Hart's Desire (Pirates & Petticoats Book 1) (10 page)

Then there was old man Pratt. He was another big obstacle for Everett to overcome, due to the plantation owner’s wealth.

“Commodore, I’d like to think that over the past couple of years, we’ve come to know each other fairly well.”

Grey nodded. “Yes, I agree. The tenderness you showed while caring for my injured wife was the reason I asked for your help in treating my melancholy.”
 

“I still regret the damage was too severe for me to save her,” he responded.

“I know, young man. I’m grateful nonetheless, which is another reason I wanted to help you settle here in America, knowing it was a goal of yours.” He reached for his tea, a slight tremor in his hand.
 

The effects of the medication.

“Yes, sir, and I am extremely grateful to have had your financial backing. It’s allowed me to secure a Charleston office and begin my medical practice with great success.” Even as he said the words, they tasted bitter in his mouth. All the money in the world could not bring a loved one back from the dead.
 

“Glad to hear it, Garrison.”

Everett fingered his watch’s chain. “I have also had the honor of befriending your daughter. I have grown quite fond of her and, like you, wish to see her happy. I also understand a father’s desire to see his only daughter comfortably married, but my casual observation of Miss Keelan and Mr. Pratt together tends to give me pause.”

Grey put down his spoon. “How so?”

Careful here.
 

“Well, sir, she nearly fled from the breakfast room when Simon announced Pratt’s arrival, and she seemed most distressed when he caught sight of her and insisted she join him for a bite.” He tried to appear sympathetic. “I don’t believe she fancies a marriage to him in the slightest.”

The Commodore let out a loud sigh. “I know. She said as much earlier. Working in her mother’s shop has made her ambitious. She’s not taken a liking to living on a plantation out in the country.” His eyes were sad and knowing. “But I’m dying. I can sense it. I can taste it…a rotten, bitter flavor of age and decay.” His gaze travelled to the window and his voice softened. “I want to see Keelan suitably cared for before I die, Dr. Garrison.”

Everett nodded and gave the commodore a compassionate smile. “I understand. Therefore, I’d like to propose an alternative for you to consider.”

Grey turned his attention back to him and raised a shaggy brow. “Go on then.”

“I have been building a successful medical practice over the past year. Word of mouth of my expertise has contributed substantially to that end. I understand your daughter favors a civilized life in town.” His palms began to sweat and he rubbed them on his trousers. “I could provide that for her.” He stepped closer to the commodore’s bedside and laced his tone with as much empathy as he could muster.

“Commodore Grey, I would be honored if you would grant me permission to ask for your daughter’s hand in marriage. As I said earlier, I’m very fond of her and would be most diligent in seeing to her happiness and care. She would be able to live in town and could open her own shop, if she desires to do so.” He held his breath as the commodore deliberated his proposal.

The commodore wiped his mouth with a napkin then pushed away his tray. “Dr. Garrison, I will be blunt.” He grasped the edge of his blanket and pulled it up a bit. “At this stage of my life, a sense of decorum has less power over my tongue anyway. You must understand that Keelan’s future is my primary concern. A marriage to Pratt would see her well-cared for in the event of his death, because she would own something tangible in the end—land.”

Everett swallowed. This conversation wasn’t progressing in the direction he’d hoped.
 

The commodore continued, “However, in the case of
your
death, she would have nothing she could use to provide relevant income.” He held up a hand to cut off Everett’s protest. “Be assured, Garrison, I’d rather she marry a young buck like you rather than an old stag like Pratt. But her long-term welfare is of utmost concern to me.”

Everett lowered his chin and pursed his lips. “I understand, sir. But I would implore you to recall your daughter’s intelligence and experience in running a business. I have complete faith that an enterprise run by her would soon surpass those of other merchants.”

Commodore Grey stared at him for a long moment. The tension in Everett’s shoulders eased a tiny bit when Grey broke eye contact and stared down at his gnarled fists clenching the blanket.

“You have a sound point, Dr. Garrison. I shall consider your proposal. However, Keelan must agree to it first. Only then will my younger brother and I further discuss the possibility.”

