of this obsession with Danielle. Instead it had worked in reverse. He’d drank too much rum and wanted nothing to do with any woman, save his dark-haired gypsy. There was no one other than Danielle who could warm his blood.
Now here he was, with a throbbing head and a mouth filled with cotton, searching out Ricardo. This in itself proved more difficult than he had anticipated. Scott found it necessary to search through more than a dozen inns and all the rooms above the taverns before he found his friend and first mate.
When at last a scurvy, toothless harpy had cackled, "Aye, capt’n. ‘E is ‘ere!" and indicated a rickety staircase leading to the upper level of her run-down establishment. "First door at the top."
Scott hesitated a moment before mounting the squeaking steps. He poked his head through the door and looked around him. Almost at once he spotted Ricardo. There, on a sagging mattress, his friend slumbered, his peaceful snores rising from his half-opened mouth. Scott stood very still, his eyes widening, for beside Ricardo was a multitude of empty, discarded rum bottles.
Scott’s firm mouth spread into a slow grin under his mischievous blood-shot eyes. Noiselessly, he tiptoed across the dirt-covered floor until he stood over the sleeping man. With his knee-length jack-boots he began to nudge his friend upon the bed.
Ricardo cocked open one drink-clouded eye. He looked at Scott and closed it again, groaning.
"Have you no shame! Get up!" Scott roared in mock wrath.
Again Ricardo opened one eye. Then a slow, wicked grin stole across his dark face. Wearily he lifted a shaking hand and with a swooping gesture of his arm, taking in the empty bottles around him, told Scott without saying a word of the havo
c he had happily wrecked the night before.
"Do not raise your voice so overmuch, Scott," he groaned, putting his hand to his throbbing temples. "I don’t think my head will be able to stand much noise for most of this day."
"Get up, Ricardo!" Scott was grinning. "Time we were off. I will never get a day’s work out of you if we remain in this hellhole any longer."
"And how did you spend your night? I suppose you will tell me that you slept alone with just a bottle of rum by your side."
Scott’s face reddened under its tan. "The Captain’s business is none of the first mate’s concern!"
Ricardo sat up cradling his head in his hands. "If you are going to scream so, I will never live through this day."
"Enough of this nonsense!" Scott growled. "Come, get dressed. We have much to do."
Ricardo’s hand groped for his pantaloons. When he found them he stood up, clutching the rickety bedpost for support as his senses, still half-drunk, threatened to explode with his sudden movements. He mustered the closest thing to a sly look as he could manage and eyed his captain with speculation.
"The last time I saw you," he began, "you were the subject of a cat fight between the tall brunette and the plump, fiery red-head. Tell me, which one won?"
"Enough!" Scott roared. "We must round up the crew. There are many ports I have yet to investigate."
"Damn that black-haired witch!" Ricardo said. "She’s driving you crazy! I tell you Scott…"
"Get up! Now!" Scott blazed.
A few minutes of brisk walking gained them the wharves, where they woke a fat Englishman who slumbered beneath the single mast of a flat-keeled river barge; one used for revictualling larger ships.
A moment’s conversation, and a golden shine of their coins was enough to rouse him into astonishing action. He started hastily away from the docks in the direction of the town to search out the rest of Scott’s men.
Within the hour Scott stood on the bow of The Scarlet Eagle gazing at the shore line of London growing more distant as the wind billowed the sails.
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