by Lorri Dudley
She shook her head. “My husband’s ship was badly damaged by a hailstorm.” She heaved a heavy sigh. “He will not be sailing anywhere, anytime soon.”
“I think you underestimate your appeal.” The captain raised a brow. “If he has anything sittin’ between his ears, then like I said, he’ll turn hell upside down searching for you. He’ll find a way.”
“You are too kind.” She forced a smile.
“It’s time to prepare to disembark.” He shooed her away. “Go collect yer personal items and fill yer stomach. We’ll be loading the pirogues and rowing to Barataria within the hour.”
“Mademoiselle, what do you think of Grand Terre?” Captain Dominique’s lips twisted into a grin.
Lottie sat in the flat-bottomed boat next to him while another crewman rowed them to the island. Before leaving the ship, she had bid Shorty farewell and thanked him for the use of his cabin. He would accompany her no further, for his services were needed to oversee the unloading of the slaves, who were being taken to what the men referred to as the Temple—a chenière—small, sandy island—where the smuggled items were auctioned.
Brown pelicans perched on pylons as ever-watchful sentries. Fishermen in a small boat off to their left lowered their nets, unconcerned with their arrival. Grand houses perched on stilts amongst a background sea of blue, green, and gold. The delta created a labyrinth of waterlogged islands and marshes—a liquid land. Would it trap her in its midst or swallow her whole?
“It is perfect for our needs.” Captain Dominique inhaled a hearty breath. “A deep harbor for our ships, a sheltered cove to anchor them during storms. The north and east lead into a labyrinth, where bayous, swamps, and rivers intersect. Only the seasoned navigator knows how to find his way.”
“It sounds like an ingenious hideout for miscreants.”
Captain Dominique threw back his head and laughed. “Femme intelligente.” He nodded his head at her. “It doesn’t keep out the rift-raff, but it does keep away government officials, and foreign invaders have a way of disappearing.” He cackled at his own joke until his shoulders shook. His black eyes twinkled with mirth. He released a sigh and pointed. “See those young oak trees there?”
Lottie nodded.
“I planted those. Someday they will be giant and protect our island from storms.”
She shifted to face Captain Dominique and tilted her head. “Why Captain, I never would have taken you for a horticulturalist.”
“Now, chérie.” He winked at her, “I have enough nicknames. I won’t have you calling me the gardener. It would ruin my wicked reputation.”
She folded her hands. “You have been nothing but kind to me. And besides, I believe it is good for you to have other pursuits besides raiding and smuggling.”
“We are corsairs.” His swarthy face grew serious. “One bit of advice. When you meet Jean Lafitte, do not call him a pirate, or things will not go well for you. We are privateers with letters of marque from Cartagena.”
Lottie swallowed and inhaled a calming breath.
“I am unaware of the friendship between Lafitte and your husband,” the captain said.
She only knew the one story of Lafitte being stung by a man-o-war, and it had happened a long time ago. Would Lafitte even remember? Therein lay the risk. Lord, please let Captain Lafitte hold Nathan in fond regard.
“But I shall champion you as best I can. Jean Laffite is a wise man, but also a sound adversary. He comes across as polite and charming, but do not be lulled into carelessness. He is hot-tempered and quick to raise his sword or pistol.”
The oarsman jumped out and dragged the boat onto shore. Captain Dominique stepped out and offered Lottie a hand. Crushed white shells littered the beach and outlined the path that led to Lafitte’s lodgings.
The home stood out among the palmetto thatched roof huts, equal in size to some of the larger plantation houses on St. Kitts and by far the largest on Grand Terre. A wraparound porch stretched the length of the building where hammocks swung in the breeze. A grand wooden staircase led up to the porch and double-doored entry, which was wide enough to carry in bulky pieces of furniture. Bright shutters propped open with sticks accented the windows.
Captain Dominique pointed behind Lafitte’s tropical luxury home to the slaves’ barracks and a warehouse that held any goods not brought to the Temple for auction.
