Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress (15 page)

 

By the following day, the weather had turned foul. Rough seas and intermittent rain discouraged diving. Lacy’s hand was swollen and sore, and she was plagued by a headache. When she began to run a slight fever, James announced plans to sail for Jamaica.

“A few days in civilization will do us both good,” he said. “We’ll have a physician look at your hand, and I’ll buy supplies. Wouldn’t you like to sleep in a real bed and look at another face besides mine?”

Lacy gazed doubtfully at the gray skies.

“I can find my way to Port Royal blindfolded,” he assured her. “The wind and currents are with us. Coming back will require a little more seamanship, but I can get us here. We’re in familiar waters now.”

She nibbled at her lower lip. “And what if word has come of your escape? Jamaica is English territory. I’ve no wish to be carried back to London in chains.”

“Henry Morgan is in England, and most of those who knew me are at the bottom of the sea or rotting in Wapping’s potter’s field.” He rubbed his smooth-shaven cheeks. “I had a beard before. Unless we meet the ghost of Matthew Kay in some portside tavern, I’ll wager none will recognize me. If it will ease your mind, I’ll call myself Jim. Jim Bennett.” His eyes twinkled mischievously. “What say you, fair maid? Will you away with me to Port Royal for a bit of merriment?”

Lacy nodded. “I wouldn’t mind tasting someone else’s cooking.”

“Port Royal is tame compared to what it was a few years ago, but the town is still as wicked as any I’ve seen. You’ll need to stay close to me, mind what I tell you, and hold your tongue.”

She arched an auburn brow. “Don’t I always?”

He grew serious. “This is no joking matter. You are an unmarried woman without family. White women are still scarce here, and ones as beautiful as you are as rare as this.” He indicated the golden cup. “Men will take you for my leman.”

Her eyes narrowed. “If they think that, they will be wrong. I don’t belong to ye or any man.”

“I’d not hurt your feelings, Lacy. I want you to know what to expect.”

She rubbed absently at her throbbing hand. “I suppose we could hardly be taken for brother and sister.”

“Hardly.” His features softened. “I want that cut taken care of. Such infections can be serious.”

“I don’t know why such a scratch should cause so much trouble,” she answered. “It’s never happened to me before.”

“You’ve never dived in these waters. The heat makes wounds fester.” He cupped her chin in his hand. “I care for you more than you know.”

“Aye, so ye say.” A queer pain knifed through her, and she blinked back tears. James Black would not be so easy to forget, damn his rogue heart!

She pushed the cat off her lap and stood up. Harry rubbed against her leg and began to purr loudly. Since her hand had become infected, the animal hadn’t gotten more than a few feet away from her. “Just be sure ye can find this island again. Now that I’ve found your Spanish gold, I mean to have my share of it.”

“And you think I don’t? We’ll be back in a week. Bad weather won’t last this time of the year.” He began to pull up the anchor. “But I warn you, mistress, Port Royal will have none of your breeches. A decent gown and cap for you. Appear on the streets like that and not even I could protect you from being carried off to some pirate’s den.”

“I shall be the soul of propriety, sir,” she promised lightly. “Ye have my word of honor.”

 

J
ames took a deep breath, then pushed open the door to the chamber he’d rented at the Goose and Hound, Port Royal’s most respectable inn. “Lacy ...” he began apologetically. “I—”

“You black-eyed son of a bitch!” She stood up from the gateleg table so suddenly that her chair fell over backward with a crash.

James stood stock-still and gazed at her, his stomach as full of flapping birds’ wings as it had been the first time he’d faced a Spaniard in hand-to-hand combat. God, but she was a rare beauty! And now, in that gauzy green wrapper with her red hair tumbling all around her face, and her cinnamon eyes glowing with an inner fire, she was enough to stop a sober man’s heart.

And he was as drunk as a lord.

Worse. As drunk as a bishop. And the sight of her made his eyes widen and his cock swell like a wet sponge. Desire welled up in him, so quick and intense that it made his head spin.

But long experience with women had taught him that right now, she was less than glad to see him. Her expression was definitely hostile.

He forced a charming grin, a boyish smile that had gotten more females onto their backs than a deck watch had fingers and toes. “Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” he said huskily. “I know it took longer than I thought, but I’ve brought you a Christmas—”

“Don’t come staggering back here at six o’clock in the morning stinking of some whore’s perfume, wishing me a merry Christmas!” Lacy cried as she took hold of the water pitcher and dashed the entire contents into James’s face and down his powder-blue velvet waistcoat.

“What the hell did you do that for?”

“To sober ye up so I can tell ye just what I think of ye!”

Laughter sounded behind him. James whirled around to see the chambermaid covering her laughing mouth and fleeing the hall. Uttering a foul curse, he stepped inside the room and slammed the door behind him. Heat burned his cheeks. “You have the manners of a fishwife,” he said to Lacy.

“Manners? Don’t talk to me of manners!” She held the flowered pitcher threateningly, as if she meant to throw that at him as well.

