I supposed there was no escaping it; yet, Gaston and our friends and I needed to discuss much. “Of course, but let us do that tonight. While there is still light, perhaps we common sailors with strong backs should assist with the ships. And, as a physician, I am sure there is much Gaston can do ashore as well.”
“Of course,” Morgan said as if he had not forgotten his fleet lay upon the sand and marsh grass all over the end of the island. “Come to the Lilly at sunset and we will talk.”
“Gaston and I will be pleased to accept your invitation.”
Morgan smiled, doffed his hat in parting to everyone and left the vessel.
We stood about in awkward silence and quiet cursing until he had rowed beyond the range of a keen man’s ear.
“Thank you,” Donovan said at last.
“You are most welcome,” I said. “I would not have him angry with you, and you might as well profit from his largesse—whatever its reason.”
“Do ya trust him?” Harry asked.
“Nay, not completely. He is an ambitious man. He has done well by us before, though; so Gaston and I will meet with him. Now, if you will excuse us, I need to discuss a few things with my companions, and then we will join you on shore.”
Donovan clapped my shoulder. “Take yur time, there be no hurry. Those ships nat be goin’ anyplace.” Then he leaned closer. “Me gut don’t like ’im at all.”
I smiled. “Mine neither.”
The six of us retreated to the bow.
“He recognized me,” Chris hissed in English.
“I saw that,” I said.
Cudro and Ash cursed. Gaston nodded with resignation.
“Aye,” Pete sighed. “NowWhat? ’ELookedAsIf YaBeAGiftFrom The Gods.”
“Aye,” I sighed. “And it cannot be due to my excellent translation skills. I suppose we will not know until tonight, if then. I doubt this is a gift to us from the Gods.”
One Hundred and Eight
Wherein We Are Swallowed by the Beast of Many Heads
Our cabal discussed our options to little avail.
Cudro was hopeful of another course. “This ship can’t cross the Great Sea and get us to England, but I’m sure Donovan could be hired to take us up to the English colonies.”
Ash was apparently missing the point of the entire endeavor. “Perhaps we should rove. Chris is passing as a man well enough.”
Chris was adamant. “I will not be sent to Jamaica. I would rather die.”
Pete was contemplating treachery. “NoMatterWhat, TheyNa’GetAll O’UsOnOneShip.”
My matelot was thoughtful yet resigned. “We still have time before we have to decide anything. We should probably lie to Morgan and agree to whatever he wants until the French arrive.”
I decided we could truly decide nothing until we heard what Morgan had to say.
Thus we went ashore with most of Donovan’s crew and joined in assisting with the floating of the vessels. While five of us exhausted ourselves hauling on ropes and throwing our shoulders against wood, Gaston offered what aid he could and was happily welcomed by the two other men serving as surgeons. A great many of the buccaneers had broken bones and wrenched limbs during the tempest, and some had nearly drowned. We learned several men had been washed to sea, and a couple more had been crushed. By sunset, five more vessels were cleared of debris and back on the water, and Gaston had performed four amputations.
At last, Gaston and I strapped on our weapons and found a canoe to take us to the Lilly—who was now ominously anchored in the mouth of the bay, where she would be difficult to sail past.
“What will you tell him?” Gaston asked as we paddled to the sloop.
“A careful distillation of the truth, I suppose.”
He chuckled. “Will you call forth your Wolf?”
“I will very likely be forced to. He is ever about when I spar with Morgan.”
Morgan greeted us warmly and ushered us to the cabin. The room was tiny and smelled of wine and rum. There was one berth built into the wall, and I wondered where Captain Norman was forced to sleep whenever his good friend Morgan commandeered his vessel as flagship.
We sat at the table and Morgan pushed aside parchment and quills and set a bottle of fine Madeira before us. “I recall you gentlemen are more brandy sippers than rum guzzlers.”
“You recall correctly,” I said. “So, what have you heard from England?”
His eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips thoughtfully as he poured himself a mug. “Modyford received an inquiry from your father. He wished to know if you had returned to Jamaica after the… abduction.”
“When was this?” I asked.
He frowned in thought. “December, I believe. His letter said nothing of why he might still be looking for you, but it alerted Modyford and me to your not being in England.” He laughed.
I chuckled, as it was amusing. “So what did you tell him?”
“Modyford wrote at once and told your father we thought you were with him. Then, of course, we began to make inquiries. We discovered, in a roundabout fashion,” he waved his hand to indicate the manner was not important, “that you were on Tortuga. I was quite pleased to hear it. However did you manage it? The last I saw, you and your people left on three different ships.”
I shrugged. “Savant’s ship met up with the Bard on the Queen, and they exchanged some passengers, and then the Queen came after my sister and me. They caught us off the coast of Florida. The Bard sailed ahead. Though my father’s men had a fast sloop, she was only sailing as fast as the frigate. Then in the night, Gaston, Striker, and Pete took a boat with a couple of men and slipped up on the frigate. They got aboard and rescued us and then Pete used the powder cache to blow a hole in the frigate’s hull at the waterline. She began to sink, but we were able to force our way out into the sea. Then we swam to the boat and escaped while all was in chaos on the two vessels.”
