Buccaneers Series

by Linda Lee Chaikin

  “And to think we was both born here,” whispered Minette, her eyes curious as she gazed out from beneath her hooded cloak, leaning closely against Emerald.

  “We won’t be here long,” Emerald encouraged her. “We’ll be sent to England, he says. With me not daring to show my face at Foxemoore after what’s happened, I shall be glad enough to go to Berrymeade.”

  But Minette looked sorrowful, even frightened. “That’s all good for you, Emerald, but what will your Uncle John Clark have to say about me being there on his farm?”

  Emerald pushed the troubling thought aside. “They’ll accept you too. They’ll have to,” she said firmly. “If they don’t, I won’t stay either. You’re my cousin just as much as Lavender is, and I’ll see to it you’re treated so.”

  Minette glanced at her doubtfully. “First thing they’ll do is stare at me. ‘Her mother was from Africa,’ they’ll say. ‘How come she’s not dark—’”

  “Hush.” And Emerald laid a comforting hand on her arm. “Remember, my reputation is also in shreds. We’ll need to face the future together and with our Lord as our Shepherd—surely He has good plans for us. His Word is a light for our feet, a balm for our spirits. Try to look at our future as an … an adventure,” she said bravely. “One that God has planned for our good.”

  Minette sighed. “Maybe. But I know what those English folk will say about me … about us—”

  “Look! We’re stopping. This must be the gathering place for all the buccaneers.”

  “They look like plain pirates to me—mean—and they’d as soon run away with us as sweep off their hats!”

  Emerald agreed, but hoping to give Minette courage, she put on a brave facade.

  A hand-carved sign read “Sweet Turtle” in French, English, and another language she could not read. The meeting place was two-story and looked to be made of pieces of ships, mainly Spanish galleons, with ornate wainscoting and tapestries hung on its high walls.

  As she entered with Minette, following after Sir Karlton, Emerald saw a huge room having many long wooden tables that glowed with wide candles in oval bowls. A motley group of seafarers and wenches loitered about, some gambling and drinking, others eating. All looked dangerous and shrewd of eye.

  A heavy-link chain was looped across the ceiling, holding French chandeliers better fit for the Louvre in Paris. Fat candles gleamed from within and shone down upon pirated urns and vessels.

  Someone had hung a gilt-edged portrait of the king of France on one wall, and, not to be outdone, another had gotten hold of a haughty portrait of King Charles dressed in velvet and pearls, a faintly sardonic smile on his mouth. There was also a portrait of some admiral who looked to be from Holland, sword in hand.

  As rum flowed into mugs, cards and dice were shuffled and clicked. Merry music filled her ears as a group of men played instruments and a wench donned in calico drawers and tunic did an Irish jig. Bright plumed parrots sat bored in gold perches on the walls. Swords, pistols, and ammunition were everywhere. A fire burned in an open hearth where several men were roasting some manner of meat. There were stacked barrels along one side of the wide room. On the other side, a double flight of wooden steps went up to the next floor.

  It was to these steps that Sir Karlton brought Emerald and Minette, as a few friendly shouts of greeting were called to him and curious eyes followed her.

  Later, in the room she shared with her cousin, she learned that the pirates already knew who she was and that the word was out that she was to become a “high-born wench,” a lass already claimed.

  Why would they think this? There must be some news about her that she did not know. And she had been puzzled since first arriving on her father’s ship, because she had expected him to be very upset with her. To her amazement he had been in a pleasant mood.

  When she started to go into her long, prepared discourse on what had happened and why she had thought to marry Jamie and leave Port Royal, he had hushed her to silence with a benign smile and a fatherly kiss of acceptance on her forehead.

  “Now, now, little one, your father is knowing all about your poor judgment. He’s already forgiven you. And the Almighty has looked well over your mistakes by His grace. Matters have turned out for the best.”

  Then he had smiled cheerfully, setting her down in his cabin to sip “good hot English tea, because you’ll be soon sipping it in style at Buckington House. Nae fear of that. Ah, yes, matters could not have turned out better, so I’m thinking.”

  She had wondered then and still did so now as she loitered at the open window in their small room above the meeting hall. They had been in Tortuga going on three weeks, and when Emerald asked her father about the delay, he dismissed her questions with no concern.