Beads of water trickled down his face as he wiped at the water on his clothing. “Do you know how much these things cost?” He took several steps toward her, trying to maintain a steady gait and his Stuart dignity. Disdainfully, he tossed a tiny black silk bag at her. “For the sake of the day and the love we bear each other,” he said sarcastically.

She caught the gift and heaved it unopened onto the high, curtained four-poster bed that stood on a platform near the louvered windows. “Three days ye leave me in this damned inn with never a word whether you’re dead or alive!” she accused. “Three swivin’ days!”

“Now, Lacy ...”

“Go to hell, James Black! I want none of yer Christmas gifts. I want none of you!”

“God’s blood, woman. You knew when I left here that I’d be back when I could.” He lowered his voice, certain that every servant in the house was already hearing an exaggerated version of the greeting his ladybird had given him at the chamber door. “I’ve sold what we came to sell. It’s not something that could be done at high noon in front of the governor’s residence.”

“Nay! I’m certain!” She set the pitcher on the table and picked up a linen napkin. Roughly, she drew the napkin down his cheek, then showed him a crimson stain. “Unless you’ve taken to painting yourself like an Indian, that’s some slut’s rouge.”

James gritted his teeth. His muscles tensed and his mouth became a hard line.

“Stand there and tell me you’ve not drunk and played cards. Go ahead. You’re good with lies. Tell me you’ve not dandled loose women on your knee.”

Righteous anger seethed within him. “I’ll have none of your nagging,” he warned her. “You’ve no shackles on me.”

Damn her for being a shrew-tongued bitch! James thought. He’d gone to sell the cup as he’d promised, and that meant sailing to the far end of Jamaica with a merchant, Will Smith. Will had introduced him to a Dutch captain with a yen for such works of art. True enough, they’d shared a bottle or two of rum. They’d even played at put. He’d won twenty pounds sterling from the pompous Dutchman and six from Will on the cards. But he’d not dallied with any whore. Far from it—he’d turned down the favors of a mulatto wench the captain had offered.

It wasn’t James’s way to cheat on whatever woman he was squiring at the time. He’d always felt it showed poor taste and low breeding. And now, with Lacy, he’d become so enamored of her that he’d not cared to partake of another female’s charms, no matter how enticing she might be. He’d been true to Lacy, and here she was accusing him of being a whoremaster and a liar!

“I’m not accustomed to giving account of where and how I spend my time,” he said coldly. “Especially not to a woman.”

“Where did the perfume come from, James?” she demanded. “Or was the face paint from some passing sailor?”

“Enough!” he snapped. “I’ve given you no reason for jealousy.” He’d kissed the wench and pinched her cute little arse. No more. And he’d be damned if he’d be raked over the coals for doing less than most men would have under the circumstances.

“Liar.”

“I said enough. I’ve killed men for saying less than that to me. Hold your tongue or—”

“Or what?”

“I’ll leave until you can compose yourself.”

“You arrogant—”

Lacy drew back her hand as though to slap him, and he caught her wrist. “None of that!” he said sharply. She struggled to break free, but he held her immobile. “Did no one teach you how to behave like a lady?”

Her face contorted with ire. “I never claimed to be a lady”

“It’s a good thing. For you’d not pass as one.”

She struck him a solid blow on the breastbone with her left fist. “Rakehell!”

He gasped. With effort, he captured that wrist too. “Lacy. Stop it!” Her bare foot struck his chin. “I’m fast losing patience with you,” he said, holding her at arm’s length.

“You slept with another woman!” she spat.

“She sat on my knee,” he admitted. “I kissed her. Nothing more.”

“I’m supposed to believe that?”

“She offered. I declined. That’s all there is to tell.” He let go of her wrists. “Now, open your Christmas gift and tell me you’re sorry for acting the fool.”

She opened her mouth in astonishment, then tightened her lips without replying. Head high and back as straight as that of a ship’s first officer, she retrieved the silk bag. She untied the ribbon and poured out a string of pearls. Still silent, she dropped the pearls on the floor and stepped on them.

“Ungrateful jade,” he exclaimed.

“You can’t treat me like this,” she said. “I’ll not be betrayed, then cosseted with baubles.” She sank onto the bed, and her voice took on a husky edge. “I love ye, but I’ll nay be lied to. I know what you are and what I am. If we’re to finish what we started, we must have honesty between us.”

“You still don’t believe me?”

“You’re drunk, James. Go sober up, and then we’ll talk.”

“So it’s you giving orders now, is it?” Damn her for an unreasonable bitch! He shook his head. “I’ll leave you, since that’s what you wish. And I’ll be back in my own good time.”

“If you’re not back by noon, I won’t be here,” she threatened.

“Whatever pleases you, m’lady.” Feeling slightly nauseated, he spun on his heel and strode from the room.

“Go on,” Lacy taunted. “Go, and don’t come back. See if I care.” She followed him to the door and closed it behind him, slipping home the iron bolt.

How dare he think he could do such a thing and expect her to believe his excuses? she thought angrily. Three days? She’d gone half out of her mind with worry, certain that some pirate had cut James’s throat and dumped his body in the harbor. She’d even suspected that he’d found someone else to do his diving for him and had abandoned her there.

