But what was it? People talking?
“Captain?” she called.
Still the talking continued, but she could say nothing more. Not right now. Just a little nap, and then she would call out so Captain Beaumont would find her.
Because he would find her. She knew it.
She absolutely and positively knew it.
Evan Connor walked down the passageway toward the captain’s cabin. Jean Beaumont may believe himself to have superhuman endurance, but as his doctor and longtime friend of his family, Evan knew otherwise. He’d patched up the man since he was a lad, and likely would continue doing so until the Lord took him home.
Thus, Jean might eventually forgive him for not following the specific command to awaken him after four hours of rest. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. And because Jean would probably not forgive him for the sleeping draught Evan slipped into the dipper of water he’d offered the captain, that information would not be mentioned.
He opened the door slowly and was greeted by the sound of the captain’s rhythmic snoring. Though he was sorely tempted to let the man sleep even longer, a full seven hours had elapsed since Jean laid his head on his bunk.
Israel and Rao had resumed the search two hours ago. A second boat had been made seaworthy and was heading off in the opposite direction with two more crew members.
The carpenter’s assistants were working on a third boat, but it might be another hour or more before the craft was ready for use. That news would be delivered gently and only if the captain asked.
Evan closed the door and let out a long breath as he set his medical bag on the floor beside him and then lit the lamp he’d brought along for this task. Where had the time gone? Only yesterday the man in the bunk had been a lad on his papa’s knee.
When he swore an oath to his best friend to protect this son of his, Evan had not expected where that oath would lead. Nor had he questioned it.
The snoring had ceased. “Who’s there?” Jean demanded, his speech slurred.
“It is I, Evan Connor,” he said. “You wished me to let you know when it was time to awaken.”
Silence.
“Jean? Are you awake?” he said as he crept forward.
Loud snoring met his question. Perhaps he underestimated the amount of sleeping draught he had slipped into the water dipper.
A roar of noise went up on the deck overhead. Evan froze. The men’s shouts echoed in the cabin, but their words were undecipherable.
Jean shifted on the bunk, but his snoring continued. As the noise persisted on deck, Evan debated whether to leave him there or to wake him up.
The warning bell rang, and his decision was made. “Wake up, Jean. Your crew needs you.”
Whatever was happening above them, the situation was urgent. Shouts of the men competed with the sounds of the bell that foretold an emergency.
“Jean,” he called as he walked toward the bunk.
The sound of something crashing and a flash of light sent him reeling backward. Smoke engulfed him as he choked to find his breath. Beneath him, the ship listed heavily to starboard.
When he could manage to climb to his feet, Evan looked around to survey the damage. What must have been a cannonball had burst through the wall next to Jean’s bunk, splintering the wood planks.
The bunk where Jean had been sleeping only moments before was practically gone, its wood splintered and the mattress destroyed. Seeing the oil lamp dangling precariously on the edge of the table, he caught it just as it fell.
The force of the blast had thrown Jean away from the place where he had been sleeping. Upon closer inspection, he found the captain lying on the floor beneath the ruins of his desk. His ever-present cutlass glittered in the lamplight as it slid away from reach.
A moment of grief pierced his heart rendering Evan immobile as he viewed the tangled wreckage. Had he not given Jean the sleeping draught …
He quickly pushed the guilt aside to allow his medical training to take control. Though he had to move the lamp to haul away heavy boards and debris, he managed to free Jean and pull him to a place where he could more readily assess his injuries.
First he felt for a pulse. Yes, there it was. Faint but still a pulse.
Evan went back to the spot where he’d left his medical bag only to find it gone. After a lengthy search, he found the bag—its contents spilled—in the opposite corner of the room. He managed to collect his medicines and tools and return them to the bag despite the pitching of the ship.
Screams pierced the air as another round of cannonballs hit the foundering vessel. The French, for likely that was the source of the attack, obviously wanted the vessel dispatched to the bottom of the sea.
Those same Frenchmen would want the man laid out on the floor before him dispatched as well, first to a French prison so their bounty could be collected and then to the hangman’s noose.
“Can you hear me, lad?” Connor shouted above the din.
No response.
“All right, then,” he said, keeping the panic from his voice lest the lad hear him. “I’ll make do. Probably best you’re not awake to feel this. I warrant it will hurt.”
Removing the captain’s shirt, he saw injuries that were a threat to the lad’s life. Evan reached for the brandy to cleanse the wounds and found the contents of the bottle empty and the glass shattered. He tore strips of linen and fashioned rudimentary bandages to stop the bleeding and splinted the arm he knew must be broken.
Evan swiped at the sweat on his brow and saw blood on his sleeve. He felt nothing, so either the cut was minor or shock had already set in.
In either case, it would not hinder his ability to care for his patient. He continued to bind wounds and assess Jean’s condition despite the sounds of shouting and metal clanging that indicated the battle had moved from the sea to above him on the deck.
