A Buccaneer at Heart

by Stephanie Laurens

  He gathered her to him and dropped a kiss on her head. “Strangely, I find I don’t really mind.”

  She settled with her head on his chest, one hand resting over his heart. After a moment, she said, “Fate’s been playing with me, too. I left London determined to find and rescue Will, but...after learning of your mission, I had to give up my direct approach.”

  He murmured softly, “That must have hurt.” Although the comment was light, faintly humorous, it was, he knew, also the truth. Until that moment, he hadn’t fully realized what she’d given up in following and supporting him—for the greater good.

  She didn’t pretend otherwise. “It was a...wrench, but I know it was the right thing to do.” Tipping her head back, she looked up at him. “I had to accept that the best way to secure Will’s rescue, as well as that of all the others, was to do all I could to ensure your mission succeeded.”

  “And together we pulled it off.” He picked up her hand, carried it to his lips, and pressed a warm kiss to her palm. Then he returned her hand to where it had been, a warm, soft weight over his heart.

  She settled again. “So how long do we have before we reach London?”

  “If the skies are clear tomorrow, we’ll go to full sail. Another twelve days should see us home.” He rubbed his chin against the silk of her hair. “We’ll put into Southampton and take a coach from there.”

  They filled the next minutes with increasingly sleepy and idle comments, until the slumber of the sated claimed them.

  * * *

  Five days later, in the out-of-the-way tavern beyond the western end of Water Street, the three Englishmen met as they had before, in that hour between the end of the working day and any evening entertainment.

  As usual, the first man arrived, paid for his ale, then took the mug and retreated to the table in the corner. A few minutes later, he was joined by the third man. Clutching his mug, the third man sank into his usual seat at the end of the table and nervously sipped his ale.

  The first man cocked a brow the third man’s way. “How are things up at the fort?”

  The third man shrugged. “Nothing out of the ordinary, thank God.” He glanced at the door, then looked at the first man. “Where’s Muldoon?”

  “No idea,” the first man said. “But it’s not like him to be late.” A hint of tension showed in his voice.

  The third man shifted on his chair.

  The door opened; both men looked that way.

  Both released silent sighs of relief when Muldoon sauntered in.

  He didn’t glance at the corner table but went straight to the bar counter. He paid for his ale, lifted the mug and drank, then he turned and came to join them.

  Sliding onto the bench opposite the first man, Muldoon looked at the third man, then met the first man’s eyes. “We’ve had a slight hiccup, but if we keep our heads, I doubt anything will come of it.”

  The first man didn’t look convinced. “What happened?” His voice now held a steely note.

  Muldoon sipped, then lowered his mug. “A Miss Hopkins came calling at the office.”

  “Hopkins?” The first man frowned. “Any relation of Lieutenant Hopkins?”

  Muldoon nodded. “His sister. The first time she called, I was out. Apparently, she asked my clerks why her brother had been ashore when he disappeared, rather than with his ship—which, of course, they couldn’t tell her, given they don’t know.” Muldoon looked at the first man. “You should have warned me she was sniffing about.”

  “And how could I do that?” the first man countered. “I had no idea the woman was in the settlement.”

  Muldoon frowned. “She didn’t register with the governor’s office?”

  The first man shook his head. “Believe me, I would have noted that name. She never appeared on any of our lists. This is the first I knew she was here.” The first man paused, then asked, “Where’s she staying?”

  Muldoon shook his head. “She was staying at Mrs. Hoyt’s, but I’ve recently learned that she’s left the settlement.”

  “Oh?” The third man was studying Muldoon. “And did we have anything to do with that?”

  Muldoon grimaced. “Yes, and no.”

  When he didn’t continue, the first man snorted derisively. “Just spit it out, man—we don’t have all day.”

