The black brows crushed together and the great pirate lord glared down at his wife. The silence stretched for another fistful of heartbeats before the sound of a chuckle began to rumble up his throat. It turned into full-bored laughter as he threw his head back and half cursed, half praised his fortune in finding himself with such a family as this.
His broad shoulders were still shaking as he plucked Juliet’s newly re-seated hat off her head again and tossed it in the air, a signal for the pent-up cheering in a hundred throats to erupt and erupt again until the ship was engulfed in a clamorous roar. Meanwhile Juliet was swept into the circle of her father’s arms, lifted and spun until she was dizzy and laughing too hard herself to even beg to be set down. It was the cue for two hefty seamen to roll a big barrel of rum onto the deck, to knock out the bung and fill the eager cups and pannikins that were shoved under the umber stream.
Elbowed to the side and all but forgotten in the celebrations, Varian St. Clare stood with Beacom by the rail.
“What do you think of this then, Harold? I expect the word unique will find its definition strained to the bounds by all the members of the Dante family.”
“I think they are all quite mad, your grace. Quite unequivocally mad and the sooner we are free of these wretched corsairs, the safer our throats will be at night.”
“If you intend to insult us, sir, you might at least use the correct term.”
Every last drop of blood drained from Beacom’s face as he slowly swivelled his head and saw Simon Dante standing beside him.
“Corsairs are Saracens and ply their trade in the Mediterranean,” Dante explained casually. “Here in the Caribbee, you might find boucan-eaters and pirates, filibusters and freebooters, but never the other. We brethren are very territorial, you know.”
Beacom’s mouth trembled then began to flap like a beached fish. No sounds came from his throat and after a moment, his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he slowly crumpled into a heap on the deck.
Dante looked down, then pursed his lips. “Does he do that often?”
“Fairly regularly,” Varian sighed.
“And he belongs to you?”
“He is my manservant, yes.”
Up to that moment, Varian had been content to merely observe and study his quarry. To be sure, the man known as the pirata lobo was awe-inspiring in a ruthless, wolf-like way, boasting the powerfully muscled arms and shoulders of a man half his age. It was also plain to see where Juliet Dante had inherited her ability to cut a man to the bone on a single glance, for Simon Dante’s eyes were so penetrating they felt like needles stabbing all the way to the back of the skull.
Hair as black as ink showed but a few silvery threads. It hung well below his shoulders in gleaming waves, with a dozen tiny braids woven at the temples to hold it back from his forehead. The wink of a thick gold loop in his ear did nothing to lessen the impression that he was a man poised on the very fine line that stretched between privateer and pirate. His wife presented no less of a striking figure with her dark auburn hair and tigress eyes. The fact she was missing an arm had come as somewhat of a surprise to Varian, but it was plain to see she had not allowed the loss to cripple her. Such an injury suffered by a member of the English nobility—and by virtue of her marriage to Simon Dante, Isabeau was a countess—would have meant permanent exile behind closed doors.
One of Simon Dante’s black eyebrows assumed a decided upward slant. “My daughter tells me you are an envoy from the king. How is the sanctimonious Scottish bastard? Juliet mentioned he sent a crate of bibles in the hopes of saving our souls, but they were lost with your ship.”
Varian shot a glance in Juliet’s direction. She was standing a few feet away, her mouth trembling with amusement. Seeing the two of them together, father and daughter, Varian could see that she had inherited more than just the unusual silvery-blue color of his eyes.
“His Majesty sends his compliments.”
“I am sure he does.”
The duke waited, but since it appeared no one else was going to step forth and make introductions, he did so himself. “Varian St. Clare, your servant, sir.”
He was midway through a courteous bow when Juliet hooked her arm around her father’s elbow.
“He is being modest, Father,” she said. “He is a duke. A bone fide member of the House of Lords—unless my education was lacking—sent by the king to stamp his noble foot and demand you cease molesting the Spanish trade routes.”
