The Buccaneer

by Barbara Devlin

  For some reason he could not quite discern, in that moment, he ached to laugh. The tension investing his spine seemed to disappear, as Francie retraced her steps, skipping her way back to the house. Undetected, he admired her shapely calves and then gave his attention to her unusual offering.

  So he finally managed to flap the unflappable Miss Osborne.

  Standing beneath the canopy of the graceful willow, he studied her offering and smiled, as he untied and pocketed the ribbon. No plea, however well intended, to some unknown deity would save her from Cager Tyne.

  ~

  It was late, and all in the house were abed, when Francie pulled on her dress, tugged on her slippers, and tiptoed into the hall. Feeling her way in the dark, she ascended the back stairs to the second floor nursery. As she pushed open the door, she noted the soft glow from a single taper, which sat on a table near the crib. What almost elicited a gasp of shock was Jean Marc sleeping on the floor, near his daughter.

  Madalene’s enthusiastic praise of her husband reverberated in Francie’s brain, as she carefully stepped over him. In the bed, Patience cooed, as Francie picked up the babe.

  Moving, swift and sure, she carried the child to the side window, eased between the heavy velvet draperies, and peered beyond the glass at the almost full moon. Pressing her lips to Patience’s warm forehead, Francie savored the silvery blue light. “Do you see that, little one?” Francie said, in a whisper. “She is The Great Mother, and she guards you.” Closing her eyes, Francie inhaled a deep breath. “By the light of The Great Mother, may you know health and healing. My blessings upon you, princess Patience.”

  Making a mental note to gather some lavender, violets, and daisies from the garden, to construct a posy for added protection, Francie returned the babe to the crib. Holding her breath, and uttering a silent plea that Patience did not cry, Francie stole into the hall.

  At the landing, she sighed in relief, grasped the bannister, and skipped down the back stairs. In the kitchen, she veered right—and almost screamed.

  “What is wrong, fair Francie?” Cager loomed in her path. “You look as though you have seen a ghost.”

  “Mr. Tyne.” She swallowed hard and cautioned herself not to panic, as she may not have been discovered. “I did not expect anyone else to be up and about, at this hour.”

  “So I gather.” Folding his arms, he inclined his head. “And what were you doing?”

  “I was worried about the babe, and I could not sleep.” If she could maintain her composure, she could avoid detection, because she doubted the buccaneer would sympathize with her position. “I checked on Miss Patience, and Mr. Cavalier is with her, so my concern was unfounded.”

  “And now you intend to retire?” He arched a brow, and she braced for a bawdy remark. “Or could I persuade you to take a drink with me?”

  “I do not indulge in such beverages, but I thank you for the offer.” As she made to sidestep him, he blocked her way. “Please, Mr. Tyne, it has been a long day, and I am quite tired.”

  “Tea, perhaps?” He arched a brow. “I would like to talk to you, and I do not think I can sleep until I do so.”

  “Of course.” From the cupboard she collected a pot, filled it with fresh water from a pitcher, and set the pan on one of the cooking plates of the cast iron stove. After adding a log to the firebox, she gathered a porcelain teapot with matching cups and saucers from the pantry. As she spooned some loose tealeaves into the teapot, Cager cleared his throat, and she started.

  “Francie, I owe you an apology.” He scratched his cheek and frowned, and her mind raced to comprehend his distress. “Earlier, I should not have kissed you, at least, not without your consent, and I am sorry if I frightened you.”

  His kiss did many things to her, but fear never entered the equation.

  “Is that what upsets you?” Was it possible? Did he regret their exchange? “Really, Mr. Tyne, it does not signify, so you have no worries.”

  “Then why do you blush?” Oh, dear. There was the tone that grated on her nerves. “And why did you not resist me?”

  “Because I felt sorry for you,” she blurted. “I sensed your anguish, and I wanted to help you.” Of course, it was too late when she realized she said more than necessary. If she were lucky, he would ignore the innocent comment.

  “Just what do you mean you sensed my anguish?” He narrowed his stare.

  So much for luck.

  “It was an expression.” She shrugged, noticed the water boiled, grabbed a cloth, grasped the handle of the pot, and filled the teapot.

