Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress (17 page)

James caught sight of a faint movement in the trees, but before he could reach for his pistol, the Indian stepped out of the jungle.

“This is Kutii,” Lacy explained. “He’s a friend.”

The Incan folded his arms across his bare chest and stood still. James stared at him and realized that the Indian looked familiar.

“Jamesblack,” Kutii said. It sounded to James as though he was saying
Yamsbek.

James shook his head in disbelief. “Kutii? Is that you?”

“You two know each other?” Lacy asked. She looked from James to Kutii. “How could ye—”

“He saved my life,” Kutii said. “He cut me free of the chains when the English ship sank.” The Incan’s gaze met Lacy’s. “He is your friend, this Englishman?”

She nodded.

“I hope to hell I’m more than a friend,” James snapped. “She’s my woman, Kutii. I brought her here to the islands from her home far away.”

Kutii glanced up at the blue sky overhead and then back at Lacy. “What name has this place? Your home?”

“Cornwall,” she answered. “I come from Cornwall.”

“So.” The Indian nodded. “You must show me in the night sky where your star hangs.”

“Cornwall is—” she began.

“Kutii is an Inca,” James interrupted. “We took him from the Spaniards when we took the gold. He was some sort of palace guard, from what I can understand. They had him chained to the treasure chest. When the
Miranda
started to go under, I couldn’t stand to see him drowned like a rat, so I cut him loose.” He smiled. “I’m glad to see you survived, Kutii.”

Kutii’s sloe eyes shone with understanding. “You are her guardian?” he murmured in his oddly accented English. “You protect the star woman as you protected me?”

“He keeps calling me
Czarmin
or
Carmine,”
Lacy explained. “I told him my name was Lacy.”

“He’s an Indian,” James replied. “You can’t expect logic.” He offered his hand to Kutii, and the Incan came forward and shook it solemnly. “But a braver man I’ve never known. He may be a pagan savage, but I’d not pick a better one to have at my back in a fight.” He twisted in the saddle and frowned at Lacy. “So how exactly did you come to find Kutii and help him—”

“I saw him in my visions,” Lacy said quickly in a low voice.

“You what?” James demanded.

“He was in my visions. I didn’t know who he was or why I had to find him. I ... I just did.” “Let me understand this,” James said. “You suddenly got the urge to climb out the window of our inn, hire a horse, ride for hours into the interior of an island you’d never set foot on in your life, and inflict damage on a man you didn’t know—all in order to steal his slave?”

“Something like that,” Lacy admitted. “I told you I was a witch. You never believe me when I try to tell you about my
seeings.”

“Jamesblack is not from the stars?” Kutii asked.

“He’s from Kent,” Lacy said. “And he has too much blue blood in his veins to know a witch when he sees one.”

“You are not a witch,” the Incan stated firmly.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell her,” James said. “As long as I’ve known her, she’s not cast a single spell.”

Kutii’s gaze met James’s. “But you have seen her swim with the dolphins.”

“The wench has many unusual abilities, but witchcraft isn’t one of them.”

“So.” Kutii nodded. “She is the one I have waited for. We must go quick before Dieterich comes back. He is a very bad man. If he comes, I must kill him.”

“And where would you suggest we go?” James asked. “There are three of us, and we have one horse. And, unless things have changed radically since I was last on Jamaica, this is the only road into Port Royal.”

“No.” The Indian shook his head. “There is another trail. Slaves use it to go to the town when they do not want their masters to know. It lies that way.” He pointed northeast into the jungle. “Soon it will be dark. The horse will be of no use to you, Jamesblack. Set him free. Where we go, a horse cannot walk.”

“You want me to turn my horse loose and follow you into that?” James pointed at the thick growth beside the road.

“Once, I trusted you, Jamesblack,” Kutii said. “Now you must trust me.” He held up his arms to Lacy. “I will never leave her. I will never let harm come to her. She is the hope of my dead.”

