A Pirate's Command

by Meg Hennessy

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed the side of his face. She gained courage from the lovemaking. “Donato…I feel I might lose you to a world to which I do not belong.”

  “Never, Colette. You and Enio are my world and will always be first in my life.”

  …

  The House of Roche was in a state of excitement over the new title afforded to the young marquis of Andulsia. Donato had spent most of the early-morning hours going over the plans to present to the king, get his funding, and leave Spain. He understood Colette’s concerns when she felt he had put politics above her and Enio. Having lived through the errors of his father, he’d never do that to her or his son.

  But leaving Spain was not as easily accomplished as Colette, or perhaps, he, had led her to believe. Leaving as the viceroy of New Spain necessitated royal approval. He doubted he’d be allowed to leave on the same ship, much less without additional men and guns.

  It was the additional men that worried him. His present crew were revolutionaries. The added crew were still loyal to the king. He wasn’t thrilled to mix them on a long journey. One faction represented the king; the others wanted him dead.

  He wrote out his request to leave Spain, and the missive had been sent by courier less than an hour ago. Donato expected a response by midnight. He assumed it would be in his favor, for the king was more aware of what and whom he needed, and insisting Donato remain in Spain served no purpose.

  Donato entered the dining hall to find his father was already there, drinking his morning tea. There was a temptation to retreat, but having seen his father in a different light and uncomfortable with the evolving emotions, Donato continued into the room.

  “Buenos días, Donato,” his father said, motioning for him to join his table.

  Donato angled his way across the room and slid into a chair opposite from him. A servant arrived instantly at his side.

  “Just tea and toast.”

  The servant bowed and left the hall.

  He waited in silence, like the ride in the carriage when coming back from the king’s audience. The only sound was that of his father’s occasional sip of tea. “Are you glad that you left Spain?”

  The candidness of the question surprised Donato. “I enjoy where I live, but have fought hard to keep what is mine. As it is everywhere.”

  His father nodded, then took another sip. “I am proud for you to take the appointment you were so named.”

  “Gracias.” Donato waited as the servant placed a cup and teapot in front of him, then a plate of toast and jam. Not used to receiving any type of praise from his father, Donato wasn’t quite sure how to react. So he didn’t.

  “I know you blame me for your mother’s death,” his father said so suddenly that Donato, midsip, had to catch himself.

  “I never said that.”

  “You left the day of her burial.”

  “She had suffered with melancholy for years. It was not unexpected. She had lost her will to live.”

  “But you blame me.”

  Again Donato had to calm his insides, which churned with every word his father said. The pain of the past that had adhered to his insides stirred to life. He fought the bile that formed in his throat, tasting bitter in spite of the tea. He noted that his hand shook slightly as he tried to calmly spread jam on the toast.

  He took a moment, thinking, remembering the past with painful beats of his heart against his chest. He swallowed hard, but the feeling that had been unleashed swarmed to the surface. His father waited for an answer. Donato put down the remainder of the toast and met his gaze.

  “That is true.” There was no reason to avoid the conversation any longer. “The night she died, she was alone, save for me and Rayna.”

  “I was in Madrid.”

  “You had much warning.”

  “I was needed where I was.” His father waved his hands as if to indicate Donato would not understand. “That was my decision at the time. You and Rayna did not agree, but I did what was necessary for—”

  “For who, Father? For who?”

  “The House of Roche.”

  Donato dismissed the claim that it was done for the family. He would never leave Colette if she was as ill as his mother had been the last few months of her life.

  But he wasn’t his father. Nor would he ever be.

  “It does not matter, now,” he told his father. “Mother is gone and you have your title.”

  The color of his father’s face turned slightly darker, and Donato knew he had wounded him with the comment. Perhaps he had said it out of pity or because if he continued to talk of it, those dark waters churning deep in his gut would explode.

  “I was a man who tried my best for my family. To believe or not is your choice. I cannot say more.” His father leaned forward on his elbows. “As I am old and tired, you are young and idealistic. Use me to your advantage, son. Communicate often and I will keep you informed as to the temperature here in Spain. The camarilla, remember it is church and state.”

  “Who are you protecting, me or you?”

  His father smiled and sipped his tea. “Just politics.”

  “Like the American who never received such orders to kill me.”

  Again his father smiled, but this time more broadly. “The American, he is a good man to keep close by. I trust him, as you should. You will stay in communication. Perhaps I can help you see your desired changes.”

  “That will put you at risk, Your Most Excellency.”

  “A risk I am willing to take.”

  It was Donato who smiled this time, though slightly forced as he was uncomfortable with any alliance that involved his father. “I will appreciate your expertise, Your Most Excellency.”

  His father nodded his approval, then set his cup on the table. “I would like to know your wife and my grandson more. She has the entire household abuzz about her sweet smile, her beauty, her kindness to the servants. I must know this woman who has not only stolen your heart but that of a house full of Spaniards. A French woman at that.”

