Bold Surrender

by Judith E. French

  "What makes you think I'd know?"

  "A place called Swan Point. Four slaves and a white woman were taken. It wasn't Quincy, was it, Gavin?" Please God, don't let it be Quincy, she begged silently. If my father did it...

  "Are you certain?" He grabbed her wrists and sawed at the ropes behind her back. "You know he has an eye for the ladies. He always did like the pretty ones with yellow hair."

  "What happened to the woman?"

  Gavin shoved her roughly toward the ladder. "What's it to you?"

  Ashley whirled fiercely on him. "Is Jane Briggs alive?"

  "Hell, no," he said. "She went to the bottom with the Cazadora." Gavin made an obscene motion and grinned. "But she was fine while she lasted." He touched Ashley's chin with the tip of his finger, trailing it down the line of her throat. "She liked to play rough."

  "You bastard!" Quickly she turned and started up the ladder. Gavin had commanded the sloop, Cazadora. The murder of the Briggses had been his doing, not her father's. She'd known all along it wasn't Quincy's style. "Quincy never tried to stop you?" she dared, looking down at the white-blond mop of hair below her.

  "He's getting old and soft. There's a lot goes on he doesn't know about." He grabbed her ankle and squeezed until she winced with pain. "Now, when you get on deck, you be nice. Just walk real quiet-like to his cabin. You try anything, and I'll run this blade through you and dump you into the bay before you can scream twice. Comprende?"

  Ashley murmured her assent as she climbed onto the deck. Poor little Jane. It had been foolish to hope that she might be alive after all these months—and maybe after what had happened, after being a prisoner of Gavin and his crew, maybe she was better off. Pray God she hadn't known of the baby's death in the fire.

  Several of her father's old crewmen glanced up curiously as she walked toward the stern of the ship with Gavin, but most of the men were engaged in adding canvas to the fore-and-aft rigging to give the Witch extra speed. It was a cloudy day with poor visibility and the wind was from the northeast, promising foul weather. Obviously the captain wanted the ship to make as great a distance from Morgan's Fancy as possible before the full force of the storm hit. Ashley could just make out a faint line of trees on the port side and was certain they were still on the Chesapeake, but she didn't know where. It was possible that Quincy was headed for the mouth of the bay and the Atlantic.

  Ashley caught sight of the dwarf clinging to the bowsprit, freeing a jammed pulley on the billowing spritsail. Spray from the waves soaked him each time the Witch dove into the next trough, threatening to pull him into the churning blue-gray water.

  "Move it!" Gavin said, giving her a shove.

  "You're headed out to sea."

  "Aye. If you're lucky, I'll show you Madagascar. It's time the Scarlet Witch anchored in richer waters." Gavin's hand tightened on her arm. "And if you please me enough, I may not kill you when I tire of you." He chuckled unpleasantly. "That red hair of yours would bring me a sultan's ransom in the slave markets of Mozambique or Marrakesh." He brought his lips close to her ear. "Would you like to end your days in a Muslim seraglio? You could wear pants there to your heart's delight."

  Ashley checked the curse that rose in her throat. Why waste her time with threats? Gavin was dangerous and unpredictable. He might stab her or knock her senseless again. It was better to wait and watch for an opening than to give him the satisfaction of knowing he was terrifying her.

  Quincy was shaving when Gavin pushed open the cabin door and shoved Ashley inside. He turned to face them, an ivory-handled poniard in his right hand and one cheek still lathered with soap.

  "Ashley? What in God's name are you doing here?"

  "I found a stowaway," Gavin said.

  "He's lying!" Ashley cried. "Watch—"

  Gavin pulled his cutlass free. "It's over, Quince. I'm taking the Witch."

  "Are you now?" Quincy smiled lazily. The dark eyes narrowed, urgently conveying a warning to Ashley on the floor.

  She froze, mentally calculating the distance between her hand and her father's rapier hanging beside his bunk. "I came to the creek to warn you, but you weren't there," she said. "He hit me and carried me aboard."

  "Gavin likes his little jokes, don't you, Gavin?"

  "This is no joke. You've had your day, old man. Now, it's mine." Keeping the cutlass ready, Gavin reached behind him and slid the iron bolt across the cabin door. "Look for no reinforcements. My men have their orders."

  "This is between us. Why did you bring Ashley on board? This has nothing to do with her."

