“Gaff-rigged schooner,” she said out of habit, and both men looked at her oddly.
Maribel shrugged. “A habit I acquired during my youth,” she said with a grin. “I just can’t seem to break it.”
Jean-Luc helped her onto the schooner and then climbed over the rail, the valise slung over his shoulder. “Cast off,” he said as Mr. Rao reversed his rowing and pulled away from the vessel without boarding.
“Isn’t Mr. Rao coming too?” she asked as she watched the skiff disappear into the night.
“Not this time.” He crossed the deck and indicated she should follow. “Your cabin is at the end of the passageway. Take this valise and hide it.”
She did as he instructed, following the passageway until it stopped at a door. Opening the door, she saw she was given the captain’s cabin. Although luxurious, the room was not exceptionally large.
Given the choices of where the valise might fit, she picked the least obvious and stuffed the leather bag into the hole between the wall and the bunk. Returning the loose plank, Maribel stood back to admire her handiwork.
Her next order of business was to find the captain’s library, for surely he had books stored in here somewhere. She opened one cabinet only to find a change of clothes and a pair of boots. The other cabinet held tools and rain gear.
The desk had three drawers. Two were unlocked and void of any reading material. The third, however, was locked tight.
Maribel sat back to examine the lock and then removed a hairpin from her hair. Such was the benefit of teaching a group of children from diverse backgrounds. Occasionally they were taught the most interesting skills. And of course children did love to brag about what they could do that no one else could.
The lock turned with a satisfying click. Like picking the occasional lock.
She tucked the pin back into her hair and opened the drawer carefully.
Inside she spied two books. One was the captain’s log.
Her fingers stilled as she reached for the log. Hadn’t she chastised her mother for looking through Abuelo’s papers? And yet, the information those papers contained had proved of great value. So, too, could whatever had been written on the pages of this log.
Maribel tucked her guilt aside and opened the log and then scanned the entries. Nothing of any interest here.
But the other. She reached for the book, bound in dark leather and edged in gilt.
Footsteps echoed in the corridor, warning her that she might be sharing this book with a visitor if she kept the drawer open. Returning the log to its place above the book, she closed the drawer and hurried to perch innocently on the bed just as the door opened.
“Captain wishes to see you, Miss Cordoba,” a crewman said.
“Yes, of course,” she said, rising to follow him. Pausing in the door, she cast around at the secrets hidden there and smiled. This room’s secrets were safe.
For now.
Closing the door, she hurried to keep up as the man led her to the deck.
“Over there, miss,” he said as he indicated two men standing near the bow.
Maribel crossed the deck and then froze. The man standing beside Jean-Luc …
“Mr. Bennett!”
She cared not for propriety as she closed the distance between them. “Oh, Mr. Bennett!” she said as she buried her face in his coat. “I am so glad to see you.”
“I did notice that,” he said with a chuckle. “And I am so glad to see you.”
He held her at arm’s length and studied her. “Oh my, you did grow up to be a beautiful young lady, didn’t you?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that, but I did grow up.”
“Trust me,” Jean-Luc said just loud enough for her to hear. “What my friend says is correct.”
Mr. Bennett reached up to slide her hair off her forehead. “Yes,” he said with a nod. “No doubt it is you.”
“Why did you do that?” Jean-Luc asked him.
“She has a scar,” he told him. “Right there.” He indicated a spot on her forehead. “Happened aboard the Venganza. Connor treated it, but she would only bind it with that infernal scarf of hers. Whatever happened to that scarf, Miss Cordoba?”
“I wore it every day until my mother confiscated it. Said it was ratty and belonged in with the rubbish. Truly she was right, but I do miss it.” She paused. “I missed you too, Mr. Bennett. I spent my childhood with the nuns on an island near Port Royal. Did you know that?”
His expression went neutral. “I believe I did hear something about that. Did you enjoy it?”
“Immensely,” she said. “The nuns treated me well, and when I got too old for the orphanage, I was hired as a teacher.” Maribel smiled. “I even taught the children how to read Homer in the original Greek.”
His laughter filled the night air. “Perhaps someday you will teach our captain that.”
“Hush now,” he told them. “I will learn eventually.”
Mr. Bennett shook his head. “I have things to do. You two behave.”
And then he was gone, leaving them alone on the deck. A comfortable silence fell between them as the river carried them downstream. Finally Jean-Luc turned to her.
“Did you really have such a good childhood? With the nuns, I mean? It sounds lonely.”
“Lonely?” She shrugged. “Hardly. Not when you’re on an island filled with children and nuns.”
He nodded. “I felt responsible, you know. When I couldn’t find you, I didn’t want to go on. Abigail is right. I did call out for you. I still do. Or did. I always felt you were out there and I was supposed to find you.”
She smiled. “And then you did.”
“No, I think it was you who found me. This Lopez-Gonzales fellow was the one who found you.” He paused. “Or did he? I’ve been wondering about that, and I think he and your father were in league with each other.”
“Do you?”
“Unless you have another opinion. Did he indicate any association with your grandfather that you were able to prove? Such as seeing them converse?”
