“You don’t think well of him.”
“Of course not! At best he’s a coward, at worst a devil. He lied to her, made her love him, used her, then shipped her off.”
“What happened to her?”
“A man on the ship took pity on her and married her. But he turned out to be another devil—just of a different ilk.” I looked at him, my eyes narrowed. He was asking a lot of questions. I realized my hand had dropped from the necklace as I had been talking, and he was staring at it again.
“Sharpe! Stop bothering my wife!”
My heart sank, Erik had noticed our conversation. Sharpe struggled to tear his eyes away from my chest, and Erik thumped the floor with his cane in anger, silencing the room.
“Captain Tarr!” Tarr was already crossing the room to join us. “Your nephew is drunk and making a nuisance of himself, kindly remove him from the presence of my wife. And teach him some manners!”
Tarr nodded once. “I beg your pardon, Mijnheer van Ecken, he is not feeling himself.” He took one of Sharpe’s arms and indicated to Blake to take the other. They half-pulled Sharpe out of the hall and into the Caribbean afternoon sunshine.
“Do not ever let me see you encouraging that man again,” Erik hissed. “You are my wife and you will behave accordingly!”
He turned and left me standing alone in a sea of people. I looked around the room, embarrassed, self-conscious and confused.
I spotted Hornigold and Cheval in one corner, unable to conceal their amusement at the turn of events; Cheval even raised his glass to me. Jan stared, disapproval etched onto his features, and nobody else met my eye. Gazes darted away wherever I looked.
“Be careful, Miss Gabriella,” Klara spoke softly at my shoulder. “It seems you have an admirer. Mijnheer Erik won’t like that—be very careful around him.”
I looked at her and nodded at the concern I saw in her eyes, then took another glass of wine from the tray she held.
Chapter 18
The rest of the wedding celebrations passed in a blur of strange faces and not-understood language. I didn’t feel much different as a married woman than I had as a girl—apart from Erik’s nocturnal visits, and those I could do without.
The household woke later on a Sunday and had a relaxed breakfast, then the three of us gathered in the library for prayers. As soon as I could escape, I found Klara and told her to come with me.
“But where are we going, Miss Gabriella?”
“You’ll see, Klara, I want to show you something.”
“But I have much work to do,” she protested.
“The work can wait—you toil too hard as it is, I want us to have some fun today!” I grabbed her arm and pulled her through the trees to the cliff top.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” I asked Klara. She nodded.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could sail away one day, just go?”
“Go where?”
“Anywhere we wanted,” I said.
“It’ll get better, Miss Gabriella, just give it time, you’ve only been married a week.”
I looked at Klara and gave her a small smile. I didn’t believe her, but appreciated her trying to cheer me. We stared out to sea a little longer, dreaming of the impossible, then I urged her along the cliff path to the beach.
Once on the sand, I kicked off my shoes, lifted my petticoats, and ran to the water, splashing in the shallows. “Come on, Klara!” I laughed, urging her to follow me. She shook her head, but with a smile, and followed me to the water’s edge. She took off her shoes and jumped back as a small wave covered her toes.
I laughed at her. You act like you’ve never seen the sea before!”
She shrugged. “Not this close.”
“But how?” I was flabbergasted. “This is such a small island, and we live so close.”
She shrugged again. “I don’t have time. I work at the house every day, and when there is some time on a Sunday, I have much to do at my hut.”
I gasped. “Oh, Klara, I didn’t think. When you said you had a lot to do, I thought you meant at the house. Is Sunday your day off?”
She laughed. “I don’t have days off, but there’s usually a little time to clean my hut, wash my clothes . . .” she tailed off, staring at the sand.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize. Go if you want to,” I said, embarrassed at my selfishness, my assumption that she’d be happy to come to the beach with me.
“Soon,” she said. She looked up at me with a smile. “I quite like this, the work can wait just a little while.”
I laughed and kicked water at her. She squealed and ran back to dry sand. I followed and sat next to her, laughing.
“Mama! Mama!”
