Then he lifted his flintlock and shot Evan through the heart.
Jean Baptiste “Bienville” Le Moyne had been pacing the confines of his home near the river ever since news arrived that his sister’s son had been found aboard the vessel of a notorious privateer. Captain Jean Beaumont was well known, both in France and here in New Orleans, and the news that there was now a French bounty on his head had come as a surprise to many.
A Spanish bounty, of course, but for the king of France to turn on a man who allegedly brought much in the way of coin and supplies into his royal coffers? There had to be more to the story than what he’d gleaned from those few Frenchmen willing to speak to him.
The door opened and his aide stepped inside. “They’ve got him down at the dock, Governor.”
“Thank you,” he said as he hurried to greet the man he hoped would someday follow in his footsteps.
Bienville had been reluctant to bless the marriage of his sister to a much older man, but theirs had been a love match. And though the Spanish pirates had taken her when their sons were but babes, she had not been forgotten in the Valmont household.
The crowd parted ways as his aides alerted them that their governor was en route to the docks. A blustering fool in the uniform of the French Navy came hurrying in his direction.
“What an honor it is for you to be visiting my ship, Monsieur Bienville. Please come with me and I will show you to where we have kept your nephew in comfort.”
He gave the vessel a cursory glance, offering a brief nod toward the men assembled on the deck in his honor. “My nephew, please,” he instructed the officer.
“Yes, of course. Please follow me.”
Bienville attended the captain until they reached the room where Jean-Luc was being kept. Nodding to his aide, he pressed past the officer. There a man lay on a cot, a sheet covering him. Where there once had been a handsome and strong young man, a broken and bloody image of Jean-Luc Valmont stared back at him with unseeing eyes.
Bienville dropped to his knee beside the cot. “How long has he been like this?”
“Since the men brought him aboard,” the captain said.
“Do not let this man leave,” he told his aide as he nodded toward the man in charge. “His father will have questions, and I will have the answers.”
“Yes, of course,” the Frenchman said, his head nodding in obedience. “When the old man told us he was your nephew, of course it was my privilege to deliver him back to you in a suitable condition.”
“If that is your definition of suitable, I am grateful he was no worse than this,” he snapped. “What have you fools done to him?”
“I assure you, sir, we have given him the best of care,” he protested. “Any injury to his person can be attributed to the pirate Beaumont. The old man claimed this Monsieur Valmont was his prisoner. I found nothing to dispute this.”
The Frenchman wrung his hands as perspiration dotted his brow. This man knew more than he was saying.
“As soon as he has been given a cursory medical examination, I will authorize his transport to his father’s home for further care.” He looked to the captain. “Send a man you trust to arrange for a litter and men to carry it. And if you botch this job, it will go even worse for you.”
“Even worse?” He tugged at his collar and then removed his handkerchief to dab at his damp brow. “I do not understand.”
“Of course you do,” he said evenly. “And I wager every man on this ship understands as well. You attacked the ship where my nephew was being held. During that attack, the fact he suffered serious injuries is obvious to—”
“Forgive me, sir, but I must protest. We were fired upon.”
“You, sir, are a liar. Find a better story and tell it to someone who might be more easily deceived. There was a bounty on Beaumont’s head, and you went after him without caring who else might be on his ship. Did you sink it? And tell me the truth, because I will read the report myself when you claim your reward.”
“We did, I believe,” he said, “although the vessel was still burning when we set off. At that point we were more interested in making haste to New Orleans to see to your nephew’s restored health than we were in following some protocol regarding pirate vessels.”
“Privateer, sir, and if you don’t know the difference, I can certainly see that you are taught.”
“I do know the difference,” he said, looking quite displeased.
“Your physician has arrived, sir,” his aide told him.
“Send him in.”
Bienville stepped back so his nephew could be examined. Once the sheet was pulled away from Jean-Luc’s body, the extent of his injuries was obvious. A jagged red scar traversed the muscles of his chest while another snaked down his leg, ending just above the ankle. One arm had been bound with a rudimentary bandage from his fist to his elbow. Thick strips of muslin covered his forehead, allowing only wisps of his black hair to show beneath the bloodstained fabric.
“What matter of heathen …”
Bienville shook his head. Giving way to his temper would serve no purpose. He moved back to allow the physician to complete his examination and then called for the litter to retrieve the lad and bring him to his father’s home.
“Will he live?” he demanded of the physician.
From the man’s expression, he had his answer. Still, he needed to hear the words.
“You may speak freely,” he told him.
“Then if I speak freely, I would have to tell you that this lad is as near to death as I have seen a man with breath still in his body. Whether he lives or dies, it is in God’s hands.”
Bienville clasped his hand on the physician’s shoulder. “Go with him and see if you can explain to God how very much his family wishes him to live.” He offered a smile that held no humor. “And I shall do the same.”
The task of moving him to the litter and removing him from the vessel had been completed, and the litter carrying Jean-Luc was on its way toward the docks when a young French soldier hurried toward him.
