“Should we sail about a bit?” Harry asked. “We’ve been talkin’ o’ offloadin’ in the cave.”
Donovan nodded. “Aye, let’s sail at first light.” He stood and walked forward a little before returning to us. “I count eighteen. So we all be aboard, ‘les one o’ these lumps na’ be ours.”
Harry chuckled. “They are if they be aboard.”
“What cave?” I asked.
“There be caves along the cliffs,” Harry said. “We got one off a good cove that we sometimes stow cargo in.”
“What will you tell Morgan?” I asked.
“The truth,” Donovan said. “That me gut say there be trouble on the wind. I’ll tell ‘im when we get back. Iffn’ I be right, ’e might na’ be ’ere ta tell. Iffn’ I be wrong…” He shrugged. “Well, let ’im think I be a fool. Won’t harm me none. Might even serve me purposes.”
I grinned. “It is probably best to have the man think you a fool. I distrust him because he does not think I am one.”
“Ah,” Donovan said. “That explains much.”
I returned to my man—who was lying awake wondering at my absence—and told him of Donovan’s gut.
“If we had animals aboard, they could tell us of a storm,” he mumbled sleepily.
I took his proffered hand, but remained sitting. I listened to the night around us. The breeze was pleasant, but fitful; as if it could not decide which way to blow. The Fortune creaked beneath us as she always did. I could hear or feel nothing, per se; yet, I at last came to surmise there was something odd in the night: my Horse felt it.
I prayed to the Gods, each in turn, asking for the brand of protection for which each was renowned. I spent a long time beseeching Poseidon.
In the morning, we sailed as soon as it was light enough to see the rigging. We slipped out of the bay and swung wide around the reef toward the north of the island. The sun was good and risen by the time we reached the cove and cave on the island’s northern shore. We began offloading cargo. At noon, Chris ran down from the precipice where we had sent him to stand watch.
“There’s a storm coming,” he reported—to me—in French.
I relayed the message to Donovan and Cudro and they clambered up the north side of the cove wall to look east. They returned with grim faces.
“We need to finish an’ beach ’er!” Donovan yelled. “It be a big one. We canna’ stay in this cove. We’ll be dashed ta bits. An’ I don’t fancy trustin’ our anchor ta ride ’er out.”
We finished as quickly as possible. We could all see the black swath of clouds crossing the eastern horizon from north to south when we cleared the cove. Donovan chose the closest stretch of sandy beach and ran the Fortune aground. We were feeling the first of the giant storm’s winds as we winched our vessel further toward the trees and made her as fast as we could. Then we took our weapons and possessions and made for higher ground by guttering torchlight. We stopped when we found a thick stand of trees. We forced our way deep into them and loosely lashed ourselves to the trunks.
“Will this truly be necessary?” Chris asked as Pete looped rope about his waist.
“Oui,” I answered.
“You have had to do this before?”
“We weathered a bad storm on Negril from within a stone-walled cottage—half of which was buried in a hill. I thought it was going to be torn down around our ears.”
Pete, who had begun to understand a surprising amount of French, wrapped his arms tightly about his matelot and said, “It’llBeFun.”
I thought of being lashed by ferocious winds and rain and shook my head; until I recalled our voyage back from Maracaibo when we had been forced to ride out such a beast at sea. Gaston had lashed us to the railing and we had fornicated as if it had been our last moments amongst the living.
Gaston settled in behind me as was his wont whenever we sat close together. I turned to him and whispered, “Do you recall the storm after Maracaibo? Perhaps we should exchange places, as I will have to do all the work.”
He frowned, and then he too remembered. His grin said all I need know about his thoughts on the matter as he exchanged places with me.
Soon the wall of the great tempest reached us and the wind tore at the trees and the rain began to pour. It was too dark to see the others; though I knew if I stretched my arm I would encounter Pete and Chris on one side of us, and Cudro and Ash on the other. Sadly, my first concerns were not about amorous activity, but about keeping my matelot warm. Then I decided trysting might indeed be the best way to do that: however, I did not know how we could maintain that activity for the many hours the storm would last. Still it would be a good start.