Morgan’s eyes were wide with amazement and fascination. “That is remarkable. I wish I had seen it.”
“I wish I had not,” I said with a smile. “At least not from where I stood.”
Morgan’s good cheer dimmed when he looked to my matelot: who appeared quite grim as he studied his glass. “Was it not a triumph?”
Gaston sighed and looked to me. I smiled and told Morgan, “I had been poorly used; such that it took me months to recover. I still bear scars.”
Our host’s demeanor sobered considerably, and he sat forward and met my gaze. “Why? And your sister?”
“Nay, she was well. She capitulated to my father’s wishes for the voyage readily enough to suit them. I, however, was quite stubborn.”
“What did they wish of you?” he asked.
“That I renounce Gaston and sodomy,” I said with a shrug. “I refused, and my father had given them orders to break me if necessary. They were trying very hard to do so when I was rescued.”
Morgan appeared appalled. He sat back with a heavy sigh and considered his mug and then the far wall.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said at last.
“Well, it is just more unfinished business between my father and me,” I said with nonchalance. “And I will finish it; I am just not sure when.”
I had considered telling him the truth, that we wished to hire the French and go to England, but I thought better of it after his easy mention of Modyford’s correspondence with my father.
“And now you’re on the run from the French?” Morgan asked thoughtfully.
“Not all Frenchmen, we hope,” I said and chuckled. “It seems Gaston’s inheritance became embroiled in political intrigues we knew nothing of, and his father’s enemies enlisted the Holy Roman Church to make their case. It is the Church that seeks Gaston and me.”
“So you came here: to buy time, or to secure passage to England?” he asked.
I smiled. He was not a stupid man. “Both.”
“You fear returning to Jamaica.” He did not ask it as question.
“Should I not?”
He shrugged amicably. “You probably should. I don’t know what coin your father left lying about town. And though I’m privy to much of Modyford’s business, there are things he keeps from me. He knows well enough I sided with you during that debacle.”
“Where do you side now?” I asked.
“With you!” he replied with hurt that I should ask.
“Then will you help me get to England without Modyford writing my father of it?”
He seemed surprised by the request: a thing I found odd. He composed himself quickly though. “Of course. I’ll take you there myself if need be.”
I saw something in his eyes for the briefest of moments: a flicker of mischief perhaps. I could not trust him. For now, I had no choice but to act as if I did.
“Thank you,” I said. “I would rather it were sooner than later. There are people waiting on word of us.”
“Then write them. I will see that it is posted in Port Royal—with Modyford none the wiser. Tell your people you’re safe and you’ll be in England next year.”
I snorted. “After we go roving with you? Come now, Morgan. We cannot possibly do that. You saw Chris.”
“That I did. I never forget the face of a pretty girl.” He chuckled. “Who is bedding her?” he looked from one to the other of us.
“She is my wife,” Gaston said coolly. “The mother of my child. And she will be spoken of with respect. And for now, she is Pete’s matelot.”
“I meant no disrespect,” Morgan said quickly. “And having a good sodomite like Pete pretend to be her matelot is very clever indeed.” He chortled.
I did not have to glance at Gaston to know we agreed that Morgan should not be told the truth on that matter.
“It was a necessity of convenience,” I said.
“Well, we can send her to Jamaica with the letter. She’ll be safe there with her father,” Morgan said.
“Nay,” I said firmly. “Her father is an old, fat fool, deeply under the sway of Modyford and Gaston’s father’s enemies. She will not go to Jamaica. She will be used against us if anyone gets their hands on her.”
It was true, and it was a calculated ploy.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed as he took the bait. “Then… So she has been masquerading as a boy here? Are any the wiser?”
“None on the Fortune have realized it. I have discovered that most men are blind to the obvious if they consider it the inconceivable.”
He laughed. “Then she can sail with us, and remain with the ships.” He shrugged and spread his hands as if that solved everything.
I sighed. “Morgan, I do not wish to go to war against the Spanish again. I have my own wars to win; for far more money than I will ever earn from Spaniards.”
His eyes narrowed at that, too. “Might you inherit, yet?”
It was a thing he seemed to want: I gave it to him. “Possibly. My attempts to abandon my title have been ignored. My father could well die at any time, and the law of the land would simply grant me his title despite the bad blood between us.”
And, of course, if I killed him, that would occur too. I had truly not given that any thought. If I could murder him and appear innocent, I would be Earl. The idea struck me quite hard, and I was left dazed—and amused at my blindness in not seeing that sooner. I was so intent on not being Earl at his behest; I had forgotten that it could be at my own.
“How do you intend to resolve things with your father?” he asked.
His question pushed me from my sudden epiphany and left me unbalanced. I did not wish to spar any longer: I wished to share my new conceit with Gaston.
“I intend to confront him,” I said, with only enough thought to avoid the truth. I scrambled about and wondered what I should say: what would Morgan wish to hear? What did he truly want?
“How do you feel that will go?” Morgan asked with a sly smile.
“Poorly,” I said quite honestly. “That is why I do not intend to do it publicly.” That was perhaps too close to the truth.
