“Did you not feel free before?”
Meg was asking her questions now. Jenna hoped that talking and thinking of something other than her wound would be good for her.
“Nay,” she said.
“Why?”
“Because of the birthmark on my arm,” she said frankly. “A lot of people believed it is the mark of the devil. They feared me. And my parents thought it best if I did not appear in—”
“But that is no’ your fault,” Meg said with indignation. “And I did no’ even notice,” she added.
Of course she had. Everyone did. No one could help but notice. But pleasure flooded Jenna at the heated defense. She could not remember when anyone had defended her. That it came from a badly injured eleven-year-old lass made it even more … touching.
“Thank you,” Jenna said.
“But ye are to be wed,” Meg said. “He must not care, either.”
Jenna could not say anything. It was terribly humiliating that she was wedding someone who had never seen her, who possibly did not even know about the birthmark. She flinched at the idea that people would believe she was so desperate that she would travel half the way around the world to wed a man she’d never met.
People? No. The captain.
“He says not,” she said. She did not know whether that was true, but it was what her father had told her.
“I think you are bonny,” Meg said in a vehement defense.
“Thank you.”
“But you are, Jenna,” Meg protested.
A warmth enveloped her at the use of her name combined with the child’s protectiveness. How ironic that a child not yet twelve sensed something that Jenna had never expressed before, not even to herself.
“So are you,” she said with a smile.
“Nay, I am plain. My ma used to say so. She said I was too much a hoyden to ever get a husband.” Meg tried to sit, and she grimaced, but still she did not cry out.
“You can say something,” Jenna said. “Scream, cry, yell.”
“That would no’ do any good,” Meg said with the certainty of one who knew.
Jenna wondered if Meg would ever cease touching her in so many ways.
Meg was still too warm, the wound still too raw for Jenna’s satisfaction. The pain was also still too intense.
“Where’s Will?” Meg asked as she shifted her position, then sat back with a little sigh of relief.
“He’s gone ashore.”
“And Robin?”
“He’s watching for the captain.”
A flicker of worry passed over Meg’s face. Jenna wondered whether the lass would always worry about people leaving her, or being taken away. “It is a French island,” she said. “He will be fine.” Selling English goods.
“Will you see if he has come back?” Meg asked.
“Aye, if you wish it.”
Meg nodded, her eyes huge and red-rimmed. Fear was very much in them. For the captain? For Will? The two were the same yet Jenna sometimes had problems uniting the two. The captain was ruthless, reckless, emotionless. Will was the man who had touched Meg so gently.
She stood. “I will be back.” She wanted to tell her to get some rest, but Meg would not do that now. Something was bothering her. Some instinct told Meg all was not well.
Jenna hurried up the companionway to the top deck. The number of men watching had grown. The tension had become palpable. One of them particularly seemed agitated. Burke, she remembered. He had been down to see Meg several times, though he never directly addressed Jenna. It was obvious that he held her Campbell heritage against her as much as his captain did.
“What is wrong?” she asked Robin, who seemingly had not moved from the place he’d been earlier.
“The captain cancelled orders for the crew to go ashore. That is unusual. And there has been no sign of him.”
“Perhaps someone should go into town and—”
“He said to wait.”
“And everyone does what he says?” It was a ridiculous question. Of course they did. He was the captain, but he was more than that to many of them. She’d learned that, though she did not yet entirely understand why.
“Aye,” Robin said. “Most of the time,” he added honestly, and she was reminded that he and Meg had stolen aboard.
“We need a doctor,” she said. “Cannot someone go ashore and ask for one, and perhaps ask about the captain at the same time?”
Robin’s face brightened. He turned to Hamish who’d apparently taken over command of the ship “Should we send a boat for a doctor?”
Hamish frowned, then nodded. “The captain did say he’d be seeking a doctor.”
She did not say more. She had planted a seed, and now she had to let it grow. If she pressed, then they would be suspicious.
She was doing it, she told herself, only for Meg’s peace of mind, certainly not for her own.
In minutes, Hamish was calling for volunteers to go in the longboat into town to find a doctor and see what they could find out about the captain.
Burke stepped forward, but Hamish shook his head. “The captain wants you here.” Another man, and then a third volunteered. Jenna wanted to go, but she knew that was out of the question. They might have become more tolerant of her, but she was still a prisoner on board.
Still, she could tell Meg that they would have news soon.
Alex fumed in the handsome prison to which he and Claude had been relegated.
The interview with the governor had not been productive. Apparently he’d been intimidated by English threats. The island had been attacked—and taken—more than once by the British.
He’d learned that a neutral ship had visited Martinique with a warning from the British authorities in Barbados. It was known that a pirate was operating in the Caribbean, and if the French in Martinique helped the pirates in any way, they would pay a price for it. Since the peace treaty between the two countries was apparently nearly completed, the governor himself could be charged with crimes.
The governor obviously believed the threats. He was a timorous man who was greedy. Alex suspected he feared an investigation of the large sums he took to expedite the sale of British goods on the island.
