“Be careful,” the priest said. “There are snakes.”
Alex jerked his hand away.
He ate something that Roberto gave him. He’d stopped asking questions about what the food might be. Then he leaned against a tree, feeling the pain in his leg, willing it to go away. He thought about the diamonds in his pocket and those the priest was carrying. A fortune in Europe.
But his mind kept going to another image. Hair touched with gold and eyes the color of the sea.
“Go away,” he mumbled, knowing as he did so that it would not.
The ship was dark when Jenna and Mickey went over the side. There were five men on watch but Mickey had already told them he was taking one last trip for some special alcoholic brew that he’d heard the Portuguese were willing to sell.
The remnants of the crew—most were asleep since they would leave before dawn—saw nothing unusual, especially when Mickey gave them an extra dram of rum.
She’d stayed to the shadows after making sure both children were asleep. She’d left a note for both of them; she did not want them to feel she had deserted them.
Grateful for the men’s clothing, but feeling very strange, she climbed down the ladder. The freedom of movement was marvelous. She made every step and jumped easily into the small boat.
Mickey rowed the tender and they quickly reached the Portuguese ship. A sleepy-eyed sailor looked at them in surprise.
“We would like to see the captain,” she said in a mixture of English and Spanish. She took off her cap, letting her hair fall around her shoulders.
The man shrugged helplessly, but gestured them to come aboard. He disappeared while she waited anxiously, hoping that no one would report this trip to Claude. In minutes, she was in the captain’s cabin. It was neat, just as Alex’s cabin had been, but far smaller with room only for a bed and a table.
But this captain had obviously hurriedly dressed. His shirt was not tucked in, and a threadbare waistcoat barely covered a protruding stomach. His hair was messed, and his cheeks were shadowed by a heavy beard.
He was clearly puzzled as he regarded her long hair flowing down her back, then her clothes. His gaze went to Mickey, who, like so many of the Ami’s crew, looked like the worst kind of cutthroat.
“I need your help, senhor,” she said in French. “Do you speak French?”
“Sim, my … grandpere was French.” He bowed slightly. “But what may I do for you?” he asked.
“Take me to Vitória.”
His eyes widened. “But that is impossible.”
“Why?”
“I am going north.”
She reached into a pouch she carried and took out a garnet necklace that glowed in the dim light of a lantern. “I will make it worth your while.”
“I do not understand.”
“There will be more. Much more,” she said.
“But why can you not go in your own ship?”
She was ready for the question. Mickey was quiet, listening without understanding, yet ready to defend her with the knife tucked in a scabbard on his belt.
“I was taken by a pirate,” she said, delivering the speech she’d rehearsed in the past few hours. She felt, rather than saw, Mickey move closer.
She hurried on. “They planned to ransom me, but I escaped when the ship was in Martinique and stole aboard the Isabelle. They have been kind, but they had trouble with authorities in Rio—a matter of smuggling, I think—and he will not take me to a port where there might be an official government office.”
Jenna had no idea if any of this made sense. Although she had planned her story, she was now improvising the details as she watched the captain’s expression. They made sense to her after all the talk of smuggling.
“I hoped,” she continued, “that you would rescue me and take me to Vitória. My family will pay you very well, and you can have this necklace as well.”
The captain’s covetous eyes went to the necklace. “There will be more, you say?” She wondered if he was involved with a little smuggling himself.
“Aye. My family is very wealthy and influential, and would be very grateful.”
She saw he was reluctant to believe that. Still, the necklace alone would be worth far more than a week of his time.
“How can I refuse such a lovely senhorita,” he said.
“We should go before the crew of the Isabelle realize I am gone.”
His eyes sharpened. “I would think they would be relieved that you would find a safe harbor.”
She hesitated, then said as if reluctant, “I think they would feel they are due a reward, too, and I have nothing else of value with me. But you, sir, look like a gentleman. And you are Portuguese; you are not afraid to sail into your own ports.”
He was bowing practically down to his feet now.
She looked past him to Mickey. His face was pure bewilderment. He realized she had succeeded but he did not know how.
She nodded to him with a smile, then thanked the captain.
Within the half hour, they were sailing away from a still-sleeping Isabelle.
Chapter Twenty-two
The letter explained things.
Though not to Claude’s satisfaction.
Still, he had no choice. He even felt a small bit of relief.
One of his sailors had awakened him when the Portuguese trader sailed away, the Ami’s—no, Isabelle’s—tender with it. He went to the captain’s cabin first and found the note on top of the table.
He could go after the trader, but apparently the mademoiselle had woven her magic over the Portuguese captain as she had over the governor. And the captain. And even himself. He had no doubt that she would get what she wanted: a chance to warn the captain about the peace treaty.
Claude had not been willing to disobey his captain’s orders to allow that exact thing. He had been in the French navy too long, his sense of duty to the captain of his ship—even a privateer—too ingrained for him to flagrantly disobey an order.