  He's strong, Ashley thought. In spite of everything Quincy had done to her, she couldn't suppress the overwhelming pride that washed through her. No wonder Cicely loved him all these years.

  When Quincy moved, it was too fast for her to see. There was a flash of steel and the poniard quivered to the hilt in Gavin's upper arm. Two inches to the left and it would have pierced his heart. With a curse, Gavin yanked the knife from his flesh and lunged across the room toward Ashley. He swung the cutlass in an arc that would have taken off her head if she hadn't scrambled aside, seized her father's sword, and thrown it to him.

  "On guard!" Quincy shouted, dropping into a fighting stance. Ashley put the table between her and Gavin. Quincy's poniard lay on the floor near the doorway, but she would have to pass Gavin to reach it. Frantically she looked around the room for a pistol.

  Steel clashed against steel as the two men circled each other, slashing and blocking. Quincy's rapier was a gentleman's weapon, fragile, almost delicate-looking compared to the massive cutlass. A few seconds, however, and Ashley was assured that her father had learned the art of fencing from a master. Again and again the narrow blade of the rapier proved true as Quincy executed a series of breathtaking attacks and ripostes.

  Gavin's size and longer reach gave him tremendous advantage as he drove Quincy back with the sheer force of his powerful swings. The blows were almost too quick to follow. Then, like a silver bolt of lightning, the slender rapier cut a furrow across Gavin's neck. He spun and slashed at Quincy's midsection with the cutlass, slicing the white lawn shirt like butter.

  "You're good," Quincy gasped, dancing back out of reach of the deadly weapon. "Very good."

  "I should be," Gavin answered. "You taught me."

  Warily they circled each other, seemingly unaware of the gunshots and cries of fighting above deck. It was all Ashley could do to keep out of their way as they battled back and forth in the cabin. Once she nearly reached the fallen knife, but Gavin caught a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye and nearly took off her arm.

  "Give it up, Quince," Gavin said. "You know you're licked. You're breathing hard."

  It was true. Both men were wet with sweat, but Quincy's breath was coming in ragged gasps. Gavin's youth and superior strength were beginning to show as he drove Quincy unmercifully. Slash and parry, circle and swing, both blades moved as though they were alive. Blood ran freely from both men; their clothes were cut to ribbons.

  The cutlass blade struck with enough force to drive Quincy to his knees. The rapier slid down along the steel edge of the cutlass until the hand guards caught. Quincy and Gavin stared into each other's eyes, close enough to feel the heat of each other's breath. "Why did you bring Ashley into this?" Quincy demanded.

  "I want everything that's yours." Gavin laughed and stepped back. "Your ship, your fortune, and your daughter. She's mine, Quince, just like the Witch, and I'll use them both as I see fit." Gavin slashed at Quincy's legs. "Besides, I think you'll tell me where the treasure's buried... or she will."

  "She doesn't know."

  "So you say." Gavin charged again, hacking at Quincy's head and shoulders, pushing him back toward the bunk. Ashley ran and seized the poniard from the floor, lifting it by the point to throw at Gavin's back, when Quincy let out a cry and fell back against the wall, clutching his side. Gavin withdrew the bloody cutlass, picked up Quincy's rapier, and turned toward Ashley. "I wouldn't, if I were you," he thre
atened.

  Ashley ran to her father. Blood was seeping through his fingers and his face was the color of milk. "Quincy!"

  He grimaced in pain and slid down the wall to the deck. "I guess I was a good teacher," he said to Gavin. Ashley pushed aside his fingers to look at the gaping wound. "No fuss, girl," he said. "Give us a spot of rum, will you."

  Ashley glanced at Gavin questioningly.

  "Whatever he wants... except this." He flipped open a sea chest and removed a brace of pistols. "If you'll excuse me, I'll see to putting the ship to order. Don't leave the cabin, Ashley, or I won't be responsible for your safety." The door slammed shut behind him.

  "Let me help you into the bunk," Ashley said, putting her shoulder under Quincy's arm. "You need a surgeon. I'll get something to stop the bleeding, but this wound is beyond my skill."

  Quincy coughed and sweat broke out on his forehead as they managed the few steps to the bunk. "Don't worry yourself. St. Peter himself couldn't sew this up. No." He raised a hand to stop her protests. "I've sewn more cutlass wounds than you have years. I may linger a few days, but this one is mortal."

