“And Lady Rhea?” Alastair asked, stunned by receiving revelations from a man who had always kept his thoughts and feelings to himself.
“Given time, perhaps she could come to love me. She feels something for me, I know, but she is frightened of these emotions and—” Dante’s words halted as he stared out the stern windows at an island boat sliding past. The object of his speculations was sitting in the prow and waving to someone on deck while she was being rowed toward St. John’s.
Alastair was startled by the captain’s sudden, harsh laugh. “It would seem as if m’lady fair has decided against giving me any more time,” Dante remarked tersely.
Alastair came toward him and followed his gaze out the stern windows. His eyes caught sight of the boat, but it took him a second or two to realize what had captured Dante’s attention.
“Good Lord,” Alastair murmured as he saw Rhea’s guinea-gold head and the deep fall of lace fluttering at her elbow as she waved back at the Sea Dragon. And for one horrible second, he actually thought she could see them standing there and was audaciously bidding them a fond farewell.
Alastair stood there a moment, feeling more uncomfortable than he ever had in his life. After all, here was the captain telling him of his love for a woman, who, at her first opportunity, had fled him.
Dante watched silently as the boat drifted out of sight of the stern windows, his gray eyes narrowed into little more than slits.
“What are you going to do?” Alastair asked diffidently, thinking perhaps the game had been won.
“What we are going to do, Mr. Marlowe, is to go into St. John’s, as planned. You have a cargo to load and I have business with customs, and unless I am mistaken, Lady Rhea Claire is in for a difficult time in St. John’s. She’ll be quite shocked if she expects to be welcomed as some long-lost daughter,” Dante said grimly.
“What do you mean, Captain?” Alastair asked in confusion.
“Dressed as she is, unattended by a female companion, and having just arrived on board the Sea Dragon, as its only female passenger…” Dante speculated darkly. “I doubt whether anyone will believe her story of being the kidnapped daughter of a duke.”
Alastair frowned with consternation as he thought ahead to what might happen to Rhea Claire in St. John’s. As beautiful as she was, she was bound to attract attention—but of the wrong sort.
“Now,” Dante said, turning from the stern windows and their expansive view of the bay, which was now empty of that islander’s boat, “I should like to discover how Rhea managed to get aboard that boat without being stopped by someone and”—he paused, a black scowl lowering his brows—“who that was she was waving to on the quarterdeck.”
Conny Brady turned almost expectantly toward the companion ladder when he heard steps, although he knew even as he watched that he would not be seeing Lady Rhea’s golden head appearing. Still, he was not quite prepared to see the captain’s chestnut curls, nor the dangerous glint in his gray eyes as they settled on him.
“Mister Brady,” Dante said shortly as he drew nearer the pale-skinned cabin boy, whose blue eyes seemed to be filling half his face. “I suppose you have no idea whatsoever of Lady Rhea’s whereabouts?”
MacDonald, who was still standing near the port rail, turned in surprise, for he thought Lady Rhea was still with young Conny. “Ach, well, she was here just a wee moment ago,” he said, glancing below. “I was just havin’ a word with her myself. Did she go below, young Conny?” he asked, noticing the boy’s ashen face and wondering if he were sick.
“Do answer Mr. MacDonald, Conny,” Dante suggested smoothly. His voice was harsh, though, and caused a puzzled MacDonald and a guilty Conny to sense that something was amiss.
Conny bit his trembling lip until a little spurt of blood appeared. “She’s gone into St. John’s, Cap’n,” he said huskily, his eyes downcast.
“St. John’s!” MacDonald exclaimed in disbelief. “Ach, Cap’n, the lad’s gullin’ ye. To St. John’s?” he repeated incredulously. “And what was she doin’, flyin’ like a bird across the water?”
“She found herself a ride in one of the island boats that was alongside,” Dante informed the stunned Scotsman, whose pipe was growing cold in the palm of his calloused hand. “Do not despair, she did not say good-bye to me, either, nor apparently to anyone else,” he commented. Then he realized how Rhea could slip off the ship without drawing any notice to herself, for his crew were still grouped along the larboard bulwarks, their attention centered on the island boats plying their trade.
