“I’m sorry, Capt’n. I should have protected her. My job,” Hatch said to Gaston, the rims of the giant’s eyes were swollen, but they were dry.
“That is not your job, Hatch. Your job is to defend the ship. You did your job, and there is nothing any of us could do to prevent this. She was hit in the head with flying debris, a casualty in the field of battle. There’s nothing any of us could do.”
Silently, with his head bowed, Hatch climbed down the ladder and handed her to Miles who settled her carefully into a dingy. Miles’ crew members rowed them over toward the Independence. As his precious Frederica sailed out of sight, Gaston’s heart broke into a million pieces.
Later that evening the Ocean’s Knave set sail for Port Royale, and Gaston retired to his cabin. Without Frederica the space felt empty. The events of the day had left him weary and he lay down, hoping sleep would allow him to escape the hollow feeling that had taken hold of him.
Just as he closed his eyes something pounced on him. With a start he realized it was Old Bones. The white cat kneaded his paws into his chest and meowed insistently. The old boy must be missing her as well, Gaston thought as he stroked the cat’s fur.
He found an odd comfort snuggling with Frederica’s furry companion. The pair commiserated for a time and then Gaston fell asleep to the sound of Bones purring.
Chapter Sixteen
Though it certainly did not compare with the chateaus of France, the governor’s home in Port Royale was by far the finest dwelling in the entire city. It rose three stories high and was fortified with red brick. It did not have a porch, a feature Gaston had grown to appreciate when he’d lived in the Carolinas, but Governor Whitehurst was the wealthiest man in the Caribbean, and if he didn’t mind the lack of a porch Gaston decided that was his prerogative.
A dark-skinned man opened the door, showed Gaston and Chatham into a well-appointed parlor, and went to fetch the governor. Gaston looked around at the governor’s huge collection of books. He’d been an avid reader in his earlier years, but realized now it had been ages since he’d picked up a book. How had that happened? His chest tightened as he realized that he hadn’t read a book since meeting Frederica. Every waking moment he wasn’t toiling on the ship or managing the crew, he had been content, no thrilled, to bask in her companionship.
It rattled him that it was her companionship, and not merely the allures of her nubile young body that kept him enthralled. Frederica had become his partner in every sense of the word. She was his lover, his mistress, and his most trusted friend. When he pictured her the way he had last seen her, her lifeless body lying next to Miles, his heart skipped a beat. He issued a silent vow. If she ever comes back to me, I must make her mine permanently.
A door creaked and his thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Governor Whitehurst. The governor cut a distinguished figure in his formal garb, complete with gold buttons and powdered wig. Gaston and Chatham jumped to their feet. Chatham bowed while Gaston proffered a hand.
Whitehurst gave Chatham a dismissive glance and took Gaston’s hand, giving him the limp fish version of a handshake. Inwardly, Gaston shuddered. It amazed him that the man could have risen to such heights of power with the grip of a young girl.
“Captain Galette, Captain Chatham, it is good of you to come. Let us take a seat.” He motioned for them to sit and they obliged.
“It is an honor to serve you, sir.” Chatham fawned touching his index finger to the brim of his hat.
“Yes, I hear you have a haul for me,” the governor said.
“We do, sir. Quite a haul.” Chatham went on to share the details of their exploits against the Spanish Galleon.
The governor did not seem impressed. “Any prisoners?” he asked nonchalantly.
Gaston answered, “Five prisoners, sir. They have been taken to the jail.”
“Ah, good. I need people we can make an example of, and those outlaw Spaniards will do. The ruffians are getting out of hand in Port Royale, and the people need constant reminders of the power of the British government.”
Gaston made a great show of agreeing wholeheartedly though he couldn’t care a whit about the governor’s problems with the citizens of Port Royale or how he managed them.
“Chatham, I am grateful for your service. I’d like you to go down and meet with the bursar, make certain we have all the gold accounted for.”
