A Pirate's Command

by Meg Hennessy

  In spite of his lifestyle and weathered, rough exterior, he was a handsome man, with an aristocratic look, contrary to that of a pirate. She remembered thinking that the first night she had seen him, but couldn’t remember when that had been.

  Donato reached over and picked up a cup put out by Loul, washing his food down as her brother explained his efforts to leave New Orleans. But in doing so he had seen a band of men carrying Enio, and he had followed them. With Donato’s continued silence, Loul elaborated on his story.

  “One must have doubled back behind me. I was knocked on the head in very much the same way you were tonight, except you woke up here. I woke up on a ship.”

  Donato finished off his plate, rose from his chair, and brushed his hands off over the fire. “You have wine?”

  “Over there.” Loul pointed, looking frustrated. He glanced at Colette, but she had nothing to offer. She knew Donato wasn’t believing a word of it.

  “Please continue with your fascinating story, young Loul. I’m—what is the American word?—riveted.”

  Loul drew a sharp breath. “Sounds like a waste of time.”

  Colette rose to her feet, but losing her balance on her sore leg, she sank back down. “Donato, you must listen, d’accord? For it is dangerous not to.”

  “I am listening, Colette, but have heard nothing that tells me where my son is.”

  Colette motioned for Loul to continue.

  Loul, looking as angry as Donato, cleared his throat. “I woke up in the cargo hold. Now I know ships—”

  “Quite well. Did you silently disembark like you did on my island?”

  Colette started to rise, sensing an altercation, but remained seated when Donato motioned for her to relax.

  “Mis disculpas.” He apologized. “Continuad, por favor.”

  Loul had poured his own wine and downed the last of it before dropping his attention on Donato. “I thought I had been pressed into the Spanish service until I heard voices. Men were talking, mostly Spanish, I couldn’t understand much of it.”

  Donato looked to offer another remark, but pressed his lips together as if barely holding the comment in check. “Can you repeat any of the, ah…Spanish words you heard?”

  “Niño.”

  “Boy. But were they talking about my boy? There are many who work ships.”

  Loul leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees. “I don’t understand.”

  Donato was about to answer until Colette interrupted. “Loul, he doesn’t believe any of this. He believes we have hidden Enio and this is an elaborate scheme to throw him off track.”

  Surprise lifted Loul’s brows into a twisted arch above his eyes. He leaned in real close to Donato. “I have an easier way to throw you off track. I could shoot you dead in my parlor and be hailed a hero for doin’ it.”

  Donato’s expression remained impassive, but Colette could see him thinking. After a long moment of silence that thickened with each tick of the clock, he motioned for Loul to continue. “What other words did you hear?”

  “Heredero.”

  “Heir,” Donato interpreted.

  “Nobleza.”

  “Nobility,” Donato whispered, as if something was fitting into place.

  “I heard a woman’s voice. She spoke Spanish, but I heard nothing that I can remember except what I think might be her name.”

  Loul glanced up as he tried to recall it. “Renee? Rita? Something like that.”

  “Rayna.” Donato visibly paled. “Was it Rayna?”

  “Yeah, that’s what it was. Rayna.”

  Donato silently stood, putting down his glass of wine. He gathered his things, hooked his flintlock onto his braces, and pulled on an overcoat, compliments of Jordan. “Let’s go, Loul.”

  Loul jumped into action, grabbing his own pistol. “If you think Enio is on that ship, you and I aren’t enough to take him off.”

  “But who is she? Why would she have Enio?” Colette stood as well, ignoring the burning pain in her leg that nagged continuously. “Donato?”

  “I can tell you the who, not the why.” He turned just as he reached the door leading to the courtyard. “She is Rayna de la Roche. My sister.”

  …

  Donato checked the street before stepping free of the abat-vent. It was approaching seven in the morning, and some of the shops were beginning to reopen. Horse-drawn carriages slogged through the street as New Orleans finally returned to normal.