“I’m what?” Lacy asked. She let the Indian help her down from the horse, and oddly enough, his touch was comforting.

All her life, Lacy had been wary of men putting their hands on her, but this Indian’s hands on her waist seemed the most natural thing in the world.

Kutii’s English was atrocious. His words were lilting, and his accents were in all the wrong places. Still, she had no trouble following his speech. It was as though she was reading his thoughts rather than actually hearing what he was saying.

Her feet touched the ground and she nodded her thanks. Time enough to sort out this bronze stranger in her mind when the three of them were safe on the boat. “Well, James,” she said impatiently, “ye heard him. There’s another path. We can take that and get back to the harbor without passing the German and his men. Are ye coming? Or are ye going to sit there on that horse like a great clod of mud?”

James swore softly under his breath as he swung down out of the saddle. Mad as March hares, the two of them, but he had no better solution. “I’ll go,” he muttered, “but if we end up gored by a wild bull, it will be your fault, woman. All your fault.” He slipped the bridle off the gelding and slapped the animal on the rump. The horse leaped away and started down the road at a gallop.

Kutii parted the branches and entered the trees with Lacy close behind him. James followed, still grumbling. “A witch would be easier to deal with,” he complained. “You’re so crazy, Bedlam wouldn’t have you.”

Lacy chuckled and kept her gaze on the Indian moving through the forest ahead of her. The sooner she was back on the
Silkie
and away from this island, the happier she’d be.

“I hate the jungle,” James continued. “I saw enough jungle in Panama to last me for the rest of my life. Mosquitoes and green flies and snakes that could swallow a horse. Futtering jungles. I vow I’ll never get near one again.”

 

It was nearly dawn when the three reached the outskirts of Port Royal. Lacy was so tired she could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Her gown was torn and her hair was tangled with leaves and branches. Her arms were a mass of insect bites, and she’d fallen and skinned her knee on a log. Neither man had slowed his pace for her in the night. She’d not asked them to—she would have died on her feet before admitting she couldn’t keep up.

Silently, they made their way down the deserted streets toward the harbor. Not a single lantern glowed in the darkness, and the only sign of life was a drunken sailor sitting against a hitching post. The man’s legs were spread out and his arms clutched an empty keg.

They’d reached the water’s edge, and James was untying the rope that held a longboat to the dock when Kutii shouted a warning. Instantly a half-dozen shadows detached themselves from the nearest building and ran toward Lacy and James.

Kutii launched himself at the first two assailants as James drew his pistols. He attempted to get off a round with the left one, but the powder was too damp, and the gun misfired. He took aim with the second pistol and dropped a man in his tracks. Then they were swarming over him.

Lacy was too busy to go to James’s aid. She dodged one man and ran right into the arms of another. When he grabbed her, she butted her head into his chin, broke free, and ran back toward the town. She saw Kutii struggling with two sailors and wondered briefly if he still had the knife she’d given him. Then something hard hit her in the back of the head, and she ceased to think at all. There was a brief flash of brilliant light, and she sank into oblivion.

T
hree hours later, James, bound hand and foot, and cursing every inch of the way, was dragged into the entrance hall of a sprawling island manor house. His burly captors wrestled him through a gauze-draped doorway into a richly furnished parlor and then into smaller dark-paneled room. A gentleman in a shoulder-length curled wig and a waistcoat of rose corded silk was seated at a gateleg table with his back to the door. Two black servants in full livery stood attentively on either side of him.

“Captain, sir,” one of James’ jailers called out.

James stopped struggling and quickly surveyed the elegant room. One wall was dominated by a beautifully inlaid lacquered writing cabinet, another by a tall case clock and a velvet upholstered armchair. The left corner at the far end of the room—which in an English house would have contained the fireplace—boasted a delicate French spinet. An oil portrait of King Charles framed in heavy silver hung in the place of honor over the spinet. There were no windows in the room, and the door through which James had come was the only visible entrance. A Spanish map of the Greater and Lesser Antilles occupied another wall. On top of the writing cabinet stood a silver and ivory backstaff and a large brass and teakwood compass.

