The Pirate Prince (41 page)

“I know.” Lazar let out a slow exhale of smoke and watched it vanish, mulling over his worry about his little captive. “But I still can’t marry her.”

Vicar shot him a severe look, as if Lazar did not already feel guilty enough. “You and your curse. The only curse that plagues you, boy, is obstinacy.”

“I cannot take the slightest chance that any harm could come to her. It’s
because
I love her that I can’t marry her.”

“Have you told Allegra about your so-called curse?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Because she would laugh in your face—as well she should.”

Lazar looked over at him a trifle indignantly. “Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh on me? I’m trying to do what’s best for Allegra.”

“Lie to yourself and to her, if you like, but do not attempt to lie to me.”

Lazar heaved a sigh and turned away. “You know what will happen. She’ll be snuffed out.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

“Bosh! Stuff and nonsense. How can a grown man, an educated man, cling to such an absurd superstition?”

Lazar folded his arms over his chest and stroked his jaw with his thumb, staring down at the planks. “She is losing respect for herself because of me.”

“You sound surprised. What did you expect? You have asked her to throw away her integrity, the thing for which she values herself most.”

“I have not—”

But Vicar interrupted him almost angrily. “That woman is no vapid, idle, twittering fool like your past mistresses.”

Lazar arched a brow, turning to him. “I didn’t know you felt so strongly about them.”

Vicar snorted. “What a mule-headed dimwit you are. Do you know how rare this is, what you’ve found? Do you know that
I
have never loved as you now love—that no man on this ship has ever been loved as she loves you? Yet there you stand, throwing it away. Typical—typical! I am only surprised Allegra herself did not see the folly of making you so comfortable. She is too sensible for this.” Vicar shut his book and climbed stiffly to his feet. “I don’t want your company tonight, Fiore. You are too vexing.”

“What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“Marry her,” he said. “For once in your life, have a little bloody faith in something other than your pistols and your sword.”

Lazar stared after him.

“Bloody hell,” he said to himself, resting both hands on his hips.

Maybe the curse
was
nonsense.

God’s truth, as wives went, he was beginning to despise Nicolette Habsburg already for the simple fact that she wasn’t Allegra. He would sire children upon this unknown woman, who would inherit all he had, while any children he had with the woman he loved would be treated as bastards in the world, albeit royal ones. And how would Allegra be treated?

He knew the answer to that. Her heart was so tender. The slights she would receive would hurt her, scar her starry-eyed faith in people and the world, one of the things he loved best about her.

The part that made him feel most guilty, however, was the fact that he had preyed upon her inherent sense of responsibility and selflessness to get his way, lied to her about the reasons he wouldn’t marry her. Not lied outright, but let her assume his refusal to marry her was based first on the fear that the people would never accept a Monteverdi as queen and second on the need for the princess’s imperial dowry to help stabilize the economy.

In truth, he knew he could surely overcome both obstacles with a little time, the people’s grudge against Monteverdi, as well as Ascencion’s looming bankruptcy. The real reason he would not marry her was because of his curse—and what if it was all in his head?

It amazed him that she had never even asked him to do the honorable thing by her, only for Ascencion. For herself, she had never asked for anything but to be near him. Yet for all he knew, even this sacrifice was not enough, his attempt to trick fate by keeping her his mistress only, not his wife.

But damn it, it wasn’t fair. She deserved to be the queen. Ascencion needed her. He needed her. With her vision and high-minded ideals, she was good for Ascencion, and she was certainly good for him. How was he going to be at his best for his people without her?

But what if—?

What if.

The whole damned thing is irrational
, he said to himself.
What if you waste your whole damned life believing in something that doesn’t exist?

But the evidence remained: every member of his family was dead but him; Wolfe was dead, yet he lived on. Even the dog he’d once kept aboard was dead, swept overboard in a storm.

No, the risk was great enough leaving her merely his mistress. He could not take the chance of harm’s coming to her because of the curse on him. Fate had it in for him, as he well knew. For once in his life, he would try to do something unselfish.

The deep blue of the Atlantic had given way to the warm, glassy turquoise of the Caribbean. For the past two days, the weather had been stifling hot and overcast, and Lazar had told her he expected a storm.

