Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress (6 page)

His brow furrowed. “You are the hardest-headed woman. You don’t listen to a word I say.”

“I listen,” she replied sharply “but I’m not your servant. I’ve a mind of my own.” A shiver passed down her spine. Whatever he was doing to make her feel so strange was unnatural, and the sooner she got away from him the better. “I’m not used to taking orders from a man.”

“So it seems.”

“While you’re thinking—and a hard task it must be—might I have your leave to wash my own hair?” He nodded, and she took the bucket and drew up sea water. Leaning over the low rail, she poured the salt water over her head, scrubbing as best she could without soap. When she was done, she sat down and leaned against the mainmast and ran her fingers through the tangled strands, letting the clean wind dry her hair. All the while she watched him, without letting him know she was doing so, and tried to think how to take back the
Silkie
without killing him.

James glanced over at the faint shoreline to be certain he was holding his course, then went back to watching Lacy. She was an enigma. Of all the women he’d known—and he’d been acquainted with his share—he’d never met any like her.

She was smart and tough with a ready tongue. What’s more, all that sassy personality was tied up in a face and body as sweet as any he’d ever yearned after. The crazy thought crossed his mind that such a pretty bird might not make a bad shipmate, but then he mentally pushed it away.

He’d fought his way across a green hell for a prize that still eluded him. Memories of that rich treasure had been all that had kept him alive when he’d seen his companions taken out and hanged. Nothing—least of all a woman—would stand in his way now.

He’d sailed from Port Royal, Jamaica, following the captain of his ship, Matthew Kay, and the leader of the expedition, Henry Morgan, to take revenge on the Spanish, who’d been at war with England for years, and to seize a city full of gold. Now, all those who’d sailed with him on the
Miranda
were dead. He was the only one left with a claim to the treasure, and he meant to have it. If he lived and gave up the quest, it would be as if they’d all died in vain.

No, by God and all that was holy! He meant to take this little vessel and sail her back to the Caribbean. He meant to have the gold or lose his life in trying. And if anyone, Henry Morgan included, tried to keep him from what was rightfully his, he’d see them in hell.

It was where he was bound for anyway ... James inhaled deeply of the salt air. One night in Condemned Hold, when his sanity had been stretched so tight that he thought he’d lose his mind, he’d been burning up with fever. Fever so hot that he began to hallucinate. And during that madness, he’d seen the devil and made a pact with him.
Give me the treasure, and twenty years to spend it, and you can have my soul for all it’s worth to you.

He ran a hand over the stubble on his chin and stared back at the frothy blue water. Arawak Island was halfway around the world, close to five thousand miles from London. A man would have to be a lunatic to try and reach it on a boat like this ... and even crazier to think of sailing there with a whore he’d known for only two days.

“Did you really sail with Henry Morgan?” Lacy asked. “Or is that another empty boast?”

His eyes widened. “Are you a witch that you can read my thoughts?” She paled as though he’d slapped her, and he softened his tone. “No need to panic. There’s none here to drag you to the stake. I did but jest.”

“Witchcraft is no joking matter.”

“I’m not a superstitious man, I no more believe in witches than I do in ghosts.”

“So say you, but I saw a woman burned once for witchcraft. Besides, I’ve never met a sailor who wasn’t full of fancies.”

He shrugged. “You’ve met one now. And yes, to answer your question, I did fight under Captain Morgan.” Fool that he was, he’d done it. But then, it wasn’t really Morgan he’d followed, but Matthew Kay, captain of the
Miranda
and the closest thing to a father he’d ever known. It was Matt who’d taught him how to maneuver a brigantine through a gap in a coral reef in a hurricane, and Matt who’d kept him alive long enough to call himself privateer.

Matthew had gone down with the
Miranda
off Arawak, and James had mourned the captain as much as the loss of his own freedom. Taking back the treasure would help avenge Matt’s death.

Some of Lacy’s color returned. “I was just wondering,” she said. “Were ye with Morgan when he attacked Porto Bello or when he raided Panama City?”