Morgan seemed to like it, though. He smiled. “Is your father an influential man? Modyford feels he is.”
I thought on all I had discussed with Theodore and the others on the matter. “Nay, I think not—not as Modyford might feel. My father is wealthy, but he derives much of that wealth from engaging in activities many lords find unbecoming; and though I am sure he wields power, I doubt it is with the King’s Court. My father was quite comfortable during the Interregnum.” I was not sure precisely how true that was, but I thought it was likely. We did not want Modyford—or Morgan—to continue to think appeasing my father was in their best interests.
“So were Modyford’s people. Mine were not so affected,” Morgan said with a touch of disdain.
Well, that tack was not going where we wished. I decided on a frontal assault for the moment. I leavened my words with incredulity. “So Modyford truly believes appeasing my father will garner him some wealth or power?”
Morgan frowned and his tone was guarded. “He does.”
“Well he is a damn fool. My father despises men like him. He has no interest in the ambitions of common men. He only cares for the nobility.”
Our host frowned anew at that and spoke to his glass. “I have told Modyford much the same. And what are your feelings concerning ambitious common men.”
I grinned. “Morgan, I am a member of the Brethren: I hold all men as my equal if they are willing to use a sword and piece to defend their honor.”
He smiled and seemed to be mulling it over. “Is your father a sickly man?”
“I have not heard of late. I expect to arrive in England and find he is quite ill.”
His smile deepened. “So that is your plan.”
I smiled and adopted a chiding tone. “I have said no such thing.”
Morgan chuckled. “So you will confront him as you must—and live.”
I gave no answer, merely smiled.
“Well, I will offer what aid I can,” he said and leaned back in his seat with satisfaction.
“Before you rove?” I pressed.
He sighed heavily and frowned. “I can’t very well abandon my fleet, and this is the only ship I have available that could reach England. I can’t let her go—now.”
I could see his reasonable argument. I could also see him dissembling behind it. He would not let us leave until it suited him. Once again, we would have to think of other plans whilst we waited on the French—and that was assuming much of their demeanor. We would have to make other arrangements.
“Then we shall all see what the autumn brings,” I said agreeably.
He shrugged the matter aside and refreshed his mug. “So tell me how it is you had to leave Tortuga in such a hurry you had to bring a woman?”
I shrugged and drank of my mug and told him a fine version of our escape. I only omitted Pete sending Striker to be with his wife and Gaston’s illness—and my killing a priest. After that, he told us of the Spanish attack on Jamaica—such as it was.
Eventually we wound down and Gaston and I made to take our leave.
“Stay here,” Morgan suggested.
“Nay, I think we will remain on the Fortune: there is more available deck, and our friends are there.
“Well, for the night. We can rearrange men so that there’ll be room here for all of you.”
“Nay, I think not. Our ruse with Chris is best served there.”
“But…”
“Nay, Morgan. We will remain on the Fortune,” I said flatly, all pretenses abandoned.
He appeared wounded. “Do you not trust me?”
I laid a hand to my breast and feigned my own pricked pride. “Morgan, do you not trust me?”
He sighed and looked away with a smile. “I suppose I must.”
“And the same to you… Old friend.”
He chuckled. “It is true, we have not truly known one another very long, have we?”
I did not say the obvious: in some ways long enough. Nay, I smiled agreeably and bowed in
parting.
I was quite relieved when we found our canoe at the side. I would not have been surprised if we had found he had sent it to shore under the assumption we would be staying. Gaston and I soon paddled purposefully—and without unseemly haste—toward the place we thought the Fortune lay.
“Well, we now know what value he places on me,” I said once we were safely away.
“He will not let us leave,” Gaston said. “Willingly.”
“Oui, my thoughts exactly. We must see what Donovan is willing to risk. And wait on the French, perhaps.”
I begin to worry about that avenue of egress as well,” Gaston said. “I thought we would find them earlier in the year. Coming here, their decks will be full of hungry Frenchmen.”
“Aye, aye. I doubt any of the other captains will be willing to defy Morgan. I only think Donovan might because he does not wish to rove again anyway.”
“We can always steal a small boat in the night,” he said hopefully. “Some of those craft on the beach are quite small—and sail our way to the English colonies—or at least into French lands where we can steal a larger craft.”
“It might come to that,” I sighed. “Until then, we must stay off his vessel.”
“Oui. And not let him get his hands on Chris.” His tone held a touch of concern.
I sighed again. “It was my ploy: to set her as bait. If he thinks her a weak pawn, so much the better for us. He does not know she can shoot or swim, much less possibly sail.”
“Oui,” Gaston sighed. There was a pause, and then he asked. “Do you think he might aid us out of the hope you will inherit?”
“I hope so. I would rather he find my wishes valuable and not my father’s.”
“Oui,” my man said emphatically.
I recalled my epiphany and smiled, though he could not see it. “I thought of something. If I kill my father and remain innocent, I will inherit: I will be Earl.”
Ahead of me, Gaston’s shoulders tightened.
“Had you not thought of it, either; or are you surprised your matelot is completely daft?” I teased.
He turned to look at me in the darkness: though in truth, we could see little of one another’s expressions. I could only see the hint of his eyes.
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