The Diamond King (23 page)

In the meantime, the governor had sent the best brandy and food found on the island, obviously in hopes of mollifying him if he decided to let Alex go.

He was no better than the Scots who wavered between one side and another, weighing who might be the winner. That brought Alex’s thoughts back to the Campbell, and how he had wanted to touch her, to kiss her. He would be betraying everything he believed. To trust a Campbell was akin to trusting a scorpion.

She did not fit his image of a Campbell. And she was so much prettier than he’d first thought. Perhaps because then he’d just seen a Campbell, not a person who had thoughts and feelings and emotions. Or compassion.

But with her hair free from the tight knot at the back of her head and the dreadful gloves left off, she was a remarkably attractive woman. Particularly when defiance and challenge set her eyes aglow like the Caribbean sea when the sun hit it.

He had never felt such an attraction before—sharp and deep and so damned unexpected. He’d felt a tingling before with her, even perhaps a stray bolt of awareness, but he’d attributed that to being without a woman for so long.

But that last encounter ...

Every nerve in his body had responded. More disturbing, his emotions had also been affected. He had wanted to see her eyes brighten. He’d wanted her customary guardedness to fade. He’d ached to touch her face and soothe away the worry.

And he’d wanted to tell her the birthmark meant nothing, less than nothing. He’d sensed her sensitivity to it by the way she protected it, the way wariness entered her eyes when a glance might linger there or when she met someone new. He knew how he felt about his own scar, how he’d had to adjust to the new face and the limp. But those occurred because of decisions he himself had made, not the accident of birth.

She did not seem to realize that she could be a lovely woman, particularly with those fine eyes and hair that glimmered with gold.

She remained a Campbell, though. The rage and hopelessness he’d felt after the wanton destruction of all he felt was good and true about Scotland was deep inside. He’d lost his heart during the bleak days and weeks and months after Culloden, and later his soul. If it had not been for his sister and her new husband, he might have become as cold a killer as Cumberland.

He wondered what she was thinking now. Had she left the ship to try to get passage to Barbados—and her intended husband? And why did that thought hurt? He should be pleased to have her out of his presence.

Don’t think about that. Think about getting out of here.

Burke, he knew, would be chafing to storm the town. Unfortunately there were a lot more French soldiers than there were members of his crew. At least Hamish was a cautious man and not one to disobey orders. Alex had left orders that everyone was to remain on board until he returned.

No, he would have to do this on his own.

He might as well have the French navy after him as well as the English. It was better than sitting here, waiting for the English to take his head.

He went to the window. It couldn’t be long until dark. If he did not get an audience tomorrow, then he and Claude would fight their way out. Though he had no bloody idea how since they had no weapons.

“I have orders,” Hamish said stubbornly.

Burke bristled. “I dinna care what orders you have. We must fetch our captain.”

Jenna stood in the shadow of one of the longboats, listening. No one paid any attention to her. In the past few days, she had gone from being treated like a prisoner to being one of the crew because of her care of Meg.

Jenna wondered about her shy maid’s words about Burke. He seemed the opposite of everything Celia was and admired. Except, perhaps, for his sense of loyalty.

“No one steps off this ship again until I get word from the captain,” Hamish said. “I knew he wanted a doctor to see the bairn, but he said nothing about you.”

Burke made a threatening step toward him.

Mickey stepped in between. “Hamish is right. The crew is already short. If more are taken by the damned French, we can never sail from here.”

“Then I will go alone,” Burke said. “I ain’t no sailor, anyway.”

“That’s obvious,” Hamish said acidly.

“I’ll go, too,” Robin said, stepping forward.

Jenna moved from out of the shadows. “I think it is the captain’s decision as to what you should do.”

“But they willna let us in to see him, to know what he wants,” Hamish said.

“They might let him see his wife.”

Everyone stared at her as if she were mad.

“A Frenchman most certainly would let his wife see him.
If
he is a true Frenchman,” she added.

Mickey’s eyes narrowed. “How do we know we can trust you?”