Presently they were playing catch, tossing a crumpled piece of paper back and forth as they argued good-naturedly about where the university they were planning should be located, and wondered aloud what Emilio was cooking for dinner, for they were both hungry.

All of a sudden there was a terrific crash.

“Well, there’s your thunderstorm,” Allegra said in surprise. She glanced toward the balcony, and though the day was dark, there was no rain yet.

Lazar was staring at her and slowly turning white.

“No,” he said, his voice oddly strangled. “That was cannon. We’ve just been fired upon.”

The instant, frantic shout of a crewman at the cabin door confirmed it. “Cap, it’s that damned new British admiral, out for our blood again!”

Lazar closed the distance between them with three swift strides. He took her by the shoulders.

“Gather water, some food, bandages, and a few candles. Take the blankets and pillows from the bed, and set yourself up in the center cargo hold in the mid-deck. Take the Fiore heirlooms with you—”

“Our notes, too?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Take my pistol. You never know.” He hushed her protest before she could utter it. “Vicar will load it for you. Be quick. Don’t stay here in the stern. It’ll be one of the main targets, along with the bow.”

She nodded, wide-eyed. “Be careful, my love.”

He grinned.

“Don’t worry,
chérie
. There’s still plenty of pirate left in me. I love you,” he whispered.

He stole a kiss, then dashed out the door before she could tell him she loved him, too.

Outwardly he was cool and nonchalant, but inwardly Lazar could not remember wanting to avoid a fight as much as he did now. Harcourt relayed his orders, rapping on the scuttle while the barefoot men pounded a tattoo across the planks.

“Tumble up, men! Ship ahoy! All hands, lay aloft! Full sail, lads! Lay aloft!”

They weren’t much for looks, but the crew of
The Whale
was as stouthearted as a pack of wolves and trained for deadly efficiency. Lazar paced the quarterdeck, jittery.

Sailors shimmied up the standing rigging to the yards, and gun crews stacked piles of artillery around the pieces, while in the waist, the carpenters gathered all the supplies they’d need to plug holes or douse any fires the vessel sustained. Lazar turned to the starboard horizon and peered through the folding telescope, then lowered it from his eye.

There was no need for worry, he told himself. He meant to run, but even if it came to a fight, ’twas an easy win. There were only ten ships to their seven—so far.

That ambitious new British admiral must have found out somehow that most of the Brethren had left, he thought. Must have planned this ambush for them on their way back to Wolfe’s Den. The exact location of the pirate island amid the dozens of little nameless islands remained a secret the British had failed—so far—to learn.

Lazar eyed the enemy through his folding telescope. The hundred-gun butter boxes on the horizon might never catch them, and though the frigates were swift, escorting the men-of-war, they carried no payload to match
The Whale’s
seventy-four guns. He looked through his glass at the decks of his sister ships. Everyone seemed prepared. He hoped Morris, the boy captain, didn’t try anything foolish.

With evening upon them and a good blow rising up over the taffrail, he could almost hope they’d exchange a few preliminary shots to explore each other’s capabilities, then retire like dueling gentlemen for the night, for it was going to be a rough one. The lowering sky promised a hard summer storm.

If the weather granted him an overnight reprieve, he would do aught in his power to slip away without a fight. The stakes were too high now. Every battle brought its risk, but he was not prepared to take leave of the world just now. For once in his life, he had too much to live for.

His woman was below, and for all he knew, she could be carrying his child even now.

Aye, he thought, better a good run than a bad stand.

His mind made up to run rather than fight, he ordered the foresail and trysail set, the topgallants only slightly reefed, the royals trimmed. He could see his men were glad of his decision.

In the next hour, the sun slipped over the horizon ahead of them, and the black clouds in the southeast behind them gathered and grew, unleashing cool gales that notched the ship up to a speed of twelve knots, near hull speed. The carpenters began handing out oilskins to the gunners, who spread out the water-resistant tarpaulins over their powder stores. There were a few sou’easters for those on deck manning the lines. Lazar turned his back to the wind, lit a cheroot, and muttered orders to Harcourt, who sang them out.