  “How so?” At the table, he pulled out two chairs and sat in the one near the window.

  “Would you care for some shortbread and apple butter?” If she could distract him, she just might keep her secret. “And how do you take your tea?”

  “I am not sure, as I do not usually drink it.” Cager peered at the cup and wrinkled his nose, and she could not contain a snort of laughter. “Now, tell me about your senses. How did you know I was in pain?”

  “It was something in your demeanor.” From the wooden icebox, she retrieved some cream, which she added to her tea. If she kept her wits about her, she just might survive his prying questions. “And you were so pale.”

  “No.” He shook his head, and she bit her lip. “It was more than that, because you knew precisely what I experienced, and I want an explanation.”

  “What happened to you?” She had to change the subject, else risk discovery, which could jeopardize her position in the Cavalier household, as well as her life. “While you may deny it, I know you suffered some portentous tragedy. Will you not share it with me?”

  “Why do you want to know?” There it was, the indisputable trauma that humbled his larger-than-life personality.

  “Because I care about you, as a child of the earth.” And she could not ignore a troubled soul. “Please, Mr. Tyne.”

  “Would it surprise you to know I was married, once?” Before her eyes, he altered, and a softer, more arresting man emerged, which she ached to console. “Her name was Adele, and I loved her. I got her with child, and they died during the birth.”

  “I beg your pardon?” To her everlasting amazement, he imparted the tragic news as though he were commenting on nothing more remarkable than the weather. “Did you just tell me that you lost a wife and a babe?”

  “I did.” Holding the cup to his mouth, he blew on the steaming liquid, sipped the tea, and made a face that left her giggling. “This is awful.”

  “Would you prefer rum?” She stuck her tongue in her cheek, pushed from the table, and fetched a bottle of the intoxicant, hidden behind some mixing bowls in the pantry. In another elegant cup, Francie poured the sailor’s crude grog. “I wager you will find this more to your liking, Mr. Tyne.”

  “Why will you not call me Cager?” In a single healthy gulp, he drained the cup and motioned for a refill. “Since you know my darkest secret, we should be friends, you and I.”

  “I know you presume I do not address you informally as some sort of rebellion or a means of maintaining my distance, but the truth is I call you as such because I respect you.” And it surprised her to admit it. “In fact, I sometimes think you call me by my given name in a show of disrespect, but I would believe otherwise if you told me as much.”

  “Actually, I mean no discourtesy.” Again, he emptied the cup and nodded once. “Indeed, I am fond of you. I find you attractive, and I would know you better, if you allow it.”

  “How much better?” Why she posed the query she knew not, but she prepared herself for a ribald reply.

  “We could offer each other mutual comfort.” He shrugged. “Where is the harm in that?”

  Ah, he knew not of her power, which she would, no doubt, pass to her heirs, and her father insisted the family abilities end with her, given the danger associated with her gifts.

  While she once dreamed of a husband and a family, the hazards related to her magick could jeopardize those connected to her, and she could not
chance the possibility of imperiling an innocent. So Francie would die as she lived—alone.

  “Is it not enough that we enjoy an amiable acquaintance?” She leveled her gaze. “Or would you bring me low, given you have no plans to wed me?”

  “Well said, my dear.” He smiled a boyish smile that tugged at her heart, but she would not be swayed. “Then we shall continue our cordial but somewhat sharp friendship, as your saucy tongue never fails to rouse my Jolly Roger.”

  “What?” Shocked beyond words, she sputtered, gathered the dirty dishes, deposited them in a wash bucket, and dried her hands on a cloth. “And to think I felt sorry for you, you ill-mannered tub of filth.”

  “Aw, come on, Francie.” To her horror, he gave chase. “Insult me, again.”

  “Shame on you, Mr. Tyne.” She fled into the hall. “Somewhere, you deprive a village of its idiot.”

  “Woman, I could almost marry you.” Holding his belly, he chuckled and rocked on his heels. Then he winked. “Sweet dreams, fair Francie.”

  It was then she realized that his was but unexceptionable play, and she rolled her eyes. “Goodnight, Mr. Tyne.”