MacDonald ran his big hand through his silver hair as he glanced at the captain, Conny Brady, and Alastair. “But why did the wee lass leave like that? I don’t understand it,” he mumbled, hurt that she’d leave without saying good-bye. Then another thought struck him and he eyed the captain suspiciously. “’Twasn’t something ye did, was it, Cap’n? Been watchin’ the two of ye together, and reckoned there be problems between ye.”
“Aye, MacDonald, there are, but nothing that cannot be solved once we have the chance to talk together,” Dante responded, not caring to have to answer for his actions to this Scotsman.
“’Twasn’t talkin’ that has me worried.”
“I needn’t explain my actions to you, MacDonald, but if it will set your mind at ease, my intentions are honorable where Lady Rhea Claire is concerned,” Dante told the Scotsman, meeting the Highlander’s gaze steadily.
“Aye, reckon that answers any questions I might have had,” MacDonald said, puffing on his pipe again as he tried to draw the flame back into it. “Wouldn’t be on board if I could nae believe your word, Cap’n.”
“She said she was homesick, Cap’n. She didn’t want to bother you, but she said to tell everyone good-bye for her,” Conny told his captain almost beseechingly, his eyes pleading for understanding and forgiveness, although he realized now that he had in some way betrayed Dante Leighton.
“You should have come to me, Mister Brady,” Dante said, showing no pity for the chagrined cabin boy. “You are a crew member on board the Sea Dragon, and your loyalty lies with those men who sail her, and with her captain. By this lack of discretion on your part, you may well have endangered Lady Rhea Claire,” Dante told the small boy, remaining unmoved by the look of dismay spreading across his face.
“I would never hurt Lady Rhea Claire,” he said, tears now hanging heavy on his lashes.
“You have allowed her to go into St. John’s unescorted, with no money and no idea of where she should go for help.”
“I gave her some money to pay the boatman,” Conny admitted, his eyes avoiding his captain’s.
“I see,” Dante said, turning away from the unhappy cabin boy. As Conny Brady stared at his captain’s unyielding back, he felt his world crashing down around him, for he was responsible for putting Lady Rhea in danger, and now his captain was having nothing to do with him.
“If you can pull Longacres away from the railing, tell him to lower the boat. We are going ashore,” Dante told Alastair, who was filled with pity for Conny Brady.
“Aye, Captain,” Alastair replied, making his way back down the companion ladder.
“Cap’n, sir.” Conny was taking the risk of drawing his captain’s wrathful eye.
Dante turned and looked down at the boy impersonally. Conny would have to learn his lesson, which was that he had to be loyal to his captain if he were to continue to serve on board the Sea Dragon. No other way was possible at sea, if you wanted to survive.
“I want to go into St. John’s with ye, with ye permission, sir,” Conny said in a rush. “I can help find Lady Rhea. Please, sir,” he said huskily, his tears crowding close in his throat.
“Very well, Mister Brady. Since you are responsible for her leaving the ship, you might as well bear some of the responsibility for finding her. I only hope we will be in time.” Dante spoke sharply, but if Conny Brady had chanced to glan
ce up, he’d have seen that his captain’s gray eyes seemed a little less frigid. But the boy was too embarrassed and ashamed to do anything but stare at his feet.
* * *
In St. John’s, Rhea Claire was beginning to feel the frustrating truth of Dante’s words, for she was a stranger, and a strange-looking one at that, dressed as she was in her beloved clothes from the Sea Dragon. Too late did she realize that she might have trouble soliciting help from these people, who most likely would find her incredible story hard to swallow.