Startled, I looked round at the voice and saw a small boy scrambling down the cliff path. I squinted and realized I’d seen him before, at the sugar mill.
“Who’s that?”
“My son,” Klara replied, without looking at me. She got up and went to meet the boy.
He was small, maybe four or five years old, and was much lighter skinned than Klara—not much darker than myself now that I’d spent a month or so in the Caribbean sun.
They spoke for a while, then the boy ran off, looking round at me before he started to climb.
Klara re-joined me on the sand. “He and Wilbert were worried, they couldn’t find me at the house.”
“Wilbert?” I asked.
“He’s one of the field slaves—he was there at the wedding celebration.”
I remembered the dozen or so men dressed in the same livery Hans and Hendrik usually wore, and carrying trays of drinks and food.
“I didn’t know you had a son,” I said, shocked at how little I knew about this woman who was my main companion. “What’s his name?”
She glanced at me, then looked back out to sea. “Jan.”
“I beg your pardon?” She had spoken quietly and I thought I’d misheard.
She looked me in the eye. “Jan,” she repeated, louder this time.
I stared at her, the implication of the name hitting me. I felt sick. “Jan,” I repeated. “Oh, Klara.” The revulsion I’d felt at first was swept aside by pity.
Klara looked out to sea again. “You know I was given to Mijnheer Erik for his sixteenth birthday—put into a pretty dress with a ribbon tied in my hair.” She snorted with something like laughter. “My mama was so proud that I’d be working in the big house, and when I didn’t come home at night, she thought I had a nice room of my own. She wouldn’t listen to anyone who told her different.”
“Not even when you told her?”
“I couldn’t tell her what was happening, what Mijnheer Erik wanted from me every night. Her heart was already weak, all I could do for her was give her the fantasy.”
“But, but, you said you were twelve?”
She nodded. “It didn’t matter to Mijnheer Erik—I was just a slave girl to do with as he wished—my age didn’t matter.”
“And you had a son.”
“Yes, I had a son—I didn’t know about the tea then. Mijnheer Erik left me alone when my belly started to grow—and his father ignored me. In fact, I think he was pleased—they would have a free slave!”
I turned away, unable to look at the expression on her face. “But why did you call him Jan? You were forced! Surely calling him Jan celebrated his father?”
She laughed; a desperate sound with no humor in it. “I was young. I thought by calling him Jan they would recognize him as blood—show him favor, maybe even free him.”
“They didn’t,” I guessed.
She made the laughing noise again. “No, they didn’t. They put him to work as soon as he turned four. He’s been weeding and picking up sugarcane after the harvest for two years already. Wilbert does his best to keep an eye on him, but he comes home covered in injuries.
I thought back to the boy I’d seen. I could hardly believe he was six years old—he certainly didn’t look strong enough to do a day’s work.
“He�
��s stronger than he looks,” Klara said. “He needs to be.”
I looked at her in sympathy.
“Mijnheer Jan hates him; hates that I named him for him. If it weren’t for Mijnheer Erik, I’m sure he’d have killed us both a long time ago.”
“What? Why?”
“If you name someone for a Dutchman, you give the child a piece of their soul.”
“What?” I didn’t understand.
“Mijnheer Jan believes that by naming my son Jan, I have stolen part of his soul and given it to the boy.” She looked at me. “He wants it back.”
I felt cold and shivered. I remembered the way my father-in-law had been with Klara on the ship, and the way he’d spoken to her since.
“And Erik is protecting you?” I asked.
She nodded. “For the moment, at least. But now you’re here, I don’t know what to expect. I had hoped they’d both mellow with a new mistress of the house, but—” She paused and stared at the waves.
“At least he gave me to you when you came. Mijnheer Jan can’t dispose of us if we’re not his. But if Mijnheer Erik grows tired of us—” she paused again and I noticed tears running down her face. She turned to me.
“If you have a child, he will tire of Jan, and my son will die.”
