Chance the Winds of Fortune (52 page)

“Life is never certain, Kirby, haven't you learned that by now?” Dante said, his expression unreadable. “It doesn't always work out as it was meant to be. You, of all people should know that. Whatever the truth of her origin is, I am not responsible for her ending up on the docks in Charles Town. Her destiny had been changed before I ever crossed her path.”

“Aye, but ye can be makin' things right fer her,” Kirby suggested hopefully.

“I wonder…” Dante said thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is already too late to change what has occurred. The die has been cast, Kirby,” Dante said, a grin curving his lips at some private thought.

“'Tisn't too late, Cap'n. Ye could be letting her go free in Antigua,” Kirby said hurriedly, worried by that expression on the captain's face. “She'll say naught about the map, if that is what is worryin' ye. She'll be so happy to be goin' home that she'll not give us or the
Sea Dragon
another thought. Let her go free, Cap'n. Ye'll never regret it,” he said entreatingly.

“But what if I am right about her motives, Kirby? What if she is working for Bertie Mackay? What if she is an adventuress and sells what she has learned to the highest bidder? Will you take the responsibility for having the crew of the
Sea Dragon
denied their chance to make their fortune? Would you, without reservations, risk their lives on the word of that girl? Well?” Dante challenged him. “You say you trust her implicitly. Are you willing to take the chance that you might be wrong, that you may have misjudged her, been deceived by her wide violet eyes?” Dante asked him, forcing the little steward either to stand by his words or denounce Rhea Claire Dominick.

“Aye! Aye, Cap'n. I believe the girl,” Kirby said finally, his voice husky.

“I see. Well, I am the captain of the
Sea Dragon
and I hold the lives of the crew in my hands, and I will not take that chance. Too much is at stake, Kirby. Our future depends on the outcome of this journey, and I will not jeopardize everything that I have struggled for over these long years just for the sake of a girl I know little of nor care much about. If there is a fortune in that sunken galleon, then I intend to retrieve it at all costs; nothing and nobody shall stand in my way. Then I will return to Merdraco, and no force on earth will be able to stop me from exacting my revenge.”

“Aye, Cap'n, ye're most likely right about that,” Kirby agreed. “And then, after ye've savored your revenge, there will be nothin' to stop ye swingin' from the gallows-tree, either.”

“That is a chance that I
will
take,” the captain of the
Sea Dragon
declared challengingly, his pale eyes glowing with anticipation of that long-awaited confrontation with the man he had hated with a cold, controlled fury for close to fifteen years. Soon, very soon, dusk would fall on the day of reckoning for Sir Miles Sandbourne; and only then, his most despised enemy fallen at his feet, would the son of the tenth Marquis and Marchioness of Jacqobi know peace.

Dante Leighton, present owner of the ancient title and only surviving child of John and Elayne Leighton—and perhaps the last of a once-great dynasty—would risk everything, including his life, to settle the score. He would not rest until the day dawned when he could stand before their sepulcher and meet the stony stare from their effigies.

And so he stood on the quarterdeck of the
Sea Dragon
, stone-still and silent with his thoughts, and Kirby, watching with a worried eye, felt the warm, gentle trade winds turning bitterly cold—like a breath of devil wind off the bleak Devon moors.

“And what of Lady Rhea Claire, m'lord, when ye return to Merdraco hell-bent on seeking revenge? Is she, too, to become a victim of this self-destruction ye be planning? Because I'm tellin' ye now, m'lord, that if ye take her, then I'm thinkin' there will be plenty of angry folk seekin' revenge against ye fer the wrong ye done her. Ye might be the captain of the
Sea Dragon
now, and master of all ye survey, but if ye insist 'pon returnin' to Merdraco, then ye become Lord Jacqobi again, and ye be honor-bound to do right by the girl. Then ye be wrongin' both of ye, 'cause ye don't care about her. Ye said so yourself. And ye won't be able to fool her fer long into believin' otherwise. What kind of life d'ye think ye'll be havin' at Merdraco, if ye survive your confrontation with yon bastard, that is? 'Twill be a hell fer both ye and the girl. She's become a challenge fer ye, m'lord, just like findin' this sunken treasure and outwittin' Bertie Mackay has. Ye live fer the danger of it all, takin' chances a sane man wouldn't even think of.”