Rhea had not lingered long near the wharves, for her solitary female figure had attracted remarks from the sailors milling around as they loaded cargo and from the fishermen mending nets. All this attention put a rosy blush in her cheeks and she hurried away. Her first polite inquiry had been met with a vulgar proposition from a man who had seemed perfectly respectable. He looked like a gentleman one might have seen on a London street, but this was not London, nor did she look like Lady Rhea Claire Dominick, the well-bred daughter of the highly respected Duke of Camareigh.
As Rhea progressed along the street, avoiding the partially domesticated pigs that ran wild through the town, she heard people calling to one another from opened windows on both sides of the narrow lane, and even though she seemed unable to gain assistance, the atmosphere of St. John’s seemed friendly enough. She passed by an inn which fronted directly on the street, and thinking she might be able to gain some information, she started to step inside the shadowy hall, relieved to get out of the sun, which was beginning to get hot even at this early hour.
“Oh, no ye don’t. Not in here, ye ain’t!” a querulous voice charged her, stopping Rhea in her steps. “This be a respectable house, and not fer the likes of ye, missie. I’ll not be havin’ ye roll them big eyes of yours at me good-payin’, decent customers. So git with ye, or I’ll be callin’ down the magistrate on ye!” To make certain that Rhea understood her meaning, this woman took the broom from a black woman who’d been sweeping the hall and came to the door swinging it in a threatening manner. When Rhea fled across the street, the woman’s raucous laughter followed her.
Rhea jumped the last few steps to avoid being knocked down by a couple of prancing horses pulling a handsome open carriage. In the carriage was a beautifully dressed woman wearing pale green lustring, a wide, floppy hat of palest straw and a matching green veil covering her head to protect her from the sun. A mulatto maid sat opposite her, while a mulatto coachman handled the reins as well as anyone Rhea had ever seen at Camareigh.
The carriage disappeared up the street, leaving Rhea standing alone, uncertain what to do next, for she doubted whether she could gain entrance to any shop, inn, or house in St. John’s. A well-dressed couple jostled her as she stood there thinking, and while she uttered her apology, she decided to try again.
“Excuse me, please. But if I might ask your help, I am La—”
“Really!” the middle-aged woman snorted in disgust, her gaze missing nothing of Rhea’s bizarre attire. “The indecency one finds today in the common people, well, ’tis enough to make respectable persons keep to their homes. Do come along, John! Stop your gawking,” she berated her husband, who had pushed his gold-rimmed eyeglasses up higher on the bridge of his thin nose in order to get a better view of Rhea’s slender ankles.
With a sigh, Rhea watched them disappear down the street, which was crowded with people about their business, too busy to be bothered with a young girl standing alone. Her long gold braid brushed her hips enticingly as she continued her wanderings through town, uncertain of what she ought to do, and missing the gentle rocking of the Sea Dragon. As she thought of the ship, she wondered now what Kirby was cooking, for when she’d passed a bakery, she had got a mouthwatering sniff of freshly baked pastry. Jamaica wouldn’t be far away, she thought, nor young Conny. Unfortunately, to see either of them she would also have to see Dante, and that was somebody she hoped she never had to gaze upon again as long as…
Nearly tripping, Rhea stepped into the dark shadows of a doorway and came to a complete standstill. At the end of the street was a figure she knew only too well. She leaned against the cool stone of the building, her heart pounding as she gazed at the captain of the Sea Dragon, who was standing with legs planted firmly apart, as if he were still on the deck of his ship, still master of all he surveyed. Rhea was resentful that he looked so confident, so sure of himself, as he glanced up the street.
While Rhea crouched there in the cool shadows of the deeply recessed doorway, a door across the street opened, and a boisterous group of motley-looking seamen emerged. Several explicit oaths were being hurled after their departing figures by an authoritative voice, but it was a tavern wench standing in the doorway who came up with the most original descriptions about their persons.
Neatly sidestepping the buxom tavern wench who was blocking half the doorway, a portly man in velvet followed on the group’s footsteps. There was a genial look on his flushed face as he pinched the girl’s ample buttocks and immediately apologized for it, as though it had been an accident. The girl had squealed in surprise, apparently not suspecting such an act from so reputable a man.