  Loul stepped out after Donato, followed by Colette.

  Donato motioned for her to stay. “This is not a place for a woman.”

  “But a day for a mother. I go with you.”

  Knowing the futility of arguing with her and not wanting to delay, he acquiesced.

  “Stay close to me.”

  That same look of surprise usurped her beautiful features, as when he had tried to keep her safe earlier. He wanted to tell her that his concern was only because she was the mother of his son, but that might be a lie, and he’d had enough deception for one night.

  A light fog rolled off the gulf and tainted the buildings and roads in a gray light. The smell of sewage and old seawater saturated the air. He hated this town. He hated America, for he had fought as much for her freedom as Colette’s swamp-rat brothers, yet Jordan and Loul were free, hailed as heroes for it, while Donato remained a wanted man.

  “The ship you were on. It flew a Spanish flag?”

  “I couldn’t see, too dark.”

  “Trust me, it did.” Donato started walking down Rampart with his small entourage behind him. A swamp rat and a woman. It sounded like Rayna had an army with her, and Loul was right, they were no match.

  Between Donato and Loul, they were able to shave off some time by cutting through alleys and courtyards, but would it be enough? By the soft breeze that spun out over the gulf, the weather gauge was perfect for gaining headway out of the river and into the ocean. The morning was crisp with winter, but ships would come and go in such favorable weather.

  Rayna.

  His thoughts kept floating back to his sister, remembering all too well her expression when she had learned he intended to leave Spain. They had always been a unit, supporting each other through the difficult years of their youth, but she had wanted no part of leaving Spain and had tried desperately to discourage him.

  He hadn’t heard anything from her in five years. A message had arrived a year ago, before Colette had left him. Rayna had talked of his obligation to their father and his need to return home. But Donato saw that relationship differently and would do nothing for the need of his father. They were not only miles apart in their location, but miles apart in their political beliefs. He didn’t welcome that connection to home and had never responded. Apparently, that was a mistake. Whatever she was trying to communicate to him was serious enough to sail the ocean and steal his son.

  How had she known about Enio?

  His marriage to Colette had been kept relatively secret. And what purpose would Enio serve? An heir? Not possible. Enio was not Spain-born and only half Spanish.

  The trio cut through another alley to emerge on the corner of Saint Pierre and Chartres Streets, then halted. The morning sun had burned off the early fog, and the Place d’Armes had several constables standing about, conversing with one another.

  Donato motioned to back out of the square until one of the constables turned and saw all three of them. Donato had worn a hat in hopes of disguising himself somewhat, but the constable took an extra interest in them.

  “Get out of here. Go.” Loul stepped to the forefront, motioning for Donato to keep going. “Go. I will stall them.”

  To deflect their attention, Donato stumbled and swung Colette around in his arms and kissed her while swaying as if he had indulged in spirits. Loul picked up on the charade and wove his unsteady gait toward the police.

  The moment Donato’s lips touched Colette’s, he lost the stumble to his gait and held himself steady, needing all his strength to keep the kiss as nothin
g more than a pretense. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Loul had distracted the police. He could have let go, but he allowed himself to feel her lips beneath his, flooding his body with a need so intense, an undeniable yearning that he could not deny.

  He pushed away from her, sucking in enough air to clear his head, at least enough to stay steady on his feet. A slight rose color shaded her lips swollen from his kiss, and he didn’t miss the slight mist in her eyes. He turned away from her, unable to contemplate her response to their intimate touch.

  Having evaded the interest of the police, they turned and crossed behind the square, turning down Saint Ann’s toward the market where vendors were beginning to open up their stalls for a day of selling. Continuing beyond the market, he and Colette walked along the levee toward the port. He started to rush his step, knowing his sister’s ship might not be there. The weather was so favorable, he’d set sail if he were in port. Colette was struggling to keep up, her limp more pronounced, but he kept going, needing to ensure his sister’s ship was still in harbor.