James swallowed. Too many nights he’d thought of Panama. It wasn’t a memory that a man cherished. “Panama City,” he said. His friend Corbin had died of snakebite on the way. He’d taken the strike above his boot, and his leg had swelled until it didn’t look human. They’d buried him in a water-filled grave and pushed on toward the Spaniards and glory.

“We heard Henry Morgan burned the town and took a king’s ransom in gold.”

“For a whore, you’re well-informed on what happened an ocean away.”

“My family lives by the sea. Toby—he was a gunner before he took consumption—he told us. He works for my father. Toby’s been to the American Colonies and as far south as Barbados. He fought the Spanish once, said that the men on his ship battled like tigers because the Spaniards would burn Englishmen alive if they captured them. Is that so?”

He nodded. “Yes. They hold us all to be heretics.”

“Zooterkins.” Her mood darkened. “I can think of better ways to die than being roasted alive.”

“So can I.” He stood up, suddenly eager to make a decision about her. “You claim to know ships,” he said, tossing her the length of rope. “Tie a catspaw.”

She erupted into merry laughter. “Why should I?”

“Prove it. Tie the damned knot, woman.”

Her fingers flew. In seconds, she held up the knot he’d asked for.

“Sheepshank,” he prodded. She complied. “Timber hitch.”

“Give me your arm, Jamie.” Woodenly, he held it out and she encircled it with the rope, twisting the hemp into the knot he’d demanded. “I can tie a half-hitch around your neck, if you’d like,” she said saucily. Her chin went up and she stared at him boldly. “Shall I furl the sails? Or take a sounding?” Her cinnamon-brown eyes dared him to give her a task she couldn’t perform.

He took a deep breath, trying to think straight—trying to ignore how magnificent she looked with the sunlight reflecting off her bright hair ... and her mouth ... her mouth so damned full and provocative.

He’d put in to shore and let her off. It was the only sensible thing to do. He started to tell her so.

“I’m going to the Caribbean,” he said instead. “I’m going on this boat.”

“Why in God’s name would ye want to do that?”

“I know where there’s a Spanish treasure, a treasure to make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. Come with me. Help me sail this damned boat there, and I’ll give you a share.”

“A share of a madman’s dream,” she mocked.

“The treasure’s real enough.”

“Why me?”

“You said it yourself. It takes two to sail this pink properly. I’ve got a better chance if you come along.”

Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Sail across the ocean with you? In the
Silkie?”

“What’s waiting for you in England, Lacy?”

She sat down on the deck as though her legs had collapsed under her. “You’re serious.”

“I am.” Suddenly, he wanted her to come. Wanted her so badly that he ached with it.

“Ye want a woman to cook your food and spread her legs whenever you say.”

“No. I’m not saying that I don’t find you desirable, but right now I want a shipmate.”

“A partner,” she suggested.

“I said I’ll give you a fair portion.”

“Share and share alike.”

His face grew hot. “Now, wait a minute. The treasure’s mine. I’m cutting you in—”

“Half or nothing,” she insisted. “And no sex unless I agree to it.”

“You drive a hard bargain, woman.”

“Swear,” she ordered. “On your mother’s soul.”

“I swear.”

She held out her hand. “Give me the knife.” He did as she asked, and she nicked her left thumb with the point, then held out her hand expectantly. He gave her his hand and she cut his right thumb in the same manner. Then, solemnly, she pressed the two together, letting their blood mingle. “Shipmates,” she said. “Share and share alike.”

“Agreed,” he said, and wondered what in the hell he’d let himself in for. And then, to his wonder, she threw back her head and let out a shout of utter joy.

“To hell with Newgate! To hell with England!” she cried. “We’re off to find a bloody treasure. You, me, and Harry!”

“W
ho the hell is Harry?” James demanded when Lacy had finally ceased her prancing, dropped down on the deck, and drew her knees up under her skirts in a distinctly unladylike pose.

“Why ...” She stared at him as though he were slow-witted. “Harry’s the ship’s cat, of course.”

“Cat, hell! I hate cats. We’ll have no cats on this voyage.”