The bleeding was profuse, and it appeared Jean might not survive. All Evan could do was continue to pray as he dabbed at wounds and administered treatment that in all likelihood would be futile. He’d seen men in much better shape die of their injuries. Only the Lord could intervene and keep the lad with the living.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway, but there was no way to tell whether they were from friend or foe. When the door burst open, the question was answered.
“In here,” a French sailor called.
Evan ignored the men to continue to administer more of the sleeping draught to the dying captain. If he could not save Jean, at least he could keep Jean from remembering his death.
Three French sailors stepped aside to allow a man of middle age and exceptional girth to enter the cabin. A lieutenant by the looks of him.
“What is this?” The lieutenant kicked debris out of the way to move closer in a manner that told Evan he must be their leader. “It appears your man is not doing well, sir. Who is he, and who are you?”
Evan ignored him. The head wound he thought he had closed was open again, and he would need more bandages. He reached into his medical bag for linen and continued the process of treating his patient.
“From what I see, it appears this is the captain’s cabin,” one of the sailors said. “See over there on the floor? That’s the captain’s log.”
“Yes, I see that,” their leader said as he nodded to one of his men. “And somewhere in that desk would be the Letters of Marque, I would assume. You there.” He nodded to one of the sailors. “Search the desk until the letters are found. If other items of value are there, take those as well.” He offered Evan a smile that held no humor. “Confiscate them for the crown.”
One sailor headed for the desk while the other fellow picked his way toward Evan and yanked him to his feet. Jean’s head fell to the floor with a sickening thud.
The captain’s eyes fluttered, but he remained unconscious and unaware of what was happening around him. Evan gave thanks for that mercy even as he prayed for a miracle. Prayed that somehow God would save them both or, failing this, that He woul
d save his best friend’s son.
There was more to this lad’s life. More than this. Evan knew this with more certainty than any other living person other than the lad’s father as he wrenched free of the Frenchman to once again cradle the man’s head and apply pressure to the most troublesome of the wounds.
Please, Lord, give him another chance to go back to who he was.
“Which of you is the captain of this vessel? The man called Jean Beaumont?”
He stared into the eyes of the sailor who towered over him and said nothing. Blood flowed freely now and clouded his vision, but Evan held his ground and did not move.
Screams from somewhere above them tore through the silence. The ship heaved furiously as the smell of smoke once again filled the room. As the floor tilted, the sailor at the desk lost his footing and skidded into the wall.
In his hand, the sailor held up a document. “Got those letters, sir,” he said. “Looks like we got our man.”
“We’re going down with this ship if we remain much longer,” the lieutenant said as he nodded toward Evan. “Take the old man out and feed him to the fish. Those letters from this vessel will be enough to prove our victory and gain the bounty on Beaumont’s head. And you,” he said to the nearest sailor, “take the dead man on the floor and do the same.”
Something inside Evan snapped. “Do not touch this man,” he said.
The sailors pushed Evan aside to jerk Jean to his feet. His limp body hung between them, his eyes closed. The steep incline made for slow going as the men carried Jean toward the door. Behind Evan, the third sailor grasped his arms and held him in place.
“Wait! That man is innocent!”
As soon as the words escaped Evan’s mouth, the men stopped. Their leader frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He is not part of our crew, sir,” Evan said, affecting a deference he did not feel. “He is a hostage. A lawyer from New Orleans held against his will.”
“Well now, that is interesting,” he said. “Can you prove this?”
Evan squared his shoulders and stood straight despite the shifting floor beneath him. “His father will attest to what I say and likely provide a handsome reward for his return.”
“How can you expect me to believe this?” their leader said.
With a shrug, Evan affected a casual expression. “I don’t suppose a man of your intelligence could be fooled. I will give you the name of the man’s father and you will tell me if you’ve heard of him. Perhaps that will convince you that you are better off delivering him to New Orleans and his family than dispatching him to his death.”
“Go on,” he said, and Evan knew he had him.
“Perhaps it is better I write a letter to his father. Give him an explanation of how he came to us so that he will not have you arrested on the spot when you bring his son home in this shape.”
The Frenchman’s thick brows rose. “Surely you cannot mean to threaten me with that sort of thing, sir. My reputation is impeccable.”
“As is Monsieur Valmont’s,” he said as he looked down at Jean, his heart breaking but his face stoic. “Perhaps you have heard of his family? His father, Marcel, is well known in New Orleans as well as back home in France. And his uncle is Jean Baptiste Le Moyne.”
Evan made this statement in French, all the more to impress the haughty sailor. Apparently his ploy worked, for the older man’s thick eyebrows rose at the mention of the Valmont name.
“Valmont and Le Moyne, did you say?” The man’s voice gave away that he was impressed by the names. Then abruptly his expression went serious.
“Perhaps you realize Le Moyne is once again the governor of Jeaniana? And no Frenchman could claim he did not know Marcel Valmont. He has the ear of the king, you know.”
He shook his head. “Impossible. What would the son of Monsieur Valmont and the nephew of the Sieur de Bienville be doing here in the company of a wanted man? Take them both to the deck and throw them over. I have no more time for such foolishness.”
“I doubt that is what his family would call this. They would deem it murder, of course.”