  "Quincy, please."

  "Would you have me lie to you now, Ashley?" He bit his lower lip and shifted onto one shoulder. "Pour a little rum into it. It can't hurt any more and it may halt the infection for a few hours. If I'm to get you out of this mess, I'll need all the time I can borrow."

  Tears ran down Ashley's cheeks, making it hard for her to see as she ripped strips of linen into bandages. "Damn him to everlasting hellfire!" she swore.

  "Don't waste your energy on him," her father advised. "I've things I want to tell you. Things I should have told you a long time ago."

  She pressed a rum-soaked pad against the bloody wound, and Quincy moaned and shut his eyes, clenching his fingers into tight fists. "Bring me a drink," he ordered weakly. He downed the goblet of fiery liquid and held it out for another. Ashley refilled it, taking time to swallow a few mouthfuls herself.

  "Ah, that's better," Quincy said between clenched teeth. He sighed, reaching for her hand. "I've wasted my life, Ashley. I've done things that will see me in hell if there is such a place. I've hurt you without meaning to. But I love you... and I'd not have put you in danger this way." He squeezed her fingers. "You must believe that."

  "I do," she whispered.

  "I've buried a fortune in Spanish booty on Morgan's Fancy over the years," he said painfully. "If I'd lived long enough, I meant to offer Governor Bladen a large enough bribe that he would give me a full pardon. I've never stopped loving Cicely, girl." He chuckled and the strangled sound became a choking.

  "Don't try to talk," Ashley said. "Save your strength." She raised the pad, then clamped it down when fresh blood began to flow from the wound.

  "For what?" Amusement filtered through the pain-filled eyes. "I wanted to be a tobacco planter, Ashley. I wanted brick walls around me at night and a lawn with grass and flowers where your mother and I could watch our grandchildren play." He forced a crooked smile. "Gentleman Jim. I'm a farce, girl. I always was. As much a failure as a buccaneer captain as I was as a father."

  "Did Cicely know?"

  He shook his head and frowned. "I saw no need to disturb her life until I had something to offer her. Your mother was always a delicate flower, Ashley. In the wrong setting, she would wither and die."

  "Maybe." Ashley brought a fresh bandage and exchanged it for the soaked one. The bleeding seemed to be slowing, but still Quincy had lost a lot of blood.

  "The treasure is yours now. I want you to have it all."

  "Not Cicely?"

  "No. Do for your mother what you think right. But Cicely's not strong enough to manage it."

  "And you think I am?" Ashley's eyes darkened. "Do you think me willing to take the rewards of my neighbors' harvests? I don't want your blood money, Quincy."

  "Spoken like old Ash Morgan himself." Quincy chuckled. "Even old Ash would approve of you taking it. It's all Spanish, girl. Pieces of eight, gold doubloons, and heathen treasure from the Spanish colonies in Mexico and South America. They stole it from the poor red savages, didn't they? And took their land and souls besides." He grinned. "Oh, I'm not so noble as all that. I've taken my share of silk, and tobacco, and good English guineas. But I knew I'd bribe no Maryland governor with English gold. What's buried on Morgan's Fancy is as honest as any privateer's booty. Besides, we're at war with Spain, aren't we?"

  "If England's not, she soon will be," Ashley agreed. She shrugged. "You're right. Even grandfather would take Spanish gold. Where is it buried?"

  Quincy beckoned her closer, whispering the location into her ear. "Only Cato knows besides me, and he'll go to his grave with the secret," he said. "Gavin mustn't learn you know where it is. He's not above torturing you to find out."

  Another shot rang out above deck and Ashley flinched. The sounds of clashing steel and men's angry voices became louder. "Can he take the ship?" she asked. "How many men can you count on to remain loyal?"

  "If they know I'm dying?" Quincy grimaced. "Only Cato. But Gavin hates him. He may already be dead." He swallowed and motioned for another cup of rum. "Cato was never much in a fight anyway."

  "I don't—" Ashley whirled around as the door banged open. Two evil-looking men glared back at her, both carrying cutlasses stained red with blood.

  "What do you want?" Quincy demanded, struggling up on one elbow. "How dare you force your way into my cabin!"

  The red-bearded man laughed harshly. "Captain wants ye and the wench on deck."