“If Harry doesn’t go, I don’t go.” She folded her arms across her breasts and regarded James with an imperious air. “A cat for luck. And God knows this venture will need all the luck it can get.”

He glared back at her. “I’ll toss it overboard first chance I get.”

“Try it. Touch a hair on Harry’s head, and you’ll find yourself swimming back to land with a cracked skull.”

“You’d mutiny—murder a man—over a swiving cat?”

“Try me.”

A heavy silence hung over the deck of the
Silkie
for long minutes, then James grudgingly relented. “Have your cat then,” he muttered, “but keep it away from me. And ...” His eyes narrowed. “You’ll feed the thing from your rations, not mine. We’ll see how long you stay sentimental if our biscuit runs low in the Sargasso Sea.”

“Don’t say such things!” Lacy threw up her hands and made the sign against evil. “You’ll jinx our voyage before we begin,” she warned him. Every deep-water sailor was full of tales about the Sargasso, a haunted place that stretched for hundreds of miles in the center of the Atlantic—a stretch of water covered with stinking brown weed. “They say the winds die there,” she said, “and that nothing lives in the sea, no fish ... nothing at all.”

“I’ve crossed it before, I can cross it again.”

“So ye say.” Sailors’ tales were always more rum than fact, but there were dangers enough on the open water without tempting fate. “You’ve sailed the route we’re going to take?” she asked.

“Four times. We’ve lain there with slack sails for days, but we always caught a wind and made it through.”

She nodded. “I suppose.”

“Did you think you could get to the New World and a fortune without danger?”

“I’m no coward, James Black,” she answered sharply. “I can face anything you can. But ... but I see no sense in borrowing trouble.”

“A woman’s trepidation.”

She pursed her lips. “Trepi ... trepi what?”

“Trepidation.” He smiled condescendingly. “It means fears.”

She flushed. “Throw all the big words ye like, but there’s times when fear can keep ye alive.” Straightening her shoulders, she turned away from him, then paused and glanced back. “I only hope you’ve steel for a backbone, sir. For if you’re all talk and yellow under the bluster, we’ll know soon enough.” Without waiting to hear his reply, she went down into the cabin.

James’s earlier mention of rations had reminded her that she was hungry, and after her temper cooled she began to gather something to eat. All the while, a rational voice in her head was telling her that she’d made a really stupid decision.

“Maybe I am,” she murmured under her breath. But she knew what had really made up her mind had been Jamie’s question, “What’s waiting for you in England?”

Lacy drew in a deep breath. There was no acceptable answer to that weighted question. She had no future in England—not if she wanted to stay clear of the gallows ...

But the honest truth was that part of the reason she’d agreed to sail with him was the unfamiliar feelings he’d aroused in her when she was near him. Sensations no other man had ever produced ...

Harry strolled out from behind the canvas and gave a hoarse meow.

Lacy picked him up and cuddled him against her chest. “Don’t you understand?” she whispered into the cat’s good ear. “It was sign on with Jamie or never set eyes on him again.”

Her inner voice screamed a scornful reply.
Put your trust in a such a blackguard? If you do get to the islands, he’ll trade you to the first pirate he meets for a fistful of doubloons!

Harry squirmed to be put down. She set him on the bunk and crumbled a biscuit for his dinner. “There now, eat that, you ungrateful cat.”

She sighed, unwilling to be bested by her own doubts. She’d made her decision, and she’d stick by it ... even if she knew she was taking a terrible chance.

She’d always been a good judge of men. Hellfire and damnation! She’d been raised around enough rogues to know one when she saw one. James Black was a scoundrel of the first order who would use any means to get what he wanted. She’d never be able to believe more than half what he told her ... and she’d never be able to trust him. Considering those things, she’d still deliberately placed her life and fortune in his hands to set off on a wild venture that didn’t have a chance in hell of succeeding.

All for the sake of a few giddy feelings in the pit of her stomach ...

“Well, maybe a tiny chance of succeeding,” she whispered to Harry. The cat yawned and licked biscuit crumbs off his chin, as if to indicate that it was an insult to his intelligence that she should say such a thing.