Thus we slowly worked our way up to storming Heaven—with far less vigor than the tempest storming us. It was warming, and provided some satisfaction and the usual pleasure in the end; but the effort paled in comparison to our death-defying tryst at sea. Perhaps it was because I did not fear death in this instance. Gaston seemed warmer and satisfied, though; and I let the other thoughts drift away as we cuddled together and tried to rest.
Then the storm hit with all the fury of the Gods in the middle of the night. It became hellish. All was darkness. Despite being blunted and deflected by the trees, the wind wanted to drive the raindrops through our skin as if they were bullets. We clung to one another and the tree. Gaston was the only thing that seemed real. I began to feel as if hundreds of hands were slapping and pulling at me. To my terror and dismay, they minded me of Thorp’s torture.
I felt myself slipping away, and I held Gaston even tighter; but the feel of his back firmly against my chest could not protect me. Then he was struggling in my grip. I fought him, deathly afraid he was being pulled from me. With a surge of strength, he fought me off and turned upon me. I was screaming, but I could hear only the wind. Light exploded in my head and the world went black.
When the blackness receded, the wind still howled, and the rain still lashed my arms and cheek, but the rest of me was safely enfolded in Gaston’s limbs. I felt the clamminess of his skin as I clasped his arm—and I felt him stiffen when I moved. I rubbed his skin reassuringly and his tension lessened.
His lips found my ear and he asked, “How are we?”
I could barely hear him. My jaw ached, and little bits of something were beginning to crawl into the light. I shook my head helplessly, and felt even more lost when I knew the gesture was meaningless in our current situation. I turned to find his ear and yell, “I do not know.”
He squeezed me reassuringly and I felt him strain to be heard again over the wind. His first words were lost to it. I heard only a “you”. Then he tried again, “You went mad.”
I recalled what I could and knew he was correct. I found his ear. “I am sorry.”
“You are safe. Oui,” he yelled.
I supposed the “oui” was a question, but the inflection had been lost to the wind. I nodded and hoped he felt the gesture.
We abandoned speaking. I chafed his clammy limbs and he finally moved such that my back was to the tree trunk and he was pressed in front of me with his limbs inside mine for warmth. I thought that perhaps we should seek Pete and Chris, but I knew being touched by faceless hands would possibly bring a return of my madness. At last the winds lessened. We pulled our blanket from our bags and wrapped it around us. We slept.
I woke to birdsong and dappled sunlight. We were covered in leaves and small branches. My jaw hurt and my body ached. I was thirsty and starving. Gaston appeared worse than I felt, and I held him close with worry.
He smiled weakly before opening his eyes. “How are we?” he asked hoarsely.
“Better, much better; but miserable,” I said.
There was snoring all around. A large tree limb had almost fallen atop us. I checked to see that it had not pinned or injured our friends: both pairs seemed well enough, though still asleep.
“What happened?” my man asked.
I told him what I could remember of the sensation and that it had reminded me of
Thorp. “I am surprised,” I finished.
He nodded thoughtfully. “Do not be, I was lost to it as well. It was my Horse that struck you.”
I smiled. “Well, I forgive Him.”
He chuckled and kissed me lightly. “I do not feel we have truly stumbled given the circumstances.”
Neither did I: it made me wonder what other dramas might have occurred among the men of the Fortune, or were we truly the only ones who could be driven mad by darkness and a tempest?
“Is it over?” Chris asked from the basket of his still-sleeping matelot’s limbs. “It stopped before, but Pete said it was a trick, and then it started again.”
“There is a hole in the middle of the great storms,” Gaston said hoarsely, and I searched for our lashed-down water bottle. “The winds go around the center. So first you get hit from one direction, and then from the other once the middle passes.”