  When he reached the jagged shoreline, the Spanish frigate with a flag of royalty had just pulled anchor. Her sails captured the wind and her hull plowed the waters. Colette started to run down the levee but her bad leg hampered her, and she fell. She fought to get to her feet. “No!”

  Donato wrapped her in his arms and started to pull her back.

  “No!” She fought. “Don’t let them leave! Don’t let them get away!”

  But Donato continued to pull her away from the water and onto solid ground. She struggled, kicking him in the shins, swinging her fists, but he held on.

  “You let them take our son!”

  “We can’t stop them.”

  “But Enio, he does not understand this. He needs me.”

  “Not today, Colette, not today.”

  A woman appeared on the starboard side as they floated free of the port. He recognized her long black hair fluttering in the wind, her petite frame leaning against the gunwale, and the royal tilt to her chin.

  Rayna.

  “Oh, mi adorado hermano, how nice to see you,” she shouted through a speaking trumpet in her usual condescending way. Some things never changed.

  The regal ship, with embellished bulwarks of carved woodwork and golden trim, floated along the river with a royal flag fluttering overhead. His father was rich, but not that rich to fund such an expedition. Flashes of their childhood, him and Rayna, niggled beneath his thoughts. He dismissed them, swallowing hard, not letting the memories forward because if he did, he’d remember it all.

  “He is of no use to you, Rayna,” Donato called as her ship sailed toward the sea. “He is not Spain-born; he is not all Spanish.”

  “Oh but sí, he will be of great use. Such a dulce niño. I knew the moment her brother escaped us, he’d find you. I hate to take and run, but you know, I must,” she responded in her thick Spanish accent, offering a throaty laugh before disappearing below deck as the bow broke into open waters.

  “No!” Colette screamed. “No, oh God, no!”

  Her body crumbled in Donato’s arms, shaking, sobbing.

  Holding her back flush against his chest, he wrapped his arms around her, cocooning her within. She curled over his arms in agony, lifting her feet from the ground. He knew her pain; he had felt it the day she had taken their son and left the island, but that didn’t make him as immune to her anguish as he would have liked. Her cries pierced his pride. His wife and son were in trouble, and he was helpless to stop it. Colette was fragile and in need of him. He fought the squeeze her cries brought to his heart, reminding himself this wouldn’t have happened had she not taken Enio off the island into her world with her brothers.

  Donato glanced around, not wanting to attract attention. “Colette, be quiet.”

  “You let them take our son!”

  “For the moment.” He made sure she was steady on her feet before he released her, but he realized his mistake the moment she jabbed the end of her pistol into his throat.

  “That ship flies a royal flag.” She pulled back the hammer. Her voice as lethal as the muzzle pressed into his neck. “Who—are—you?”

  …

  Loul came running up behind them, immediately putting a restraining hand on Colette’s arm. “This isn’t the place. You’re attracting attention. I have an idea.”

  Loul’s words neither distracted her nor discouraged her desire to release her weapon. Her finger on the trigger wanted nothing more than to pull. She knew she shouldn’t—couldn’t, wouldn’t—but that didn’t stop the determination her body seemed to have. Through tight lips and without a breath in between, she answered her brother, “He let that ship leave with my son.”

  “Our son,” Donato corrected, despite the dangerous position of not only her pistol, but her finger on the trigger.

  “There was no way to stop it, Colette.” Loul worked his hand up along her arm until he was able to block the trigger. “Let go.”

  Her body started to shake uncontrollably. Her teeth rattled, and a shudder raced across her shoulders, yet she wasn’t cold. She was angry, devastated, and defeated. Her only hope to get her son back was the very man who stood within her crosshairs. The very man whose chest she wanted to pummel, eyes she wanted to scratch out, glorious hair she’d willingly pull out, strand by strand. Only God knew how much she wanted to pull that trigger.