Simon offered up a crooked grin. “I suppose we should not be too surprised. It has been what, four? five? months since the last envoy sought to convert us from our corrupt ways?” He paused and took note of the bruises on Varian’s face, the row of knotted threads that followed his hairline. “I trust you’ve not been overly harsh on the poor fellow.”
“Indeed, no Father. I have been the soul of hospitality. I have fed him and clothed him, even invited him to share my bed.”
Dante’s gaze flicked between the two of them and Varian gasped with shock. “I assure you, Comte, nothing improper occurred at any time! It was simply—”
The pirate wolf held up his hand. “Please. I have not been addressed as the Comte de Tourville for a good many years. And if you had attempted something improper, I expect it would be more than your head she would have cracked open. Ahh, here is young Johnny Boy with refills. You will join me in a cup of rum to toast the safe return of our Iron Rose?”
Without waiting for an answer, Simon Dante extended his cup. Johnny Boy scooped a wooden ladle into the bucket he was carrying and filled it, then splashed some in an extra cup which he offered to Varian. Simon touched his cup to his daughter’s then waited expectantly for the Englishman to do likewise.
Varian obliged with a solemn, “To the unquestionable valor of the Iron Rose, to the courage of her captain and crew.”
“Well said.” Dante nodded with approval and emptied his cup.
“As for what brings me here, Captain Dante—”
The pirate wolf held up his hand a second time. “Any business you have that may or may not interest me can be discussed at a more appropriate time.”
“Captain, it is both pressing and urgent. Any further delays could result in serious consequences to you and your brethren here in the Caribbean.”
Dante glanced at Juliet, who only shrugged. “He has not deigned to tell me.”
“Then the matter cannot be as urgent and pressing as you imply.”
“His Majesty and the first minister were quite insistent that I convey his edict at the first opportunity.”
“An edict, is it?” He glanced down as if to see if Varian was, indeed, stamping his foot. “You have kept the faith this long, St. Clare, another day or two will hardly affect the way the sun rises and sets. Furthermore, you are in another hemisphere, sir, where things move a good deal slower than they do between chambers at Whitehall. Take your ease. Enjoy our beautiful tropical air. As my daughter’s guest, you are welcome to come ashore under her protection, but do not bandy the king’s name around and expect the walls to quiver in awe. We are a long way from court, and the whims of a lisping peace-monger carry little weight here.” He set his cup aside and draped an arm around Juliet’s waist. “Now then, Daughter, you doubtless have stories to tell and a fair amount of bragging to set the ears of your brothers ringing. Shall we save them until we are ashore where we can toast each one without fear of drowning on the way to our beds? Oh, and before I forget... Mr Kelly!”
The carpenter turned too quickly to answer the summons and banged his head on the lower edge of a spar. His eyes crossed a moment before he was able to shake them clear. “Aye, Cap’n?”
“You’re not forgetting the reason the Iron Rose was sent out on sea trials in the first place?”
Nog scratched the stubble on his chin a moment before the recollection sparked in his eyes. “No sar! Worked a treat, it did. We tried her at six, eight, and twelve knots and she turned without spillin’ the soup out o’ the pot. Rode
the storm like a damned princess too.”
Dante nodded and elaborated for Varian’s sake. “Now that is urgent and pressing business. A new rudder design that increases speed, improves steerage in bad weather, and provides greater stability in a turn. How soon can you rig the other ships, Nog?”
The carpenter tugged his forelock. “Cap’n Juliet has me strippin’ down the Spaniard, but once she’s done... it’ll take a fortnight at least to do all three ships... unless ye want ‘em belly up at the same time. Then it could be done in a week or less.”
“I’ll give it some thought. In the meantime—” he gave Juliet’s shoulder a squeeze. “It looks like we’ll have something else to celebrate tonight. You’ve done well. Next thing we know, you will be designing entire ships and giving Mr. Pitt a reason to look over his shoulder.”
“Mr. Pitt did not come aboard?” she asked, suddenly noting the lack.
