My Seaswept Heart Page 6

  “There are jewels, worth a great deal of money, I assure you. It’s my inheritance. When Uncle Richard took me in after the death of my parents he swore never to touch the jewels, and he hasn’t.”

  “Not even for his grand experiment?”

  “Libertia has been self-sufficient almost from the onset.” Her gaze lowered. “At least it was before d’Porteau.”

  Jamie stepped forward. “Now let me see if I understand—”

  “Hold it right there, Cap’n.” Israel yanked out the pistol, aiming it at Jamie as he came skidding to a halt. He was out of breath from running. “It suddenly accord ta me that I’d let you alone with... Lord a’mighty, what happened ta ye, girl?” Israel’s horrified gaze flew from Anne to Jamie. “And ye, Cap’n, is bleedin’ like a stuck pig.”

  “Really?” Jamie glanced down, then grinned. “A lover’s spat I wager.”

  “It was nothing of the sort. I simply had need of gaining Captain MacQuaid’s attention.”

  “And I assure ye she got it. As a matter of fact, there seems little need for pistol pointing where Mistress Cornwall is concerned.”

  “He’s right, Israel.” Anne motioned for him to lower the gun. “Actually I believe the good captain and I were on the verge of reaching an understanding. Is that not true?”

  “Let us say, ye’d gained my attention.” Jamie leaned forward. “But then jewels usually do.”

  “Jewels?” Israel turned on Anne. “Ye told him about the jewels?”

  “It was unavoidable.” Anne leveled a look at the old man. “I offered to pay the captain and his crew to go after d’Porteau.”

  “But the jewels are—”

  “All I have, yes, I know, Israel. But the captain is a shrewd man and will not risk his glorious life for mere good works alone.”

  Israel scratched at his nearly bald pallet. “So’s ye promised him the loot.”

  “Yes, I have.” Anne’s heart sank at the bewildered expression on Israel’s face. This wasn’t going to work if Captain MacQuaid suspected the truth. He wasn’t a stupid man... unfortunately. “How is Uncle Richard?”

  Israel stopped clawing at his head. “Sleepin’ like a babe. I still don’t understand about—”

  “And really there is no need for you to.” Anne took Israel’s arm and headed him back toward the village. “Please check on my uncle. I shall be along soon.”

  When she turned back toward the pirate he was shaking his head. “Mistress Cornwall, I’m beginning to think there be no jewels.”

  “You doubt my word?”

  “Aye, Annie. You’ve given me reason to doubt more than your word.”

  “Fine.” Anne tossed her head. “Then I shall find someone else willing to risk a fortnight for them.”

  “Nay.” Jamie was upon her before she knew what he was about. His fingers locked about her wrist as she fumbled for the knife. “I shall find d’Porteau and bring him to Libertia, but I’ll be wanting more than jewels for my trouble.”

  Anne’s heart pounded beneath the silk of her bodice. She tried to keep her voice steady. “But I have nothing else.”

  “Oh, but you do, Annie. You do indeed.” With a jerk he had her arm bent behind her back, folded into his embrace.

  Her breasts flattened against his chest. She was frightened, yet did her best not to show it, to show him. Even when his mouth lowered to cover hers she held herself still.

  “Aye, ye have much more to give, lass, and when I return I shall demand payment in full.”

  “I have no idea what you mean.”

  His laugh sent chills down her spine. “I think ye do. We need to finish what was started in New Providence.” He kissed her once more, quickly and hard, then stepped away. “Do we have an agreement, then?”

  “Yes.” Anne couldn’t believe it was her voice agreeing to his demand. But his grin confirmed that he heard her. “Yes, whatever you say, just bring back d’Porteau and Arthur.”

  “Whatever ye say,” he repeated her words, then took off toward the dock.

  Chapter Four

  “Some of them aren’t real happy ’bout this, Cap’n.”

  Jamie turned, eyes narrowed against the Caribbean sun that rose like a golden orb on the horizon. “As I recall a vote was taken.”

  “And barely won,” the blackamore countered.

  Wind snapped in the sails, sending the fifty-ton sloop, Lost Cause, dancing across the waves toward San Palma, a string of keys to the east. D’Porteau was known to favor the waters there for his raiding. And for the most part, Jamie had steered clear of the area.