  THE BUCCANEER

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sun peeked through a gap in the drapes, and Cager rubbed his eyes, stretched his arms, and shook off the last vestiges of the inappropriate dream about Francie. On the bedside table, a half-empty bottle of rum brought the events of last night to the fore, and he yawned.

  At the washstand, he cleaned his teeth, washed his face, and shaved. Studying his reflection in the mirror, he brushed his hair. After donning a clean pair of black wool breeches, Hessians, and a white linen top, the standard attire for a pirate, he went in search of his favorite blond antagonist.

  In the kitchen, Mabel, the portly redheaded cook, peered over her shoulder, as she guarded a large pot. “Good morning, Cager. Miss Osborne left a plate of eggs and bacon, in the oven. Would you like some toast?”

  “Mabel, you old honey heart.” He snickered, as he sat at the table. “When will you grant my fondest wish and marry me?”

  “You are a devil, Cager Tyne.” She guffawed, as she pulled his breakfast from the oven and set two slices of bread on the rack. “And while I fancy your pretty face, I am too wise to dally with you.”

  Just as he sharpened his tongue for a rapier retort, a flirty little ditty snared his attention, and he glanced at the back stairs. With a playful bounce, Francie skipped into the kitchen. When she spotted Cager, she drew up short and sketched an exaggerated curtsey.

  “A pleasant morning, Mr. Tyne.” How fetching she looked, in her pale blue frock and crisp white apron, with her fair hair tamed by a tight chignon. Still, he would wager he could ruffle her feathers. “I trust you slept well?”

  “I did, thanks to your tender attentions, last night.” As Mabel burst into laughter, Francie’s eyes flared, and Cager scored a direct hit to the adorable housekeeper. “You are a benevolent soul, fair Francie, and I am forever in your debt.”

  “And to think I pitied you.” With clenched fists, she squared her shoulders, and bared her teeth. Then she glared at Mabel.

  “Do not rip at me, because I said nothing.” The cook splayed her palms and then snorted. “But I sure heard something.”

  Venting an unholy bellow, Francie stomped a foot. “But he gives the false impression that we were…we were—”

  “—Intimate?” Ah, her charming red flush spread from her cheeks all the way down to her bosom and, he surmised, beyond. “Now, Francie, why deny the agreement we brokered, when you were so amenable to my proposition?”

  “Proposition?” She swayed. “Mr. Tyne, I daresay if you were half as smart as you think you are, you would still be a fool.”

  “Tell him, Miss Osborne.” Mabel howled with mirth.

  “Oh, hush.” Francie lifted her chin and sniffed. “As you encourage him, shamelessly.”

  “As do you.” Mabel pointed with a wooden spoon, and Cager grinned. “If you ignored his saucy mouth, he would not badger you, but you take the bait, every time.”

  He tapped his chin, as he mulled Mabel’s assertion. “You know, a thought just occurred to me.”

  “Must have been a long and solitary journey.” Francie glowered, as he noticed her pulse beating at her throat, and he savored her fit of temper, which he hoped extended to the bedchamber, because he would wager she was a hellion between the sheets.

  “You had better take care, Cager.” Mabel snickered. “Miss Osborne gives as good as she gets.”

  “I am counting on it.” With a large piece of bread, he scooped up some eggs. “As I do cherish our friendly exchanges.”

  “You are no friend to me, Mr. Tyne, as your claim is false.” Pressing a fist to her chest, Francie ran into the garden.

  “Good morning, everyone.” Carrying a tray, Nanny Hazel walked into the kitchen, gazed at Cager and then at Mabel. “Did I miss anything of significance?”

  “I say you did.” Mabel chortled. “But it is not something we did not already suspect.”

  “Now wait just a minute, Mabel.” Although Cager reveled in what he considered a pretend feud, all in fun, with Francie, he refused to besmirch her good name. “I was only teasing Miss Osborne, which you well know. We shared a pot of tea and polite conversation, last night, and naught more.”

  “Of course, you did.” Hazel winked, and it was too late when he realized his error. “Nothing happened, and that is why she flees.”

  “No, seriously.” In that moment, he regretted taunting Francie, because he never meant to hurt her. “You make something of nothing, and I should speak with her.”