“He was detained elsewhere, I’m afraid. Another boy, delivered yesterday.”
Juliet’s face lit up with a wide smile. “Gracious, but is that eight or nine?”
“Nine boys, four girls. I will have to start sending him out to sea more often. He obviously has too much time on his hands. But enough of this. Tonight, we celebrate the capture of the biggest prize—” he raised his voice so that it boomed from stem to stern— “taken by the boldest crew in the Caribbee!”
The ship’s company broke out in another raucous chorus of cheers and stomping feet. It was high praise indeed coming from the Pirate Wolf and many shed unabashed tears of pride. The cheering followed Simon Dante to the gangway, where he was met by Isabeau, Gabriel, and the sopping wet Jonas. After cautioning Juliet good naturedly not to linger on board too long, the four descended to a waiting longboat and were rowed back to shore to prepare the great house for a feast.
~~~
As the oars dipped into the water and carried them farther from the Iron Rose, Isabeau leaned into her husband’s shoulder and released a tremulous sigh.
“Dear God, Simon. What have we done, you and I?”
He could barely hear her whisper above the rush of the water moving beneath the keel.
“What do you mean, love?”
“We both encouraged her to take this path, though I admit the fault lies more with me than you. You wanted to send her to France for her schooling, for a chance to become a proper lady. I was the one who urged you to let her choose for herself.”
Dante pressed his lips into the crush of his wife’s hair. “Next to you, my lovely cygne noir, Juliet is the most proper lady I know. She has heart, she has courage, she has honor... and she has fear. More fear than these two rapscallions, I warrant,” he added, tilting his head in the direction of their two sons sitting in the bow of the longboat. “And that is what will keep her safe.”
“A good man wouldn’t hurt either,” Gabriel said over his shoulder. “If one could be found addled enough to take her.”
“Eh?” Jonas swivelled around. “What are you talking about?”
“The size of your brother’s ears,” Isabeau snapped. “And unless he wants them soundly boxed, he’ll keep them pointed straight ahead.”
CHAPTER TEN
Once again, Varian found himself at odds. Beacom recovered enough to dust himself off and retire below to fetch the small chest Johnny Boy had appropriated for their use. There was not much in it: a spare shirt and stockings, some linens, and a horsehair brush, but it gave the valet something familiar to do to keep his mind off slashed throats and boiled entrails.
As for Varian, he was not accustomed to being dismissed out of hand nor being set aside like an afterthought, and it angered him enough that he followed Juliet to her cabin after the revelry had come to a happy end on deck.
He paused only fractionally, his hand on the latch, before his fingers curled into a grudging fist and he knocked on the door.
“Come.”
She was at her desk gathering up the ledgers, maps, manifests and other assorted documents they had collected from the Santo Domingo and the Argus. She had removed her hat and the lantern light was pouring over her shoulders, gilding the dark waves of her hair with streaks of red and gold fire.
When Varian entered, she glanced up and sighed.
“You have the look of a grievance about you, my lord. Be warned, my patience is strained and I have my pistols close at hand.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “The correct form of address, which you have thus far chosen to ignore, is in fact: your grace.”
She finished shuffling a handful of papers and straightened. “I am sure you have not come here, all puffed up like a quail, to instruct me in proper manners.”
“I fear you are already well beyond salvation in that respect, captain. I have come to inquire after the meaning of your father’s words: that I am welcome to come ashore under your protection.”
“It seems clear enough to me, my lord,” she said, deliberately misusing the address again. “In essence, you were captured along with the galleon, which makes you part of the spoils, if you will. It follows then, by the purest definition of the articles of privateering, that you have become my property and therefore my responsibility. Trust me when I say I am no more pleased than you with the designation, but there you have it. Even pirates have rules of order.” After holding his gaze a moment longer, she bowed to her task again. “On the other hand, you should be thankful Father did place you under my protection, otherwise my brother Jonas might have shot you out of hand.”