She drew off the beautiful wrapper James had bought her and threw it onto the floor. She was no more than a kept woman to him, she mused. Pretty clothes and serving maids to wait on her didn’t make up for the fact that James had no real respect for her. What was it he’d called her?
Ungrateful jade?
Lacy made a sound of derision and kicked the garment with her bare foot.

A thickness rose in her throat, and she suddenly felt the need for a breath of fresh air. Naked as the day she was born, she went to the window and threw open the louvered shutters.

The window looked out on an overgrown garden. There were palm trees and all sorts of exotic plants and flowers she couldn’t put names to. The sweet smell of orchids was almost overpowering, and the air was filled with the chatter and call of brightly colored birds.

She put a hand on her lower belly. “You’re there, aren’t you?” she murmured, then smiled at the picture she must make.
Slattern at the window.
At least her belly wasn’t the size of a fish basket—not yet. She was carrying James’s child. She was sure of it, even though her monthly bleeding wasn’t due for another week.

Her breasts felt tender to the touch, and last night, she’d been unable to eat the pork pie the tavern girl had carried to the room. The pastry was hot and looked delicious, but when she’d cut into it, she’d taken one whiff of the gravy and felt sick to her stomach.

Pregnant and abandoned in a strange port?

Hell and damnation! She was feeling sorry for herself—a sure sign that her body was behaving differently. She’d never been one to weep and wail, and pregnant or not, she wasn’t about to start.

She glanced down at her hand. The place where she’d been cut by the barnacles had healed completely. It had healed overnight. The healing, while certainly welcome, had been as odd as the improving weather. When she and James had left the island for Jamaica, she’d been feverish and the skies had been threatening. By dawn the following day, she was completely recovered and the winds had turned fair.

“Almost as though we were meant to leave Arawak when we did,” she murmured aloud. The hair prickled on the back of her neck and she shivered. Suddenly, the room seemed dark, despite the morning sunshine streaming in through the open window. I need to get out of here, she thought. I’m not used to being cooped up like a bird in a cage.

She’d felt uneasy since they had first arrived in Port Royal. Although she’d looked forward to getting back on solid land for a few days, Jamaica had been a disaster from the start.

They’d not been in Port Royal for an hour when she’d been accosted on the street by two rough-looking seamen. First, they offered to buy her from James, and when he took the proposal as an insult, they drew sabers and he had to run his sword through one of them. Then, before they reached the tavern, a wealthy gentleman in a carriage sent his blackamoor servant to bring James across the street to speak to him. James hadn’t told her what the man wanted, but James had been obviously disturbed by the incident. Since then, he’d not let her out of the inn’s best bedchamber.

Lacy had decided that she and James had produced such a reaction because they didn’t look as though they belonged together. He dressed like quality, in expensive boots and fancy coat and breeches. She looked like his maid or his doxy in her plain, serviceable garments and sturdy shoes.

“Either ye shall have to dress as a sailor, or me as a lady,” she’d said to him when they were safely in the tavern quarters. “And since a gentlewoman’s clothing would be as useless to me as a third tit, it’s ye who should trim your sails, Jamie.”

But he’d been stubborn.

“If I’d brought a load of turnips to Port Royal to sell, I could dress like a yeoman farmer,” he’d replied, “but since we’re selling priceless treasure, I’ll be who I am.”

So he’d kept her hidden while he enjoyed the pleasures of Port Royal. Nearly a week she’d spent in this single room, and she was sick of it.

And if the obvious differences in their stations in life made it impossible for her to go out with James, then by all that was holy, she’d see something of Jamaica without him.

Determined, she turned away and dressed as quickly as she could. Next, she brushed some order into her hair and tied it at the back of her neck with one of James’s black silk queue ribbons.

What to do about James was a problem. She didn’t want him to think she’d run away, when all she wanted was some air and scenery. And she didn’t want to call a maid and leave a message, in case James had instructed the innkeeper to be certain she remained in her room. Writing a letter would be nearly impossible. Red Tom had seen no need for any offspring of his to have book learning. She’d taught herself to write her own name and read a few words, but spelling out letters and actually penning a note ...

In the end, she simply took James’s precious backstaff and compass, and climbed out the window with them. She didn’t think he’d attempt to sail off without the navigation instruments, and she didn’t want to carry them with her, so she hid them under a shrub in the garden. She walked along the back of the tavern until she came to a path and followed it behind a row of smaller houses.

Twenty minutes later, she was beyond the fringes of the town, striding along a dirt track that was almost completely roofed over by jungle foliage. The air was pleasantly warm, and Lacy found the exercise invigorating after so many weeks confined to the
Silkie’
s small space.

She walked for almost an hour without seeing any farms. The first sign of life was an elderly Negro man who rode toward her on a bay mare. On a lead line behind him was a mule bearing a load of live chickens.

“Good day to ye,” Lacy called. When the old gentleman replied with courtesy, she inquired about the nearest plantations.

“Dem be yonder back, missy,” he answered in a soft, sing-song voice. “Longah walk, you bet.” His clouded eyes regarded her with open curiosity.