He and Claude were prisoners while the governor vacillated between greed and fear. Louis Richárd did not want to return the Charlotte to the British and lose all the commissions and bribes. He could, of course, seize the Ami, but he was not quite sure of the importance of Alex’s backers in France.
The governor obviously had not expected Alex and the Ami to return, much less with an English prize and English passengers. So he dithered, insisting in the meantime that Alex and Claude stay as his guests in his residence. Well-guarded guests.
Alex had tried to tell the governor they needed a doctor. The man had not listened. He obviously had not wanted to give Alex a chance to send a message to the ship and allow it out of the harbor until he’d made a decision.
Alex paced up and down the room, as Claude drank from the bottle of wine provided by the governor along with a platter of roasted chicken, cheese, and fruits.
“You should try this wine,” he said. “Our host has good taste.”
“Probably from the last ship I brought in,” Alex replied. “His greed knows no end. He wants the Ami. He wants to soothe the British by giving them the Charlotte.”
“And your head,” Claude added helpfully.
“We have got to get the hell out of here,” Alex said. “If that treaty …”
“Oui,” Claude said cheerfully. “We will all hang at the end of an English yardarm.”
Gallic insouciance. It drove Alex mad. “Just think of a way out.”
“Without killing some Frenchmen and becoming hunted men in France and every one of its possessions as well as every English one?”
“Aye.”
“That might be more … difficile.”
Alex went to the window. There were two soldiers outside that, too. He looked out at the ships in the harbor. “Do
you think he is acting on orders from France?”
“Non. He has his own problems here. Too little protection from France and a very big threat by the English. And he is greedy. He knows a peace treaty is likely and is using that excuse to seize our ship for himself and pacify the English with the Charlotte.”
Alex cursed under his breath. He’d not liked the governor from the moment he met him. “What if we escaped and went to sea?”
Claude shrugged. “If we make it out under the guns, there is little he can do. I do not believe the French government would appreciate his greed. That could be one of the problems. He might like the idea of our being taken by the English. There would never be tales of bribes. For every dollar the governor takes in bribes, the French government loses.”
“We will have no safe haven.”
“We have none now, Captain.”
“Then let us find a way out of here.”
Claude took a sip of his wine. “Without killing too many of my fellow countrymen, I hope.”
The quarter boat returned to the ship. Robin climbed up the ladder like a monkey. “The doctor will not come on board, but we were given permission to take Meg to him,” he said to Jenna, who was waiting.
“Where is the captain?”
Robin frowned. “They just said he was meeting with the governor. But he’s been gone eight hours, and there have never been soldiers on the dock before. They will not let anyone come ashore except Meg and whoever comes with her.”
“I would like to go with her,” Jenna said.
He frowned. “I don’t think the captain would like that.”
“He was going to release me here anyway,” she said.
Hamish stood beside them. “I donna like this,” he said. “Any of it.”
Robin swallowed hard. “If we get ashore, maybe we can find out something about the captain.”
Hamish brightened slightly at that. In her brief observations, Jenna thought he was a man who was competent when told what to do but unwilling to make decisions on his own.
Jenna wanted to say something, but she was still viewed suspiciously if not with the original hostility. But she too wanted to know where the captain was and whether there were problems, or perhaps if the peace treaty had been completed. She did not care about the captain’s fate, she told herself, but she did care about Meg and Robin and Hamish and some other members of the crew.
“I’ll tell Meg,” Jenna said.
Robin nodded as he looked at Hamish.
“Aye,” Hamish said, “Robin can go. He knows that Frenchie talk.”
“I’ll get Meg ready,” Jenna said. “How can we get her down?”
“Hamish can carry her,” Robin said.
Jenna nodded, then went down the companionway to the sick bay. Meg was awake, her face clammy. Still, she summoned a piece of smile. “Is Will back?”
“Nay, not yet. But we are taking you on shore to see the physician.”
“A real one,” Hamish added.
“I want Will.” Now she looked like the child she still was. Her lips trembled.
“I know you do, Meggy,” she said, using Robin’s pet name for her. “But perhaps Robin can find out something when you go ashore.”
Like Robin’s face had lit earlier, Meg’s did now. “Oh, miss, do you really think so?”
“Aye.”
“You like him, too.” It was a statement, not a question.
“I want him safe for your sake,” Jenna said cautiously.
But Meg ignored the reason. Instead, she nodded solemnly. “Will is very handsome. I will marry him someday.”
“What about Robin?”
“Well, Robin, too.”
“You cannot marry them both.”
“Nay, I suppose not,” Meg said with a quick grin.
“Now come, I will help you dress. Then we will go out on deck. Hamish will carry you down to the quarter boat.”
“I want you to go, too,” Meg said, surprising her.
“I do not—”
Meg stuck out her lower lip in a stubborn expression Jenna was beginning to recognize. “I will no’ go unless you do.”
“You must go and have your arm mended,” Jenna said.
“Will it get better?” The child was back. Uncertain. Afraid.