  Donato smiled, knowing the intoxicating effect Colette had on people. Perhaps her many years working as a healer has made her open to others. Regardless, he found her to be an asset to his standing. “And what is it you’d like to do, to advance your knowledge of my wife and son?”

  “I’d like to take them for a ride today. Just her, the boy, and me. In that way, the only conversation will be ours and not influenced by the past…or you.”

  “Will Rayna accompany you?”

  “No, this is an excursion for Colette and me. I’d like to take a ride to show her Cádiz. Maybe I can make her fall in love with Spain, though she is French. But considering the years of the French occupation, they must love it better than France.”

  Donato hid the smile that dared approach his lips, but he liked his father’s attempt at humor. “You will not pressure her in any way?”

  “To do what?”

  “Stay here.”

  “Son, it is a mere request to get to know the woman and the child who have captured your heart. Even a blind man can see how much you love them.”

  Donato nearly choked on the words, because they were never more true. The very woman he had sworn would never have his heart now held it in her hands.

  He picked up his tea and drained the cup, though it helped little to wash away the uncertainty, the vulnerability he felt at the realization that Colette was his world and had been from the moment he met her.

  “I give my consent, if Colette is in agreement.”

  “Excellent. Excellent.” His father seemed to smile, something Donato had no memory of ever seeing.

  His father took notice. “You honor an aging man, my son.”

  “Then I have a request in return.”

  His father’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “And that is?”

  “Rayna.”

  …

  Colette accepted the hand of the footman as she was assisted into the landau to sit beside Donato�
��s father, a grandee. She hadn’t liked the idea, not for fear of him, but she hated to be separated from Donato even for a short afternoon and wanted to be sure she said nothing that would endanger any of them.

  Enio squealed with delight at seeing a dog racing alongside the large black horses. The grandee laughed and pulled the boy forward to see in front. He was delighted and sat happily in his grandfather’s lap watching out the window.

  “He is a good boy, Colette?”

  “Oui, very much,” she answered. If only small talk, she might be capable of making it through this, but anything more detailed, such as what Donato had been involved in, she could not risk opening her mouth; not that she knew details, but she did know the truth.

  The grandee continued to stroke Enio’s head as the boy settled in for the ride. “Do you love him, like he does you?”

  “I’m his mother; but of course, with all my heart.”

  “It is not your son that I ask about, but the boy’s father, my son. I see it in the way he looks at you, looks after you, he is a man who is very lucky to love the mother of his child as much as he does you.”

  The shock of the grandee’s words hurled her mind in a different direction, back to the Roche estate, last night’s lovemaking, this morning’s lovemaking, to the island, Donato’s rescue of her from the men who had taken her ship. The beautiful little boy they created, not out of lust, but love.

  She smiled and knew with certainty the matter of her heart. “Your Most Excellency, of course I love Donato.”

  His father nodded but gave her a quick side glance, as if she had revealed more than she would have liked, and she hoped the afternoon would progress without any more uncomfortable moments.

  The grandee continued his tour, telling her the history of each area they rode through and what his hopes were for his country. The peasants supported King Ferdinand, he explained, for they supported the church and the church supported the king.

  “It is good, non? That the people support the king.”

  “Not according to my son. You have lived near Cuba. Have you heard talk of revolution?”

  And there it was.

  But she was not unprepared for his attempt to garner information.

  “Revolution? What a horrid thought, Your Most Excellency, for I as a woman do not speak of politics. That is a man’s position, oui?”

  He chuckled as if he hadn’t been duped by her evasive answer, but she suspected he’d let it rest. She liked his laugh; it reminded her of Donato.

  Their expedition took them down through the city of Cádiz. Soon they were riding at a slow trot along the water’s edge where tall ships, six to eight deep, anchored in the harbor. She could see El Rescate through the window, but gave it little notice, not wanting to draw attention to it. She was pleased to see it was still manned and some of the sails in readiness. Standing near the water’s edge was the American who had sailed with Donato.

  The landau came to a halt on the wharf.

  “Would you care to stroll along here, Colette? It is breathtaking, the beauty of the sea.”

  She accepted the hand of the footman as she stepped down. The grandee held Enio in his arms as they strolled the docks, putting more wear on her leg than she would have liked. But he walked slowly, allowing her to keep up with his pace. Donato’s father pointed out the commerce, the frigates, the extensive trade that came and went through these docks from around the world. He spoke of the vision that many had for the port and how over the next few years it would become one of the most important ports in the world.

  Colette enjoyed his recitation of the Spain he knew and the Spain he hoped to build. His voice was pleasant, his English articulate, his French even better, and when talking of his homeland, his face and voice became animated.

  Patrons along the docks would stop their work and pay respect to the grandee, for he was a powerful figure in Cádiz, as well as Spain.

  It was a beautiful spring day. The breeze off the water, scented with salt, sprinkled across her face at times. Enio was taken with the large ships and activity. The grandee asked about France, her life there, her family. Talking about her brothers made her heart ache for home, reminding her how much she missed them.