The bewigged man stood and turned to face the doorway, and James’s heart skipped a beat. “Matthew Kay? In the name of the living Christ, is that you?” James cried.

“James!” Genuine delight spread across the tall captain’s lined face. “They told me you’d gone to the bottom with the
Miranda.”
He strode across the chamber and threw his arms around James. “I don’t believe it!” He glared at the man on James’s right. “Well, you lack-wit swab, what are you waiting for? Release him. Don’t you know who this is? Sweet Mary, this boy’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a son.”

As soon as James’s wrists were untied, he hugged Matthew Kay in return. Seeing Kay here, alive, was one of the best things that had ever happened to him. This man had been a captain and a teacher to him, and together they’d faced adventure enough to fill several lifetimes. James’s voice grew thick with emotion as he demanded, “What the hell is going on, Matthew?”

“A damnable misunderstanding, James.”

“Your men nearly killed me at the dock this morning,” James continued, still deeply shaken by the sight of Matthew’s familiar weathered face. “And they’ve taken something that belongs to me. A woman. I’ll have her back, and unharmed.” He shot the captain a warning look. “Unless you’d make an enemy of me.”

James hadn’t seen Lacy since the fight on the dock, and he was half out of his mind with worry over what had happened to her. After he’d been beaten to the ground, his assailants had tied and blindfolded him. Then they’d thrown him roughly over a horse and carried him some distance to an outbuilding, where they’d kept him locked for hours. Visions of Lacy lying in the street with her throat cut or being brutally raped had haunted him. And despite his repeated entreaties, no one had told him where she was.

A few minutes ago, two men had come to bring him up to the main house. When his jailers had yanked his blindfold off in the hall, he’d recognized them from the ambush on the dock. Both were dressed as common seamen in leather breeches and faded striped shirts, and one was a sailor James was certain he’d seen a few days earlier on the street.

“I mean what I say,” James insisted. “If my woman’s been harmed—”

“The wench is fine,” Matthew Kay assured him. “She’s here and being well-treated. You know I always had a soft place in my heart for the ladies—especially the pretty ones.” He slapped James’s shoulder with a blow that would have rocked a lesser man. “S’heart! All these months I’ve mourned you, and you fit as the king’s cod! Come and sit down, boy. Have some breakfast with me.” Kay glanced at one of the black manservants. “A place for Mr. Black. At once.” He waved the seamen away. “That will be all. Outside. I’ll call when I need you.”

“My woman ... Lacy,” James persisted. “I’d like to see for myself that she’s well.”

“All in good time,” Kay answered heartily. “All in good time. Have I ever lied to you, boy? Have I ever been less than honest with you? After what we’ve been though, do you doubt me now?”

“No, of course not,” James began. “But ...”

“You’re angry about this morning—and with good reason. My apologies. If I’d known it was you ... But how could I? Sweet Mary, but you’re a sight for sore eyes.” He tugged at his billowing lace cravat.

Again, James noticed the captain’s fashionable attire. The buttons on Kay’s waistcoat were silver, and his shirt was spotless cambric with rose ribbons at the cuffs. His silk breeches were wide and full above gray silk stockings and high-heeled shoes with silver buckles. Damned if Kay hadn’t come up in the world since last they’d met, James thought. “You’d not be too happy if you’d been set on by a pack of hounds and had the stuffing pounded out of you,” James grumbled. “I think I killed one of your crew. I’d have had two of them if my pistol hadn’t misfired.”

“Regrettable.” Matthew Kay motioned toward the dishes of fried fish, roast fowl, fresh fruit, baked ham, and curried eggs that the servants were bringing to the table. “Help yourself, James.”