“Aye, it will. The doctor ashore may have medicines we do not have.”
“I did not mean to go on deck,” Meg said.
“I know, love.” She leaned over and put her hand on Meg’s forehead. Still too warm. “I would have done the same thing.”
“You would?” Meg said doubtfully.
“Aye; now we must get you ready. I have a clean shift you can wear. It will be much too big but I understand you stole away with very little.”
“I wish I were a lad.”
How many times had Jenna wished that she had been born a man with choices?
She would not have chosen to be a warrior. She would have liked to be a doctor, or even a farmer. She would have liked to sail to many places. She would have liked to have some control over her life.
“Then,” she said logically, “you could not marry either Will or Robin.”
Meg’s mouth screwed up in consternation. She evidently had not considered that before.
“I’ll be back soon,” Jenna said.
She went up to the quarterdeck with Robin, who pressed her case. “Meg will not go unless Lady Jeanette does,” he told Hamish.
Hamish looked as if he were being plagued by all the demons in hell. “All right then,” he said reluctantly. “Mickey can go with them.”
She tried not to smile as she hurried to her cabin. Celia was not there. She wondered where she had gone, then felt relief that her friend was well enough to leave the cabin.
Her dress would be suitable, but she hunted in her trunk for the old armor of gloves. She found a pale green pair which would match her dress and started to pull them on. She stared down at the glove that covered a mark that had ruled her life.
No one on the ship seemed to care about it. The captain’s gaze never lingered on it. Neither had Hamish’s nor Meg’s nor Rob’s. If they did not care, why did she? Why did she worry about what a stranger might think?
Or her intended husband?
She had feared his reaction ever since she had stepped on board the Charlotte. She had carefully kept her birthmark secret from the other passengers on that ship. It was only when she had started to care for Meg that she’d almost forgotten about the birthmark.
She pulled the glove back off. She would not hide any longer. It seemed she had spent her life hiding.
With a bravado that was new, she gathered up Meg’s clothes. She had not been able to get rid of all the blood. A pink stain lingered on the rough wool shirt Meg had been wearing.
She riffled through the trunk to try to find something that might be altered. Celia was wonderful with a needle and thread.
She was surprised to find the pouch of jewelry she’d not had time to sew into a dress, nor had searched for until now. So the captain had not taken it as she had expected.
Jenna sat on the bed and regarded the trunk, the pouch, the gloves.
The prospect of an unknown, unmet husband.
The long absence of the captain.
She should welcome the thought that he might be having difficulties. That he might be stopped. That he might be held for the British. That he might hang.
Her heart skipped every time she considered such a possibility.
Because of the children, she told herself. For no other reason.
She took the clothes she had set aside for Meg and left the cabin. She could not linger or the French authorities might change their minds. The physician may have nothing more than Hamish, but the ship’s stock of medicines seemed pitifully small to her.
She hurried back to Meg with the clothes in hand and helped her dress. Then she called in Hamish, who was waiting outside with Robin. Hamish picked Meg up and cradled her as Rob led the way up the compan
ionway.
Day had faded into dusk. A few stars were barely visible, and a cool breeze wafted over the ship. The sails had been furled and the deck seemed strangely silent.
The quarter boat below was already manned by oarsmen. Jenna did not look forward to climbing down the ladder in her skirts and petticoat and wondered briefly if Meg had not had the better idea.
Hands reached out and helped her into the boat. Robin clambored down like a monkey. Then came Mickey, Meg holding on to his neck as he carried her down and lowered her to a seat. Dressed in the shirt and trousers, and with her cropped hair, she looked every bit the lad she’d wanted to be. Her face was pale, her lips locked in a grimace, and the smallest sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against Robin.
In minutes they reached the wharf. The seamen tied the boat up and helped Jenna out, then Meg. A platoon of soldiers made no effort to help.
The man seemingly in command stepped forward.
“Docteur?” Jenna asked in French.
The soldier in command just stared at him
“Aye,” Mickey said. “And where is our captain?”
The man shrugged. He turned and said something to one of his men, and the soldier gestured for them to follow. Robin followed with the rest, then seemed to disappear down a street.
The lad spoke French. So did she, since it was a fashion among Scottish and English aristocracy. She had always loved the language, the beauty of its sounds, and hoped it would serve her well now. She wondered whether Captain Malfour spoke French. Most likely, if he had been part of Scottish aristocracy.
They arrived at a white building, and the soldier led the way up some stairs to a second-floor door and knocked. It was opened by an older man, who apparently had been alerted to their visit.
Mickey carried Meg inside, while the soldier hovered in the doorway. “Qù est le garçon?”
“He went back to the quarter boat to wait,” she said in French.
The soldier looked dubious, but said nothing else.
The doctor clucked as he unwrapped the dressing on Meg’s shoulder.
“What have you been doing for her?” he asked in broken English.
“Lint dipped in oil,” Jenna said. “I cleaned it first.”
“It looks as if the wound has been stitched several times.”
The Diamond King Page 17