  "He's hurt," Ashley cried. "I'll go, but leave him be."

  Ignoring her protests, they crossed the room and dragged Quincy from his bunk.

  "You'll kill him!" she shouted. "It's bad luck to move a dying captain from his cabin. Do you want to—" The roar of a cannon drowned her words. "We're under attack!"

  The men let go of Quincy's shoulders and Ashley helped him back onto the bunk. Red-Beard glanced at the smaller man questioningly. Then the ship vibrated with the shock of answering cannon fire. "Leave him and bring the wench," Red-Beard said.

  "No!" Quincy cried.

  The bearded pirate shoved Ashley toward the doorway. "Move!" he ordered. With a parting glance at her father, Ashley obeyed.

  When she reached the open deck, she stopped short, stunned by the scene of utter chaos. Dead and wounded men lay scattered on the deck, and the air hung thick with smoke and the stench of powder. But there was no fighting among the pirates now. All hands were at their stations as the Scarlet Witch bore down upon a square-rigged brigantine off the starboard side. The crew had obviously broken off their private squabble to attack a passing merchant vessel.

  Frantically Ashley looked to the port side, trying to gauge the distance to land. If she dove over the side, could she make it to shore? Deciding any chance was better than what she had aboard the Witch, she made a sudden dash for the port rail, only to run into the solid bulk of a man's chest.

  "No, you don't," Gavin said, grabbing her and twisting her arm behind her back. "I promised you a good time, Ashley... and we haven't even started to play."

  * * *

  It had taken Kelt precious hours to get to Chestertown and convince Philip Fraser to take the Merry Kate in search of the pirate vessel. The heavily armed sloop was built for speed and her crew were all tough, seasoned men. They slipped out of the Chester River in the early hours of dawn, using the wind from the coming northeaster to make up for lost time.

  Beside the crew of the Merry Kate, Kelt had brought along a band of men from the plantation, priming them for battle against the pirates with promises of a rich reward.

  "'Tis a chance you're takin', Kelt," Captain Fraser said as he scanned the compass. Rain beat against his lined face and ran in rivulets down his foul-weather gear. "There are a thousand places a schooner can hide along the Chesapeake. What makes ye think she's nae gone to ground again somewhere else?"

  "If I were Gentleman Jim McCade," Kelt answered slowly, "I'd make
for the open sea. If a Royal Navy ship did find his hiding spot, he'd be caught like a fox in a hole. If he gets out of the Chesapeake, where do I hunt for him? New Providence? Guayaquil? Jamaica? We both know I'd never see Ashley again. And I'm not going to let that happen."

  "And if you do find her, and if we take the ship—I say if, mind you—what will you do with her? You can't force her to wed you. She may have gone with her father willingly."

  "Nay!" Kelt shook his head. "I know she dinna." It had been a risk to tell Philip of the relationship between Ashley Morgan and the pirate, Gentleman Jim McCade, but if he was asking his friend to chance his ship and his life, he felt Philip should know the whole truth. Kelt put his hands behind his back and paced the small section of deck where they stood. "But I canna, for the life of me, figure why McCade would take her wi' him. It makes no sense and he's a wily one. He'd do naught from whim or fancy. I believe he has an affection for Ashley."

  "If he did take her against her will, he'll fight to keep her. You may ha' to kill him."

  "Aye. The thought has crossed my mind."

  "And ha' do ye ken what the lass will do if ye kill her father?"

  Kelt stared out across the water. "Aye, Philip," he said softly. "She wouldna take it lightly. But we must cross that bridge when we come to it. I'll ha' her back, Philip, by fair means or foul. And once I ha' her, I'll ne'er let her go again."

  "Well, then, you've made up your mind." Captain Fraser turned to motion to his first officer. "Keep a sharp watch for sail," he ordered. "A prize of silver coin to the man who sights the Scarlet Witch first."

  "Yes, sir." The man hesitated as though waiting to say something.

  "What is it, Isaac?"

  "One of the seamen, Cap'n. John Voshel. He's asked to speak with you on an important matter."

  "Do you know what he wants?"

  "No, sir, I don't. But the word is, before he signed on with us he—"

  "Oot wi' it! He what?" Captain Fraser demanded.

  "It's only rumor, but the scuttlebutt in the foc'sle is that Voshel used to be a pirate. And they say he sailed with Gentleman Jim McCade."