“When did the center pass?” I asked.
“You were unconscious,” he leaned close to whisper.
I chuckled. “The things I choose to miss…”
He laughed and squeezed me tight.
When we emerged from the trees and found the sun, we discovered it was late afternoon. The storm could be seen to the west, running from horizon to horizon. We counted our blessings and thanked the Divine in whatever form we chose. No one appeared to be injured beyond a few bruises; though one pair of men had been trapped under a fallen tree and it took the rest of us to lift it and free them.
We made our way through the storm-torn forest to the Fortune, and cheered when we found her still upon the sand—though barely. Several of the trees we had anchored her with had been torn free. Donovan, Rodent, and Harry hurried around her, inspecting the damage. Her hull and masts seemed intact, but her fore-mast spar was badly damaged and would have to be replaced. She could sail, though—enough to get us back to the bay.
We sent two men to run up the coast to the cave. The rest of us spent the remaining hours of daylight freeing the ship from the trees and lines. The men returned with happy news that though the cargo was sodden—as the cave had been thoroughly flooded—it was still there and intact. They had brought a few bottles of rum, and so we set about gathering drier pieces of firewood. Thankfully we were successful in getting some wood to burn, and by the time the peaceful darkness of night had fallen, we were able to sit about a warm fire and toast our survival and Donovan’s gut. Gaston and I curled together near the heat and slept like babes.
It took all the next day to get the Fortune afloat, return to the cave, and reload most of the cargo. Donovan chose to leave some of it secreted away, but he knew if we had to sail here every time he wished to trade with another captain, someone would become suspicious and follow us.
We spent the night of the Eighth aboard the ship, anchored in the cove beside the cave. I was happy to sleep on dry wood.
On the Ninth we returned to the bay and found every ship in the fleet aground except two—the Lilly and another sloop—and apparently they had only been returned to water yesterday. A few had been grounded purposefully to save them as we had done to the Fortune, but most had been thrown there by Poseidon. It could have been much worse; they could have been washed in the other direction and dashed on the reef or lost at sea.
As we learned these details and Donovan began to send men ashore to assist in floating other craft, my companions and I were at a loss for what we should do. The need for strong backs and extra hands was great, and apparently many men had been injured; but we did not wish to show ourselves on shore. Any of us would be recognized—save Chris, who could do little work.
The matter was taken from our hands when a boat rowed alongside. “Ahoy! Who is captain here?” Morgan demanded from the boat. We could not see him, as he was below the gunwale of the Fortune, but I recognized his voice quite well.
Donovan frowned and stood from where he had been helping assess what rope we could spare to use on shore.
I grabbed his arm and motioned for quiet. “Morgan,” I whispered.
He frowned and looked to Harry who was standing looking down at the boat.
“Our captain is Donovan, Admiral,” Harry called out.
“Permission to come aboard. I would speak to him,” Morgan said with pomp and bluster.
“Of course, sir,” Harry said.
Donovan looked worry and pointed at me and the hatch to the hold.
I thought frantically, as I had been doing since hearing Morgan. We could hide, but if we were found out—or rather, when Morgan later knew we had been here all along—he would know Donovan lied and dislike him for it. Donovan had been good to us: the least I could do for him was not to bring Morgan’s wrath down upon his endeavors.
I looked to Gaston and he shrugged. I turned back to Donovan and shrugged. Donovan shrugged in return and we smiled at one another. Then he was straightening his hat as Morgan—dressed in heavy leather boots and a fine linen shirt, with a hat shoved tight over his abundant, dark hair—clambered over the gunwale.
“Well, look who it is,” I said cheerily before Morgan could straighten.
He stood and looked to me with surprise. Then recognition lit his mustachioed face and I found myself charged and embraced.
“When? How?” Morgan sputtered as he pounded my back heartily.
“A few weeks ago with this vessel,” I said with a grin.
“Then why have I not heard of it?” he said with mounting ire.