But at the same time he realized the danger to a man he’d come to respect.
Lady Jenna had taken matters into her own hands. And if anyone could do it, she could. She was as resilient and resourceful as anyone he had ever met.
“Bonne chance,” he whispered in the night air.
Vitória was exactly as Jenna remembered it.
It had taken two days’ sailing, and she prayed every minute of those two days. Please let me make it in time.
The sun was setting when the Portuguese trader lowered the anchor. The captain joined her at the deck. “You are not happy?” he observed. “You said you wanted to go home.”
“I wanted to get away from the pirates,” she corrected. “But I am to be married to someone I do not know.”
“And you are afraid?” He gave her a sly smile. “I doubt that.”
“I would rather go ashore tonight,” she said.
He shrugged. “You have paid me well.”
“I promised you more.”
“Promises are easy to make. I did not depend on it. You were in need.”
“You really are a gentleman,” she said with a smile.
“Please do not tell anyone.”
“I will see that you are repaid for all your trouble. If not from my family, then from—”
“A man escaping the British?”
She stared at him.
“I am not a fool, senhorita. You told a good tale, but I did not believe it. I did admire your courage, though.”
“Are you married, Captain?”
“Sim.”
“She is a fortunate woman.”
“She said I am gone too much.”
“Then you should take her to sea with you.”
“We have six children. She must stay with them.”
She digested that. “Your wife is a lucky woman to have so many children,” she said. “And such a kind husband. I will not forget you.”
He beamed. “If anyone discovers it was I who brought you here, then I ha
ve merely aided a woman in distress. And made a profit doing it. I do not like authorities. They take bribes and do little to protect us. I wish you well.”
“Where can I find you?”
“I come from Pôrto Alegre.”
“We will find you,” she promised, after memorizing his name, and his wife’s name.
She changed into a dress, then she and Mickey were rowed ashore. She prayed she could find Burke.
She prayed she was in time, that the British or even the French had not arrived before her.
Mickey left her at what constituted an inn in Vitória. It was the best, she was told, that the town had to offer. And, in truth, despite its simplicity, the sea breeze flowed through the windows and the bed was comfortable.
The establishment’s owner, who eyed her with more than a little curiosity, could not understand her limited Spanish and knew no French or English. She did learn that no British ship had visited Vitória.
She wanted to go with Mickey to try to find Burke or one of the group of men Alex had contacted, but he said she could not go where he was going. She would only hinder his efforts; he would probably be killed defending her honor. The thought of Mickey defending anyone’s honor was an interesting one, but she did not want to risk his life to make it a reality.
He would return, he added, within four hours.
So she sat at the window, watching the Portuguese ship leave the harbor.
Hours went by. More than four, she supposed.
Then she saw a new ship enter the harbor and anchor. A British frigate.
Apprehension surged through her. She started for the door, then reconsidered. Vitória was small but she knew females did not go into drinking establishments alone, particularly those of the type that adventurers patronized. She would only bring attention to herself if she left now.
She vacillated. What to do? Wait and see what happened. Perhaps the ship had stopped for water and provisions, but Rio de Janeiro would have been better for that. It was larger, with more merchants.
She continued to watch as a quarter boat was lowered and a party of soldiers led by a man in a red uniform climbed down.
Would they check with the inns? Would they ask whether the Ami had visited the port? It had gone under another name and flag but its size was unmistakable. Not many large ships, she’d gathered, stopped at Vitória.
She wondered whether Mickey knew the ship had arrived, whether he had found Burke or Alex, or if either of them was even here.
But then if they were, they would know. Just as their arrival weeks ago had been noted by the residents, so would be the arrival of a British frigate, especially one bristling with cannon.
She looked in the bundle she had brought with her. She still had the trousers and shirt and hat she’d used earlier, but while she might pass for a sailor at night, she doubted she would in the bright light of day.
Her heart sank an hour later when Mickey had not yet come and a detachment of British marines, accompanied by a well-dressed gentleman, approached the inn.
Burke glared at Mickey. “You disobeyed orders.”
“The lass was coming with or without me. Wasn’t anything going to stop her,” Mickey protested at a table in a hut that served as some kind of tavern. Mickey had had terrible drinks before, but nothing that approached what he was drinking now. It had taken him hours to find this small establishment with dirt floors, a few tables, and chairs that looked as if they would break under the slightest strain. “Where’s the captain?”
“He said to wait here for him. I am staying in a seamen’s lodging not far from here. He has gone with the bandeirantes.”
“Bandeirante?”
Burke shrugged. “Soldier of fortune, adventurer.” He frowned. “But what is she doing here?”
Mickey turned away. They had never liked each other. Burke was Scottish, Mickey Irish: and they had been natural competitors. The fact that Burke had the captain’s ear had always been a thorn in Mickey’s side.
“She wanted ye to know a peace treaty has been signed between the British and France. It was signed before we took the Charlotte.”