They ascended the stairs, and two slave men swung the doors to the entrance wide. “Jean is expecting you,” Captain Dominique said. “I sent a messenger ahead.”
He gestured for her to enter.
Splendor filled her eyes from every corner. Richly ornate Baroque furniture, Spanish glassware, silver candelabras, Axminister carpets, and heavy draperies filled the room with opulence. Captain Jean Lafitte possessed a taste for finer things.
Gruff male voices emanated from behind a closed door off the back of the house.
“He will not see you right away.” Captain Dominique nodded to a slave woman dressed in a light cotton frock with a mobcap covering her hair. “Lena will see to your needs.”
Lottie grasped his sleeve. “Will you be there when I—?”
“I cannot guarantee it.” He shook his head and patted her hand. “But remember my heeding from earlier. Other than that, be yourself, and Lafitte shall be as taken with you as I am.”
She nodded and followed Lena, but turned back to the captain. “Thank you.” A nervous smile flittered on her lips.
He returned the smile before pivoting on his heel and striding off.
Lottie followed the servant down a hallway. On a half circle demilune table rested Chinese sculptures of onyx and jade. As they walked, she peeked through cracked or open doors and spied mahogany four-poster beds and matching chests of drawers.
Lena opened a door on the right and stepped aside for Lottie to enter. White cotton drapes billowed in the breeze from an open window under an ornate tasseled valance. A mountain of pillows was piled at one end of the large bed, which was dressed in silk linens, and a French gown splayed out on the coverlet with a matching pair of lace gloves. Another servant poured steaming water into a large porcelain basin.
This must be someone else’s room.
Lottie spun on her heel, but Lena pointed to the tub and the gown. “You are to bathe and dress. The master will send for you to sup with him in an hour.”
Lena excused herself before Lottie could ask questions. She scanned the room again. She may as well obey. The other servant aided Lottie’s undressing for her bath. The water felt glorious, but the strange place and her unknown future kept her from relaxing.
What would Lafitte ask of her?
Lottie rose from the tub before her fingers pruned. The servant dried her off and buttoned her into the fine glazed fabric of the French gown. Rows of ruffled lace layered the hem, and a smaller ruff rimmed the square neckline. Odd, but it was a perfect fit. Maybe a tad too long, but the small heel on her kid boots would hide it. She slid the lace gloves over her fingers and sat as the maid wound her red hair into a lovely cascade of pinned curls.
Was she safe, or merely being dressed up for a human sacrifice as the Indians used to perform in the place now called the Temple?
Before the maid put away her old dress, Lottie pulled the tiny Bible from its inside pocket. The pages were wavy and crinkled from her dousing, but still readable. She flipped to Psalm twenty three. The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want… Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies: thou anointest my head with oil; my cup runneth over…
A knock sounded on the door, and a footman appeared to lead her to the dining room. Lottie said a prayer with each step. Be with me, Lord. You are my Shepherd. I’m trusting in You. Give me courage.
He paused at the door to allow Lottie to gather herself. She swallowed her nervousness and nodded. He swung the door wide.
&nb
sp; A swarthy group of men congregated around a long dining table. At the head sat a tall, dark-haired man, elegantly dressed, with unusually white teeth and dark eyes.
She peered into the face of the infamous pirate, Jean Lafitte.
Chapter 35
Keep a leery eye on Fielding. I daresay, he means to crimp us and I shall not tolerate such trickery.
~ From Captain Jean Lafitte to Captain Dominique You
“Welcome, Madame Winthrop.” Jean Lafitte rose at the far end of the dining table.
He cleared his throat, and in unison, all of the men and the few women present stood. Only one wiry man with burned black skin, a horseshoe mustache, and a kerchief around his head grumbled and pushed himself to a half stand. Lottie dared to flick her gaze to each of the women’s faces, hoping to find camaraderie, but the grim line of their rouged lips appeared ready to defend their territory.
Lafitte gestured to the seat on his right. “Please, be my honored guest.”
Lottie forced her watery knees to conduct her to the spot, where a footman pulled out an ornately scrolled chair. She sat and the men resumed theirs.