She shrugged. “How could I betray you? Or him? The English and French are still at war. Captain Malfour was planning to put me ashore anyway. He meant to put all of us ashore. You know that.”

“But why would you be helping us?”

“I care about Meg,” she said simply. “And she cares about the captain. I would not want her life—or Robin’s— at risk.”

Burke, Hamish, and Mickey all exchanged glances.

“I do not think—” Mickey started.

“I do,” Hamish said. “They willna let us see him. But the lass is right. There is a chance that she could get in to see him. He can tell us what needs to be done.”

“They are not letting anyone ashore,” Mickey reminded them.

“We can at least try,” Hamish said. “The lass can take a pistol under her skirts.”

They were talking as if she were not even present. But at the moment she did not mind. Anxiety eddied in her stomach. She had never... lied, at least not in a major way. She had never even been in the company of men, other than her family, until this voyage. What if the governor refused to believe she was the captain’s wife? She was certainly plain, and who would wed someone with her birthmark? What if the governor discovered who she really was? What if the captain blurted out her name? Then her future would indeed be ruined. Pretending to be the wife of a pirate captain voluntarily was far different than being a captive.

And would the captain even want the assistance of a Campbell?

Heat rose in her as she remembered that electricity between them, then the way he had stalked off as if she were a viper.

“ ‘Tis the best thing. We can do nothing withou’ him.” Hamish’s voice broke into her thoughts, and she straightened, trying to look more confident than she did. “And the lass is right,” he continued. “There is no way she could betray us, particularly with Burke and the lad wi‘ her.”

“Why would they let Burke ashore?”

“He can be my servant,” Jenna said, surprising even herself.

Burke glared at her.

“Surely they would not expect a lady to go ashore without protection,” she added.

Doubt filled the eyes around her. She had been a captive. Robin was a boy. And Burke did not seem to be exactly trusted by the other crew members.

“I say aye,” Robin said.

Mickey looked around. “They will never let ye ashore.”

“Then no harm done,” Hamish said.

“Will they not wonder why the cap’n never mentioned a wife before?”

Hamish shrugged. “The captain is not a talkative man.”

“But she went to the doctor’s,” Mickey said. “Did she mention her name then?”

“Nay,” she said, obviously startling them. Despite the fact they were talking about her, none seemed to remember she was there in their presence.

They all turned to stare at her, appraising her. Studying her.

“I can do it,” she said. “And I will not betray anyone. Particularly not Meg.”

Hamish shrugged. “Ye can try.”

It was dark. Late.

“Should we try tonight or in the morning?” she asked.

“Tonight,” Hamish said. “The cap’n‘s wife will be frantic.” He looked once again at Jenna. “I do not think my lady is good at panic,” he said with a gentle smile. “Do ye think you can feign it?”

“I’ll try.”

Hamish’s approval was clear. So was Robin’s. Neither Burke nor Mickey had quite that much faith. That much was obvious.

“I will look in on Meg, then change clothes.”

Hamish looked at her plain dress. “Do you have something more ... lively?”

Her trunk was in the captain’s room with her trousseau. There was her wedding dress, then a sea green dress intended for evening events. She had an emerald necklace to match it. And gloves of the same fabric as the dress.

She had never worn the necklace. The dress had been a last-minute addition to her trousseau, but it was the richest-looking garment she had and by far the most flattering. She hoped Celia was well enough to dress her hair. She could pull it into a knot and brush it, but she’d been kept out of sight for so long that she was inexperienced at dressing her hair. So, she feared, was Celia.

Celia was with Meg in the captain’s cabin. Meg gave her a small, tired smile. She was still feverish, though.

Was she doing the right thing? Would Meg be better in Fort Royal with a physician whose best advice was to bleed a patient? Was she risking the child’s life?

She had no answer. Only instinct. And instinct told her the child was better off with Robin and the captain and Hamish. People who cared about her and whom she cared about. As much as Jenna wanted her, reality had an ugly way of rearing its head. Meg tolerated her, might even like her, but Malfour was the one who had saved her life, had taken in her mother, had provided for her over God knew how long.

“Can you help me dress, and do something with my hair?” Jenna asked Celia.