  Now Jamie spread his legs against the sway of his vessel. “And what of ye, Keena? Do ye have doubts about my leadership?” His whisker-covered jaw jutted forward defiantly.

  But it was obvious the chief gunner was not one to be easily intimidated. The grin that split his fierce countenance shone white against his ebony skin. “Most all the time,” he quipped. “But I follow you anyway.”

  Jamie’s expression lightened until he grinned as well. “That says little to recommend your judgment.”

  “Or my intelligence, for that matter.”

  Jamie’s burst of laughter was lost on the stiff breeze. He took a deep breath, then leaned forward bracing his forearms on the scarred wood railing. “Will they cause trouble, do ye think?”

  Keena shook his head. “Nay. Not for the moment.”

  Their eyes met. “You’re telling me we should find d’Porteau with all due haste.”

  Keena’s naked shoulders lifted. “Stymie and Cunningham aren’t likely to wait long before raising a ruckus.”

  Jamie slapped the rail with his palms as he pushed away. “They’ll be singing a different tune when we sail back to Libertia to claim the jewels.”

  “If you say so.”

  “What am I hearing?” Jamie’s brow arched. “Could it be that Stymie and Cunningham are not alone in making a bit of mischief?”

  “I say what I think to your face, Cap’n.”

  “Then say it and be done.”

  The blackamoor looked him square in the eye. “’Tis bad business what we’re about.”

  Jamie met the stare soberly for a moment, then threw back his head with laughter. “Have ye been sacrificing chickens again, and listening to their squawks? Or mayhaps ’twas the design the blood made as it dripped from the wrung neck. ’Twas that what made ye decide we shouldn’t seek the Frenchie?”

  When Keena said nothing Jamie knew he’d gone too far. The blackamoor took his heathen religion as seriously as Jamie took his lack of one. And it wasn’t like Jamie to belittle his beliefs. But damnation he was tired of trying to convince this band of bloodthirsty pirates that going after d’Porteau was a good idea. In the back of his mind perhaps he was beginning to doubt it himself.

  “Hell and damnation.” Jamie slapped the rail again. “Admittedly I was rather deep in me cups, but if memory serves, ye were the main one bellyaching about what the Frenchman would do to the lass.”

  Keena still said nothing and Jamie grunted his displeasure. “Fine. Ye can glue your lips shut for all I care. ’Tis no concern of mine.” Jamie started across the quarterdeck. “I’ll be below catching up on me sleep.”

  Nearly to the ladder, Jamie paused when he heard Keena’s softly spoken warning. “I’d watch my back if was you, Cap’n.”

  Jamie nodded once in acknowledgment, then bypassing the steps leaped onto the main deck. Stepping over several sailors sleeping on deck, their snores gurgling in their throats, Jamie worked his way to the hatch, Keena’s warning ringing in his ear.

  So Stymie and Cunningham were doing more than arguing against chasing d’Porteau. He wasn’t surprised. They were a nasty pair whom he’d toss from the ship if he could. Well, let them rant and rave. The pair of them hadn’t the brain power of a flea. They weren’t about to harm him. He was Captain Jamie MacQuaid and he’d lived through a hell of a lot more than two disgruntled half-wits.

  But Jamie didn’t feel very invincible as
he climbed belowdecks. He hadn’t slept more than a few hours in three days. Not since he was drugged. Jamie shook his head. Damn him for the pirate he was, Anne Cornwall had brass to do such a thing. A wench after his own heart... if he had one, Jamie quickly reminded himself.

  No, it wasn’t his heart the lass seemed to have a stranglehold on. Jamie snorted as he made his way down the passage. There’d been an ache in his loins since he first saw her. That was a wonder in itself, for she didn’t have the look of a woman who usually made a man smack his lips and drool.

  Well, whatever, he’d be rid of the itch as soon as he took d’Porteau back to Libertia, for having Annie Cornwall was part of the bargain he intended to keep... was part of the bargain he’d relish keeping.

  As Jamie reached for his cabin door latch a sound caught his attention. He glanced around and scowled in disgust. “What the hell are ye doing, lad?” Jamie’s nose wrinkled at the stench, only partly hidden by the odors of bilge and tar. “Me God, boy, don’t ye have the sense to empty your stomach over the rail?”