“‘Chance not, win not,' Kirby,” Dante said, his eyes squinting against the blinding light off the gilded sea while he surveyed the proudly drawing sails of the
Sea Dragon
. “That has been the Leighton family creed for centuries, and it has always stood us in good stead. I shall heed it well, my doubting friend, and then we shall see who is right,” Dante told his longtime companion. And because Kirby knew him so well, he could tell it was no idle statement, but the captain's next words gave him even more cause for concern.

“Actually, I am quite grateful to you, Kirby. Your well-intentioned words of wisdom have indeed given me cause for thought.” Dante spoke with a look in his eye that Kirby did not care for at all. “No,” he added with a mocking grin, “you needn't worry that I would be mad enough to try to ransom her back to Lucien Dominick. Even I am not that foolhardy. No, I thought it might be wiser, and far safer a venture, to present myself to the duke as a member of the family. The beloved husband, perhaps, of a beloved daughter? There would certainly be little risk in that, and much to gain, for any daughter of the Duke of Camareigh is certain to be an heiress. And really, Kirby,” Dante complained, his grin widening at the bemused expression on the little steward's face, “I am disappointed in your lack of faith in my abilities to convince the girl that I love her. I just might accept your challenge and prove you wrong.”

Kirby sniffed loudly, just to make certain the captain was in no doubt about his opinion on that claim. “More than likely 'twill be the girl herself who's provin' ye wrong, m'lord.”

“Wouldn't care to lay a wager on the outcome, would you? No, I thought not.” Dante laughed. “But then I s'pose it wouldn't be fair for me to win both the girl and your money. So we shall just have to wait and see, shan't we, Kirby?”

“Aye, Cap'n, that we will,” muttered the little steward of the
Sea Dragon
. “If we got time,” he added to himself as he looked astern and wondered just what might be following in their wake. His squinting eyes drifted westward, tracing the path of the descending sun, and he wondered anew what might be waiting ahead for the
Sea Dragon
, and whether he need even worry about the future. After all, he and the captain might never again see the rising sun's first light piercing the battlements of the gray-stoned towers of Merdraco.

There might be a fair wind filling the
Sea Dragon
's sails now, but Kirby knew better than to be lulled into assuming that their voyage would continue on so smooth a course once she turned her bowsprit on a northwesterly heading. Capriciousness was not the sole possession of fortune, for a prevailing wind could just as easily become a high wind blowing into a squall, and one set of strange sails spied against the horizon could just as easily become two, then three, and then Dante Leighton and the crew of the
Sea Dragon
would have a real challenge on their hands.

* * *

Rhea Claire, however, was oblivious to this clash of opinions concerning her future, nor did she feel any of Houston Kirby's anxieties when she gazed up at the colorful western sky. At that moment her thoughts were occupied with the tangle of rough rope, which she was struggling valiantly, albeit unsuccessfully, to master.

“I give up,” she conceded with an encompassing smile for the men who were watching her frustrated efforts. “I shall never again think myself clever for having sewn a straight stitch.”

“Ach, well, it takes a wee bit of practicin', lass,” MacDonald allowed generously. At least the bairn had tried.

“Why, it took MacDonald here close to a quarter of a century to learn how to tie an overhand knot, and ol' Longacres nearly twice as long to untie it,” Fitzsimmons chuckled.

“Aye, laugh it up, codling, but if I had some of me old mates on board, we'd soon be teachin' a certain Paddy how to tie a proper knot. Aye, 'twould be quite a sight to see Seumus Fitzsimmons himself hobbling around the quarterdeck, them long legs of his tied into a shamrock knot,” Longacres replied with a gape-toothed leer. But Rhea Claire, remembering Dante Leighton's words of warning about the onetime pirate, was less amused by the remark than the others.

Noticing her unease as she glanced at the grizzled coxswain, Alastair took the liberty of patting her hand reassuringly, although it hardly looked as innocent as that to the man watching them from the deck above.