“Loose the topsails, double-reef ’em, lads! Hoist the foretop stay! Square the yards, men! Get those head yards braced aback!”

The evening sky purpled to the color of a blackened eye.

Lazar denied Harcourt’s suggestion of loosing a drogue anchor in case the wind grew too wild, replying that he would reconsider once they had gained more distance on the enemy. For now, speed was of the essence. Admiral and company had the wind square behind them, allowing the British a swift run, gaining on them, while the Brethren, heading due west, had to broad-reach with the wind from the port quarter.

Faster
, he thought urgently.

Under the cover of darkness, they might still be able to slip back to Wolfe’s Den without being followed too closely, but if the weather turned too wild, he’d get them all killed if he didn’t take down his canvas. Calculating that it took his crew only twenty minutes maximum to take down all sails, he knew he still had plenty of time to wait and watch.

The lookout high on the crow’s nest shouted out then, announcing an eleventh vessel, possibly French in design but flying no colors. It sliced through the waters about sixteen leagues off the port side, coming up fast.

“French, eh?” Lazar murmured. He had his doubts.

Malik had told him his old friend Domenic Clemente, now Governor of Ascencion, had put a huge price on his head, and with the thousand louis d’ors being offered, Lazar figured it was a bounty hunter—at last. This had been his real concern all along—not the bumbling navies but the cold-blooded mercenaries of his own ilk, well armed, shrewd, hungry, and efficient. In either case, he knew now he was going to have a fight on his hands whether he liked it or not.

“Very well. Let’s give ’em a taste of our cannons, boys.”

Harcourt grinned at him.

A low murmur ran across the decks as the men prepared the longest-ranged guns.

It began to rain. Within moments, the cold downpour turned to hail, pelting the bareheaded men on the yards. Harcourt roared at them to forget their hides and mind their canvas, but it was hardly necessary. They were the Devil of Antigua’s own and pirates all, lusty for battle.

His cheroot promptly soaked, Lazar threw it into the waves and shrugged into the oilskin Mutt brought him, not bothering to close it.

“
Capitán!
” cried a high voice from the fo’c’sle.

He turned to see Darius standing by the bulwark, his black hair plastered to his forehead by the downpour.

“Get back below,” he told him. “This is no place for you.”

“
Capitán
, no!”

Lazar turned back to him with a dark look. “What did you say?”

“
Capitán
, please! Do not send me to hide with the old man and the girl! I’m a man! Give me a man’s work! You know I can fight!”

“You are as green a pup as ever was born, and a landsman to boot. Now, get below.”

“But—”

“You’ll be underfoot!” He saw the boy’s hurt look and softened. “Don’t you care to see your mother’s face again?”

“I don’t have a mother,” he said miserably.

Lazar growled and cast about for a response to this pitiful confession. “Look, it would ease my mind to have a man I can trust to mind my woman. I wager she’s terrified, or will be soon. If I know Vicar, he’ll soon be too seasick to be of any use to her. Somebody’s got to prevent her doing anything foolhardy—not an easy job. Will you watch over her for me?”

Darius heaved a sigh and grumbled a low, “Aye, aye.”

Lazar watched the lad slouch through the hatch, then he glanced up at the sky. A bolt of lightning to the south outlined the three nearest ships. They were spreading out in blockade formation. Aye, he would have his battle ere long.

Dark impulse stirred in his breast as he stared at the horizon, fading into inky night. A narrow smile crept over his lips. He tasted the driving salt rain, searched through the telescope, and saw that it appeared he would be saved once again by a storm. He could make out a line of squalls many miles off. The British, too, had seen it. More than half their vessels were dropping anchor and lowering sail to ride out the looming storm, the damned quake-buttocks, but the admiral and the bounty hunter still bore down on them relentlessly.

Thunder crashed overhead, disgorging the contents of a black-marble cloud down upon them, an icy baptism. The sharp scent of lightning loosed something wild inside of him. He roared over the thunder for the gun crews to load. Harcourt strode down the weather-side line to see that all guns were ready. A moment later
The Whale
sent off her first warning fire. Then the pirates began their deep
yo-ho
-ing while the flagons of rum were passed around to fire their spirits.