Lafitte raised one finger, and a footman rushed to fill her long-stemmed crystal glass. The table was well set with fine china plates, silver utensils, and gold candlesticks. The footman draped a satin napkin over her lap.
“Capitaine Dominique has given you high praise.” Lafitte’s dark hazel eyes studied her. “Praise is not readily offered by such a man.”
Lafitte was impeccably dressed in a tailored jacket and neatly tied cravat. Thick dark curls, a bit unruly on top, graced his head and side whiskers and contrasted against his light skin. “I’m honored the wife of an old friend is able to join us.” His slim pale fingers raised a glass in toast.
“I appreciate your hospitality.” Lottie’s heart wept with relief. Praise God. He remembered Nathan. She ignored the curious stares of fierce-looking men along either side of the table.
“I do hope your stay upon the Le Tigre was also enjoyable.”
“Indeed. Much more so than my unfortunate time aboard the Amory.”
A muscle twitched in Lafitte’s jaw. “Oui. And we shall do our best to remedy that, but such discussions shall wait until after we dine. One wouldn’t want to sour the stomach.”
Lottie folded her hands. Her nails were even and no longer stubs. What sort of fate did he have in mind if it would sour the stomachs of these daunting men? She glanced down the table, hoping to find Captain Dominique among the gathered guests. Instead, she caught sight of Captain Fielding and Captain Phelps. She shivered at the contempt in their eyes. How could she ever have believed Captain Fielding was a good man?
“May I introduce you?” Laffite asked.
She nodded. Lafitte certainly wasn’t behaving as someone ready to seal her doom. Instead, his manners were impeccable, and he played the gracious host.
He gestured to the man across from her. “This is my older brother, Pierre Lafitte.”
The man nodded. She could see the family resemblance, but Pierre’s features were more rugged, and one of his eyes was slightly crossed.
“Next to you is Louis Chighizola, or Nez Coupé, as we call him, and beside him his wife, Madame Coupé.”
Long scars sliced Nez Coupé’s face, but they were not as disturbing as the man’s missing nose, hence the nickname, Cut Nose. His big-boned wife eyed Lottie with dubious curiosity.
“And you know Captain Jeremiah Fielding and Captain David Phelps.”
She refused to meet their gazes, and instead nodded at Captain Lafitte.
When Lafitte completed the rest of the introductions, a small fleet of footman ladled out crab gumbo, drawing the men’s attention away from her.
“So tell me, how fares Winthrop?” Jean Lafitte sipped from his spoon. “It has been an age. Does Gator still carry the weight of the world on his shoulders?”
Lottie smiled. “You did know him well then?”
Nez Coupe’s eyes narrowed. “Is this a trick? Why would she ask if you know her husband if it was the reason she summoned this meeting? How do we know she’s not a British spy?”
Lottie straightened, imposing the best impression of her mother. “I am newly married, sir. My husband has mentioned his schooling with the Lafitte brothers, specifically Jean Lafitte. I have yet to hear all of their stories, but I’m certain if your wife were in dire straits, you’d want her to call upon a past friend for aid.” She placed her hands on either side of her place setting. “Besides, I am not courageous enough for espionage.”
Nez Coupe snorted and focused on his gumbo.
“Well said, mademoiselle.” Lafitte arched a brow. “Indeed, I did know your husband well. We sailed and sparred together at Maritime in St. Kitts. He was a valiant opponent, especially with a saber. I tried to convince him to join me in business, but he didn’t hold the same passion for privateering as I, nor the same hatred toward Spain.”
The other men growled at the mere mention of the country pitted against France.
“How did a Kittitian such as Winthrop, meet a beautiful woman in England? When his brother fell ill, it seemed he would manage the sugar plantation. Did his brother recover?”
“Sadly, no.” Lottie put down her spoon and smoothed her napkin in her lap. “The fever not only took his brother, but also his sister and mother.”
Lafitte’s brow furrowed and his dark eyes softened. “My condolences.”
“I did not have the privilege of knowing them, but I grieve for my husband.”