“Monsieur,” he said as he glanced around and then returned his attention to Bienville. “What the captain said, well, it is not completely correct. You see, there was a threat to throw both men off the ship until the old man, Captain Beaumont, he convinced the lieutenant that he was the one who deserved to die that day.”
“So the man your superior officer killed saved my nephew?”
He seemed thoughtful and then finally nodded. “That’s about the size of it, sir, although there was more to it than that. Talking and arguing and such before the shooting. Not Monsieur Valmont, of course. He was in no shape to argue.”
“I see.”
“But your man there, he was indeed as you see him now, although I have no way of knowing if the injuries were sustained before we overtook the vessel. He was in a bad way when we got to the captain’s cabin, although there was one thing odd.”
“What was that?”
“The privateer, he was doctoring Monsieur Valmont when we found them. Said he was a physician. Now, I’ve wanted the reward much as the next man on our ship, so I’ve studied up on the Ghost Ship and its captain. That wasn’t the Ghost Ship, and not once did I hear anything about Captain Beaumont being a physician.”
“I appreciate your candor, son. One more question: How did you overtake the vessel?”
He looked sheepish. “The usual away. We used our cannons, and then, once we had control of the ship, we …” He looked away. “Suffice it to say, the privateer’s vessel was under attack when our men arrived on its deck, and that attack continued until such time as Jean Beaumont’s life came to an end. And as to that not being the Ghost Ship, our lieutenant had word from fellows he knew in the navy who pointed out that ship as belonging to Beaumont. Beyond that, I do not know any more.”
“I see.” He paused. “Thank you.” Noting the man’s expectant look, he added, “Is there something else?”
“There is,” he said. “Would you come wi
th me? It’ll only take a minute, but it is important.”
Bienville nodded to his aide, and the three of them walked with the sailor to a spot in the rear of the vessel. There the lad opened a barrel and pulled out a heavy silver cutlass with a jeweled scabbard and presented it to Bienville.
“For what purpose would I wish to take this weapon?” he asked.
“We took it off your nephew,” he said. “I thought it only right that it be returned to his family.”
“You’re certain Jean-Luc was wearing this cutlass when he was found?”
“Absolutely certain,” he said. “Took it off him myself before the men could get him out of the captain’s cabin.”
“So my nephew, a lawyer by trade, was wearing this cutlass when he was found in Beaumont’s cabin?”
“That’s the whole of it, sir.”
He nodded to the aide. “Reward this man for his diligence.” He moved closer. “And see that he understands we wish this story to go no further.”
Bienville held the magnificent weapon up to the waning sunlight and watched the jewels sparkle. The craftsmanship appeared to be Spanish, the stones exquisite. It was a ferocious instrument that should belong to a man of war, not a man of the law.
“Lock this in my library,” he told his aide. “Someday I will have a conversation with Jean-Luc about this.”
As he said the words, he knew they would not speak of it. And not because he believed his nephew would not be around to have this talk.
Rather, he had long ago learned there were things men did not discuss. Things that would lead to information best not given.
This cutlass and its provenance was most certainly one of those things.
It was better the girl did not recall when they found her. Had she opened her eyes or given any indication she recognized them, neither of them would have been able to leave her with the Mother Superior.
She was safe there. Much safer than she would be with them.
Had he not held a deep belief in the Lord, Israel might have believed their spying the floating plank on the vast green sea as some accident of nature. As a coincidence.
But there were no coincidences. Not when God directed paths and sent boats floating in just the right direction and at just the right time to arrive in just the right place.
They were meant to find her, just as they were meant to set aside their selfish wishes and see that she had a proper raising on the island of the nuns and orphan children. The island where his old friend, the Mother Superior, would keep her safe.
As the island appeared on the horizon, Israel cradled the girl while Rao did the rowing. It was only right given his higher rank aboard the vessel they’d served upon together. Anyone who might think it odd that a slave outranked a man whose skin was pale would never dare say it to the captain.
At least not more than once.
He and Rao prayed over that child as the skiff slid along toward Isla de Santa Maria. Prayed that the Lord would spare her.
Prayed that He would see she grew into a fine young lady.
And selfishly, they prayed that they would both see Maribel Cordoba again, even if she was never to know who they were or their connection to her survival.
When wood slid against sand, Israel held tight to the girl so as not to jostle her. Had he thought walking barefoot might keep from waking her, he would have tossed his boots into the skiff and headed off toward the chapel, caring not for what brambles and rocks pierced his feet.
But Maribel seemed unable to wake, something that concerned Israel greatly. Though he was no expert on medical conditions, he knew sleeping through all that had happened could not be a good sign.
He would be certain to tell Mother Superior of this.
“Bring her to the chapel,” a soft voice said.
Of course Mother Superior had seen their approach. Nothing and no one arrived on this island without first being noticed.
Israel spied the nun coming around the corner, her dark gown hiding her from all but the closest inspection. He followed her instructions—and her—until he arrived in a small building that had obviously been converted to a chapel.