Governor Whitehurst rang a tinkly, silver bell, and a moment later his daughter appeared. Her flaming red hair contrasted against her pale skin and her features were pleasant. She wore fashionable clothes that suited her plump figure. The girl took one look at Chatham and a delighted smile spread across her face.
“Captain Chatham, this is my daughter, Henrietta Whitehurst. Henrietta, this is Captain Edward Chatham, Captain of the Volusia.”
Henrietta looked at Chatham in that enthusiastic way pirates looked at a treasure chest brimming with gold, and Gaston was surprised when a sheepish Chatham grinned back at her. This was a side of Chatham Gaston had not seen before.
“Henrietta, will you please see Captain Chatham to the bursar’s office? Then he and Captain Galette here will be joining us for dinner.”
Henrietta eagerly agreed. Chatham offered her his arm, and she tucked her arm in his and they left, closing the door behind them.
Once they were gone, Governor Whitehurst leaned over and looked Gaston square in the eyes. “Captain Galette, we have a bit of a problem and I believe you might be the man to help us solve it.”
“A problem, sir?” Gaston asked, hoping the man wasn’t going to tell him more about the local rabble rousers or regional politics. What happened on dry land did not hold much interest for him. He preferred the drama in his life to play out in the open seas.
Whitehurst nodded. “Nasty chap by the name of Humphrey. The worst sort of pirate. Sails under the Jolie Rouge.”
Heat rose in Gaston’s cheeks, and he hoped the governor wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t sailed under the Jolie Rouge per se, but if the governor thought ill of the practice, then he and his men could find themselves in trouble.
“Yes,” Gaston offered, noncommittally.
“You know the man I take it?”
Gaston nodded vigorously. “A bad seed by all accounts.”
“Humphrey has been raiding the ships of my privateers, slaughtering entire ships full of passengers, merchant ships… The man is a menace, and I will not have him wreaking havoc in my territory. Do you understand me?”
Gaston did, though he found it amusing the governor thought he could control what went on hundreds of miles out to sea from his perch here on land. The privateers that worked for Whitehurst raided ships, gave him a percentage, and in return the governor left them alone. But Gaston knew that if he or the other men stepped out of line, Whitehurst would come after them. He may have been an old man, but he commanded the long arm of the British Navy, and had the ear of some of the most cut-throat pirates in the region. If one found himself on the wrong side of Governor Whitehurst he would likely find his neck in a noose or worse.
Eager to move things along and get back to Frederica, Gaston said, “I understand precisely. How may I be of assistance in this manner?”
The governor clasped his hands in his lap and said with a smile that was more genteel than bloodthirsty, “I’d like you to bring him to me.”
Gaston leaned forward as if he hadn’t heard correctly. “Bring him to you?” he repeated.
“Yes.”
“But your grace, you do realize what you are asking is quite an onerous task. If we attack him he’s liable to be killed. Humphrey won’t go down without a fight.” He paused for a moment, considering. “I could bring you his head,” he countered.
Whitehurst shook his white curls vehemently. “No! The head won’t do. I want you to capture him and bring him back here to stand trial. He must be made an example of—a big trial, a public hanging, all of it. That will make for a much better deterrent than his head on a spike to display. We h
ave those by the dozen.”
Gaston sighed heavily. Carrying out the governor’s request would not be easy, but he had to concede the man’s point. “Bring him in alive?”
“Yes. I know it is a daunting task, but one I believe you and your men are up to. Is it true that you are sailing with Captains Appling, Pugwash, and Chatham these days?”
“Word travels fast.” How could the man possibly know that? Whitehurst’s spies must be further reaching than he’d thought.
“Appling’s a fine captain, Chatham’s young, and Pugwash is a trifle uncivilized for my taste, though I admit his record does speak for itself,” he said, begrudgingly.
“They are a fine lot, as are their men,” Gaston agreed.