As Rhea watched from the safety of her hiding place, the group made its way toward the end of the street, where Dante still stood. By now, he had been joined by Alastair, MacDonald, Cobbs, Longacres, Barnaby Clarke, and several others from among the crew of the Sea Dragon, including Conny Brady. Rhea noticed that the boy was standing on the perimeter of the group, almost as if he were some kind of outcast.
She watched in fascination, moving slightly from the shadows to gain a better view as the two groups converged on each other. Even from where she stood, Rhea could tell that it was hardly a friendly meeting of old mates, but something like a confrontation between hated rivals.
* * *
“Well, well, now, what have we here?” Bertie Mackay queried, as if uncertain about what he beheld.
“Hadn’t heard any shellfish had been washed up on shore,” one of his men cackled, jabbing one of his mates.
“That’s because, mate, ye’ve been too busy tryin’ to keep that bloater ye call a ship afloat,” Longacres said, spitting his quid just short of the other seaman’s toes.
“’Ere, watch that, ye old buzzard,” the man growled at Longacres. He did take a step backward, though, as he saw the gleam in the old gent’s eye, as well as a subtle move to his belt where his knife was kept.
“Well, well, what have we here?” Cobbs demanded, imitating Mackay’s words. But his expression was even more disbelieving than Mackay’s of what he was seeing before his eyes. “Can’t actually be George Grimes, the driftin’ man?” he asked, choking on his guffaw as he caught sight of the man they had set adrift in the straits.
“Wee Geordie?” MacDonald asked, his heavy mustache seeming to grow wider with his grin.
“Aye, and I reckon me mates and me might be havin’ a few words with ye about that,” Grimes said, feeling far braver now with his mates around him than he had the last time he had faced the murderous crew of the Sea Dragon. Now, if he could’ve gotten a clean aim, he wouldn’t have hesitated to send the steely point of his knife into that wide chest of Dante Leighton.
“Now, now, fellows,” Mackay said placatingly, not caring to make a scene when there were so many witnesses and fine, upstanding townspeople watching. After all, he had a reputation to protect. “This is hardly worth drawing the attention of the militia.”
“Aye, Cap’n, reckon ye be right. Don’t s’pose this fancy gent here would put up much of a fight anyways,” commented one of Mackay’s men; then he sniffed loudly and rudely at Barnaby Clarke.
“I’d soon enough teach you some manners, sir,” responded the Sea Dragon’s quartermaster, reaching for his sword hanging at his hip.
“Why, sweet thing, I’d have ye sliced and quartered afore ye’d even git that sword off your hip,” the other man warned, taking note o
f the flash of steel in the hand of the Scotsman.
“Planning on staying long in Antigua, Captain Leighton?” Mackay asked casually, easing the tension a bit by settling his great weight between his men and the crew of the Sea Dragon.
“As long as you, Captain Mackay, I should imagine,” Dante replied vaguely, although both of them knew what he meant.
Mackay’s laughter filled the street and drifted back to where Rhea stood waiting for the two groups to move so she could escape without being noticed.
“Ah, Captain Leighton, you always make me laugh, yes, sir, always do,” Mackay wheezed. “Still would like to be partners with you. Haven’t changed your mind about that, I s’pose?” he asked, his small eyes narrowed as he took in the surly group surrounding the captain of the Sea Dragon. “Why don’t you go back and get yourselves another couple o’ rums, lads,” he advised his men, and reaching into his purse, he pulled out several coins and tossed them into a couple of outstretched palms. “Off with ye, now.”
Grumbling slightly, they turned and shuffled off, leaving a few choice remarks drifting behind. At the end of the street, they turned and disappeared, most likely to look for a different tavern this time.
“Now that the air has cleared a bit, I was wonderin’, Captain,” Mackay began, then glanced meaningfully at the men still grouped around Dante, and added softly, “if we might have a private word or two?”
Chance the Winds of Fortune Page 51