The Diamond King

by Patricia Potter

  He stared at her, astonished by the simple answer. She had said she might return to France, but he did not think she would like it. She would find Paris as he had; frenetic and superficial, a city of extravagant privilege and extreme poverty.

  “And I have been thinking,” she said, confirming what he was thinking. “I think I would like to go to America, to Boston or Philadelphia or Charleston, rather than France: I have been talking to one of the crew members. He said … people are more free there. Even women.”

  Her answer did not surprise him. “I will see you get there.”

  She looked away. He felt a loss. He wasn’t sure why. He shouldn’t. He was grateful, aye. She had been unexpectedly helpful. And he would repay her for that help.

  She was biting her lip. She had done that at the governor’s house, too, displaying an uncertainty in a woman who could be so surprisingly competent. It was that vulnerability that made her so …

  Irresistible.

  He leaned down and his lips brushed her nose now sprinkled lightly with freckles from the sun, then lowered to her lips. They were slightly salty, her face warm. She tasted good, so good that he did not care about the stares that must be directed toward them. His fingers touched her cheeks, then her hair.

  He forced himself to draw away. “I had best get some sleep. I probably will not see you in the morning, but you have my thanks. And if either Burke or I are delayed in returning, Claude will have orders to get you to America with money I have set aside for you and the children.”

  Her eyes clouded. He wondered whether it was at the thought of his not returning. But that was foolish. He knew she was not a woman to sleep with a man lightly, and yet he understood that a night’s passion could not overcome centuries of distrust and hatred, nor futures destined to follow in different paths. It had been a moment robbed from time, one caused by extraordinary circumstances.

  “It should all go to the children. I told you I had means—”

  “You will need more to raise them properly.”

  Unexpected mischief crept into her eyes. “Properly?”

  He felt an odd tug at his heart. Perhaps it was because her own was so strong.

  “Aye, and it will no’ be easy,” he said, lapsing into his Scottish burr.

  She looked at him steadily, even as he saw she was trying not to show apprehension. Or something more than apprehension.

  “I will be back,” he said.

  “Meg will be heartbroken if you are not,” she said with forced cheerfulness. “She plans to marry you one day.”

  “I thought she had her heart set on Robin.”

  “She’s having problems making up her mind.”

  “A decidedly female trait.”

  “That’s a decidedly male opinion.”

  He grinned at her. He couldn’t remember when last he had done that, when he’d so enjoyed an exchange with a lass. She never backed down.

  “You,” he admitted, “are the exception. You are stubbornly set in your actions. And opinions.”

  “Aye. I thought you a pirate when I met you, and you are a pirate still.”

  “And has your opinion changed about pirates?”

  “Aye,” she said softly. “I did not realize pirates cared so much about others.”

  He wanted to say nay to that, that he was a fraud and not at all what she thought. But the words did not come this time. He stared at her for a long moment, wondering when she had become important to him, exactly what moment, what second, had brought feeling back into his life.

  But hope was gone. Dead. Buried with so many of his clansmen in a place called Culloden Moor. How could anyone who had witnessed that carnage, the brutality, the stark inhumanity to women and children, believe in God, or hope, or dreams? He had been a soldier. He had taken his chances. He would never blame what had happened to him on someone else. But what had happened to hundreds of innocents was something else.

  “Thank you for caring for them,” he said, then turned away and went down the hatchway. He did need sleep. He certainly needed his wits. And they had a way of deserting him when he was with Lady Jeanette Campbell.

  Alex managed several hours of sleep. He woke sometime in the middle of the night, dressed, checked his weapons: pistol, powder, dirk, and a second knife. He had liked Tomas, but he knew a renegade when he met one.

  He divided the gold to be used to purchase diamonds. The sale of the ship’s contents in Martinique had given him more than enough to purchase what he wanted. He kept a small portion he could easily carry, and gave the rest to Burke, who would stay at one of the small inns in Vitória.

  Alex bundled a second shirt and second pair of trousers with him, then pulled on his long boots. To the bundle, he added still another knife, and wrapped everything in a rough but warm blanket, then in a poncho, which should protect the contents from water. He’d already learned that there could be violent rain storms as well as dangerous rivers to cross.

  He searched his mind to see whether he should include anything else. He knew he was placing a great deal of trust in Claude, and in Jenna. But this was the one opportunity to provide security for those he had taken under his care.

  The adventure was important, too. It always had been. He’d sought it even in his youth. Yet wandering no longer provided the satisfaction it once had. He no longer wished to see the rest of the world. He wanted peace.

  Satan’s blood, but when had that thought formed?

  He went up on the main deck. Burke was already there, but that did not surprise him. It seemed Burke never slept. His face looked rough. He had been shaving lately, probably because of Celia, but he had not bothered tonight. He looked even more fierce than he normally did.

  “How is Celia?” Alex asked.

  Burke looked startled, as if everyone on the ship did not know that he was paying attention to—if not courting—Jenna’s maid. They made one of the most unusual combinations Alex had witnessed: the shy and timid Celia and the cutthroat Alex knew Burke to be. And yet Burke was the most steadfast of men when he gave his loyalty.

