by Andrea Jones
With a light heart he left, securing the door. Calling to collect his bride from the next room, he rapped softly, anticipating the sight of her lovely face.
Liza opened the door, wearing the maroon gown her father’s diamonds had purchased from Mr. Yulunga. Smiling shyly, she looked peaked but pretty. She had balked over breakfast, indicating her weariness of Cook’s porridge and an eagerness to sample the cuisine of LeCorbeau’s chef. She, too, was elated. Hanover had sensed her excitement last night. It had kept her awake and somehow, in her giddiness, moved her to pierce her ears. She understood, however, when her father cautioned that she shouldn’t wear Hook’s jewels for a few more days. Not until Jill was firmly established as his own. He had cleansed and tended her piercings, and allowed Liza to wear her hair down today, to disguise the damage. Even so, he took pride in her appearance as she accepted the medicine bag and made way for her father to behold his bride.
“My lady. I have come for you at last.”
As enchanting as Liza looked, the sight of Jill stopped the bridegroom in his footsteps. She stood at the back of the cabin, her chin high, gazing out the window at the sea. As he entered the room, she turned her head. Hanover held his breath, believing he was in danger of drowning in the blue of her eyes.
On this, her wedding day, Jill wore her finest gown. No, Hanover corrected himself— any woman might wear a gown. Jill enhanced the black silk, the same in which she had danced with him far into the night, that very first evening. The silver slippers peeped from beneath her skirts, a concession to propriety. So, also, were the long black gloves that, in elegantly covering her arms and elbows, masked the leather bands at her wrists and the stain of her hand. The only mark of piracy she retained was the jeweled dagger, gleaming at her waist. The lady still bore the gold she’d won from her gypsy lover, and the opal necklace that sparkled a spectrum of colors. Although, like Jill, these treasures came to him from other men, Hanover smiled to see such riches. Soon enough, he would consider them remuneration for the price he had paid for her. For now, still staring, he forgot his haste to be gone.
Jill’s fair hair had been captured. Twisted into an elegant knot, it was pinned up, one golden lock left to straggle, curling down her shoulder and over her breast. In her superlative black gown, she appeared both widow and bride— an appropriate balance, Hanover reflected. He was only too aware of the wretched remains he had abandoned in his shackles. But he would be patient. He would ease Jill’s time of mourning. Soon the couple would sail into France, then post to Paris, where he would order trunkfuls of the most fashionable raiment. Doctor Johann Heinrich intended to arrive in Vienna in grand style— a handsome coach, more wealth in the bank, and two beautiful women on his arms. He had endured his trials. Nothing could hold success from him now.
Feeling vigorous with victory, he crossed the room. “Madam.” He kissed her hand, suddenly regretting the glove that covered it. “You are exquisite.”
“Thank you.” She squeezed his hand. “Johann, I am ready.” She smiled, and her eyes lit up to match his own. “Today.”
“Today!” He couldn’t wait any longer. With gentle pressure, he pulled her hand under his elbow and urged her toward the door. “Today, my darling.”
Arm in arm, the couple promenaded over the gun deck. The silent cannons brooded, the cat squalled. The Roger creaked as they crossed her, to no avail. The pirate queen had abdicated her throne. This ship would have to carry on without her.
Refusing to look back, Hanover led the way up the stairs. His daughter kept pace, only slowing to send a last regretful glance toward her cabin, the site of her misadventures. The room full of secrets which, with both bitter memories and sweet, she would always harbor in her heart.
Turning to emerge from the hatch, Liza blinked in the sunlight to distinguish a calloused hand reaching to assist her. She looked up into a pair of china blue eyes. As she slid her fingers into the French sailor’s grip, his Gallic smile spread across his face. It was her admirer, and his delight in her move to L’Ormonde shone upon his countenance.
“Bonjour, Mademoiselle.” He bowed and removed the bag from her grasp. Keeping a steady hold on her hand, he led her toward his captain’s ship. He seemed unaware of the glower aimed at his long blond pigtail, but Liza felt it. Averting her gaze from the rail from which Yulunga’s scowl emanated, she never dared to look away from the young Frenchman’s face. Of last night’s trysting, all that remained was the sting of her earlobes. She knew who she was now: Mademoiselle.