  Muldoon met the first man’s eyes; some of his customary belligerent confidence returned. “She called again a week ago. I was in, and she demanded to speak with me. I assumed she would ask about her brother again, but no. She wanted to know what the authorities knew about children going missing, and whether we’d heard rumors of slave traders operating inside the settlement. She also happened to mention that she was leaving for London soon and planned to call at Admiralty House.”

  “Good God!” The third man’s voice was weak.

  Both Muldoon and the first man cast the third an impatient glance. “Don’t panic,” Muldoon told him. “I doubt she’ll do any such thing, and even if she does”—he switched his gaze to the first man—“between us, we have any official inquiries covered. Anything she reports will simply be put down to the usual hysterical rumors female minds are wont to fix upon when visiting such uncivilized climes.”

  The first man grinned coldly and raised his mug. “Exactly.” He sipped, then fixed his steady gaze on Muldoon’s face. “Go on.”

  It was plain Muldoon would rather not, but... “Unsurprisingly, I sent word to Kale to kidnap her. As usual, he and his men were efficiency itself—they’re getting restive, not having much to do these days. We really need to work out some way to keep them occupied—more adults, not just children.”

  The first man studied Muldoon’s face. “So I take it Miss Hopkins is now with Dubois.”

  “No.” Muldoon grimaced again. “She was rescued by some sailors. Who, exactly, we don’t know, but whoever they were, they knew what they were doing. They knew how to fight, and they seemed to know the settlement well. They escaped through the slum, onto the wharf, and had a rowboat waiting. Kale’s men gave chase, but lost them amid the hulls in the harbor.”

  “So you’ve no idea from which ship they came?” the third man asked.

  Muldoon shook his head. “But that wasn’t the end of it. If you recall, we’d told Kale to get more children to Dubois—older ones. The morning after Miss Hopkins’s remarkable escape, Kale’s men went down to the shore and selected a group of five older slum-rats. They walked them out of the settlement, on to the inlet, and ultimately to Kale’s camp with no problem. But later that evening, the men in the camp heard screeching and screaming. They were convinced, all of them, that the scream came from a woman. They went out in force and searched, but found no one. So they put the episode down to monkeys fighting and left it at that.

  “But in the small hours, Kale got word from his men in the settlement that one of their number—the one who patrols the nearer shore of the inlet—had seen a gent and a lady in a canoe heading upriver the previous evening toward Kale’s camp. Kale’s man recognized the canoe as one hired from one of the local villages. Bright boy that he is, he reasoned that the gent and lady would return the canoe and then head back to the settlement, and he realized he would get more immediate help from the group he knew were coming up from the settlement that night, so he’d gone and met with them, and they’d set up an ambush on the path from the inlet back to the settlement. Then they’d sent word to Kale.”

  “Kale caught the pair?” the third man asked, clearly in hope.

  Muldoon met the first man’s eyes and shook his head. “Kale came to see me last night. He wasn’t happy. The gent and lady between them gave his men the slip—they returned the canoe, but rather than head back to the settlement, they walked north along the bank.”

  “Good God.” The first man frowned. “Why?”

  “That became clear la
ter.” Grimly, Muldoon continued, “Kale’s no slouch—he nearly caught up with them again, but they grabbed another canoe and took off for the estuary. He and his men chased them down, but by then they were in the estuary itself—the eastern reaches—and there was a ship there, standing off. A bloody great full rigger, as near as I can make out.” Muldoon paused to down a mouthful of his ale.

  “So they—the gent and the lady—got away?” The first man pushed aside his mug and fixed his attention squarely on Muldoon.

  Muldoon nodded and set down his mug. “Kale nearly had them, but the blasted woman—and it had to have been Miss Hopkins—shot him. Winged him.” Muldoon snorted. “Turned out she’d shot one of his men the night before, too. That one wasn’t so lucky.” Muldoon sighed and pressed his fingertips to his forehead as if massaging an ache. “I had to pay Kale off. Enough to keep him happy. Well, happy enough. For now.”