The governor pursed his lips and nodded in agreement. “Then you should have no trouble carrying out this task,” he said smugly.
No trouble, Gaston grumbled to himself. “What sort of bounty have you placed upon his head, and have you tasked anyone else with the job?”
“No, only you. I believe you to be the best man for the job, and I’d like you to carry it out quickly and without fanfare. Leave justice to me once he arrives on my shores.”
“And the bounty?” Gaston asked again.
“One thousand pieces of eight, a quarter of that if you only bring in his head. I want him alive, Galette. Understand?”
Gaston nodded. “I do. Alive.”
Whitehurst shifted in his chair. “I realize you have a history with the man, and you’d like to kill him, but you must not allow yourself the folly of poor forethought. If you lose your head and murder him for vengeance, the rest of your crew will suffer a great financial loss—at your expense. You are popular with your men, but do not overestimate the value of that popularity over gold.”
The old man was right of course. It would be difficult not to kill Humphrey when given the chance. Humphrey had tried to kill him and he’d taken advantage of Frederica in ways that turned his stomach. But if the governor intended to execute him, and Gaston would receive a financial reward for ridding the world of the bastard, all the better.
“I myself value gold above all else,” Gaston said with a slick smile, though even as the words left his mouth he knew they were false. His feelings for Frederica seemed to have eclipsed even his love of money. How and when did this occur? He was not certain, but he’d give every coin, every bauble he had if he could ensure her survival.
The not-knowing threatened to drive him mad. Was she even alive at this moment? Could she have died? There was a part of him that was sure he would feel it if she died. If she left this earth he would feel it in his bones. But that went against reason and he chided himself for entertaining such superstitious, magical thoughts.
“Galette! Are you listening?” Whitehurst snapped.
“Huh? Oh yes, I apologize. I seem to be coming down with a headache,” he lied.
“A headache, eh? It wouldn’t be that lovely brunette I hear you’ve brought aboard the Ocean’s Knave, would it? Where is she anyway? I thought you’d be bringing her with you,” Whitehurst raised a questioning brow.
Gaston wondered why everyone seemed so blooming interested in Frederica, and his skin began to itch. “She’s suffered an injury,” he said, hoping that would be the end of it.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Whitehurst said. “My daughter was looking forward to meeting her. A female pirate is an oddity, but they say your girl is as lovely as an English rose.”
“They are correct, governor.”
“Very well then, you and Chatham will dine with Henrietta and me this evening.”
“I appreciate your hospitality, governor, but I fear I must be on my way.” Gaston was eager to wrap up this business as rapidly as possible and get back to his ship.
“Nonsense, you may depart tomorrow. We need to discuss this Humphrey character further over dinner. I may be able to get you some leads on him.”
“If it pleases your grace,” Gaston said with a brittle half-smile, and he tapped the floor impatiently with his foot.
Chapter Seventeen
Frederica awoke to a brain crushing scream. It took significant effort to open her eyes, but she forced her lids apart and was immediately sorry for it. The light coming in through the cracks between the planks felt like a spear to the brain, and she shut them again.
Not wanting to aggravate her pounding head she lay quietly still and began to gather her bearings. Where was she? It felt as though she were lying in a hammock. She identified the smells around her as blood and turpentine. Could she be in an infirmary?
Then the memory of the battle came rushing back to her. The last thing she remembered was something hitting her in the head. This sent a wave of panic through her. The last time she’d been hit in the head and fainted she had awoken a prisoner of the evil Captain Humphrey.
She struggled to get out of the hammock. She must find out, she must know where she was. One of her feet got hung up in the ropes, and she almost fell out of the rudimentary bed, but she pulled it out just before she tipped herself over.
Staggering on rubbery legs she squinted against the stray rays of sunlight that infiltrated the dark, dank space. Sick, bandaged men littered the room, many of them unconscious, and a few cried out in pain. The Ocean’s Knave had a similar sick bay, but she could tell she was not aboard her own ship, and that realization sent a jolt of terror coursing down her spine.