“He had a letter from Abuelo when he arrived on the island, but he elected not to go with me inside my grandfather’s home when I arrived in New Orleans. In fact, while my mother was greeting me on the front steps, he seemed to just slip away.”
“And you never saw him again?”
She thought a moment. “No, but can we change the subject?”
“Of course,” he said as he rested his hand on the rail. “What do you want to talk about?”
“You,” she said. “Tell me what I missed in your life.”
He looked away. “You don’t want to hear all that.”
She moved her hand over to rest atop his. “I do. Tell me, please.”
“Not here. Come with me, then.”
Maribel followed him to a quiet spot away from the men who were working. “You’re sure?” he said. “Much of my story is not pretty.”
His eyes went soft when she nodded. “Tell me, but only what you wish to say.”
And then he did. And she cried, especially when he got to the part where he told her about his wife and his son and the awful fever that took them both. About how he, too, had the fever, and although he begged the Lord to take him, He did not.
“And until now I did not know why He saved me,” he said.
He held her then, and she went willingly into his arms. “It is late,” he finally said, his voice gruff.
“I suppose,” she said as she looked up into his eyes.
“No one knows me as you do,” he told her. “I haven’t told anyone the things I’ve told you.”
“I don’t find that odd at all,” she said. “What I do find odd is that you haven’t kissed me yet.”
At his look of surprise, she smiled. “What? Remember I was raised by the nuns and I was not taught the social graces.”
He laughed. “And for that I am forever grateful.”
And then he kissed her.
“Did you mind that?” he asked af
ter.
“Not at all,” she said. “But to be sure, might we try that again?”
Once again Jean-Luc laughed, but he did not argue.
Later when Maribel found her voice again, she asked him, “Why Beaumont?”
“What?” He shook his head. “Oh, that. Well, it was not my idea. In order to have Letters of Marque, I had to make application to the crown. My father was enthusiastic about the endeavor—to tell the truth, it was his idea—but my uncle would have been horrified.”
“The governor? Why?”
“Depending on the year, sometimes the month or day, the Spaniards were either friend or foe. Uncle Bienville had friends from both countries. Father was still making his fortune and had not yet secured the exclusive trade agreement, so his idea was for both his sons to set sail, and possibly him too. He never liked the Spaniards ever since my mother and brother were killed.”
“By my father,” she said. “I am so sorry.”
He touched her cheek with his palm and looked into her eyes. “That sin is his to bear, not yours. So when the time came to make application, he chose familial names that were close but not ours. Thus, I was Jean Beaumont after my paternal grandmother’s maiden name. I was young, about your age, and I was allowed no opinion. Looking back, I see it was advantageous not to have my name known.”
“Because there was a bounty on your head.”
“Still could be,” he said with a shrug. “I have no idea whether that has been rescinded. Far as I know, Captain Beaumont was reported killed and some French lieutenant claimed the glory.” He shrugged. “End of the story.”
“That is a story I am glad to see end.”
He traced her jawbone with his finger and she shivered. “Cold?”
“No,” she said as she snuggled closer. “Are you too old to fall in love with me?”
He chuckled. “According to Abigail, yes and no.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yes, apparently I am too old for you. She would prefer for you to be spending your time with Gaby’s twin, Michel. However, she feels I have already fallen in love with you.”
“What do you think?” Maribel said.
“If I didn’t know you grew up with the nuns, I would believe you’re flirting with me.”
It was her turn to laugh. “How exactly does one flirt?”
“By doing exactly what you’re doing, Maribel Cordoba.”
And then he kissed her again.
“Captain,” Mr. Bennett called. “You’re needed up here.”
Jean-Luc stretched out his legs and frowned. “Duty calls.”
She smiled. “I am tired. It’s been quite a day.”
“That it has,” he said as he helped her to her feet.
“I can see myself to my cabin. You go find out what Mr. Bennett needs.”
He walked her down the corridor anyway and stood on the other side of the door until she proved to him that it was locked. When she was certain he’d gone, Maribel went to the drawer and removed the leather book.
An hour later, she stuffed the book into the valise and slammed the drawer shut, anger pounding in her temples. By the time she found Jean-Luc and Mr. Bennett, she was so mad she could barely control her words.
“So,” she said to the two men, now standing together at the wheel. “I have a question.”
Jean-Luc grinned. “For both of us or just for me?”
“I suppose since you are the captain, I should ask you.”
He moved around to stand beside her and then wrapped her in his arms. She looked up into his eyes, her own arms held tight at her sides.
“Exactly when were you going to tell me that you and Mr. Bennett were slave traders?”
When neither man spoke, she had her answer. Maribel turned her back and walked away, tears stinging her eyes. Jean-Luc stepped in front of her just before she reached the corridor.
“It isn’t what you think.”
“I saw you,” she said, angry now that her tears were falling. “You and he were at Isla de Santa Maria. You pulled your boat into the inlet and loaded slaves from your ship to the other. I watched you do it.”
“From a tree?” he said, sarcasm touching his voice.
“Actually, yes,” she said.
“Then you should not base what actually happened on what you think you saw.”