  The first man sat back and stared at Muldoon. After a moment, he said, “First question—who the hell was the man with Miss Hopkins? And second, what ship took them up?”

  Muldoon’s lips compressed into a thin line. Then he shook his head. “Damned if I know who the man was. Kale wasn’t much help with descriptions—the man could have been any Englishman. As for the ship...” Muldoon hesitated, then confessed, “I went through the harbormaster’s register for that period, including those ships that were supposed to have already sailed. Whatever ship it was, the captain didn’t register with the harbormaster’s office.”

  “What does that mean?” the third man all but squeaked.

  Muldoon shrugged. “It could mean a host of things, but most likely the vessel’s captain didn’t feel any need to make his presence in these waters known. He might have been a corsair or a buccaneer putting in for water or supplies. If he didn’t need to come into the harbor and register and pay the fees, why would he?”

  The first man tapped the table with one fingernail. “Let’s assume Miss Hopkins and the fellow with her saw Kale’s camp. Is she—or the man—likely to cause us trouble?” The first man focused on Muldoon. “Is Miss Hopkins likely to take her tale to the Admiralty, as she intimated?”

  Muldoon stared back at him, then grimaced. “If I had to wager on it, I would say she will. She was that sort of pushy female—bossy and not about to back down.”

  The first man nodded. “All right. As you said, between you and me, we can deal with any official inquiries that get sent this way.” He glanced at the third man. “Given we’re alert to the possibilities, it’s unlikely anything will slip through enough to rock our boat.” He refocused on Muldoon. “Did Kale have anything to report from Dubois?”

  “Yes.” Muldoon paused to drain his mug. Lowering it, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Apparently, Dubois was happy enough to have the older children—he said he could use them immediately. But he repeated that if we want the second pipe up and running to full capacity as soon as Dixon opens it, then he’ll need more men. I gather he rather underscored men. He told Kale to say he didn’t see any need for more women, or more children, but more men are essential if we want production to increase.”

  The first man pulled a face. “Given our recent communications from our esteemed backers, we’re going to have to find Dubois those men.”

  The third man shifted. “In that letter you showed me—the last one—they sounded...impatient.”

  Muldoon snorted. “They don’t know what it’s like down here. They’re all sitting safe and cozy in their London clubs.” He paused, then, his gaze on the table, said, “If I had our time again, I don’t know that I would invite them in as we did. We might have needed their cash, but we sure as hell don’t need them breathing down our necks. If we misstep and get found out, it’s our necks in the noose. They’re so wealthy and well connected, they’ll get no more than a slap on the wrist, but the three of us?” Muldoon pulled a bitter face. “We’ll swing.”

  After a moment, the first man said, “The only thing I would do differently is ensure that they didn’t know our names. Sadly, they do, which means we haven’t any choice but to meet their demands, no matter how unreasonable said demands may be.”

  The third man turned his empty mug between his hands. “Or, at least, make it seem as if we are.”

  Muldoon and the first man both turned to stare at the third.

  Sensing their attention, he looked up. “What?”

  Slowly, Muldoon shook his head, then he wryly grinned. “You’re coming along at last, Winton—in terms of this enterprise, that’s the first truly canny contribution you’ve made.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Twelve mornings after their departure from Freetown, Robert sat at his desk and diligently wrote in his journal. During this voyage more than any before, the practice of documenting all daily occurrences, describing his findings and detailing his conclusions, had assisted immeasurably in plotting his course.

  He glanced across the cabin. Aileen lazed on his bed, her gaze locked on one of his earlier volumes detailing some of his adventures in the Caribbean and southern American colonies. She was immersed in the tale. He watched her turn a page, then smiled and returned to putting the finishing touches to their current adventure. He was, more or less, up to date.

  He had set down his pen and was blotting his last line when footsteps came pounding down the corridor. Aileen looked up. Robert shut the journal, opened the bottom drawer of his desk, and dropped the book in. As he shut the drawer, a sharp rap fell on the door. “Come,” he called.