James took note of the heavy silverplate and ornate two-prong forks, knives, and spoons. An ebony manservant poured a tankard of ale and placed it carefully in front of him. Right behind him came a plump maid with a pitcher of fruit juice and a plate of hot scones.

James chuckled. “You set as good a table as ever,” he said, spreading pale yellow butter on a scone. “You always did like your food.”

“And you didn’t?” the older man replied. He clapped his hands twice and the servants filed out of the room, leaving the two men alone. “You don’t know how glad I am to see you,” Kay said, placing a hand on James’s forearm. “I need you now as I’ve never needed you before.” His seamed face creased with sincerity.

James swallowed a forkful of ham, took a sip of ale, and leaned back in the chair. “You have some explaining to do, Matthew. Why did your crew attack us? I’m certain it was nothing to do with an escaped Indian.” James had seen nothing more of Kutii either. He hoped the Incan had had the sense to run off when the fight went against them—the poor red bastard had suffered enough.

Matthew sighed. “None of these new lads know you, and a man in my position can’t be too careful. Things have changed since you’ve been away, James. Nothing’s like it used to be. We were a wild bunch, but those days are over. There’s a treaty with the Spanish now. Did you know that? Brothers one and all.” He fixed James with a steely gaze. “The day I’m brother to a Spaniard is the day I’m six feet under with a stake through my heart.”

James helped himself to the chicken. “How many others came alive off the
Miranda?”

“Those who went to England in chains, and the Incan. He went to the auction block, so I heard. He’s here on Jamaica on a sugar plantation.”

“You’re living good, Matthew, for a man whose ship went to the bottom.”

The captain’s wide mouth turned up in a crooked smile, revealing a gold front tooth. “I was always one to land on my feet.”

“Why didn’t they arrest you?”

“Morgan was the only one I couldn’t get along with. You know that. I laid low till he sailed for England, then I was able to procure a pardon.” Matthew’s mouth tightened and his blue eyes clouded to gunmetal grey. “A pardon. Me.” He made a sound of derision. “No one has served England better than I have. Morgan betrayed us all when he stole that treasure, and I’ll wager he’ll not suffer for it.”

“You still haven’t explained how you got off the
Miranda,”
James reminded him. “Your tongue is as smooth as ever, but you forget that I’ve seen you work your wiles on other men. I want the truth out of you.”

“S‘heart, boy! I never thought to have you question me so. There’s no mystery about it. I wasn’t on the
Miranda
when she was attacked; I’d taken a longboat ashore about nine o’clock. I heard the cannonfire, but I wasn’t close enough to see the battle or to know just where the
Miranda
went down. I hid out in the interior of the island until the
Hampton Maid
anchored to take on fresh water and rescued me. By the time I set foot on Jamaica, you were all bound in chains for Newgate, arrested as pirates.”

James looked around the room. The furnishings were all of the highest quality, and Matthew Kay was dressed like an earl. “You’d already unloaded part of the treasure onto Arawak Island. You were trying to cheat us, Matthew.”

“No, boy, you’re wrong there,” the captain rasped. “I’d not cheat you or any of my own. I offloaded part of the gold to keep it out of Morgan’s hands. If we’d taken it all ashore, it would be there—instead of at the bottom of the sea.”

“How much did you get?”

“Enough to keep myself from the rope.” Matthew’s crooked smile flashed. “And enough to buy two more ships.”

“And this house?”

“No, the manor came from a run we made last summer. Them that has, my lad, gets more. Always was true, always will be. But now you’re back, and we can take up where we left off. I’ve missed you, James. God, how I’ve missed you.”

“I took your word for it when you told me that Henry Morgan meant to keep all the Spanish treasure for himself. Now I find that you—”

“Damnation, James!” Matthew rose and leaned forward over the table. “I told you the truth that day in Panama, and I’m telling you the truth now. If I wasn’t, I’d be no better than a fornicating dog.”

