The Diamond King

by Patricia Potter

  “Aye. They were torn out during a storm.”

  The doctor nodded. “She should be bled every few hours,” he said. “And given bark for pain.”

  “I have given her laudanum.”

  The Frenchman grimaced. “It is addictive,” he said. “Bark is preferable. And the poultice should be of bread and milk.”

  “We had no milk,” Mickey replied.

  “It is inflamed,” the physician said, “but there is not yet gangrene. She should be bled.”

  “Nay,” Mickey said. “She is too weak already.”

  Jenna nodded in agreement. She had never seen the advantage of bleeding an injured person. Many had already lost too much blood. The theory, she knew, was to rid the body of “bad” or diseased blood, but it had always seemed foolish to her. Still …

  “It is the course of treatment for such wounds,” the physician said in French. “That and bark. The bark relieves pain by tightening the vessels, and thickens the matter.”

  Jenna translated for both Mickey and Meg.

  “Nay,” Mickey said again.

  The physician’s face reddened. “You came to me,” he said to Jenna.

  “I know,” Jenna said, “and we were told you were a very fine physician, but Meg has already lost a great deal of blood. Is there not anything else you can do for her?”

  The physician’s eyes softened. “I will give her bark and give you enough to see her through this. Give her the bark mixture every four hours. No more laudanum. Use poultices of milk and bread. I will give you some plasters to bind the wound so it will not tear again. The arm should also be splinted. I will do that for you. That is all anyone can do. Just pray the inflammation does not move into gangrene.”

  Again, Jenna translated but left off the last sentence.

  “Is she well enough to travel?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I am not sure whether staying here would change anything.”

  Jenna had been prepared to stay here, if the captain would allow it. Perhaps even secret the girl away. But … after seeing how Meg looked every time Robin came into the room or the captain’s name was mentioned, she knew she could not do that.

  “Merci,” she said as the physician prepared a drink of bark.

  Meg looked at it suspiciously.

  “It will make you feel better,” Jenna explained, holding Meg’s head and urging her to drink it. The mixture looked dreadful.

  Meg swallowed once. Her body shuddered, then she gulped it down.

  “She can stay here tonight,” the physician said.

  Mickey shook his head.

  “Nay,” Jenna said, “but if she gets worse we will call you.”

  The physician put an adhesive plaster on the wound, then rigged a sling. He gave them a bottle of bark.

  “Milk?” she said.

  “You will have to get that in the morning,” he said.

  She nodded.

  Mickey leaned down, picked up Meg, and carried her to the door. The soldier was outside.

  They made their way down to the wharf. Suddenly, Robin appeared at her side.

  “They are keeping the captain prisoner,” he whispered.

  “Why?”

  “The British have threatened the island.”

  An unexpected ache settled in her heart.

  Will. The captain. Whoever he was would unquestionably hang if the British caught him.

  They couldn’t let that happen.

  For Meg’s sake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Under the eyes of the French soldiers, the quarter boat returned to the Ami. Jenna climbed aboard with little trouble this time. Then she waited for Meg, who was half slung over Mickey’s shoulder, her good arm around his neck.

  Once aboard, Meg stood on her own legs, though she swayed a little. She took some deep breaths of air. Then Jenna helped her to her cabin—the captain’s cabin. Jenna thought the bed would be far more comfortable than the sick bay cot, and she would use a pallet. She and Celia could take turns looking after her.

  Celia was more than agreeable. Still, she searched Jenna’s face. “When will we leave the ship?”

  “I do not know,” Jenna said. “The French are holding the captain and will not let anyone leave the ship.”

  “Not even us?” Celia said.

  “Nay.”

  Meg eyed them anxiously from the captain’s bed.

  “I will not leave you,” Jenna promised, knowing that she had already made that decision earlier. Wherever Meg went, she would go. Whether it was to this island or on the ship. If the captain or the French did not like it, she would find a way.

  “You get some rest,” she said, pulling a blanket over Meg. Then she gestured Celia outside. She had to tell Celia what she planned.

  “I may remain. If you wish to go home, I will leave you with enough money for your passage to Barbados, and then back to Scotland, or you can stay here or in Barbados. You are good with children, and Mr. Murray may wish you to stay. You can take a letter for me.”

  “I cannot leave ye, my lady.”

  Guilt ate at Jenna. She wanted to give Celia every opportunity to change her mind. “I know the sea does not agree with you, and one of the other passengers can help you find passage to Barbados and a position if you wish. I am so sorry I dragged you from Scotland.”

  “You did not drag me. I thought it would be a glorious adventure. And it would have been if I had not gotten so sick.”

  Jenna gave her a quick embrace. “You have been as dear as a sister. I want what is best for you.”

  “It is staying with you, my lady.”

  “Even if we stay aboard this ship?”

  “Even if,” Celia confirmed. “And,” she added, “there is a gentleman—”

  “A gentleman?” Jenna didn’t think Celia had been well enough to see any of the prisoners from the Charlotte.

  “A crew member,” Celia said. “A man named … Burke. He has been bringing me food while ye have been with Meg.”

  “Burke?” Jenna had seen him several times. He seemed closer to the captain than any of the others, despite the fact that he did not appear to be an officer. A burly man with little grace, yet when he had been in to see Meg several times, Jenna had noticed a certain rough tenderness in him.

  “Aye, my lady. He has been bringing me concoctions to help my sickness. He said he had the same illness, but that he no longer does. Ye can get used to it, he says.”

  Celia was slight, pretty, and timid. Jenna could barely imagine her with the rough, gruff Burke who looked like the worst kind of brigand. She wondered how many times the two had been together.

  “We will talk later,” she said with a smile. “Stay with Meg until I return.” She meant to talk with Mickey and Hamish and Burke as to what they intended. She had been invisible most of her life. She did not intend to be invisible any longer.

  She planned to fight for Meg. And for herself.

  Alex paced his prison while Claude watched him. He cursed, plotted, raged. He had to get released without setting the entire French government against him.

  If possible, he would sell the entire contents of the Charlotte at a very low price, and get the bloody hell out of these waters. At this point, he was inclined to give the governor whatever he wanted, even if it included the Charlotte. Just as long as it did not include his head, the Ami, his crew, and the children. The latter was the most important.

  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 int
ended 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.