She let out a long breath and looked up into his eyes. “I saw it, Jean-Luc. I saw you and I saw him.” She nodded toward the wheel where Mr. Bennett stood. “And I saw the slaves leave a gaff-rigged schooner very much like this one. Are you now telling me that did not happen?”
“Captain,” Mr. Bennett called. “We’ve got a ship coming up behind us.”
Maribel moved toward the rail so she could see. “Brigantine to the south,” she said.
“Brigantine? You’re certain?”
At her nod, he smiled. “Raise the French flag,” he told Israel. “It appears my uncle would like a word with me.”
Sure enough, the vessel carrying the governor came alongside and greetings were exchanged. When Jean-Luc was invited aboard, Maribel asked if she could go along and was allowed.
Only when Jean-Luc spied her carrying the valise did he seem to realize her voyage with him was over. “Might I have a moment of your time, Governor?” she asked the older man.
Though his brows raised, he did smile and agree to a meeting. When she retrieved the leather book and handed it to him, he seemed confused.
“That is evidence that your nephew is a slave trader,” she told him.
The governor shook his head. “I do not understand, young lady. Why give me this?”
“Can you not stop him? This is piracy of the worst kind.”
The older man rose and left Maribel alone in the room, the book still on the table where she put it. A short while later, he returned with Jean-Luc and left them together without a word.
“My uncle wished to let us know your father has been captured. Apparently the word of a French spy was good enough to give away his dealings.”
“A French spy?” She shook her head. “Who?”
“One Mr. Lopez-Gonzales.” He shrugged. “Though your grandfather was not a well man, he was a smart man. He was able to feed information to those who were eager to prove whether the Spaniard who had been stealing from French ships was indeed Antonio Cordoba.”
“And it was.”
Jean-Luc nodded. “It was. Your mother and grandfather are safely back home, and your grandfather’s valuables have been returned to him along with a substantial reward for helping to capture an enemy of the French.”
“I see.” She thought a moment. “So I can go home now?”
“Aboard this very ship,” he told her. “My uncle is returning tonight. He could see you home safely. By the way, he told me you’ve accused me of piracy.”
“Thank you,” she said, those stupid tears returning. “And, yes, I have.” Why had she thought she cared about this man? She hadn’t even known him.
“Maribel,” he said gently. “I asked you if you would trust me and you said you would.” He pressed his palm over the book that sat on the table between them. “Will you trust me when I tell you this is not what it seems?”
“Why should I?” she demanded. “I see nothing but proof here. Proof that lines up perfectly with what I saw on Isla de Santa Maria. What possible evidence would you offer to refute it?”
“The word of a nun and more,” he said.
She shook her head. “You’re making no sense.”
He reached beyond the book to take her hand. “Trust me, Maribel. Come with me and I will show you. Look at me.” When she did, he continued. “Do you truly believe that Israel Bennett and I would be involved in something as vile as slave trading?”
She sighed. “No,” she said. “But the book …”
“But the book proves something entirely different.” He nodded toward the vessel still tied up beside the brigantine. “Come with us and I will show you.”
“All right, although for the life of me I cannot tell you why.”
“Because we were always meant to be a team, Red. I just didn’t know it when you first tried to join up with my crew.” He gave her a broad grin. “I’m older and wiser now. Welcome to my crew, Maribel.”
She gave him a frown that she had a hard time maintaining. A short while later, they were back aboard the schooner and headed into open waters. Maribel avoided Jean-Luc during the voyage, preferring to remain in the cabin below.
Thanks to the generous contribution of books from Mr. Bennett’s library, the time flew past and soon the lookout was calling for land. Maribel emerged onto the deck to see the familiar beaches and structures of Isla de Santa Maria coming closer.
“Home,” she said softly, and for certain she knew it to be.
Though New Orleans was nice and reuniting with her family had been God’s own miracle, this sleepy island with the children, the nuns, and the sandy beaches was her home.
By the time the ship neared land, all the children and the nuns were waiting for them. Strangely, they bypassed the docks and continued around the island, only returning to dock at the inlet after a roundabout pass through the open ocean.
Maribel waited on deck for the skiff to be lowered. When Jean-Luc came to stand by her, she froze. There had been nothing in the way of conversation between them for almost a week, and now he stood close enough to touch.
“What you are about to witness is what Israel and I have done for years. More years than I can count. When the Lord spared me after my privateering days, I made a promise I would use the remainder of my life for His purpose. Israel and I believe this is His purpose. His piracy, if you will.”
A bell sounded, and then Maribel heard a door open and footsteps heading toward them. Out from the hold came dark-skinned men and women, boys and girls, dozens of them.
“Jean-Luc, no,” she said softly as another schooner slid into place behind them. “They were with us all along?”
Without sparing her a glance, the unexpected passengers filed into skiffs that were lowered into the water. She stepped into the line and grasped the arm of a young woman carrying a baby. “You don’t have to do this,” she said.
The woman gave her a confused look. “She doesn’t understand what you’ve told her,” Mr. Bennett said. He said something to her that she understood, and the girl smiled.
The Pirate Bride Page 22