For the tenth time, Everett scanned the dimly lit pub as he sipped his ale. It was early in the afternoon; too early for the tavern to be noisy with men half in their cups, but late enough to have enough patrons milling about allowing him to blend in with the back wall. He eyed two tall, slender men, about his size, followed by a short thick tar as they shouldered their way past the bar and headed in his direction. They pulled out chairs and sat at the table next to him.

A tavern wench sauntered up and gave the men a slow, sultry wink, her eyes moving from each with a half-lidded gaze. “What’ll ye be havin’ good fellows?”

The tall man with several fresh jagged scratches and cuts on his cheeks and chin gave her a lusty smile as he flipped her a coin, which he eyed as she slipped it down her bodice. “Bring stout and a trencher of fruits, meats, and cheese, fine lass.”

“And bread,” the short one added.

She nodded before she sashayed toward the bar, tossing a quick smile over her shoulder. He gave her a wink before turning his attention to Everett. “A man shouldn’t drink alone, even though the day’s still young.”

Everett nodded his understanding of the code words the man spoke. “You’ll be Gampo, then?”

“Keep yer voice down, man,” the short one growled.

Gampo’s smile did not reach his eyes. He touched his hat. “’Tis I. And ye’ll be the one requiring my services?”

“I am,” Everett responded with what he hoped was an authoritative tone.
 

Gampo gestured to the two men. “Crowe and Pike, my quarter-master and bo’sun.”

Everett nodded a greeting. “It’s my understanding that a merchant shipping company formerly run by Mr. Ahern has been a problem for you in the past.”

Gampo quirked an aristocratically shaped eyebrow. “
Formerly
run?”

“Apparently, Mr. Ahern was killed during your last engagement.” Everett watched the man closely.
 

Gampo sat back in his chair. “That’s the true word? More’s the pity.” He rubbed his chin for a moment before he continued, “Aye, they have caused considerable pain to the marrow on me and me crew over the past few years.” He leaned forward and brushed a strand of dark hair from his eyes. “What’s about it?”

Everett took a measured sip of his ale while the tavern server distributed three frothy mugs to Gampo and his two mates. She bent a little lower while she set Gampo’s before him, giving him a brief peek down her blouse, which from his grin he enjoyed tremendously.

She left and the men turned their attention back to him.
 

Everett leaned forward. “I, too, have a problem with the same company, more particularly Captain Hart. I believe we can be of equal service to each other.” He took another sip and placed his ale on the table then folded his hands.

Gampo pulled a gleaming dagger from his belt and pierced a dried peach slice. “What’s in yer head about it?” He pulled the peach from the knife with his teeth.

Everett shifted in his seat. “Well…er, I have knowledge of Hart’s plans. His ships are in dry dock for repairs, and he’ll be moving cargo to a warehouse in town for safe keeping.”

Gampo leaned back. “And what makes ye think I’ve a mind to care? My argument was with Ahern, not Hart.”

Everett glanced from Gampo to Crowe and Pike, who were eyeing him warily while eating. “I heard that they’ve done some damage to your vessel as well on several occasions. I’m thinking you’d like some compensation to use toward the costs of repairs.”

“By the devil’s twisted tail, are ye tossin’ the notion of stealin’ his ship’s holdings? Or mayhap his ship from dry dock?” Gampo raised his brows.

“No, well…yes.” Everett took a moment to gather his nerves by taking a sip of his ale. “I can’t help you with the ship in dry dock. But my proposal is to give you information as to the day, time, and trail of the goods as they are transported from the ship to the warehouse, giving your men an opportunity to lie in wait and relieve them of it. I know the precise place.”
 

He slid a map he’d drawn earlier to the far edge of his table and pointed to it.
 

“Here is a narrow alley they’ll use as a cut-through. There are three recessed doorways as well as an iron stair. You should have no trouble staying hidden in the darkness of the predawn hours. And I even have access to a nearby vacant building where the goods can be hidden for a time.” He paused, holding his breath. The impassive expressions on the faces of the three pirates had his stomach churning. He pulled a key from his jacket and placed it on the edge of the map.
 

