The Wilde Flower Saga: A Contrary Wind (Historical Adventure Series)

by Schulz, Marilyn M

  In a moment, the soldiers started to retreat. They were being driven back into the sea. The women were frozen, still close together and too frightened to move. The children didn't have that problem. They rushed past Kate, paying her no mind as they took to the sport.

  At the villa, the soldiers were getting no help or encouragement. In fact, some of their comrades in arms were beginning to point and laugh.

  Kate decided that victory was in their grasp. She rushed after the first wave of children, yelling to the women to follow her. At first, they hesitated, but Kate waved them toward the church. One woman began to run, quickly followed by the others.

  The soldiers were in the water by now and swearing a deep blue streak. It seems they had given up on mercy. The children were en masse and well over a dozen by now. Overhead, sea gulls grouped and screamed down on the battle, dropping bombs of their own.

  Even God, it seems, was on their side. Kate stopped long enough to start laughing.

  What the children lacked in strength or accuracy, they made up in quantity. The rocks came as a constant bombardment, and the insults as well, the children giving back as good as the soldiers gave out.

  The Frenchmen were given no quarter.

  Kate got the women to the church and to the care of the priest, then hurried away to hide herself. As she looked back, she saw the children rushing off as well. Some had the soldiers' muskets and were running towards the foothills.

  A few other soldiers then came out to see the final commotion. In a moment, they were laughing in reply to the cries of their comrades without arms. The wet soldiers were wading out of the water as Kate returned to the shade of her scrub trees.

  She nearly jumped from her skin when she saw the movement nearby and searched quickly for a weapon.

  But it was only the priest.

  "You are either very foolish or very brave, my lass."

  "Maybe I am both, Padre."

  "What made you do such a thing?"

  She thought for a moment, picturing it all in her mind: the rocks, the sea, the birds . . . and the children.

  She thought of Louis Dumars and her mother, and said, "Charlemagne."

  The priest nodded. "Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds in the sky. You have his blood, you know.”

  "The soldiers’?" She looked at her clothes in alarm.

  He shook his head. "No, you have the blood of great kings in your heart. It is written in the church records. I know, for Senor Standish has a great interest in such things, though I find it rather mournful that he would have such a care for the dead when he seems to care so little for the living."

  He whispered a blessing for the dearly long departed.

  "My mother kept an account of such things, it’s written in one of her books. Does it matter now? Blood, I mean. It seems that brutality matters more these days."

  "Some places it never mattered, mountain villages, on the pilgrim trail. Others places, it still matters very much, royal courts, aristocracy. It’s all the places in between," the priest said, sweeping his hand out. "Like here. Now your Senor Standish—"

  “He’s not mine, Padre, though he says much the same thing. But when it comes down to it, he’s more interested in money than blood lines.”

  “Perhaps blood lines tell in other ways besides inheritance of honors and property. Maybe what you did there on the beach was all that your forefathers ever did—the will to take action. All that evil needs to flourish is for those of good heart to remain passive.”

  Or do foolish things, she thought. But Kate didn’t want to talk about this anymore. “What will the children do with the muskets, Padre? Are there partisans already forming in the hills?"

  "We are a poor village and provincial in the ways of the world. They have needs for the simplest things in life. That is all they care about, what is local. Not politics or alliances or someone else’s idea of a noble cause. They will ransom them back to the soldiers, probably before their commander gets back."

  "I understand."

  The longer the children held out, the more nervous the soldiers would be. They could not be missing their muskets when their commander came back. The French were not of a tolerant mind lately, and weakness in their ranks was not taken lightly. The soldiers would have to pay a high price for their folly either way.

  "Yes, I thought you might understand about such business affairs," the priest said. He looked out to the sea.

  Kate held her breath for a moment before speaking. "How long have the French been here?"

  "This time? Not long, a few days. They come and go. They first came a day or so after you left for the shrine. It was then that I knew that God was on your side."