“Rightly so. If Winthrop has taken over the plantation, how did you meet? He must still be sailing, or was it a family connection?”
“The land isn’t producing the way it used to.”
Several of the men nodded, including Lafitte’s brother, Pierre. “The supply of sugar barrels at auction has decreased.”
“My husband became an import and export merchant for the Leeward Islands to make up for the lack, and to keep those in his employ fed.”
“It was wise to diversify.” Jean Lafitte leaned back in his chair and swirled his drink. “But that doesn’t explain how you met.”
Lottie released a nervous laugh. “It’s a comical story. Truth be told, Nathan rescued me from my overbearing mother.”
“I’m intrigued,” Lafitte said. “My men love a good tale.”
“Aye.” The men agreed.
“It’s rubbish.” Captain Fielding slammed his glass down on the table. “If you’re looking for grand tales, I have better to tell.”
Jean Lafitte’s gaze slid in his direction. “I do not recall asking you, Captain.”
Fielding shrank back.
“Please do tell.” Lafitte lounged back in his chair.
Lottie started from their first dance at the Middleton ball.
“You asked Winthrop to dance?” Pierre Lafitte gaped at her.
“It wasn’t that I asked him per se. We merely ended up dancing together.”
“I enjoy a lady who is driven enough to seek what she desires.” A half smile curled Lafitte’s lips.
“I’m not… I don’t desire…” Heat filled her cheeks.
“Go on. I want to know how Winthrop responded.”
The footmen collected the soup plates and brought out roasted turkey and an array of sauces. She continued with her story until they stopped her after the candle incident.
“That’s what you get trying to do the honorable thing—leg-shackled.” Nez Coupe crossed his arms. “Like us providing goods for our country and not attacking American ships, yet Governor Claiborne won’t rest until the whole lot of us rot in jail.”
Jean Lafitte waved a hand for him to be quiet and focused on Lottie. “Please, continue.”
She explained the wedding, being sick on the ship, and Nathan’s care for her. They were disappointed when they heard Nathan had put her up at the inn upon reaching St. Kitts.
“A pretty thing to warm his bed, and he sleeps alone?” Pierre said. “Maybe Winthrop isn’t th
e man you thought him to be.”
Lottie frowned at him. “He was protecting me. He thought he was cursed.”
The entire room of Baratarians recoiled.
Jean Lafitte eyed the table before meeting her eyes again. “We are a superstitious lot and can understand Winthrop’s hesitation.”
“But God is bigger than any curse.” Lottie leaned forward. “It says in the book of Deuteronomy we can choose blessing or cursing. I choose blessing.”
Several of the men made the sign of the cross.
“And my husband, in this instance, was wrong.” She explained his witnessing the obeah slave’s capture and the woman’s words to Nathan. “And then his family died of fever, but God gives and takes away. We have to trust His plan in the good and the bad.” She swallowed. “Captain Fielding, however, heard the tale of the obeah slave and justified the disappearance of the ship’s cargo by blaming it on the curse.”
Captain Fielding’s laughter sounded with a hollow tone. “She does tell a good tale, but it’s a fabrication. All of it.”
Jean Lafitte’s gaze lifted. He nodded to Dominique You, who stepped forward and escorted Captain Fielding from the room.
When had Captain Dominique entered the room?
“Pardon the interruption,” Jean Lafitte said. “Fielding is needed at the Temple. Please go on.”
“Nathan’s fears grew when I too came down with the fever. He stayed by my side day and night until he thought death was upon me.” She told of her miraculous recovery and her dream. She told of Adana and the hail storm. And then she told of overhearing Julia and Captain Fielding’s plans, and her capture.
“If I don’t return, Nathan will blame himself and the curse for my disappearance.” She closed her eyes and saw Nathan’s face, and the intense way his gaze had held hers the night they’d found the sea turtles.
She inhaled a breath and opened her eyes. Jean Lafitte was studying her.
“I’m sorry to cause you trouble,” she said, “but I must return to him. If you could aid me in the passage, I will find a way to repay you for the efforts.”