A Pirate's Command

by Meg Hennessy

  She held her disappointment in his answer, kept her distance from him, resisting the need, the want, the desire, to fall into his arms. She drew a deep breath to wash away all those imprecise thoughts and fortify her strength for the present. “And where do we go from here?”

  “I need a better ship. We head to La Isla de la Luna Llena.”

  “Your island?” Images of the island—the warm evenings, the soft music, the sultry dances beneath the candlelight chandeliers—filled her mind. Her breath left her heart and raced deep inside her belly, where she had thought recollections of his embraces, his kisses, his bed, had been safely disarmed. They had not and begged for release. “You’re taking me to your island?”

  Chapter Seven

  The ship was a schooner, nicely equipped, but not heavily gunned, nor modified for sea roving. Maybe Jordan had left the life; Donato really didn’t care. If he was saving this for his treasure map, he’d be sorely disappointed. Donato had left nothing behind that would give the slightest hint to a treasure.

  Donato had expected to find an old ship, remnants of the war or the privateer days. Instead, Jordan had landed himself a new schooner. It had two masts, one gundeck, and a berth for living quarters. At best it had eight guns and four swivel guns, but it looked as if more were being added. They checked the hull and found rammers, sponges, powder horns, powder cartridges, and balls. If necessary, he had firepower.

  From Jordan’s warehouse, they had taken vinegar, molasses, coffee, rum, candles, and several demijohns filled with fresh water. But they needed much more to retrieve his stolen child, and that he had on the island.

  Donato left Colette in the captain’s cabin below the quarter deck. She agreed to rest while he and his men readied the ship. He knew her memory of the night of her abduction was muddled, but something had flooded her mind today when she saw the ship. The man who had taken their ship was dead. Killed by her brothers, Jordan and Loul. But what if she remembered everything that happened that night? What would she do when she learned the truth about him? That it was he who had orchestrated the taking of the Loirie. He had done it for political reasons, but he doubted she’d consider that in his defense.

  The rest of the men arrived, and stocking the ship with much needed supplies began. Sails were unfurled. The depth of the water was shallow enough to question launching a ship, and the unpredictable nature of the waning tides of the bayous only added to their peril, but if Jordan could do it, so could Donato.

  While the ship was readied, Donato took the polly boat and looked for the route out to the sea. Then he analyzed the ship, how it was moored, the path it had to have taken to get to this point, the position of the helm. Surrounded by uninhabited wild land, he knew Jordan’s knowledge of the bayous allowed him to use the surging and retreating tides to maneuver in and out of the swamps. A luxury Donato did not have. There had to be a way to pick up the wind and move this ship over the liquid land and into the gulf.

  He climbed aboard and ordered the gaff sails unfurled and dropped all sails aft. But if he picked up the wind, where the hell would he sail it?

  “Colette.”

  Resting on the only bed in the captain’s quarters, she had one arm across her eyes and was breathing slowly, shallowly, and evenly. Her hair, loose and free from the horseback ride, hung wild around her face, framing her beauty in the way he remembered. Her long dark lashes from closed eyes cast a thin shadow over her cheeks. She was a slightly built woman, five foot two, if that.

  His gaze slipped downward along the narrow turn of her throat to the soft pulsating point in the middle where he had so often kissed her, running his tongue over her life’s beat. The collar of her man’s shirt had shifted, exposing well-defined cleavage between her breasts.

  He walked over to the window, refusing to allow his mind to go where he knew she’d forbid him. But she was still his wife, and he had every right to take her as his.

  Colette stirred slightly in her sleep. He glanced over at her, remembering the day she had left him with so much clarity it had grown fangs and bit into his flesh every time he allowed the thoughts to the surface. She had left him. The instant her brother showed up, she had tossed her life with Donato aside and had taken their son and left him.

  Here Donato stood on Jordan’s new ship. Revenge was so sweet when so exact, but Donato knew, as soon as Loul was able, Jordan would be notified of the situation, and knowing Jordan, he’d catch a wind and go after Colette. He had done it before.