  “How many are here?”

  He ticked off silently on his fingers for a moment. “There is room in the villa and its outbuildings to hide two hundred easily. Before it was a villa, it was an outpost, you see, but that was long ago. They have set the horses grazing in the orchards. But I did not take the time to count, lass. It all makes me a bit uneasy.”

  Two hundred, that was a lot. Well over her ship’s company. She said, "And what business do they have here?"

  "The business of war. The Spanish nobleman who owns this villa is probably getting money to ally with the French—or perhaps its not money, but politics. Some say it is the way to make peace, get into bed with your enemy and hold him close, but I do not like that reasoning."

  "Sounds repulsive, actually. I burned Louis’s papers, Padre."

  He didn't speak for a moment, just continued to look out to sea and slowly nod his head. "I am glad of that. I suppose they had their uses, but in the end the results for France will be the same. The only difference is the number of dead. Still, Senor Standish will be angry to learn that. I fear he had other plans for the information."

  She sighed. "I’m relieved to hear you say that. I thought maybe my reasoning was flawed merely because I do not like the man, or the war. He will find out, you are right about that as well, and he will be angry."

  "He is not a good man. He has undercurrents that run deep and dirty. Careful, lass, only a fool would trust him. Louis did not, though I know Louis trusted you. Our mutual friend was idealistic, but he was not a fool."

  She nodded, thinking. "I don't want to go back yet, Padre, but it seems clear now that I should not stay here. Perhaps, you have a suggestion?"

  "You could go on pilgrimage,” the priest said and winked. “People do that a lot around here."

  "Back to the mountain shrines?"

  He made the sign of the Cross. He was smiling, but she was brooding. "I've never had the patience to pray, Padre. I miss the sea. I grew up on a ship, and I don't feel safe on the land."

  "What do you mean by ‘safe on the land,’ I wonder? What is safer than houses, and in turn, the House of God?"

  She said, lowly, "Too many places to hide, like trees or bushes, and behind walls. There are too many ways to get ambushed. You can see your enemies coming at sea, and most often, have time to prepare. Or run. You can see forever some days."

  "And others, you cannot see the rocks and the pirates for the fog or the rolling waves. My father was a fisherman; I spent time on the sea as well. It gets in your blood and turns it to brine. But for me, the brine was bitter and harsh. He loved it until the day that he died, but it was never so for me."

  "Padre, that's almost poetic, but you know what I mean?"

  "I do, but with the British blockade and the Spanish still contemplating their tepid show of neutrality, it will mean open season for privateers and worse, just your typical breed of pirate, which is another word for thief. Easy enough to take a ship and blame it on the enemy. Your deep blue sea may not be all that safe for you now, lass."

  "True, but I still have the yearning, Padre, and I can't shake it free. It's like an ache, almost loneliness, yet never quite the same. More like a horrid thirst that you know will come again, no matter how much you drink at one time. Do you ever feel that way?"


  He thought for a moment, his brows furrowed so much they looked like they grew together. He sighed. "I do, in my heart and my soul, and so I took the robe. Here’s what you do. Take a small boat out to San Miguel's Tooth and spend your time smelling the air and watching the waves and the hearing the birds for a spell.

  “Perhaps in your solitude there, you could make believe you are in the middle of the Atlantic. When you have had your fill, come back and stay in the rectory. There’s a small room in the back. You may come and go, as you will until it is time for you to leave with the fisherman. But keep a shawl on your gold hair when you come and go so the soldiers don’t notice you so much, will you do that for me."

  "San Miguel's Tooth?"

  "San Miguel, St. Michael to you or me, the archangel who loves a good fight. Others call it the Devil’s Pike, but that’s only because they are pirates or raiders. It’s in the harbor; I will show you on a map. It's a rock island, small so you don’t notice it so much, but deadly to an unsuspecting ship, especially in a storm.