“Because I heard you were offering a reward for my delivery,” I teased. “I have learned not to trust men who will pay coin for my hide.”
He swore vehemently, and his eyes narrowed with speculation as he glanced at Donovan and the others around us. He put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me toward the quarterdeck and spoke quietly. “It is not like that.”
I awarded him a guileless, but unapologetic shrug.
“Truly,” he cajoled. “I have heard nothing. No one else is seeking you save me. And I was merely concerned for you. I wished you at my side this year.”
“For my excellent—yet rusty—Castilian?”
He grinned. “Aye, and your wit.” He looked about. “Who all is here? Your man, Lord Montren? Striker?”
“Gaston, Pete—no Striker—Gaston’s cousin, and Cudro and his man, Ash.”
“So few? My Lord, Will, the last I saw of you, you were being carried off by that bastard Thorp. I was very relieved when I heard your men had rescued you and you were on Tortuga.”
I was torn. I knew him for a conniving bastard, but he seemed quite sincere. And he had not been party to Thorp’s raid upon the house. He was actually the only reason Thorp had not been able to take everyone. Yet, he had been in collusion all along with Modyford concerning my father and their ambitions.
“It is a long story,” I said. “It will take a good bottle of rum.” And I was sure I would not truly tell him much of it.
“Good,” he said with relief at my change in mien. “Let us drink, then. But first, how did you come to be here on this vessel, and...”
I waved him off and turned him back to Donovan. “This is Captain Donovan. He has become a good friend. And as you have offered a reward, and he has had the good fortune of being the one to deliver me here—and aye, there is quite the story there—I would see him rewarded. And not from the booty.”
Morgan sighed and doffed his hat to bow to Donovan, who did likewise. “If Will says you deserve it, then I’ll gladly pay you and your men a bounty—from my funds and not the treasure. But first, tell me how it is that you sailed before the storm?”
Donovan looked quite pleased. “Thank you kindly, Admiral. As to the sailin’, it be me gut. I have a sense ’bout such things. I can smell a storm or a Spaniard. We sailed ’round to the north, an’ beached me ship near high ground, where she might gain some protection from the cliffs.”
“Why the bloody Hell did you not warn the rest of us?” Morgan demanded good-naturedly.
“Oh, come now,” I scoffed. “
Would you have believed him?”
Morgan sighed and shrugged. “Nay.”
Donovan laughed. “I take no offense in that.”
“I would believe you now,” Morgan added. He looked about. “So did you take much damage?”
“Just the for’ard spar,” Donovan said.
“Excellent. I am pleased we have another ship afloat.”
“We’ll be doin’ all we can with helpin’ the others,” Donovan said.
“I’m sure you will, as brothers we all are,” Morgan said. He began to look about and spied Gaston. He bowed deeply. “Lord Montren, it is good to see you.”
“Thank you, Admiral,” my matelot said with an appropriate bow.
Cudro and Ash had joined us, with Pete and Chris following them.
Morgan spied Cudro and grinned; though I was sure they hardly knew one another. “It is good to see you,” he told Curdo, gave a cursory glance to Ash, and looked past them to Pete. “Well, Pete, where is your matelot? We could use him and his fine ship—and the Bard, for God’s sake.”
Pete snorted. “StrikerBeWith ’IsWifeAn’ArShip. SomeplaceSafe. ThisBeMeNewMatelot, Chris.”
Morgan glanced at Chris and froze. I saw curiosity and then recognition light his eye. My heart leapt and my stomach roiled. Chris dipped his head in polite greeting, but I could see he had seen what I had, and when he looked away worry was already tightening his fine features.
Morgan looked to me with curiosity and speculation.
“There is much I have to tell you,” I said lightly. “We made a hasty retreat from Cayonne; and Gaston’s cousin, Christien, was dragged along with us unexpectedly. We did not come here to raid.”
His brow furrowed, and I could see him biting back words.
“Let us go and share a bottle,” he said at last.
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