“Oh, Klara.” I thought of the little boy who had scrambled down the cliff path to his mama, and tears ran from my own eyes. I didn’t want Erik’s child, not at the moment, anyway. But what if that changed? I may want a child one day, but if Klara was telling the truth—and I did believe her—then the birth of my child could mean the death of hers.
Chapter 19
I’d been going to the beach every day. It was the place where I found it easiest to think, and a place I was never disturbed. I had been cool toward Klara since her confession, though knew I wasn’t being fair. She was a slave and had been given from one man to another, used and violated, then vilified for the consequences. She’d been even younger than I was now when it had started. I shuddered, my heart going out to her and the poor, frightened child she’d been.
I reached the cliff top and stopped, shading my eyes from the sun. Yes, I knew I’d seen something—a ship, its sails glinting in the harsh sun. As I watched, some of the sails were taken in—she must be coming to the island.
I walked along the cliff, watching the ship draw closer to shore. Surely she must tack soon? If she carried on much further, she wouldn’t be able to clear the headland between here and Eckerstad. But she kept coming.
The beach was below me, but I didn’t climb down. I sat instead and watched the ship sail closer to the rocks, my heart in my mouth. She was going to wreck.
I knew I should run and get help—those men would soon need it—but my legs were jelly. I couldn’t stand, I could only watch. Closer and closer. I wanted to close my eyes, but needed to see.
I gasped—she was through! She kept coming and jarred as she ran aground. I stood, my legs strong again, to get a better view. Her remaining sails were dropped and an impossible number of men ran about her decks and climbed down to the beach.
As the crowd on deck thinned, I recognized bright flashes of color—the Gaudies. Captain Tarr and Quartermaster Blake were here.
I stared for a moment at the invasion of my special place, then turned and walked slowly back to Brisingamen. Belinda would need to know there may be extra mouths to feed this evening.
*
I went through my usual routine: deep breath, shoulders back, head up, then opened the door—and stopped in surprise.
The drawing room was full of people. The Gaudies were here, as expected, but also Freyja’s men—Hornigold, Cheval and Sharpe—and there was a woman with them, too. I stared at her, wondering who she was. She was beautiful: long, dark hair tumbled down her back, pale skin—despite the sun—contrasted with her dark eyes, but she didn’t smile.
Hornigold stepped back for a moment, and she came fully into my view. Her gown was simple and of quality, though she must have been wearing it for a number of days and it was starting to look tatty. I wondered what had brought her to this house, in this company, and we gazed at each other: two lost souls.
Hendrik opened the dining room door. I wouldn’t have chance to speak to her yet—maybe at the table.
But no, she was seated as far away as possible from me on the opposite side and at Jan’s left hand. Sharpe took the seat next to her, and I was surprised to feel a pang of regret. Of everyone at this table, he was the one man whose conversation and company I enjoyed.
Cheval took the seat to my left, and smiled at me. I offered a polite smile back. With his square jaw and pale-blue eyes, he was a good-looking man, but I always felt uncomfortable in his presence. His eyes were cold, and his face portrayed little expression, whatever his topic of conversation—which was usually himself. I never knew what he was thinking, but couldn’t shake the impression that it was often contrary to what he was saying. I picked up my knife to spread butter on bread.
“Mevrouw van Ecken.” I looked up at Sharpe. “Forgive me, I was unable to introduce my companion to you beforehand.” I smiled at him and the woman. “This is Magdalena Ortega. Magdalena, I’m honored to introduce Gabriella van Ecken.”
We smiled and nodded to each other. Erik grunted and I looked at him, wary of his mood.
“My apologies, Mijnheer van Ecken, Magdalena was . . . an unexpected guest. I didn’t feel able to leave her aboard ship with the crew.”
I noticed Hornigold glare at him and realized there was something more going on here.
“She should not be with you at all!” Erik finally said. “What were you thinking, attacking Porto Belo?”
“It’s a rich port,” said Captain Tarr. “Our holds are full, and you will do very well out of the raid.”
“It was reckless! Porto Belo is Spanish territory. Neither of our countries are at war with Spain at present, and you have stolen one of their women.” He gestured to Magdalena and I dropped my knife with a clatter. “You could have started another war with your actions!”