  He was selling her on Spain, that she knew, but she didn’t understand, for Donato would have to leave Spain to perform his new duties.

  “Colette.” He stopped with a hand to her arm.

  She turned and faced him. “Your Most Excellency?”

  “You could live here, with us, while Donato fulfills his duties in the new colonies. It could be dangerous there, and here you would be safe.” He ran his hand over the little boy’s hair, pushing it off his forehead. “I so love this little boy.”

  “I think he knows it, Your Most Excellency.” Colette smiled, appreciating the love he seemed to have for their son.

  “You will think about what I said, will you not?”

  “I will give it much thought, Your Most Excellency.” Though she already knew her answer, the offer was endearing, and she wanted to treat it with the respect in which it was intended.

  “Gracias, my son asked me not to pressure you, but I cannot resist wanting you and Enio to stay with me. Do not be offended, por favor.”

  “I am not offended, but honored by your offer.” Colette laughed about a grandee apologizing for doing something wrong. “Enio steals hearts.”

  “He has mine. He is the son of my son.”

  Colette continued to walk beside the grandee along the docks until something caught her eye. As they walked and the grandee talked on about Spain, she couldn’t keep her eye from wandering over to a tall ship just leaving port.

  She halted, staring at the ship as it eased along the docks toward the sea, silently parting the waters.

  “Colette, are you all right?”

  She couldn’t answer as her eyes slowly traveled up the mast to see the flag.

  Lady Tempest.

  Frozen, her throat turned dry. A shearing pain, like fire-tipped blades of ice, cut down the length of her leg. She couldn’t answer the grandee. She didn’t know why, but her heart hammered at her temples as her body turned cold as death. Everything before her became wavy and fell out of focus, everything except that ship.

  She reached for the grandee, trying to steady herself, but the terror that raced through her body made her muscles turn to mush. Her leg started to cave under her.

  “Lady Tempest,” she whispered. Her teeth rattled. Her skin turned to gooseflesh. Her knees caved and with that, she fell into a growling pit of flashing long arms, cannon fire, smoke. A dark pit with no air to breathe. That wild animal of the forest had returned and locked her within its teeth; she was carried off in a large churning cloud of memories.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Donato sank to the side of the bed and took Colette’s hand in his. Her body felt stiff, and fever had seared a film of perspiration across her forehead. Her face felt hot to the touch, and her hands were cold as ice. Her color had blanched to nearly white, and her breathing, sounding raspy and wet, was slow and labored. “How is she?”

  “Your Excellency.” A physician, who had examined Colette, bowed before responding. “She has not come around.”

  It was the shock of seeing that damn ship.

  “Has she said anything more?”

  The physician again shook his head. “She does not speak. Her heart is very weak.”

  The physician rose and picked up another blanket and covered her body. She had started to shake. Her lips were dusky. Yet she felt so hot, he thought her blood must be in a roil.

  Donato ran his hands through his hair, unable to dismiss the fact that he had known that ship was there. He had never thought of it when his father mentioned the tour day.

  Did she remember anything, everything?

  For a man who thought he had outsmarted them all, Donato had fallen into a trap so tight, he had no idea how to wiggle free.

  “Leave us,” he instructed the physician.


  “Si, Su Excelencia, I will be just outside the door for your summons.”

  “Gracias.”

  Donato sat in the silence of the room after the physician closed the door. The sound of the door latching echoed into the bedchamber with the sound of death. After all his struggles, he was losing the most important thing in his world, Colette.

  He lifted her hand into his, splayed her delicate fingers across his palm. They were pale and cool to the touch. He had seen death like this when his mother died. As if the body decided to shut down and the will was no longer there.

  The physician had said her heart was weak, but there was nothing weak about Colette. She was the nurturer, the one taking care of others, a strong, vibrant woman, but seeing that ship had nearly destroyed her. Did she remember?

  “Colette?” He leaned down and whispered into her ear, praying for a sign of recognition, but there was none. She was somewhere without him, somewhere alone. He took her hand to his mouth and kissed her fingers. Unlike his father, he was here with her now and would not leave her side until she was well again, for he refused to think she might die.

  He could hear voices in the hall. His father speaking with the physician, puzzled over what had happened, going over and over the details. His father sounded confused over her reaction to seeing a ship named Lady Tempest. He had apologized a hundred times for bringing her back in such a state.

  The only guilty party was Donato. The only one who knew and understood Colette’s shock was the man who was supposed to love and protect her.

  He pushed off the bed and walked over to the window, unable to bear the fruits of his labor. For he was the mystery the House of Roche wanted to solve.

  There was a knock on the door before it opened slightly. He saw the ruffle of a green dress before the door swung open. Rayna stood there holding little Enio in her arms.

  “Forgive my interruption, Your Excellency, but the child wants to see his mother.”

  Donato didn’t respond, fighting the heated feelings of betrayal at the sight of his sister. She felt the venom in his gaze and turned away for a second. “I beg you, the boy.”