Jill kept her eyes on L’Ormonde. Only after gaining footing aboard the French ship did she look back. She didn’t have to search. Her gaze lit immediately on Cecco’s face. He was sallow, angry. His hand rested on the dagger in his belt. The medallions of his headdress shimmered in the wind as he stood, legs wide, high upon the quarterdeck. He made no sign to her. She made no sign to him. The matched pair of golden armbands, each aboard a different ship and separated by the sea, glittered in the sun.
Jill turned away to place her black-gloved hands into those proffered by the bowing commandant. The planking scraped over the deck and clattered against the gunwale. Cecco’s voice pealed out. “Ship’s company! Cast off!”
A rich, deeper voice took up the call as Yulunga shouted, “Make ready to come about!”
Liza heard that voice as she followed the French sailor to stow her father’s bag in his new quarters. Hanover listened from the deck, his face full of the satisfaction the finality of those words brought to him.
Jill, too, listened. She saw that greetings issued from LeCorbeau’s mouth. L’Ormonde’s sails dropped and caught the wind. Jill glimpsed Renaud standing nearby in full dress uniform, heels together, a small black book tucked under his arm. She felt the commandant’s lips brush the fabric over her hands. She smelled the tang of victory that hung about her fiancé. But her ears heard only the sounds of the Roger, preparing to sail away, without her. The loose curling hair on her neck tickled in the breeze. The pitch of L’Ormonde as she sheered away felt identical to the pitch of the Roger. To settle her stomach, Jill inhaled a deep breath of sea air. Automatically, she acknowledged LeCorbeau’s courtesies.
Within minutes, she might penetrate the mystery of Hook’s disappearance. Her final duty to her captain. Much too late, but too compelling to refuse. All this time, she’d never managed to subdue the illogical stirrings of hope. They kicked at her now as she struggled to stand firm on this foreign vessel. A vessel Hook himself had forbidden her to board. Yet no matter what she learned, with luck, her husband would soon be soothing these fears, making her safe. She had chosen to trust him. Before long, she would lie in his arms, reassured by his embraces— and sailing for home.
Wherever that might be.
§ § §
Captain Cecco strode to the quarterdeck rail. In silence, Yulunga joined him, handing over the spyglass. The two men, master and mate, ignored the activity around and above them, endeavoring to make out the movements on the deck of L’Ormonde.
“I should never have let her go.”
“You had little choice, Sir.”
“I have a choice now.”
“Captain, it won’t be necessary to—”
“We shall soon discover what becomes necessary.” Cecco observed through the glass. “Ah, I see the lady’s sons. She is happy to be reunited with them. Hanover has even taken his hands off her long enough to allow her to embrace them.” Cecco’s voice turned bitter as he spied. “How victory is changing him! He condescends to shake their hands.”
His queen held court in the center of L’Ormonde’s deck, before the mainmast. A table covered in a white cloth stood nearby, laden with drink and delicacies, a wedding feast. Cecco saw Jill smiling. She rested a hand on each of her sons as Hanover greeted them. Liza returned to the deck to inch her way through the blue coats of the sailors. Beckoning to Liza, Jill directed her to approach the young men. Liza curtsied. Tom bowed, and then he laughed and shook Liza’s hand. Nibs neared her, too, solemnly
offering his handshake. Soon Hanover gripped Liza’s shoulders, guiding her to a position facing LeCorbeau while Nibs and Tom snapped to attention. Hanover stood up straight and took Jill’s hand in both his own. Through the glass, Cecco watched the bride and groom exchange a glance, then, sober, address their full attention to the commandant.
“They waste no time.”
“No, Sir. Nor did you.”
Cecco snorted, never lowering the spyglass.
The Frenchman stood erect before the couple, dressed in his finest coat and an abundance of lace at his throat. His ornamental sword hung at his side, shining like his buttons. He flourished a hand, into which Renaud deposited the little black book. Guillaume stood near his captain, bearing a tray containing parchment, ink and quill. Those men not occupied with the sailing of the ship gathered at a respectful distance, grinning. Each gripped a pewter cup; one or two held fiddles and a concertina. Obviously a party was brewing. Yulunga interrupted Cecco’s speculations.