  She claimed she had to return to a life she had so yearned for, missed with every waking breath, a safe, calm life with Jordan. Donato’s life was too dangerous to raise a child, to keep her safe; she wanted nothing of his pirate world, yet had run into the arms of her pirate brother.

  Donato turned and watched her sleep.

  Yes, she had left him, and as hard as he tried, he was never sold on the reason why.

  “Colette.” He sat down on the side of the bed. “I need to speak with you.”

  She stirred again, stretching her beautiful body with arms and legs going in all directions. Her eyes fluttered open and she looked around, a little confused at first, until she realized she was on the ship and turned her head to see Donato. “How long did I sleep?”

  “Not long. Colette, do you remember any landmarks when your brother sailed Le Vengeur into these backwaters?”

  “I was on deck.” She rested her hand on his arm, casually put there as if that were a natural thing to do, a connection between them, until she noticed. She pulled her hand back, rolling her fingers into a ball as if burned by their touch. She pushed to the other side of the bed. Rising to her feet, she brushed her wheat-colored hair off her face and behind her shoulders. “Jordan had gone to Barataria first.”

  “Why?”

  “To sell your ship. The one he had taken from you.”

  “And did he?”

  “No, Barataria had been destroyed by the American navy. He left your ship there and we sailed in open water for a while.” Her eyebrows slanted downward as she was trying to remember. He watched her knead her upper lip. Those full, kissable lips that formed a perfect square. “There was a rocky shore that had a large boulder; he turned to the east of it.”

  Donato circled around the bed, pleased with what she was remembering. “Was the water deep? Did the men pull it? Did he sail directly in here?”

  “Directly in on Le Vengeur. I do not know about this ship.”

  That was true. The circumstances of this ship could be different, the deadrise, the tide, the foliage. “You returned in December. The tide could have been higher at the time.”

  “Can we not get out?”

  “As shallow as it is right now, it would be very easy to run aground. Once that happens…we are trapped.”

  “And your sister gets away.”

  Donato wasn’t willing to go that far. She was on a square-rigged frigate, seaworthy but making no more than three to four knots. Not a match for his schooner that awaited him on the island. That ship had superior speed and maneuverability at fourteen knots. He would catch Rayna if he could just get to the island.

  There was a knock on the door.

  “Adelante.”

  Ramón stepped inside. “Capitán, the reading is a quarter less than three.”

  Donato turned and glanced out the stern window.

  Maldita sea.

  It was half less than four when they had boarded. The water level had dropped. Donato didn’t know the bayous like Jordan did, but he did understand the fickle waxing and waning of water level and tides. They had to be on a bayou fed by a river—fed by the gulf—fed by the tide. Brackish water. And that’s how Jordan did it. He knew when and where to bring that ship into the bayous. Now wasn’t the time; the tide was going out.

  …

  “Oh my God, we’ll be aground.” Colette covered her mouth as if to stifle her panicked response.

  Ramón nodded. “It is true, senora, that the tide ebbs, but a shallow draft we have he
re.”

  “Well, that answered one of my questions,” Donato said more to himself than anyone in the cabin. “Jordan knew when to sail in and when to sail out. And by that rigging, Jordan used his sails to maneuver the ship leeway.”

  “Si, Capitán, so it appears.”

  “We have to get out of here.” Donato climbed the stairs to the gundeck with Colette close behind him. The men were waiting for orders, standing around the deck, knowing the water level was dropping.

  “Ramón.” Donato started speaking more in Spanish than English. “Dump the supplies, everything except the demijohns of water and smoked jerky. Silvano, dump the cannons over the side. Move the swivel guns to the tender. Adan, take some men, find anything you can use, axes, spikes, whatever you can find in the hold. Flush the ship.”

  Colette had followed Donato to the gundeck, standing beside him when he issued the orders. “What does that mean? Flush the ship?”

  “Clear the decks, make it lighter, take anything off that can be spared.”