“I had a bed put in for her,” she said, indicating that Israel should leave her there.
He would have. Should have. But he just could not.
Not yet.
Instead he told her of the girl’s condition when he found her. Then he answered the nun’s questions, all the while holding the sleeping girl in his arms. Finally, they arrived at a depth of silence that told him he was expected to leave her.
“A moment first?” he said as he carried her back outside under the last purple minutes before daybreak.
Here the light was just sufficient to take in her features and memorize them. “I want to know you when I see you again even if you do not know me,” he told her, though she made no response. “Rao and I, we will find you someday, although you’ll likely not know us.”
“The captain too,” Rao added solemnly. “He will want to find her.”
“No,” Israel said. “That is impossible.”
If the captain is alive—and I believe the Lord has spared him—he cannot know about her. And she cannot know about him,” Israel said.
“Why not?” Rao asked.
“Can you not see? There are two of us who were saved from the hands of the French attackers. Possibly there are two more, if the other skiff was launched as planned and had not returned. Four people who recognize the face of Jean Beaumont, and all of us are loyal to him as if he was our own blood.”
“That is true.”
He nodded at the girl in his arms. “But she also can recognize the captain, and she is but a child. She will someday grow to be a woman. Who can say then?”
“Aw, come on, Bennett,” Rao said. “Surely the girl wouldn’t do or say anything to harm the captain. He didn’t take to her at first, and I know her being there broke the rule for females aboard ship, but he and she were fast friends by the end of it all.”
“Fast friends, yes, between a young captain and a girl with her nose in a book and her mind carrying silly ideas of wanting to sail the seas as a privateer.” He paused to look down at the sleeping girl. “But time will pass and she will grow to be a woman. Then who will she be? What will her allegiance be then?”
“I reckon I see your point, but it’s awfully sad to think those two will never meet. He did save her life when he let her stay aboard. Might be good for her to know this.”
“I warrant she will remember it,” he said. “She will know there was a brief period of time when she was held in high esteem within the company of a crew of privateers who no longer live. It is good to allow her to have that memory. Not so good to believe more than this, I think.”
“Are you certain?”
“As certain as I am that there is a bounty on all our heads.” He paused to look Rao in the eyes. “Do you wish that bounty to extend to this girl? Because it will if she is considered to be associated with us.”
Rao seemed to be sorting the thought out in his mind. Finally he nodded. “Then we agree to leave her be and let these nuns raise her.”
“We do,” Israel said. “And we agree should we ever have the occasion to come to this island, we will not give up our identities to her.”
Rao nodded. “Agreed.”
Israel looked up to see Mother Superior in the doorway. “It is time,” she told him. “You have overstayed your welcome.”
He nodded but still made no move to release the girl to the nun or to bring her in and settle her on the cot in the corner of the chapel. “She will be safe. You give me your word?”
“Yes,” the old nun told him. “You have my word.”
“And the other matter,” he said firmly. “I will not have the man who saved me from slavery lose his life over what this girl might remember. The two can never meet, and she cannot know who he is. Promise me you will not allow this.”
“I heard your conversation with Mr. Rao and can se
e that she might offer evidence that could harm your captain,” she said. “I will tell no lies to her or your captain, but I will do my best to guide the girl away from those memories that might put them both in danger. Perhaps I can convince her to stay with us once she’s grown. Is Miss Cordoba an intelligent girl?”
“Very,” he said with pride. “Before the attack on our ship, I was teaching her to read Homer in the original Greek. She was a quick study. I warn you, though. Her favorite spot to read was up in the masts in the lookout’s perch. More than once I found that a man who was assigned there had been convinced to give up his duties to her so that she could be up there with her book. You may be searching the treetops looking for her.”
Mother Superior smiled. “Then we will discourage climbing as not appropriate for a lady but continue encouraging her to read so that someday she might become a teacher, although I do not believe our little library has such an impressive volume.”
He smiled. “Then it will when I can manage it. And every time I am able, I will send more.”
“We would accept your gift with thankful hearts, but you do realize we cannot allow anyone to know from whom this gift comes. To do so would be to lose all protection of your identity. I cannot protect the girl if she has any connection to you or your captain. Are we in agreement?”
He nodded. “We are.”
“And there is one other requirement of accepting the child. She is the child of the deceased Antonio Cordoba and his late wife?”
“Yes,” he said.
“It is my solemn vow to the Lord and to these children that I do all in my power to reunite families and see them returned to the homes where they once belonged. Should Miss Cordoba’s extended family—perhaps grandparents, uncles, or siblings—search for her and find her here, I will not keep her from them. If that goes against my promise to you, then that promise will be broken.”
“I understand,” he said. “And I will not hold you to the promise should those circumstances occur. However, the girl believed herself to be an orphan, having watched her father die and claiming her mother and grandfather already deceased. She mentioned no siblings. I believe St. Mary of the Island will be the only home she knows.”
The Pirate Bride Page 9