She stumbled past most of the men toward a door at the end of the room and practically fell into the arms of a man carrying a lantern and an armload of rags and cloth bandages. He dropped them to steady Frederica. “Ho, miss!” he said.
Too frightened to be concerned with her manners, Frederica wailed, “Where am I? Who are you?”
The man wrapped an arm around her and helped her to a bench in the corner. “Have a seat,” he said.
Having used up her strength walking just a few steps she sank down onto the hard, wooden bench.
“You are aboard the Independence. I am the physician who has been caring for you. The name is Jones.” He reached out and shook her hand. “Capt’n Appling has made you our honored guest, and I’m under strict order to see that you receive the best possible care.”
“Captain Appling?” she asked, trying to shake the fuzz from her brain.
“Yes. He will be most pleased that you are awake. I will inform him as soon as I examine you. He will be quite pleased with the news,” Jones said with a kind smile.
She bobbed her head and a sharp pain stabbed over her right eye. “Ouch.” Lifting her hand to the location of the throbbing, she discovered a knot the size of a goose egg. A large bandage covered her head where her forehead met her hairline.
“You suffered quite a blow. To be honest I wasn’t certain you would wake up,” Jones said as he held the lantern up to inspect her eyes. He checked her pulse then walked her back to her original hammock. “You have suffered a serious blow to the head. My best medical advice is to rest. I’ll bring you some water, and you should eat. Slowly at first, then work up to a larger meal. You will need nourishment to gain your strength.”
“Alright, but where are we going? Where is this ship going? Where is my crew?” she asked, becoming agitated.
He patted her hand and said, “I will fetch Captain Appling for you, miss. He can answer all your questions.”
Frederica lay in her hammock trying to process the information. She was aboard the Independence… Why? And where was Gaston? Dread gripped her as she contemplated the possibilities. A chill ran through her and she wrapped her arms around herself tightly and rocked back and forth in the aerial bunk.
It was only a matter of minutes before Miles burst through the door.
“Frederica! Jones told me you were awake, but I dared not believe it.”
He lifted her into his arms for a big hug. She winced, and he set her back down.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to disturb you,” he said suddenly looking worried, as if he might have broken her.
“I’ll wager it does. You suffered quite a blow. We weren’t sure you’d wake up.”
“That’s what Jones said.” She reached for his hand. “Miles, where are we going? Where is Gaston? Is he…?”
“Ah! Gaston’s fine. He went ahead to Port Royale. Left you with me because mine was the only ship with a physician. He wanted you to have the best chance at recovery.”
“I see,” she said, relief filling her. “Thank you for tending to me. He went to meet with the governor?”
Miles nodded. “Then we’re to meet him afterward. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.”
“What about everyone else? Who did we lose?” she looked around the sickroom at the men, most of them she did not know.
Miles filled her in on the casualties and losses as well as the plans for distributing the gold. He began telling her about where they would meet Gaston, but she had trouble focusing on his words. Feeling drowsier and drowsier, she finally rested her head against his shoulder and drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Eighteen
The Ocean’s Knave eased into the harbor, and Gaston could see the Independence in the distance anchored a thousand yards from shore. His heart was in his throat when he asked the ship’s master to bring them up to board at the bow.
Frederica was on that ship, though he had no idea in what condition he would find her. His nerves rankled him as if they were on the outside of his skin, and his stomach felt like it had fallen through a trap door. Petrified and at a rare loss for words, he motioned for Hatch to direct the men to throw over the ropes and tie the two vessels together.
“Ahoy!” Hatch hollered at the crew of the Independence. A few men answered. “The woman patient you have on board. What is her condition?” Hatch called.
The men looked confused, and Hatch asked, “Is she alive?”
Bound by the Buccaneer (Pirates of the Jolie Rouge) Page 10