The walls in Twin Pines were thin, and it had been easy to eavesdrop on the conversation between Jared Grey, Hart, and O'Brien regarding warehouse storage rental and transportation of the cargo. Jared Grey owned several warehouse properties in Charleston, a few almost vacant. There had been only the small matter of unlocking the drawer and borrowing a warehouse key from Grey’s desk.

Gampo rested his arm across the back of the vacant chair next to him. “And what see ye as to yer part in this plot?”

Everett hoped Gampo didn’t notice the tremor of his fingers as he pulled the map and key back near his half empty mug. “I’ve provided the base work, found the best location, created the map, and will provide the time of day that will make this plan successful. In return, I’ll split with you the money we get from the sale of the goods.”

Pike shoved a piece of meat in his mouth then followed it with a chunk of bread. “’Tis give and take with our lot, man. Share and share.” He glared hard at Everett as he chewed.

Gampo’s smile barely slit his face. “Share and share’s the law of the coast. Right mates?”

The two men nodded. Crowe took a long draught of his stout and wiped his mouth with his sleeve before he spoke. “The captain and quarter-master gets two shares, the bo’sun and gunner a share an’ a half, and officers one an’ a quarter. Rest of the crew gets one share.” He ripped a hunk of bread from the loaf. “That makes ye one of the rest, unless yer one of the other. Which yer not.”

Everett swallowed. This venture was not going to be as profitable as he’d anticipated. However, the main intent was to keep Captain Hart away from Twin Pines, thus away from Keelan. If the man was kept busy searching for stolen goods, then Everett could continue with his plan to marry the girl. The best part was that it would cost him nothing to have it done.

“Fine, then.” Everett pushed the paper and key back toward Gampo. “Share and share. Do we have an agreement?”

Gampo glanced at his men. Crowe gave a nod and Pike simply shrugged. “On my faith then, we have an accord but mark this.” His dagger impaled a sausage from the platter. He wiggled the steel tip free from the wooden trencher before raising the sausage to his mouth. He held it there, suspended while he looked Everett dead in the eye. “If we’re crossed or foul-advised, may I drink a bowl of fire and brimstone with the devil if I don’t have yer balls for breakfast the same day.”

For the next couple of days, Keelan awoke each morning more tense and worried than the morning before. Although there were times when her father could rise and move about with less discomfort, his health continued its slow decline. His stomach rebelled against almost everything but a thin broth, and sometimes even that didn’t stay with him. Concerned, Dr. Garrison had even traveled to Charleston to purchase a new medicine, hoping it would work better.

To keep herself busy, Keelan spent the late mornings in the kitchen house, learning Ruth’s recipes before sitting with the ledgers in her uncle's mill office. In addition to the plantation ledgers, Uncle Jared had recently asked her to keep his business’ books as well. Those activities consumed most of her day, but the distraction pleased her. The most precious time for Keelan, however, occurred in the minutes following the dawn each day.
 

In the small meadow, when she was surrounded by the vibrant scents of late spring, Keelan’s burdens fluttered away with the breeze. There, in the soft morning light of the Southern dawn, she moved through her exercises, thankful for the freedom of movement the boy’s garments provided. Only the hiss and swish of blades cut the tranquil silence surrounding the field hidden in the pines. She appreciated the escape, short as it was.

But in the evening after she slipped between the cool sheets of her bed, several nagging concerns blocked the path to slumber.

Had the assassin traced them to Charleston?
 

How can her father’s health be restored?
 

Captain Hart. Would he continue to keep her secrets?

There had been no mention by her uncle of her early dawn training with Daniel. She could only assume the captain’s promise of silence had remained solid. But what of the payment? When would he demand it? What would it be?

She clenched her teeth, not accustomed to this wobbly sense of vulnerability. Hart’s absence should make her feel more secure. Instead, it caused her to glance over her shoulder several times a day.
 

Tonight, she opened the doors to the small balcony outside her bedchamber and listened to the cicadas while she unpinned her hair. Their song reminded her of a stick clattering along the slats of a wooden fence. Although it was dusk, moist air clung to her skin. A light film of sweat covered every inch of her body, though she wore only a chemise. Which would be worse…to close the doors against the insects and suffocate in the stagnant air of the chamber, or leave them open for the breeze then pray the veil-like sparver draping over her bed would protect her from tiny flying teeth?