  “I... I...” Trying to stand erect only brought a fresh onslaught of heaves... these blessedly dry.

  “Get yourself to your hammock, lad.” Jamie opened his cabin door, then turned back. “And when your stomach settles get back and clean up this mess.” With that he kicked the portal shut. He trounced the clothing and charts that littered the floor as he walked to his bunk. It, too, was piled with his belongings, and with one swipe he cleared it. Without bothering to remove his boots Jamie stretched out his long frame. Minutes later he was snoring softly and dreaming of a firm young body and eyes the color of warm whiskey.

  ~ ~ ~

  Anne shut her eyes and tried to breathe deeply. But the nausea still clawed at her stomach, forcing her to bend at the waist and gag. How was it that she became so ill as soon as the Lost Cause set sail? She’d been aboard other vessels. She and Israel sailed the small sloop often and her insides never threatened to wring themselves out. And when she came to Libertia... True, she’d been much younger, but she didn’t recall feeling as she did now.

  Perhaps it was just the idea of being aboard a pirate ship. Or being so disgustingly dirty. Anne glanced down at her shirt and britches. Filthy was the best way to describe them. But then she decided dirt was the best camouflage she could find, other than her men’s clothing.

  And she certainly wanted to keep her identity hidden. Just her luck she chose the passageway in front of Captain MacQuaid’s cabin to get sick in.

  But one good thing. He hadn’t recognized her. No, he saw what he wished to see. A scrawny lad who couldn’t keep his victuals down. Anne smiled despite her discomfort. But her expression sobered as another wave of sickness made her break out in a cold sweat. Leaning against the splintery bulwark, too weak to go looking for her hammock, Anne wondered how wise she’d been to come aboard. It had seemed the perfect plan while on Libertia. She didn’t trust the pirate, so she’d keep a wary eye on him. And there was also the problem of the jewels she’d promised him. Jewels she didn’t have. But how was she going to watch him when she couldn’t take her eyes off the pitching deck?

  ~ ~ ~

  A pounding woke Jamie and he leaped from the bunk before he even opened his eyes. When he did he could see the late-afternoon sun streaming through the salt-encrusted panes of the transom windows.

  “Cap’n.” A pirate named Roger poked his fat body through the door. He was out of breath and Jamie had to prod him with a “What in the hell is it?” before he continued. “Ship off the starboard bow.”

  “Is it d’Porteau?” Jamie strapped on his cutlass and jammed a pistol into the leather sash across his chest.

  “Deacon don’t know for sure. But he says she looks French by her cut.”

  Before Roger had finished, Jamie was past him into the passageway heading for the hatch. The main deck was alive with activity. Powder monkeys, the boys who carried the powder and shot to the cannons were scurrying around. Keena was doling out weapons, muskets, and cutlasses to the men.

  Deacon stood on the quarterdeck and he handed Jamie the spyglass after he bounded up the ladder.

  “Over there, Cap’n.”

  Jamie pointed the glass in the direction Deacon indicated, though by now he could see the ship. “’Tisn’t the French Whore.” Jamie shrugged his shoulders. “So unless d’Porteau is sailing a different boat these days, it looks as if we have ourselves an innocent French merchantman.” When Jamie looked around he was grinning. “Since the French and English are warring as usual, ’twould seem our duty as fine upstanding Englishmen to relieve the good captain of his cargo?”

  “Even though ye be a Scot by birth?”

  Jamie laughed. “Especially then.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The chaos was frightening.

  Men ran about, loading guns and flashing swords. So much of it reminded Anne of the day d’Porteau raided Libertia. It was a day she feared would burn in her memory forever.

  Anne pressed her back against the foremast and shut her eyes wishing the sights and sounds would go away. Her lids flew open when something was shoved hard at her stomach. Reflex had her grabbing the wooden canister.

  “Look lively, boy! This ain’t no time to be dreamin’ of your momma’s teat,” a gruff voice yelled.

  Using her knee to keep the heavy barrel from slipping, Anne looked around the deck, trying to decide what to do with it.

  “Over here.” Anne glanced up to see a boy of perhaps ten motioning to her with spindly arms. “Is ye deaf?” he yelled when she continued as if rooted to the spot.