“He took a beating for my sake,” she argued. “At Newgate. When I slipped and fell, he caught me. He paid dear for it,” she said, remembering the bruises on his chest, “but it proves he has some redeeming qualities.”

Harry closed his eyes, ending the conversation. “You’re a male,” she said. “How could you possibly understand?”

There was something about James Black that made her go all fuzzy inside. Something she wasn’t ready to let go of ... not just yet.

She added a pot of honey to the box tray that contained biscuit, cheese, and two apples. The wind had picked up, so she’d not wanted to start a fire and cook the bacon or salt pork. There was a full cask of fresh water as well as a few bottles of wine and a jug of cider. They’d not go thirsty if they didn’t make land for a few days.

Already, she was counting up the supplies and trying to decide what they’d need to take on to make the first leg of the journey to the Canaries. She had salt and flour, although she’d need a lot more flour for biscuits. Alfred had always maintained that Dutch sailors stayed healthy on long voyages because they carried sauerkraut to vary their diet. She’d want sauerkraut, and turnips. Onions, dried or fresh, would help season a fish stew. There was a container of dried cod, but Ben’s supply of hooks and fishing gear would last longer than that.

“Lacy!” James called.

“Coming.” She gave the cat a stern look. “Ye stay below until Jamie gets to know you better. Considering the size of the
Silkie
, it wouldn’t be long. Catch a rat,” she suggested to Harry. “He’ll see how useful you can be if ye rid us of vermin.”

Balancing the tray, she climbed the ladder to the deck. “We’ll have to stop along the coast,” she said to Jamie. “We need more supplies if we’re to make the Canaries without starvin’ or dying of thirst.”

“And you know just the village, I suppose,” he said.

“Aye. Well ... not exactly.” She ignored his displeased expression. “What I know, Lord Jamie, is what kind of village to stop at. Not too large, because there might be authorities there who have news of our escape—and not too small, because in a tiny settlement, strangers are immediately suspect. We’d stand out, especially you, like a turtle in a net full of smelt.”

“My name is James.”

“So ye say,” she answered saucily. “But ye also told me your name was Black ... and I seriously doubt it.” She tossed him a biscuit. “Whatever your name is, I hope you can navigate. I’ll be useless to ye once we’re away from the English coast.”

James scowled. “Woman, cease needling me. It’s plain why they wanted to hang you—not for stealing, but to still that wagging tongue of yours.” He took a bite of the biscuit and chewed carefully. “I’ll need charts and a backstaff to measure our latitude. I saw a compass below in the cabin.”

“Aye, Alfred would go nowhere without his compass. ’Tis a bulky thing, though. It came off a Dutch galleon. She went down on the rocks a mile from my home.”

“With assistance from your brothers, I’m sure.”

“No. ’Twas a storm.” She felt a sudden chill, remembering the bodies that had continued to wash up on the beach for days. “Like as not, we’ll face storms as bad between here and the Golden Antilles.”

“It was you who said this boat could sail to China and back,” he reminded her.

“I did,” she said stoutly. “I’ve faith in the
Silkie,
but ships are like people. Some tasks are too great for them.” She dropped cross-legged to the deck and nibbled at her wedge of cheese, keeping a safe distance between them. “I’d hear more of this treasure I’m risking everything for. If you’re lying to me ...”

His dark eyes took on a faraway look. “The treasure is real, Lacy. If I wanted to lie to you, I couldn’t imagine anything as wondrous as what I’ve seen—what I’ve let run through my fingers. Close your eyes and try to imagine chests of gold and silver. Not just ingots, but jewelry; rings and bracelets, necklaces of beaten gold all set with precious gems. Pagan armbands of gold and silver, so heavy you wonder why a man would wear one. Breastplates, and nose rings that look like golden fans. Women’s hair ornaments. Earrings.”

“God’s flesh.” She made a sound of disbelief. “Ye must take me for maggot-brained to believe such fancies.”