  The door opened, and Wilcox looked in. His bosun smiled at Aileen, then snapped a salute Robert’s way. “Lieutenant Latimer’s compliments, Captain, but he thought you’d want to know that it looks like we’re chasing The Prince up the Channel.”

  “Are we, indeed?” Robert looked at Aileen. In reply to her questioning look, he explained, “Caleb’s ship.” He rose. “Thank you, Mr. Wilcox—we’ll come up.”

  “Aye, sir.” Wilcox departed, shutting the door.

  Aileen set a marker in the journal she was reading, shut it, and laid it aside, then she uncurled her legs and rose from the bed.

  Robert watched, a silly, contented smile on his face as she shook out her skirts, then, with her usual brisk stride, came to join him. He opened the door. As she passed through it, she asked, “Why is it of such particular interest that your brother is sailing up the Channel ahead of us?”

  “Because,” he said, following her from the cabin and closing the door, “Caleb loves a race—and he loves to win. What he has yet to realize is that we—Declan, Royd, and I—humor him.”

  “Oh, really?” Aileen knew enough about brotherly competitiveness to accord that statement the skepticism it deserved.

  But as she emerged onto the main deck, she was thrilled to see the cliffs of England forming a gently rippling white-and-green line across the horizon. “I hadn’t realized we were already so close.” She leaned into Robert’s hold on her arm as the deck pitched.

  They’d been chased up the Atlantic by a succession of storms, but under full sail, The Trident had raced before the winds. They’d beaten up the coast in what she’d been informed was near-record time, and overnight, the ship had swung into the mouth of the Channel.

  Robert assisted her to the ladder and up to the poop deck. They exchanged nods with Jordan Latimer, who presently had charge of the wheel. Aileen halted by the front rail, looking out over the main deck. Robert stood behind her, his legs braced and his hands on her shoulders, screening her from the stiff breeze.

  Now they were nearing the coast and the various ports, there were other vessels sharing the waves. Lumbering merchantmen, lighter passenger ferries and laden barges plying the cross-Channel routes, and even a few yachts dotted the steel-blue expanse, but the tall-masted ships drew the eye, their sails a medley of whites and pale golds in the morning sun.

  �
��There.” Robert extended his arm and pointed to the stern of a ship that must have been at least half a mile ahead of them. To Aileen, the ship looked much the same as The Trident, but Robert explained, “The Prince has a somewhat wider beam—she’s not so sleek—and she’s yet to be modified to the level of The Trident.” He paused.

  Aileen glanced at his face and saw his eyes were narrowed, his expression assessing.

  Then he glanced at Latimer. “We can’t catch him this side of the Solent, not with the lead he already has. But”—Robert grinned—“we can certainly close the distance and give him a thrill.”

  Latimer laughed. “I thought you’d say that.” He nodded at the sails. “Do you want to do the honors? He’s your brother, after all.”

  Robert’s grin turned to a full-blown smile. He nodded to Latimer and lightly squeezed Aileen’s shoulders. “Stay here and hold on,” he murmured. Then he released her and moved farther along the rail.

  She watched as he gripped the rail and, spotting Wilcox on the main deck, called down to the bosun, “Mr. Wilcox. You’ll have seen The Prince ahead of us. What say we give her a little nudge?”

  Wilcox and every crew member within hearing beamed.

  “Aye, Captain!” Wilcox replied.

  Robert laughed. He glanced at his brother’s ship, then looked to his own sails and started rattling off orders. The crew leapt into action. Some swarmed up into the rigging like monkeys. Others raced to man various winches or haul on ropes. Aileen tried to keep track of what was happening, but the changes were so numerous—and they kept coming.

  And The Trident surged.

  Aileen gripped the rail, understanding now why Robert had told her to hold on. She’d thought the ship had been traveling rapidly before, but now...now it felt as if the hull lifted out of the water and raced across the top of the waves.

  Exhilaration gripped her.