  “No, my hearing is perfectly fine,” she said as she made her way across the sand-strewn deck to where the boy stood.

  “That there is langrage. Scrap metal,” he explained when Anne said nothing. “It chews up rope and canvas good.”

  “I see.”

  He looked at her askance, his coppery brows beetled. “Ye talk strange.”

  “Do I? I mean...” Anne glanced nervously about her. “I ain’t never been in a battle before.”

  The boy spit on his hands, then rubbed them together. “Didn’t need to tell me that. Thought you was gonna shit your pants over there.”

  “I was not.” Throw up perhaps, but certainly not that.

  “No need to get yourself in a twit. Happens to everyone their first time.” He leaned a bony elbow on the cannon by his side. “Ye can put that down here. Probably won’t be needing it anyways. Don’t expect yonder boat will put up much of a wrangle.”

  Anne glanced out over the ever-narrowing expanse of cobalt-blue water that separated the two ships. “How can you be sure?”

  “Ain’t. But I’ve seen enough ’a this to know most of them captains don’t care a fig about their cargo. Losin’ one here or there makes no difference to them as long as they’ve plenty of salt pork to fill their bellies and a soft pillow for their heads.”

  “So?” Anne pressed into the space beside the cannon and turned to look out to sea as the captain strode by.

  “So,” the boy repeated looking at her as if she knew nothing. “We give them a warnin’ and they give up.”

  “Sounds simple enough.”

  “’Tis.” the boy smiled showing a gap where his front teeth should be and stuck out his hand. “Name’s Joe. What’s yours?”

  “Anne... dy. Andy.” To Anne’s relief Joe didn’t seem to notice her near slip. She grabbed his hand and shook it, then almost jumped overboard as a loud boom shook the sloop.

  “That would be the warnin’,” Joe said.

  By now a burly pirate with no shirt and blousy-striped breeches stood by the cannon. He held a long pole that Joe explained was a rammer. And he waited as the captain called over to the brig, now within hailing distance. Anne looked up to where he stood on the quarterdeck. He yelled again and this time he was answered in a heavy French accent.

  “You have the pleasure of surrendering your cargo to Captain Jamie MacQuaid and his crew, or of visiting the bottom of the sea
. Which shall it be?”

  There was a pause and then a wild cheer on board the Lost Cause as the French fleur-de-lis fluttered slowly down the yardarm.

  “Now there’s work to be done,” Joe said as he gave Anne’s arm a friendly punch. “But don’t fret, there’ll be an extra ration of grog this night.”

  Which was hardly wonderful news as far as Anne was concerned, she thought later. She sat in a V of deck between a barrel and an untidy tangle of rope. Joe wedged himself in beside her and after giving her a friendly grin downed a healthy gulp of liquid from a dented tin cup.

  “Told ye ’twouidn’t be so bad.”

  Anne sipped the grog, trying not to make a face and nodded. What Joe called not too bad had involved shimmying across the ropes that tangled the Lost Cause to the French vessel it captured and tossing kegs of salt pork over her shoulders. She ached in places that had never whispered a complaint before, even when she took her turn in the sugar works. Stretching out her legs she had such a strong longing for a soft bed with clean sheets that she considered... and just as quickly rejected, the idea of marching toward the cluster of pirates reveling on the quarterdeck.

  The captain was there, along with the blackamoor and the one he called Deacon. Several others lounged about, but she didn’t know their names as yet. What would they think... what would the captain think... if she joined their midst and tore off the knit cap that concealed her hair and itched her neck? Would they offer her a place to sleep other that any spot on the crowded deck she could find?

  Probably not unless she was sprawled beneath Jamie MacQuaid in the captain’s cabin. And she had no intention of doing that.

  “Weren’t much of a fight today,” Joe said, bringing Anne’s attention back to the boy. He took another drink and belched. Then with a satisfied smile on his thin, freckled face leaned back against the rope. “But I guess that ain’t too bad.”

  “I imagine not.”

  His chuckle was swift in coming. “Ye sure does talk funny.”

  Sinking her neck down lower in the ragged wool jacket Anne went silent. Why couldn’t she remember to keep her voice low? But Joe’s next words made her realize it wasn’t her voice she needed to watch.