“It’s true. I’ve touched it, I tell you. Heathen images of gold ... demons and gods intricately worked by master jewelers, animal figures, birds, human masks of beaten silver. Emeralds by the handful. Bowls and cups and pitchers—each one enough to buy a man an earldom. I held a little golden jaguar—a creature something like a lion—in the palm of my hand. It was solid gold, woman. Solid gold with inlaid eyes of emeralds.”

“But where did it come from? I’ve heard the Spanish have silver mines, but such stuff is—”

“They stole it from the Incas. Savage natives who live in the mountains and jungles of Peru. The Spanish loot their cities, even the tombs of the Indian dead. Then they bring the treasure up the Pacific coast to Panama City, then across the isthmus to Porto Bello and other towns. From there it goes to Cartegena by small ships, then over to Cuba where a great fleet is assembled to take the riches to Spain.”

“This treasure we’re going after ...” She stared at him intensely. “Will we have to fight the Spanish to take it?”

He shook his head. “No. The treasure’s on Arawak Island. The island’s deserted. No one lives there at all.”

She cast him a suspicious glance. “If this treasure exists, why hasn’t someone else stolen it?”

“The others who knew where it was are all dead. Hanged or drowned.”

She exhaled softly, letting her eyes drift shut, trying to see the heaps of gold and silver in her mind ... trying to accept what he’d told her. “If only a little bit of your tale is true,” she murmured, “only a fraction—then it would be worth trying for.”

“My feelings exactly.” A wry smile played over his lips. “Henry Morgan cheated his shipmates. He tried to tell us that the bulk of the treasure slipped through our hands, taken by thieves. He put it about that a ship sailed out of Panama City into the Pacific with everything aboard. He lied. My captain, Matthew Kay, saw with his own eyes that Morgan carried the treasure off onto his own ship. Henry Morgan played false with the men who fought and died for him, and for that treasure, but Matthew made certain that our crew got their fair share. What we captured, we kept for ourselves.”

“And that’s where this treasure came from, then?” she asked. “It’s what you carried off from Panama City?”

“No. We took it off a column of Spanish soldiers on the jungle route. Morgan went down the Chagres River. He sent us by the land route, to be certain we didn’t miss the large gold and silver shipments being made by the Spaniards.”

Lacy clasped her hands together. “Morgan’s in disgrace. Did ye know that? He’s been brought back to London to answer charges of piracy. England was at peace with Spain when ye sacked Panama City. We signed a treaty six months before ye made the attack.”

James shook his head. “The royal governor of Jamaica, Sir Thomas Modyford, issued Morgan letters of marque to raid the Spanish Main,” he explained. “Matthew Kay and the other captains had them as well. We were commissioned by the crown. That makes us privateers, not pirates. If a peace treaty was signed, none of us knew it. Certainly not the Spanish. They sunk the
Bristol Lady
off Hispaniola in December of ’70, a month before we struck Panama. They murdered every soul aboard, including women and children, and burned the ship to the waterline.”

“Can it be done, do ye think?” she asked. “Can we reach the islands in the
Silkie?”

“I told you before. I must have a backstaff and charts.” He shrugged. “God alone knows where we’ll lay a hand on them, but we need them. Even I can’t sail across the Atlantic without knowing where I am.”

“That’s all ye need?”

He gave her a scornful look. “Yes, woman, it’s all I need.”

“Why didn’t ye say so?” She pointed to the after end hatch, which led to the cargo hold. “Below, there. Alfred had such stuff. We took it from the cabin of a wrecked square-rigger. Alfred meant to sell the backstaff if we ever found a buyer.”

“A backstaff?” His dark eyes widened with excitement. “You’re certain?”

“Aye. Ivory and teakwood it was, set with silver mounting.”

Nothing would do but James must see the charts and backstaff for himself. In less time than it took to sing “The Ship Carpenter’s Wife,” he had the hatch open and was down inside the hold. In another half-minute, she had slammed the hatch and bolted it fast.

He swore and beat against the hatch with his fists, but she ignored him. Chuckling, she took the tiller and set a course for a village Alfred had mentioned that lay a few hours southwest of Plymouth ... a village where few questions would be asked of a woman with choice items to trade.