I stared at Sharpe, shocked. He kidnapped this woman! The regard I had for him was shattered. Cheval sniggered beside me and I glanced at him. He was enjoying this.
Hornigold waved his hand. “There won’t be a war over a single raid and one woman,” he said, dismissive.
Erik flushed red, and I flinched before his fist connected with the table. “You don’t seem to realize just how precarious your position is, any of you.” He glared round the table. “Morgan is suspended and Governor Lynch wants him gone—preferably hanged. And Lynch won’t stop with Morgan—he wants total power over Jamaica, he’d see every one of Morgan’s men in chains and shipped off to London for trial as pirates. He can’t touch me or Vader, but all of you are in his sights.” He stared at Tarr, who dropped his eyes. Nobody looked at Erik now except Jan.
“My son is quite correct,” he said. “Morgan is finished, and you do not have many friends in these waters at the moment. You took an unnecessary risk and have given Lynch all he needs to arrest you.”
“What do you propose?” asked Tarr, his jaw set as he stared at Erik.
“You keep well away from Jamaica, and from New Spain. Their ships are fair game, but leave no witnesses. Bring the ships and their cargoes here. Any coin you find is your own.”
“Now wait a minute.” Tarr banged his own fist on the table. “There are valuable cargoes out there, we won’t just hand them over! Not many ships carry coin enough to be worth the risks, not when the haul is to be shared with near two hundred men!”
Erik stood and leaned forward, bracing himself with both hands on the table. I pushed my chair back a little.
“You will hand them over. In return, you will have safe haven on this island—out of Lynch’s grasp. If he attacks here he risks his own war, and London has already suffered enough at the hands of Amsterdam. If he attacks a Dutch island now, it will be him in chains in a cargo hold bound for London, and he knows it. Sayba is your best chance.
You work for us now, and we will keep you free.”
Tarr and the other pirates glared at him, but said nothing. Erik sat back down and beckoned to Klara, who placed a plate of meat before him, then served everyone else.
We ate in silence.
Chapter 20
The three of us sat in the drawing room, still not speaking, and I picked up the cushion cover I was embroidering for something to do. The pirates had escaped as soon as the meal was over, and I couldn’t help but worry about Magdalena. I jumped and exclaimed out loud—I’d pricked my thumb with my needle. The van Eckens glared at me, but didn’t ask after my welfare. I sucked my thumb and examined my work for blood. Clean.
She’d seemed wary of Hornigold, and I couldn’t blame her, but Sharpe was also attentive and, truth be told, his attentions had at least appeared welcome. I sighed, even if she was in trouble, there was a not a thing I could do to help her.
I pricked my thumb again and put my work away in exasperation. If I carried on, I’d only ruin what I’d already completed.
Klara brought more drinks. I took another glass of wine, then she carried brandy over to Jan and Erik. I gasped to see Erik blatantly fondle Klara’s bottom when he took his glass.
Jan leapt to his feet, furious, and shouted in Dutch. He swept his arm across, connected with Klara’s face, and she fell.
“Klara!” I rushed to her. She was conscious, but already her eye was closing and that side of her face seemed to be swelling.
Erik also jumped to his feet, and the two men stood a fraction of an inch apart, both bright red, spitting their words in rage.
Klara and I cowered on the floor, wondering what they were saying. I remembered what she’d said about Jan and how he hated her—if I had any doubt of that before, I had none now.
We both flinched as Jan struck again. Erik didn’t fall, though. Nor did he raise his hand to his jaw. He stood and stared at his father, then turned and left the room.
Jan glanced at the two of us still huddled on the floor, but said nothing. He was clearly embarrassed. He walked past us, careful not to get too close, and stood in front of his dead wife’s portrait. He spoke to it in Dutch, then left the room.
The Valkyrie Series: The First Fleet - (Books 1-3) Look Sharpe!, Ill Wind & Dead Reckoning: Caribbean Pirate Adventure Page 17