“Don't be concerned, Lady Rhea. Those two jack puddings are the best of mates. They're just making merry with each other,” Alastair explained with an indulgent look at the two who were still trading quips.

“And was he truly a pirate?” Rhea asked softly.

“Aye, but that was long ago, and his bark is worse than his bite nowadays,” Alastair said with a grin, for Longacre's two missing front teeth were only too obvious.

“Oooh, but the stories he tells, Lady Rhea!” exclaimed Conny Brady's young voice. “I reckon he's seen it all. He was in Charles Town when Stede Bonnet was hanged from the gallows.”

“Must have been all of two at the time,” Alastair commented disbelievingly.

“Mr. Longacres has a powerful memory, sir,” Conny said in support of his hero, for he believed every word the reformed pirate said.

“Next you'll be telling me that he served on board Blackbeard's sloop
Adventure
,” Alastair said with a wink at Rhea Claire, whose eyes had begun to grow wide as she listened to the small boy's words.

“Oh, no, sir. If he had, he probably would've been dead, but he did see Blackbeard's chopped-off head swingin' from the bowsprit of HMS
Pearl
. They say he was still grinnin' and his long black beard still glowin' with fire. Like a mad dog outta hell, he was,” Conny breathed, sounding like Longacres himself when caught up in one of his pirate tales.

“Master Brady!” Alastair reprimanded him, his voice unusually sharp as he saw the color fading from Rhea Claire's face. “You shouldn't speak so disrespectfully in front of a lady.”

Conny looked chagrined, for he hadn't been around ladies of quality very often and Lady Rhea Claire wasn't one for putting on airs. Not that she couldn't have, Conny thought in adoration, for she was more beautiful than any princess he had ever heard of. He wanted to put out his hand and touch her, just to make certain she was real, but when he looked down at his grubby, calloused hand, he snatched it back, for she was too fine to be touched by the likes of him. “I am sorry, Lady Rhea Claire,” he apologized, his face burning a bright, painful red. “I didn't mean to offend ye, honest I didn't.”

Unthinkingly yet quite naturally, Rhea put her arm around young Conny's thin, boyish shoulders. He stiffened in surprise, then suddenly he relaxed against her shoulder, his cheek pressed against the thick, golden rope of hair. Such small shoulders, Rhea thought, yet they were shoulders that carried most of a man's full weight of responsibility. But in that instant, with that sheepish look on his face, Conny had reminded her of her brother Robin, and she'd been overwhelmed by an intense longing for Camareigh and her freedom.

She glanced up and met Alastair's understanding gaze. He was no stranger to the gnawing pangs of homesickness, although not experienced under so traumatic a set of circumstances as Lady Rhea Claire's. He had, after all, left England of his own free will. But how different it would have been, he thought, if that press-gang had succeeded in kidnapping him from the streets of Portsmouth, and he'd found himself on board a King's ship bound for the high seas, all hope of escape fading as quickly as the distant shores of England.

He had known of less fortunate men who had not escaped the greedy, indiscriminate grasp of the feared press-gang. Many of those commandeered were mild-mannered clerks, shopkeepers, farmers, and even young boys, none of whom were suited for the rigorous and ofttimes dangerous life aboard one of the King's fighting ships. And far too often they ended with body and spirit broken by the unforgiving nature of both men and the sea. It was a hard life, the sailor's lot, especially for an unwilling man, and chances were he would never see again the familiar shores of England. If a slip of the foot high up in the rigging didn't take his life, and if he managed to survive grapeshot and cannon fire, then there was always the hungry sea licking at the bows of the ship, just waiting to claim him.

And yet here, on board the
Sea Dragon
, was a gently bred girl who had suffered through a harrowing ordeal. She had known terror and death while crossing the Atlantic, only to fall prey to an assassin when finally reaching a safe port. But she had survived, her spirit unbroken. Alastair felt a growing admiration for the girl, which was openly revealed in his eyes.

She was probably thinking that this nightmare would never come to an end, when she found herself each day still farther from her family and home. If only he could set her mind at rest, Alastair thought and vowed that as long as he drew breath he would see that she was safe and eventually returned to her family. He stood firm by that promise even when his eyes drifted to the solitary figure standing near the top of the companion ladder.