Varian’s mind was still stumbling over the word ‘property’. “Your brother? What has he to do with any of this?”
“He hates the Spaniards even more than my father, though one would be hard pressed to find the grain of sand that weights the balance in his favor.”
She glanced up as Johnny Boy came stumping through the open doorway to tell her the Santo Domingo had been towed into the harbor.
“Yes, all right. Thank you. Here, you can take these topside for me—” she stuffed the last wad of documents into a bulging canvas sack and handed them to the boy. “Have a longboat made ready, we will be going ashore as soon as Mr. Crisp gives a signal.”
“Aye, Cap’n.”
“Hold up there a moment,” she called, stopping him at the door. “What did you do to your leg?”
Johnny Boy craned his head around to look at the dark circle of blood that stained his breeches above the cup of the carved peg. “‘T’ain’t nuthin’ Cap’n. I backed into a gun carriage and scraped it on a bit of wood.”
“Make sure you clean it well before you go ashore. I’ll not be pleased if we have to trim another inch off the stump because you were careless.”
“Aye Cap’n.” The boy grinned. “I’ll scrub it till it squeaks an’ piss on it twice a day.”
When he was gone, Juliet noted the look on Varian’s face.
“‘Tis the best way to clean a wound, sir, and prevent corruption.” Her gaze danced across his cheek a moment, but instead of compounding his shock by confirming the nature of the stinging tincture she had dabbed over his wound, she settled her wide-brimmed hat on her head and snatched her gloves off the desk. “Shall we go topside, my lord? I’ve a few more details to attend before we disembark.”
Frustrated by the fact he had come in search of answers only to be left with more questions, he reached out and caught her arm as she started to walk past. Exactly what he meant or wanted to say was cut short when she glared at his hand, then glared up at his face. He released his grip at once, but the daggers were already in her eyes, the steel in her voice. “I thought you said you learned from your mistakes?”
“I am trying desperately to do so, believe me. Unfortunately the rules seem to change every time I turn around.”
“You will just have to turn a little faster then, will you not?”
“Believe me, I am spinning now, madam,” he muttered, but she was out the door and halfway up the steps to the quarterdeck.
~~~
An hour later, Juliet was finally ready to go ashore. The Santo Domingo was securely anchored fifty yards astern and had become a magnet for swarms of jolly boats. It was long past full dark and lanterns had been hung from her lines and rigging, flooding the decks bright as day. Men were already banging together winches that would be used in the morning to offload her cargo of treasure.
Juliet was heading toward the gangway when she noticed how closely the duke of Harrow was watching the proceedings on board the Santo Domingo. He was squinting to see through the glare, and when Juliet searched the far deck to see what had piqued his interest, she saw the English lieutenant, Beck, moving freely amongst the crewmen on board, even supervising the men as they lowered huge nets into the belly of the galleon.
“If you want to come ashore, my lord,” Juliet said, drawing Varian’s attention away from the Santo Domingo, “we are leaving now. But take fair notice that if you make a nuisance of yourself, you will be carried back here like a sack of grain.”
Apart from a small muscle that quickened in Varian’s cheek, he remained silent.
By contrast, Beacom took one look over the open rail at the gangway and blanched. It was a steep descent down the outer skin of the hull with nothing to cling to but the narrow rungs that were set into the timbers. The sky was black overhead, the water an eerie confusion of shadows and shapes below. The lights had attracted schools of fish, some who swam near the surface and darted about like iridescent streaks. Some of the darker shadows on the bottom moved independent of the longboats above, huge round, flat creatures with long whip-like tails snaking out behind.
“Dear me, your grace.” Beacom melted back from the rail. “I think I should prefer to wait for a chair.”
Varian watched Juliet flick the wing of her cape over her shoulder and disappear below the level of the deck. “I doubt there are more than two ways of disembarking, Beacom,” he said dryly. “Her brother took the one earlier today, and you see before you the other.”
Pirate Wolf Trilogy Page 47