“Captain. You wanted to put as much distance as possible between ships.”
“So I led the lady to believe.”
“Shall we make sail, then?”
“No. Not yet.”
“But the plan was to be beyond L’Ormonde’s reach when the lady rejoins us.”
“You should know me better, my friend. I have no intention of fleeing from a fight with LeCorbeau.”
“Sir?”
“Tell the men to prepare for battle. Quietly.”
“And…when shall we attack?”
“Mr. Yulunga. We will wait.” Cecco lowered the glass. He remembered the feel of Jill’s throat, warm within his grasp, the pulsing of her blood against his touch. His heartbeat quickened, and his swarthy face set. “We will wait. Until the very last moment.”
§ § §
LeCorbeau’s smile was sleek. He was enjoying himself. Sailing free at last with his wayward surgeon secure and their prospects restored, he prepared to preside over the ceremony. He grasped the book, inhaling a breath of satisfaction through his overlarge nose.
“And now, before we may begin.”
Hanover shifted, restless to commence, and felt the sword at his side brush his trousers. He tightened the grip of his elbow where Jill’s hand nestled within it. “I assure you, Captain. My bride and I are more than ready.”
“Do not fear, my brave Doctor Hanover. I have only one question. For the lady.”
Attentive, the lady raised her eyebrows.
“Are you quite certain, Madame, that you wish to enter into this, eh,” he tossed his head, “situation?”
“Commandant? But of course.”
“That is, eh, you are aware, are you not, of the consequences of your…decision? The strictures of the law?”
“I assure you, Sir. I know exactly what my decision means. But I thank you for your consideration. Please.” Gazing adoringly at her impatient fiancé, she leaned on his arm. “Begin at once.”
“Very well, then.” LeCorbeau cleared his throat. His men bent forward to listen. The sun shone down upon the celebrants this glorious morning, a good omen for a marriage. L’Ormonde’s white sails swelled full of the freshening air, as if she held her breath to hear the vows.
Tom, standing next to Liza, turned to grin at her. His mood was so infectious she felt herself smiling back. Even Nibs nodded at her, his lips turning upward.
“Join hands, if you please, and repeat the consentements. I, eh— But Monsieur, by what name shall you call yourself?”
Startled, Hanover blinked. As he beheld his Jill, his smile returned in force. “Heinrich. Let there be no doubt about it.”
“Alors, so it shall be. I, Johann Heinrich, receive you, Jill, as wife.”
The surgeon gazed into his fiancée’s eyes and made his assertion certain. “I, Johann Heinrich, receive you, Jill…as wife.” The long awaited moment had arrived, and Hanover’s pulse beat strong and quick. The vows rolled from his lips.
“And I promise to remain faithful to you, in happy times and in times of trial…in health and in sickness, in order to love you all the days of my life.” His smile was tight with happiness, his grip on her fingers firm.
When LeCorbeau turned to her, Jill felt the pressure of the surgeon’s hands pressing hers, as if they might meld into one flesh. From the corner of her eye, she caught a glare of gold across the sea. Did she hear or did she remember the jangle of those bracelets?
Halfway up the Roger’s mizzen shrouds, Captain Cecco leaned against the ratlines. He watched through the spyglass as LeCorbeau offered words to his woman. He witnessed her declaration. She nodded once as she spoke— showing no hesitation.
The Frenchman motioned with his lace-bedecked arm, and the blond sailor brought a salver full of cups from the table. LeCorbeau received a silver goblet from his hand. Bestowing it on the groom, he bowed. Hanover turned to face Jill, raised the cup to her, and drank. He placed the cup in Jill’s black gloves. Cecco caught the glint of his own gold at her wrists as she lifted the drink to her new husband, smiled, and sipped. Hanover removed the cup from her hands and returned it to the sailor.
At LeCorbeau’s signal, Guillaume came forward and offered the pen to Hanover. Guillaume held the tray with its parchment steady. The surgeon dipped the quill and dashed off his signature. Cecco couldn’t see the pompous smile as Hanover presented the pen to Jill, but he didn’t have to see it. It was the look on Jill’s face that interested him. It was difficult to make out, but he could imagine it. Her engaging eyes, her smile, and the subsequent movement of the quill in her fingers as she signed yet another oath of loyalty. What were her feelings at this moment?