Burke stilled. He knew what a treaty meant, as did all the members of the crew. It did not mean so much to him personally. He was accustomed to being a fugitive. So was the captain. But now every member of the crew would be called pirates by the world. There would be no safe waters anywhere.
“When will he return?” Mickey asked.
Burke hesitated.
“I am on your side, bucko,” Mickey said.
A newcomer entered and started talking rapidly, then a tall, swarthy man with a beard approached Burke. He spoke in broken English.
“English ship in harbor.”
Burke stood so rapidly the chair fell and splintered. Without saying anything more, he left the room, Mickey hurrying behind him. They both arrived in time to see a quarter boat heading for shore.
“I should warn Lady Jeanette,” Mickey said, starting in that direction.
Burke stopped him. “She will learn soon enough. No one must know that any of the Ami’s crew is here.”
“But she—”
“Is a Campbell and safe from the British. She can fend for herself,” Burke said. “We have to warn the captain.”
Mickey hesitated. Perhaps it would be worse if he were found with her. But there was no telling what she might do if she did not know her warning had reached Burke.
“I’m going to tell her.”
Burke shrugged. “’Tis your neck.”
Mickey did not wait. He almost ran down the streets, even as they seemed to roll beneath his feet. For a seaman, land was always more unsteady than the sea itself.
He reached the inn just as the British quarter boat landed. He saw an officer along with a man in civilian clothes step out of the boat, then address an officious-looking man in white who met them. He did not waste any more time. He went to the back of the inn and up the back stairs that were for the servants.
Lady Jeanette opened on his first knock.
“Mickey,” she said.
“I found Burke. He’s waiting for the captain. He’ll warn him.”
She took his hand, and surprisingly, clutched it like a lifeline. “Thank you.”
Embarrassed, he merely nodded and averted his gaze.
She went to the window and looked out. He followed and saw the procession reach the inn’s door. They had to know a white British woman was there.
She turned to him. “You must go. Where can I find you?”
“Come with me.”
“I cannot. They know I am here. I do not want them searching for me.”
He thought hard. “I’ll return to the back of the inn every moonset,” he finally said, and without another word, slipped out the door and started down the back steps, hearing as he left the precision steps of British soldiers.
Jenna captured a ringlet of hair that had escaped from the neat knot at the back of her head. She quickly found the lace cap that she had brought with her and placed it on her head. She smoothed down her skirts.
Who was the man without a uniform?
Maybe they just wanted lodgings. Still, her hands trembled. She could not make a mistake now. And she had no idea what to do. Should she go back with them? What excuse could she give if she did not? Would her hesitation to return send the British on a hunt for her abductor?
How could she leave him? How could she leave everything she had found?
A knock sounded at the door. She moistened her lips, then opened the door. She recognized the uniform of a navy lieutenant, several British marines, and the man in civilian clothes.
The latter turned searching eyes on her, studying her face, then the rest of her. She was suddenly conscious of the livid birthmark.
But his gaze did not remain there. And she weighed him as well. His hair was a very light brown, almost sandy. His complexion was ruddy and his eyes a light blue.
“Lady … Jeanette,” he said.
�
��Aye.”
“I am David Murray. Thank God, we have found you.”
Alex was hot, feverish.
His leg barely held him. The pain had become so great that the leg had become numb, or had he willed his mind to ignore the agony? Just a few more hours, according to the priest. He was a Jesuit, a member of an order persecuted by both the Portuguese and the Spanish.
He would not go into Vitória, but would stay just outside and wait for Alex to return with the gold. The exchange for diamonds would then take place.
If, Alex thought, he made it. The insects were thick, the heat oppressive once they came down from the hills. They had not yet encountered the fresh breeze from the sea.
“Senhor,” said the priest, “you need to rest.”
He shook his head. “Have to … meet … ship.”
The only thing that kept him going was the memory of Jenna’s face, the way her eyes lit when she saw him. He kept remembering how she smiled, and the way she tipped her head when she was about to do something outrageous.
His fingers clutched the bag of diamonds. Those and the others he expected to collect would mean security for Meg and Robin. It would mean freedom for Jenna. Safety for himself.
What would safety mean without Jenna? Without the children?
He’d thought all he wanted was to rid himself of them. Now he knew how much he would miss them. But he also knew more than ever the limitations of his body. Until now, he’d never really accepted it.
They stopped at dusk, and this time he could not eat at all. All he wanted was water and rest.
“You should eat, senhor,” the priest told him.
He just shook his head.
The priest touched his forehead. “You have the sweating disease,” he said.
“What—”
But the priest was gone. His eyes closed, and the jungle closed in on him.
Jenna sat as David Murray paced the room.
“How …?” she asked.
“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “Were you … injured?”
“Nay,” she replied quietly. “Neither my companion nor myself.”
He did not seem to comprehend the former part of her sentence. “Thank God,” he said. “I was told they were the worst kind of villains.” He hesitated. “How did you get here?”
The Diamond King Page 28