  “Probably why this place has never become much of a harbor. It has protected the town forever, for they say that the angels blow the ships of evil men into San Miguel's mouth and he chomps them with his Tooth, and so the village has been saved time and again. They say the Viking raiders were the first to feel its bite."

  "They say a lot of things, Padre. Is that before or after dipping into the sacramental wine?"

  He laughed. "Some may fault you for you quick tongue, lass, but I have come to enjoy it. It’s like being home in Ireland again.”

  She told him about the O’Malleys, and how Rosalee O’Malley had been almost a mother to her.

  He said, “So it’s fitting then. Come, we will get you a small boat. Something you can handle better than the one you came in on, I’m thinking, and not so big that the soldiers will take notice either."

  She agreed, for she wanted to go out as soon as possible.

  * * * * *

  CHAPTER 24 - The Devil’s Pike

  The next afternoon, Kate watched the water lap at her skirts and wished she could put her boots on again. Her feet were cold and wrinkled from being wet too long. She had tied the strings of her boots together and now they swung heavily around her neck. A fish darted silvery through the water nearby, then another, and she wondered if they were interested in nibbling on her toes for their lunch.

  "I wish I had the good sense to unload my own."

  Actually, she had, but like the boat, the basket had drifted away with the tide as she slept in the warm sunshine with two journals in her lap and another perched open over her face. It was only the cold water lapping at her ankles that had made her wake.

  She hadn’t meant to sleep so long—in fact, not at all, but exhaustion had gotten the better of her. It was the first time she slept so well in days, but at least she didn’t have so much guilt anymore in letting Louis down, nor did she have those horrible dreams.

  A sea gull screamed as it drifted by. She swung at it wildly as it circled again before pulling up its wings as if it were going to land.

  "Go perch somewhere else, you seabird of Satan," she called, losing her balance in another awkward swing. Kate nearly dropped her books, and that made her swear. In fact she swore in French, Spanish and English as well, just to be sure the bird understood.

  The gull squawked, but retreated, and Kate was again left alone. She could see the land plain enough, though was not so near to make out people at all. The houses were only little white specks. There were no boats in sight, it was siesta time for most normal people, she figured. She also knew the fishermen would not be coming anywhere near again until very early the next morning.

  She started out with a sigh, but ended in a groan. "How do I get into these situations? How can I be so lucky in some things and so unlucky in others all at the same time?"

  At least she managed to save her mother's journals from the water, and that is what she cared about most. It was the reason she hadn’t tried to swim for the shore. But after holding them for so long, and standing on the rock for what she guessed was nearly an hour, she might have thought to exchange one of the books for some shade . . . or maybe two for a chair . . . or even all three for another boat.

  "Any boat would do, even one with a hole. A little hole though. A big one wouldn't do me any more good than standing in the drink, but it might give me a chance to get to dry land. I just need a chance."

  Then she scolded herself again for being so foolish—and so ungrateful. She could have been waist deep, or worse. She could have lost everything, even her life if the tide had brought in a storm along with it. As it was, she looked like she was standing on the water. No one would ever mistake her for a saint though, but perhaps they might as a witch.

  “There it is again,” she mumbled to the birds. “Lucky and unlucky. They don’t still burn witches here, do they?”

  Just then, she heard the splash and turned around as quickly as she could in bare feet on the rock in the sea. When she had rowed out and tied up the small boat, the little island had been a good ten feet by twenty feet of smooth rocky surface, all a few feet above sea level.

  The rock pillar jutting out was staggered on one side, making a sort of stairs up to the top. Perhaps the rock had been carved that way, but it looked uneven enough to be natural, and the sea had worn the steps to a smoothness that felt very nice on her bare toes, especially with the warm sun upon it—at least, at first.

  But now she stood on the only the very highest part, which was now a very small portion indeed. The surface was overlapped by the motion of the waves and at times, her feet were two or three inches under sea water, and other times clear, though her skirts were well wet and her feet pink and wrinkled.