  “Actually, Mr. Cavalier requests your presence in the nursery.” The nanny closed her eyes and sighed. “Mabel, your pease porridge smells delicious.”

  “Best in New England.” The two gossipmongers put their heads together, and he could just imagine what they discussed, and he wrestled with a new, unfamiliar, and altogether foreign sensation.

  “Ladies, please, do not disparage Miss Osborne.” As he stood, they giggled, and he carried his now empty plate and mug to the cleaning bucket, where he deposited the dirty dishes. Remorse manifested an uncomfortable and unwelcome emotion, but he knew not how to make amends.

  Resolved to find a way to correct the situation of his own making, he took the back stairs, two at a time, strode down the hall, and found Jean Marc, sitting in a rocking chair in the nursery. Patience wailed, as Madalene handed the babe to her father.

  “Hold her, while I change my dress, as I dripped milk on myself as I nursed her.” When Madalene spied Cager, she smiled. “Good morning. Patience ate a full breakfast, and Dr. Gideon said my daughter makes a remarkable recovery.”

  “Yet, she still cries.” Gently, Jean Marc bounced the child. “No, no, mon trésor, Cavaliers do not weep.” As he cradled Patience’s head, he kissed her temple, and Cager envied his one-time captain. “Papa loves you, mon trésor. Papa loves you.”

  “That is great news.” While Jean Marc tended his babe, Cager turned and stared out the window. “You wished to see me?”

  “Aye.” Again, Jean Marc shushed Patience, and she quieted. “I wanted you to know the supplies were delivered to the warehouse, and you can travel to Port Royal, whenever you are ready.”

  “Have you any particular date in mind?” In the garden, Francie navigated the path, as she returned to the house, and he determined to offer an apology at the first opportunity.

  “Not really,” Jean Marc replied. “But I would prefer you depart within a sennight, in the event you meet foul weather. Is the Lady Madalene seaworthy?”

  “I had the devil fresh-paid with pitch, and the new canvas arrived two days ago.” Normally, embarking on a journey brought him a sense of excitement, but in that instant, Cager struggled with unease, as he faced his longtime friend. “If necessary, I can cast off on the morning tide.”

  “Then I leave it to you.” Jean Marc arched a brow. “What is wrong, Cager?”

  �
��What makes you think there is something wrong?” He shuffled his feet.

  “I know you too well.” Just as Jean Marc opened his mouth, Francie entered the nursery, carrying a spray of flowers from the garden. “Miss Osborne, I would have a word with you.” To Cager, Jean Marc said, “Give us the room, and you and I will continue our talk, later.”

  Although Cager nodded the affirmative, his curiosity piqued, as Jean Marc’s expression changed. For whatever reason, Cavalier was angry with Francie. In the hall, Cager glanced left and then right and hugged the wall. Since the door remained open, he lingered, that he might discern the cause of Jean Marc’s ire.

  “Miss Osborne, you will tell me about the spell you cast on my daughter.”

  ~

  Trembling beneath the intense scrutiny of her employer, whose marked appearance already intimidated her, Francie bit her lip and studied the posy she constructed for Patience. So many responses filled her ears, but she could not choose just one.

  “Answer me.” At Mr. Cavalier’s terse demand, the baby started, and he patted Patience’s back. “I am sorry, my princess.”

  Shuffling her feet, Francie prayed for an escape. “Sir, I am not sure what you reference, as I—”

  “You entered the nursery, last night, as I slept on the floor—only I was awake. You took my daughter from her crib, you hid behind the drapes, and you cast your spell, Miss Osborne.” The former pirate, who still looked more than a little menacing, narrowed his stare, and she gulped. “While I do not claim to be an intelligent man, I am not stupid. What sort of sorcery do you practice in my home and on my daughter, and why should I not dismiss you, now?”

  “Sir, you have every right to be angry with me, because there is so much misinformation about who and what I am, but I would never harm Miss Patience, as I love her.” Terrified for the safety of her family, Francie shivered. “And never would I harm you or Mrs. Cavalier, as she is kin, to me. While there are those who would call me a witch, I rebuke the offensive label, as I am a child of the earth, and I draw power from nature. The blessing I sought was intended to protect Miss Patience. If you heard me, you know that to be true.”