  Men raced about. Jordan’s cannons were released and pushed off the deck, one after another, creating dangerous holes in the bulwarks. The supplies that had journeyed through the swamps were again brought up on deck and minus the demijohns of water and candles, the entire supply of vinegar, molasses, coffee, and rum was moved to the tender.

  Below deck, walls came down, cargo holds were opened up. Boards and planking were thrown over the side. Furniture from the captain’s cabin was dumped. Soon men started ripping up the planking above the quarter deck.

  “Donato.” Colette pulled on his sleeve. “The more they work, the less seaworthy the ship looks.”

  “The less seaworthy she is.”

  “But…” She dropped her questions and remained near the helm. A good choice, with all the activity; that was the most stable place for her to stand.

  Soon only a faint orange swipe of sun across the horizon was left. But the men worked feverishly, lightening the load and transforming the ship. When most of the work was done, Donato took the helm, where Colette stood. He hated the idea that she was going to be on this dangerous trip. Odds on whether or not they’d make it on a flushed ship weren’t very good.

  “Colette.” He started but didn’t know what to say. Yes, the trip would be dangerous, but what else could she do? She couldn’t return to Yellow Sun by herself, and he couldn’t send any men with her. “This will be dangerous.”

  “I am going with you.”

  He admired her spunk, even if foolish. “Very dangerous.”

  “I am going with you. I made you a promise that until I have my son back I will not let you out of my sight. You told my brother that you will not bring Enio back.”

  “Si, I did say that.” He dropped that subject faster than a cannon tossed over the side. “You need a lifeline.”

  He tied a rope around her waist, trying to ignore the soft feel of her warm body, the slight rise and fall of her breasts as she stood before him. He handed her the end of the rope to hold. “After they haul anchor, hold on to the capstan, and the other end will be tied to a cleat. Once we are on the gulf, the deck will be wet the entire time and waves will easily swamp us.”

  He hesitated. “Still want to go?”

  “I’m going.”

  “Pull anchor, unfurl the yards, fore and aft! Man the shrouds. Hold her tight to the wind!”

  The men in the tender started to row, and with a slight breeze caught in the top sails, the ship started to move, ever so slowly, until she pulled free of the foliage. Donato steered her to the very middle of the narrow channel and hoped to hell he would not run her aground.

  Men leaned over the larboard side on the only railing left, after the flush, watching the water, listening intently to the man dropping the lead line and calling out the depth in fathoms.

  The ship slowly plowed through the foliage, parting a wake of pond scum behind them. Sometimes it looked as if they were atop ground and not water, but the weights would sink and he’d get another reading.

  “Rig a square sail.”

  The big square sail pulled in more wind and started the ship moving faster, but the water level dropped equally fast. If he hit less than two fathoms, they would run aground.

  And they did.

  The ship jolted, dragging the bottom, but her lightened load kept her afloat. The man-propelled tender tugged on her bowline. If he could only take the wind.

  “Square the yards!” He’d risk a turn if he could pick up speed. The ship slowly rounded two points to starboard, but it was getting late, and darkness folded over them like a broken umbrella. He squinted trying to see ahead. “Level?”

  “By the mark ten!”

  A cheer went up among the men. Donato sighed with relief and saw Colette glance his direction. “Are we all right?”

  “Si, we are free, but the gulf is a challenge of its own.”

  She started to untie the rope around her waist that held her to the cleat.

  He placed a gentle hand over hers, feeling the soft warm flesh of her skin beneath his coarsened fingers wanting to explore. “Not yet, Colette, there is much still to face.”

  With the tender safely tethered, the swivel guns were mounted in place, and other supplies that had been moved to the small boat were hoisted over and packed below deck.

  “Set sail!”

  The ship picked up speed and broke free into open water.

  He dared to unfurl the squares and pick up as much speed as he could to keep them afloat. Racing across the open gulf, water sloshed over the flushed ship. Men held on to railings, shrouds, riggings, and masts. If he wasn’t seen by the navy and could make at least six knots, they’d be on the island in about nine to ten hours.