  "Damned tide," she whispered in relief as she watched the jolly boat come closer.

  It was from the British navy, she recognized, but the vessel was too far out still for her to make out which ship in the fleet. She knew it was a frigate by the shape and the sails, but she didn’t have a spyglass to tell her any more than that. In these waters, Kate did know she was lucky that it wasn't French or Spanish. She could at least negotiate with the British. Even if they did not trust her story, she knew they would not take the trouble to hang her here.

  She forced a smile and prepared for the foolish questions she knew were coming. She put it down as the price of her stupidity and their rescue. Then she wondered if she could talk the young man into rowing her ashore. It wasn’t really an invasion if she could just jump overboard a few feet from the shore.

  The young midshipman gave her a polite tip of his hat. "Ma'am, my captain sends his compliments and offers our assistance."

  "His compliments, how kind. I am sorry that I can't offer you tea, sir, but there are too few biscuits for too many of you."

  He chuckled. "Begging your pardon, Ma'am, but what are you doing out here? We had a wager that you might be a saint or a mermaid. But now that I’m closer, I can see the rumors of this harbor are true, though it would not be the Devil attacking at all."

  She smiled. “Just a rock then, and a barnacle upon it. I suppose I deserve that."

  He grinned wider and tipped his hat again. Some in the boat snickered.

  "What ship is that?" she said, and pointed to the distant frigate gently approaching under short sails.

  "HMS Stalwart, Ma’am. May I say one of the finest ships in her class, perhaps in the whole fleet?"

  He must be new on board, she thought, and frowned. Edward Lindsay’s ship rescuing a woman—what a waste of time for you all, and me not looking my best, if there was such a thing. Her pride got the better of her.

  She said, "It’s a lovely day. I think I’ll just stay put until the tide goes out again. I have a few books still at hand here and some of my rhymes need fiercely tending. Now seems as good a time as any. Don’t suppose you have a quill and ink?"

  "Ma'am, the tide is quite a while from now, and even so, you not being mermaid or saint after all
, I would not make a wager on your making it to shore without a boat. And if you pardon my saying, Ma'am, you do not sound Spanish or French either. I doubt if they would be hospitable there."

  He had tipped his head toward the shore.

  He had a good point there as well. The French would see her coming, and she was sure they would recognize her swearing, if not her face and form. Rocks wouldn’t help her there, nor could the priest help her again.

  But she said hopefully, “A fisherman will be along come morning." Then her stomach growled, and Kate knew she was blushing. "Does your captain know you are here?"

  The midshipman was taken aback. "Of course, Ma'am, he sent us along."

  "I’ll wager he doesn't know who is here in particular though. Thank your captain for me, or more appropriately, I am guessing it was the surgeon who suggested the rescue. But I will just stay put for now."

  "Ma'am?" the midshipman said, disbelieving.

  "You heard me, off with you. This is my island, though it’s true that I haven't set a flag. All I had was my petticoat, and no pole at all, not even the Jolly Roger."

  The men in the boat were looking at her strangely now.

  She added, "I presume your captain is still Sir Edward Lindsay?"

  "That he is, Ma'am, and I do not think I should come back without you."

  "Why is that, sir? And what is your name, by the way?"

  "Murray, Ma'am, George Murray. Midshipman."

  "Mr. Murray, while I no doubt believe that your captain told you to rescue me, that supposes ignorance on his part as to who he was actually rescuing."

  "I do not understand, Ma'am."

  The crewmen seemed more than a little interested. She glanced around for sharks or Frenchmen. Finding neither gave her courage. She added, "I know your captain, and frankly, sir, if he knew it was me out here, he never would have sent you."

  Some of the men snickered again, but Mr. Murray ordered them quiet.

  "I assure you, Ma'am, he said to lend you assistance, and given your circumstances, I do not believe he would leave anyone in such distress."