  Now he growled at the question.

  Alex chuckled. He felt like growling, too.

  “Let us find Marco,” he said. “You’ve brought along your weapons?”

  Burke gave him a look of complete disgust in reply.

  “Of course,” Alex murmured to himself. Burke would never be that lovesick.

  He looked up at the sky. Dawn was possibly two hours away. But he needed to get away from the ship. And Jenna. Before he threw everything away. Before he complicated things beyond repair.

  Claude came over to him. “We leave on the morning tide.”

  Alex nodded. “Make sure no one else goes ashore.”

  “Like two children?”

  “And a woman.”

  “I will keep a sharp lookout.”

  Alex looked around. He half expected to see her here, to see Meg’s curious little gamin face.

  He hated the disappointment he felt that they were nowhere to be seen.

  He felt loss.

  Jenna huddled in a chair, her arms hugging her legs to keep from going abovedecks or gazing forlornly out a porthole. Celia slept peacefully on the bunk.

  She wanted to be with Meg, but there was no place to sleep there, and Meg no longer needed her as she once had.

  She knew Alex was leaving. She heard the sounds of the boat being lowered. Soon, she knew, the ship would be moving away from the Brazilian coast, and from him. She knew from crew members that the interior, where he was going, was dangerous. There were fish that nibbled at people, alligators that ate people, snakes that killed instantly. She knew all that, and yet she wished she were going with him.

  For some unfathomable reason, she felt safe with the pirate, safer than she had ever felt in her life.

  He did not love her. He obviously did not think he could—or should—love anyone. He took great pains to make that clear to others, even tried to do that with the children, though he failed miserab
ly. He had not failed with her. She was convenient, and willing. Nothing more.

  Jenna knew she should feel bad about that. She didn’t. No matter what else happened in her life, she had taken risks and experienced something she might never know again. It was worth being a fallen woman.

  She waited in her cabin until she heard the boat return, heard it being hauled back up on deck. She heard the anchor being lifted, then she made her way to the sick bay where Meg still slept.

  The cabin was dark, but she heard a stir when she entered and light filtered in from a lantern in the passageway outside. A flurry of movement told her Meg was not asleep. Nor was she alone.

  “Robin?” she said.

  The boy appeared from behind the door. Meg sat up. Both, in the dim light, looked disgruntled.

  “You got left, too,” Meg observed.

  “Aye,” she said. “We would be in the way.”

  Meg considered that in the serious way she had. She did not want to agree, but there was no denying that her injury had created problems.

  “I was afraid you might have tried to follow,” Jenna admitted.

  “I promised,” Meg said solemnly.

  Jenna was impressed that Alex had been able to extract such a promise, and startled that Meg was observing it. Still, she saw guilty looks on both faces and wondered what they were plotting.

  “He will be back,” she said.

  “I know,” Meg said. “He can do anything.”

  But Robin didn’t say anything, and she wondered what hid behind that expression. Should she be more worried than she was?

  And why was she so worried already?

  Bloody hell, but it was hot.

  He tried not to struggle through the jungle, his body unaccustomed to the humid and extreme heat. His leg hurt with every step.

  He could stand the pain. But he felt that at any moment, it would stop holding him upright.

  He was beginning to wonder at the wisdom of this journey.

  Yet he’d known in Vitória that if he did not come, he would not succeed. He had never refused a challenge. If he did now, he feared that he would do it again. He would not allow the English to win, and they would do so if they kept him from doing something he wanted to do.

  He’d also thought the challenge would get Jenna out of his mind.

  His mind was not so obliging.

  Why did he feel such a sense of loss? Wasn’t this exactly what he wanted? That she would forget him and make a more secure, safe life for herself?

  He stumbled and Marco caught him. Marco, in truth, was managing far better than Alex had expected. He seemed tireless and, to his amazement, had developed an unspoken understanding with Tomas. Perhaps because they were the same kind of men.

  He merely nodded, then accepted a stick from Marco. He hadn’t wanted to show his weakness but neither, he hoped, was he a total fool.

  One foot in front of the other. Concentrate on that. And yet it was Jenna’s face that kept him going.

  They stopped when it got too dark to see the trails. Tomorrow, he was told, they would travel down a river in canoes. Anything to get out of the jungle with its leeches and snakes and growth that had to be hacked through with machetes. He was learning to be as good with a machete as he had been with a sword.

  Tomas disappeared into the jungle. He did that often, returning with meat of some kind. It was usually already skinned, and Alex didn’t ask questions. He was quickly learning about another kind of survival than the one he’d mastered in the Scottish Highlands. He had had two enemies then: the English and hunger. Here, the dangers were exotic and he knew enough not to argue with someone who knew how to deal with them.

  He slumped gratefully against a tree. His shirt was sticking to his back. So were leeches. He plucked the bloody things off, wishing for a fire. But rain had poured down during afternoon hours and everything was damp. There would be no tinder.

  At least he was no longer on his leg. Damn, but it ached. Down to the bone, it ached. Every muscle that had been strained beyond tolerance screamed for relief.