“Aye, my lady. Which dress?”

“The green one.”

Celia’s eyes lit. “Oh, miss, ye do look wonderful in that.”

In moments, Celia had helped her with a corset, under-petticoat, then the hooped petticoat. Jenna was not quite sure how she would get in the quarter boat with the hoops but the dress required it.

Once dressed, she sat and Celia brushed her hair until it crackled. She pulled it back, leaving one curl to fall down Jenna’s back. Then she helped Jenna with the necklace and adjusted a hat with a green ribbon that tied under her chin.

Lastly, Jenna pulled on the gloves.

Celia used just a touch of rose petal to color her cheeks, then stepped back and viewed her critically. “Oh, my lady, ye look so bonny.”

“I have never looked bonny,” Jenna said, but she glanced in the mirror just the same. A stranger looked back at her. Her eyes, which she always thought pale, sparkled in the mirror and looked larger and deeper in a face that glowed from its exposure to sun. The green of her dress complemented both her eyes and light brown hair.

“Be careful, my lady,” Celia whispered.

Jenna had told her the reason for the transformation while Celia was helping her. “There is no danger.”

“If anyone knows wha‘ ye are doing, ye will be ruined.”

“No one will know,” Jenna said, though that familiar apprehension fluttered in her stomach again. “I must do it.”

“I wish I could go with ye.”

Guilt rushed through Jenna. She should have known that Celia would think first of her.

In the past month, her entire life had been turned inside out. All her life, she’d felt inconsequential. It was only when she boarded the
Charlotte
that she began to feel the heady sense of freedom, and then on the
Ami
she’d learned what it was to feel being of worth.

But Celia looked at her with fear in her eyes, and apprehension, and something like real affection.

Jenna hugged Celia. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for being my friend.”

Celia’s cheeks reddened.

“I will be back soon,” she said.

“Godspeed, my lady.”

Jenna glanced once more at Meg, then went out the door and down the corridor to the companionway. She had to go up sideways to accommodate her hoop and even then it swayed upward, revealing much of her stockinged leg. She feared it would show much more when she descended into the quarter boat.

On deck, Burke dropped a coil of rope as she emerged. Mickey looked stunned. Robin’s jaw dropped open.

A small smile played across Hamish’s face. “My lady,” he said with a courtly bow.

Jenna wasn’t sure whether she should be gratified or insulted. Did she really look so terrible the rest of the time?

A frisson of pleasure shot through her despite her nervousness about the impending descent. She would truly hate to dispel those looks of admiration by falling into the sea, something entirely possible in these skirts.

Hamish eyed them cautiously as if he had the same thought. “Do ye think ye can hide a pistol under all those skirts?” he asked.

“Aye,” she said in a steady voice. At least, she hoped it was steady.

“I have a double-barreled flintlock pistol,” he said. “‘ Tis only six inches.”

She thought about it. “We can tie it to my leg, but it would have to be high and—” She suddenly realized she was discussing things no lady should discuss. She had intended to say under her stockings.

Hamish, strangely enough, looked discomfitted. Robin looked interested. Burke leered, or perhaps it was his natural expression.

“Just bring it to me with some bandage.”

“Aye, my lady,” Hamish said, moving faster than she’d ever seen him. No one seemed to think it strange that she was giving orders. Except, possibly, her.

He was back within minutes. She took the pistol from him and balanced it in her hands. Heavy. Then she took the bandage and disappeared around the forecastle out of sight of the men. With no little difficulty, she pulled up her skirt and petticoat with its hoop, but she needed two hands to tie the pistol to her thigh and one to hold the voluminous skirt out of the way.

Unfortunately, she had only two.

She plopped down on the deck, grateful that it was kept fairly clean and tried again. She could not ask one of the sailors to do it. Nor Robin.

She finally took off the hooped petticoat, pulled up the underpetticoat, tied the pistol to her thigh with a bandage, smoothed the underpetticoat, and fought with the hooped petticoat, finally emerging triumphant.

How she’d loved her simple dresses that required no corset, no hoop.