James forced himself to keep eating. He wanted to believe Matthew. Every decent thing that Matthew Kay had ever done for him came to mind; everything Matthew had taught him, and every time Matthew had saved his life. They’d fought shoulder to shoulder across the Spanish Main, starved together, and gotten drunk together. They’d even shared the same whores. If Matthew had changed without his knowing it, the world was a blacker place than James had ever imagined.

“You either believe me, boy, or you walk out of here. I won’t have an enemy call me a liar and a cheat, and by God, I’ll not have a friend do so either.”

James drained the last of the ale. “So why did your men jump us?”

The captain left the table and went to the writing desk. From a tiny drawer, he took a bag and brought it back to the table. He shoved his plate aside and dumped the contents of the bag on the table. The golden animals Lacy had found on the ocean floor glittered against the snow-white tablecloth. “It seems I’m not the only one who was keeping back part of the treasure, James. You sold these gold statues two days ago here on this very island.”

 

The tall case clock had struck twelve noon before Matthew Kay ordered a manservant to escort James out of the study, through the entrance hall, and down a shadowy corridor to a bedchamber at the rear of the sprawling house. There, a round copper tub and hot bathwater were brought to him. When James had soaked away the ache from his bruises, a slave girl came to shave him, cut his hair, and trim and file his nails.

The male servant returned with a crisp white cambric shirt and cravat, gray silk stockings, and an assortment of fresh attire appropriate for a gentleman of fashion. James chose an apple-green embroidered waistcoat with silver buttons and pale green doeskin breeches that fit him without a wrinkle. The slave woman tied his cravat three times before she was satisfied, then held up a mirror so that James might admire himself.

Finally, the footman led James out of that room and down three doors to another bedchamber. The blackamoor paused at the door and rapped loudly. When a voice came from within, speaking a dialect that James was unfamiliar with, the manservant answered. James heard the distinct sound of an iron bar being drawn, and the door opened a crack.

An enormous woman with coffee-colored skin stared suspiciously at James. “Massa Kay, he tell me—”

James pushed the door open. “Lacy?” he called. “Are you in here?” A muffled reply came from the curtained poster bed.

The manservant murmured something to the big woman, and she left the room, closing the door behind her.

“Lacy?” James hurried toward the bed and drew open the gauze hangings. “Lacy, what—” He broke off abruptly as he realized that she was bound hand and foot to the four corners of the bed, and her mouth was gagged with a silk scarf.

“Get me out of here!” she mumbled through the folds of cloth. To her relief, James undid the knot and pulled away the scarf. “Where the hell have ye been?” she demanded. “It took ye long enough to get here!”

He dropped down on the bed beside her, looked at the scarves binding her wrists and ankles, and chuckled. “I’d think a simple thank-you would suffice.”

“Let me loose!” she insisted. Mother of God! Here she’d spent the night trussed like a prize pig for roasting—believing he was dead—and he came strolling in dressed and perfumed like a lord. “Untie me, I say.”

A grin spread across his face as he deliberately ran his gaze over her spread-eagled body. She was still fully clothed, but unlike him, she’d not had the benefit of a bath. She’d been in a dockside fight, and she knew she looked every inch of it.

“Lower your voice, woman,” he teased, “or you’ll tempt me to put this scarf back in your mouth. It’s not every day a man finds such a tasty morsel in a bed. You’ll spoil it all with your fishwife’s scolding.”

Her temper flared. Her chest grew tight, making it difficult to breathe. Deliberately, Lacy forced her voice to a dulcet tone. “Please, James,” she said. “Untie me.”

He grinned wider. “That’s more like it, puss.” He fumbled with the silken knot at her right wrist. “We’ve got ourselves in a bit of a—”

Lacy’s hand came loose, and she doubled up her fist and punched him in the breastbone as hard as she could. He let out a whoosh of air and cursed as she undid her other wrist. By the time she’d reached for her ankle, he’d recovered and flung himself on top of her. She got in two good blows before he pinned her wrists and silenced her protests with a hard kiss.