“Murder? I call it service to the crown. Good riddance to bad men.”
Mustering the last of his strength and every bit of his courage, he laughed. The ruse worked, as the Frenchmen stopped in their tracks to look at him as if he had lost his mind.
“You find this funny?” their leader said as he stormed toward him and slammed his fist into Evan’s gut and sent him doubling over. The older man wrenched Evan’s head up, forcing him to look into his eyes. “If he is a hostage, then who are you?”
“Captain Jean Beaumont at your service.”
It was the leader’s turn to laugh. “You expect me to believe an old man is the cause of all the trouble this ship’s given our country? Not likely.”
“Any trouble attributed to this crew is a lie told by those who wish to better themselves at our expense. This vessel has Letters of Marque from the king himself, and those letters have been followed exactly.” He paused. “Perhaps you wish to dispute my statement?”
“Oh, so that is how it will be, then?” The man in charge laughed. “We are of a certain age, are we not? And men of our age, we are proud and brave until perhaps we are confronted with the shortness of the remainder of our days.” He retrieved his flintlock pistol and made a show of loading it. “But what do we do when our days can either be lengthened or shortened by the mere response to a question? To tell the truth may be to lengthen your days, or perhaps a lie will save you. What to do?”
He refused to look away. His hands trembled, but as a physician Evan knew the response to be medical and not panic. In this moment, he felt absolutely no fear.
Evan returned his attention to Jean, who he hoped was still alive. He was broken and bloody but recognizable. Blood trickled down his forehead despite the bandages placed there. Still, his father would know him if he saw him, and Evan hoped he would also know that his old friend had tried his best to keep the lad safe.
“I am a man of honor, so I choose to tell the truth.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“As I said, I tell the truth.” He refused to blink as he stared down the barrel of the flintlock pistol. “That man is Jean-Luc Valmont. Take him to his father or his blood is on your hands. Either way, should he die before you reach New Orleans, the Valmont family will see that you all will hang for murder.”
“We are protected by the French government,” the lieutenant snapped.
He gave the older man a steely look. “Sir, I do hope you are extremely confident in that fact.”
“Why wouldn’t we be?” he asked, his tone haughty but his expression showing the slightest bit of discomfort.
“If you know the name Valmont, then you know the power Marcel Valmont wields in the higher levels of the French government and the power his brother-in-law has in the city of New Orleans.” Evan shrugged. “I am not certain the king or his men will stand behind a man of your rank should they be informed you chose to go through with this execution.”
The lieutenant turned his attention to the sailor still rummaging through the desk. “Leave it and bring me those letters.”
Obliging his commanding officer, the young man did as he was told. After reading the Letters of Marque, the lieutenant looked back over at Evan.
“So you say the young man is Jean-Luc Valmont?”
“He is indeed, and if you hope to get him to New Orleans without hanging for his murder, I will go with you to treat him. I am a physician. Make haste, though. He needs a soft bed and clean bandages.”
“If he is Valmont, then that would make you a doctor, a ship’s captain, and a fugitive with a bounty on his head.” He gave Evan a sweeping look and then shook his head. “How do you manage it all?”
“We are wasting time, sir.” Evan pressed past him, not caring that he’d pushed away a fully loaded flintlock. The only way off this sinking ship was to convince these men that they were more valuable alive tha
n dead.
Before Evan could reach the door, one of the sailors had stepped up to block his exit. The young man grasped him by the arm and hauled him out of the way.
“Make way,” the lieutenant said as he gave the order to remove Jean from the cabin. “See that he is given a bed and medical care,” he added as two of the sailors carried the lad away.
A man came running down the passageway. “Sir,” he called. “There are skiffs in the water. Our men saw two with men aboard heading this way. Shall we go after them?”
Evan schooled his expression so as not to give away his thoughts. “You have no time,” he told them. “If you chase after small boats, you may be putting Mr. Valmont at risk of dying before he can reach the city. Do you want to explain your decision to his father?”
The lieutenant seemed to consider his statement a moment, and then he nodded. “Captain Beaumont is right,” he said as he tucked the Letters of Marque under his arm and followed his men out into the corridor.
Gathering up his medical bag, Evan hurried to catch up to the sailors. He kept his attention straight ahead, knowing if he looked at any of the fallen crewmen, he would be unable to keep from stopping to help.
The walk across the deck seemed to take an eternity. It took everything he had not to be swayed by the cries of the men who needed him. But he had made a promise to his friend Marcel Valmont to deliver his son safely home, and he would stop at nothing, and for no one, until he kept that promise.
Evan watched while the lieutenant supervised his men as they hauled the lad over onto the French vessel, and then waited for his turn. Around him, French sailors were fleeing back to their ship, some of them with items they did not appear to own.
All the cannons on the Escape had either been moved to the other ship or tossed into the sea. Around them in the green waters, debris and bodies floated.
Finally the lieutenant gave one last sweeping glance around the vessel and then returned his attention to the last few members of his crew still aboard. “Burn this tub to the waterline and shoot anyone who tries to flee.”
The Pirate Bride Page 8