  The shadows closed in on him. The moon was shielded by the heavy growth. But he didn’t fear those kind of shadows. He feared only the shadows of his soul, the soul he thought he had banished, the soul that cared beyond bearing when he would forsake such emotion.

  He touched his face. He felt the bristle as well as the sweat. He must look like hell.

  He wondered what Lady Jeanette would think if she saw him like this.

  If she saw the real Alex Leslie at all.

  Jenna thought the sea would comfort her, engross her, make her forget a man she should never love.

  Instead, she saw him in every movement of the ship. She would come up at dawn and watch the sun rise, and look for him at the wheel, even though she knew she would not find him there.

  Still, his influence was all over the ship. The crew was polite, even diffident toward her. Respectful. Because they knew she was the captain’s mistress? Claude would certainly think that. How much had he said to the others?

  Meg joined her. She had improved even more in the past several days. Her cheeks were glowing again with the sun.

  “I wish we could have gone with him,” she said.

  “Aye,” Jenna said. She did not pretend with the children. That would be a betrayal of the confidence they had built among one another.

  Meg was wearing the trousers and boy’s shirt that she usually wore. Jenna couldn’t disagree that it was probably safer and more comfortable, but she longed to put her in a fine dress.

  Meg didn’t say anything else, but merely sat next to her and watched the sails. The wind was strong, and the ship moved swiftly along the rich green coast.

  Three weeks.

  Three weeks of not knowing what was happening to him. Three weeks of worrying about him.

  And three weeks of worrying where he would banish her when he returned.

  Alex sat in a clearing, surrounded by the most disreputable band of miscreants he had ever seen.

  He tried not to keep reaching for his dirk.

  Marco, he realized, had the same urge. But one move and they would be dead. They might be dead under any circumstances.

  He was already exhausted. Running from the British had been child’s play compared to traveling down a river alive with alligators and hacking his way through a jungle crawling with all manner of creatures. Ten days. He had eleven days to return.

  He allowed Marco to do much of the talking. Tomas had fallen back once he reached a primitive campsite and introduced him to a man named Jorge Filho. He was obviously part Indian, swarthy with straight black hair and a face more scarred than his own.

  A man in priest’s clothes stood at his side.

  Jorge gave Alex a contemptuous look, but the priest regarded him with interest. “You are a Scot.”

  “Aye.”

  “Jacobite?”

  “Aye.”

  He gave him a tight smile and spoke in broken English. “You do not like the English infidels.”

  “Nay,” Alex said.

  “You want diamonds.”

  The man named Jorge was listening intently, a scowl on his face.

  “Aye.”

  “You have gold?”

  Alex merely looked at him.

  “You are a wise man, Captain …?”

  “Malfour, at the moment.”

  “Why should we sell you diamonds?”

  Although the priest was asking the questions, Alex knew the authority was the scowling man next to him.

  “I was hoping you hated the British as much as I do.”

  “Why would that make a difference? Your quarrel is none of our affair.”

  “I understand you cannot get a fair price for your diamonds because the market is controlled by the Portuguese, and the stones must first be shipped to India, then sold as Indian diamonds.”

  Neither man said anything. They just seemed to wait for further explanation.

  “I have a friend
in France who can sell them directly. We will pay well.”

  “Why should we not take your gold now and kill you?”

  “Because I will come back. Because I can ensure a steady market for your gems.”

  The two men looked at each other.

  “I do not imagine you appreciate the Portuguese taking your diamonds,” Alex said.

  The man named Jorge spat on the ground. “Why should I trust you?”

  “We are two of a kind. We do not like authority.”

  Jorge spat again.

  Marco looked worried.

  The priest beamed at them.

  Alex didn’t trust that gleam. “Do you have diamonds?” he finally asked.

  “I can get them,” Jorge answered in guttural Portuguese. “Do you have the money?”

  “Aye, here and in Vitória.”

  “You do not trust us?”

  “Do you trust me?”

  Jorge studied him. “You have courage, senhor, but I must consider this.”

  “I should be back in Vitória in ten days.”

  “That is not my problem, senhor. I did not invite you.”

  “Tomas did.”

  “Tomas did not have the right. How do I know you are not with the authorities?”

  Alex pushed back the dark hair that clung to his face, showing the scar. “Do I look as if I was a dog of government?”

  That reply forced a small grin. “Maybe we can do business.”

  The Ami stopped along the coast to pick up fresh water. A small coastal ship sailing a Portuguese flag was anchored nearby.

  Alex had been gone fifteen days, and each one of those days seemed a lifetime.

  How could she miss someone so much?

  She spent much of her time with Meg and Robin, teaching the former to read. Robin already could read well, but Meg had never read a book and had seemed to have no interest in it until Jenna had told her a good sailor had to read to know navigation. Once started, Meg was insatiable. She had a curious mind that once awakened couldn’t get enough.

  In just a few days, Meg could already pick out words. When Jenna wasn’t around, Robin took up the lessons.

  Where was the captain now? Was he safe?

  She stood by Claude as he yelled down at the smaller ship. “What news?” he asked in poor Spanish.

  A man yelled back something she did not understand.