The surgeon’s feelings were too clear. Jill turned to him, and he held her face between his hands. He bent to kiss her. Cecco gritted his teeth. Even at the lengthening distance, he could tell. It was a lingering kiss, and tender. The company surrounding the couple cheered and stamped, waving their tankards. LeCorbeau, too, snatched a glass from the salver and raised it. The ruckus of the revelry grew louder, drifting over the water so that Cecco could hear as he watched. Cecco’s grip on his spyglass tightened. Jill had flung her arms around the surgeon’s neck to press her body against him. Too clearly.
Cecco heard strains of music drifting across the sea now, as the French sailors applied themselves to their instruments. L’Ormonde was making headway, the particulars of the scene shrinking even within the spyglass. But Cecco could see the couple clasped together, swaying, their side to side movement broadening, lengthening, to break at last into a waltz. He made out Jill’s billowing black silk, swirling as Hanover swept her around and around. Lilting back and forth across the deck, they seemed absorbed only in one another, not looking about but trusting the sailors to make way. The couple’s movements were elegant, perfectly attuned. They fused together as if, after long separation, they might never let go of one another again. Captain Cecco narrowed his staring eye.
The men’s hands and feet kept time to the music. After long minutes, Jill broke away from Hanover, her arms going around Tom. They danced a few steps, halting near Liza, where Jill drew the girl into Tom’s arms and pushed them into the waltz. Hanover gestured his approval to his daughter, after which Liza picked up her skirt and danced.
LeCorbeau took the opportunity to present a roll of parchment to the groom. As Hanover tucked it within his coat, the blond sailor emerged from the crowd again to hover near Liza. Guillaume appeared then, to tap the young man on the shoulder and thrust the tray of writing utensils into his hands. In his dapper uniform, Guillaume became officious, shooing the sailor toward the master’s quarters. He did the same to several others, herding them away from Liza and Tom, steering the men toward the cask before the table.
Nibs stepped up to take his place with Jill. After a few turns he surrendered her to her new husband, who swirled her away once again. Tom kept Liza dancing, guiding her all around the deck, eventually pausing at an unpopulated spot behind the helmsman’s back, to port, where Nibs, toting
drinks, strolled aft to join them.
Cecco’s vigilance sharpened now. The party on deck had reached full pitch. Jill and Hanover waltzed on as if surrounded not by the planks of a privateer, but by the marble halls of a palace. They ascended to the quarterdeck, and as the musicians turned the tune to a folk dance, L’Ormonde’s men’s attention wandered from the bride and groom. Jill and Hanover gravitated to stern. Cecco ceased to track their movements. The time had come for action.
“Mr. Yulunga,” he bellowed from his vantage point, “make sail!”
“Aye, Sir!” Yulunga pivoted to relay the order. The men were ready. Red-Handed Jill was waiting for them. With a will, they set to work. Mullins grasped the wheel.
Cecco slid down the mizzen backstay, to land upon the deck. “Mr. Mullins, catch the Frenchman. Make all speed.”
“Aye, Captain!” As the sails unfurled, Mullins eyed the compass. He looked up again, feeling a good, strong breeze. “We’ll take her in no time, Sir.” The sails caught the wind. The ship began to turn. Mullins planted his feet wide apart and, putting his back into it, he hauled on the Roger’s wheel. Then, from deep within her hull rose an ominous note. She wailed.
Mullins listened. His brow furrowed and he rolled his eyes upward to squint at the sails. They stretched with the wind. Mullins pulled once more. The Roger was moving, but she wasn’t responding to the helm.
The sounds aboard L’Ormonde had faded, inaudible now. Cecco whirled to stare at Mullins.
“Mr. Mullins. Why are we not on course?”
“Sir…She’s not coming about.”
“What—” Cecco’s eyes flared, and then he dashed for the stern.
Yulunga exchanged looks with Mullins. “The rudder?”
“Yes, Sir. The rudder must be jammed. I can’t steer her at all.”