  Donato made no attempt to stop her. He made no attempt to free himself. Instead, he watched her with those dark eyes, trimmed with long thick lashes and topped with thick black eyebrows that were angled slightly. But his expression, like before with Loul, had remained impassive, and she knew by that stonewall look, he blamed her as much as she blamed him.

  “He could not stop it.” Loul peeled the gun from her hands. “I was on that ship, Colette.”

  She stepped away from Donato, waiting for an explanation, but he said nothing. “Why do you not defend yourself?”

  Donato glanced around them before he spoke. “Because I do not care what you think. But that is the last time you will aim a pistol at me.”

  “You did not answer my question. Who are you?”

  “A man who’s trying to get our son back.” Donato dismissed her with the turn of his head toward Loul. “What is your idea?”

  Loul nodded over his shoulder, indicating the constables. “Had a little discussion with them. They are looking for you. They seized your ship and your men. They are in the Calaboose, near the courtyard, where prisoners of war are held. To go after Enio, we’ll need a ship and a crew.”

  For the first time, Colette noted a change in Donato’s expression. Impressed with Loul, he responded, “We have to break them out and steal a ship.”

  “What?” Colette could hardly swallow. But seemingly undaunted by the task ahead, Loul jumped right in.

  He wet his lips, then looked around to ensure no one was within hearing distance. “Jordan has a ship. It’s not equipped like Le Vengeur was, but it’s all we got. Your ship would be too difficult to steal. They are manning it with U.S. sailors. I think Jordan’s is seaworthy.”

  “I can sail anything.” He slid a glance at Loul. “Even a polly boat in thirty-foot swells.”

  Colette braced herself for a defensive rebuttal from her brother, having seen the small boat he and Jordan had forced Donato into when they had cast him upon the gulf waves after her rescue.

  “So you did.” Loul gave him a casual nod followed with a slight smile.

  Donato drew a deep breath, most likely to calm himself. Colette could see the muscles twitch near his mouth and the slight squint to his eyes. “I have other ships that are equipped right. We only need to get as far as the island. But I won’t leave my men locked up. We must have a crew to sail any ship.”

  Colette looked between them, not believing the situation they so casually discussed. The Calaboose was the infamous prison located on the corner of Saint Pierre and Royale, behind the Cabildo, government buildings. “We are not talking ab
out breaking pirates out of jail, are we?”

  Loul shrugged. “Unless you have a better idea. That is our only option. I could try to round up some of our old sailors, but they were pirates as well—”

  “And not as trustworthy as my men. They are as loyal to me as I am to them. I will not leave them.” Donato met Colette’s eyes. “I surrounded you with gentlemen. You left to be surrounded by thieving swamp rats.”

  “My brothers are not—” She didn’t bother to finish, because as quickly as he shifted his thoughts to her, he shifted them away.

  Loul dismissed Donato’s comment with a wave of his hand. “We are brethren in this cause.”

  “So we are.” Donato glanced between the two of them, as if sizing up the measly entourage. Colette didn’t miss the tightness of his jaw, the slight pull on his mouth. He stood a good head above Loul, and Loul was taller than Jordan. Among the three of them, Donato was the man who could make something happen. She and Loul knew it. So did Donato. He narrowed his gaze on Loul. “Where is the ship?”

  “In the bayous, Yellow Sun.” Loul gave Donato a suspicious look. “You must be familiar with it.”

  “Si.” Donato thought a moment. “I have heard there is a water route through the swamps from New Orleans, do you know it? To travel by land would take too long.”

  Loul nodded, stealing a glance at Colette, as if expecting she would protest going by water. But, how could she? As they stood debating their next move, her sweet little boy was sailing to the open sea. With her silence, Loul continued, “I can have a pirogue ready at a moment’s notice. That is the only way to travel those backwaters. There are many routes.”

  “We need only one route, but three to four of these…ah…pirogues.”

  His request surprised Colette. “And who is going with us?”

  Again he dismissed her, concentrating on Loul. “Can you get them?”