  Colette was holding on, but he knew she could not stand much longer with her impaired leg. He knew her limitations, and this voyage would test them.

  He looked through the binoculars Jordan had kept in the captain’s cabin. The water was quiet, smoother than he had expected, a serene quiet before the storm. The smell of rain hung in the air, and clouds started to churn around them. He caught a flash of lightning in the distance.

  It would be a long night.

  Colette shivered and readjusted her position. Donato pulled off his coat and wrapped it around her. “Put your arms through, it will be warmer.”

  She did as he asked, returning her hands quickly to the capstan to hold on. “I had packed leather gloves in my trunk along with my fur coat, but Loul refused to return to Jordan’s house for fear of your sister’s men.”

  “You have things on the island. Perhaps not a fur coat, but dry clothes.” He didn’t know why he bothered to reassure her, or admit that nothing had changed since she’d left him. Maybe her hands turning white and looking as frigid as he felt brought out the compassion in him.

  With only two masts, he had no crow’s nest and felt blind at sea. He glanced around, sensing that the men were as tense as he. He could see concern in their eyes, the tight lips, the hardened stare toward the sea. They were here because of him, because Colette had left with his son, because Rayna had stolen him. They were here as men of honor to support him, and now their very lives were at risk. He held the helm steady navigating toward home, a tropical cay in the Jardines de la Reina, south of Cuba.

  “Capitán.” Ramón approached him and whispered, “Sail, two points larboard.”

  “Man the swivel guns, lock and load.”

  Colette turned to hear what he said. “You expect trouble?”

  “They see a sail. With a flushed ship, we are pirates from a distance. Ramón, take Colette to the hull in the case they fire.”

  “No,” she refused. “I will stay above deck.”

  “All right.” Donato took the helm. “Let’s get out of range.”

  The wind picked up a little, giving him what he needed to outmaneuver the clumsy navy ship, which couldn’t follow his tacking. Donato increased speed, filling more sails, until they were pushing close to nine knots.
>
  The wind churned and the clouds thickened and the sea waters started to roil. Lightning flashed across the sky in zigzag shapes, illuminating the dark thunderous clouds of the gulf as a billowy black curtain fell over his ship.

  Donato squinted to see through the squalling black wind. Thunder rumbled across the sky, shredding the clouds. The gulf began to swell. The U.S. Navy turned back to port. He said a silent prayer of thanks, then pressed for home.

  The swells started to build, tossing the ship from side to side, threatening a roll. Waves nearly ten to fifteen feet high would sweep the deck. Donato kept his focus straight ahead. Two men manned the tiller that fought his every order, surrendering to the force of the waves. Soon a third man joined them.

  Twenty-foot swells careered across the deck.

  Colette screamed and was swept off her feet.

  Donato started for her when another wave crashed into the deck with the force of a cannon gone wild. Jerked off his own feet, he was dragged across the decking and nearly out to sea when he grabbed the bulwark. He pulled himself back onto the deck and to Colette.

  He wrapped her in his arms, then locked his fingers around the capstan blocks when a wave hit. He hardly caught his breath when another wave hit him. He could hear Colette sputtering, gasping for air, still tethered to a block.

  “Dig your feet into the pawls around the capstan.”

  She did as instructed. The pale skin of her face matched the stretched white skin of her hands.

  “Hang on tight, Colette. In this kind of storm, a man overboard is gone. We cannot come about in winds like this.”

  The storm was astern, billowing the sails and taking the wind. The ship picked up speed and buried the bow into the large waves. But the jib broke free and rode high above the thirty-foot swells. They sailed over the top of the water, nearly airborne at times. Their speed was deadly, and the threat of rolling over was as real as the wet decking.

  Donato ordered the sails shortened, some poles bare. But the storm pushed them onward like a cork in bad whiskey. The groans of the wood matched that of the shivering timbers.