  “No matter. Your father knows what he’s doing. You’ve not been accosted or treated with insult, have you?”

  “No, Papa, but we’re bored with the room and—”

  “Whisk, now, there’ll be none of that. You’ll both behave yourselves until the time comes. What did you do with the fine cloth and sewing things I brought you?”

  “We’re putting them to use, and the satin is so lovely, Papa. And Minette is delighted with the prospect of some new frocks, only—”

  “Only what? You’re impatient to be on your way to London, are you? Well, that’s to be expected. Patience, little one. The negotiations of your father need a careful and wise hand indeed. But things be going well.” And he had chuckled over some musing of his that he would not share.

  As Emerald drew a chair to the open window and sat resting her elbows on the sill, the sun was setting on Tortuga, and the music and raucous noisemaking were still underway below. Her father had gone down to the beach to see to some “business,” and as usual she and Minette were under strict guard by Zeddie and a member of her father’s crew.

  “I don’t understand him,” she murmured, looking out at the blue-green waters. “I would have expected him to be outraged over what happened. And he wasn’t even angry with me about planning to marry Jamie.”

  She stared thoughtfully at the sun dipping into the Caribbean and the sky above turning a bright pink-orange. The palms were dark swaying silhouettes, and the breeze was pleasant as it came against her.

  She had donned a simple white muslin frock with Holland lace at cuffs and throat, and her dark hair was drawn back into lustrous curls that sloped down her neck and back.

  Minette sat in the midst of the bed, sewing the blue satin frock, yards of Holland lace strewn out beside her. Her waist-length amber hair tumbled in a mass of wafflelike ringlets about her shoulders.

  “He treated me like a slave,” she murmured to herself.

  Emerald scowled, for the remark was no answer to her own musings about her father’s reaction to her situation.

  “My father?” she asked in disbelief.

  Minette looked up, her eyes wide. “Oh, no, Emerald, not Uncle Karlton. Him,” she said coolly. “That conceited friend of the viscount. Remember him? The man we met on the road?”

  “Oh,” said Emerald, realizing that Minette was still talking about Erik, Baret’s buccaneer friend. “Well, I wouldn’t let his boorish manners hurt you. What do you expect? They’re both rogues!”

  Emerald wearily leaned her elbows on the windowsill and looked out to sea, a strange, unknowable ache in her heart. She watched the dozens of sloops and brigantines all anchored, their masts gleaming in the twilight.

  “I wonder what England will be like,” she mused. “My father’s right about one thing. I do desperately want an education. And to learn all the right behavior and customs. But more than that, Minette, do you know what I want for the future?”

  “To be a great lady?”

  “Well, yes, that too, I suppose—but I want to attend the Christian meetings in London where men of profound understanding are able to teach the Scriptures like Mathias. And someday I want to put that knowledge to use—maybe doing what Mathias did.”

  “They’ll never accept you
at Foxemoore now. You can be certain Lavender has spread vile tales about you to everyone. If you’re going to have a singing school, you better open one up in London.”

  Suddenly Emerald straightened and drew in a breath.

  Minette looked at her, alert. “What is it?”

  When Emerald didn’t answer, Minette scampered from the bed and sped across the room to stand beside her at the open window.

  “What’s wrong? What is it? Oh! Why—isn’t that Lord Buckington?”

  “Yes,” murmured Emerald, staring below. “It is. What’s he doing here?”

  “I don’t know. Do you suppose he knows Uncle Karlton’s here—and us too?”

  Emerald’s hand tightened on the drape as she watched several buccaneers walk up from the beach, garbed in royal finery and fancy hats with plumes. She recognized the dark good looks of Baret immediately and the contrasting fair appearance of Erik Farrow.

  “Why—it’s him,” said Minette, a strange note in her voice.

  “Yes,” murmured Emerald a bit coolly. “And they fit the manner of the reckless men below with the worst of them!”

  As though he felt her narrowing gaze, Baret looked up at the open window where she remained, leaning on her elbows. The men were just below the window now, and he stopped. With a smile that could be no less than a smirk, he doffed his hat with a deep bow.

  Emerald drew back from the window, angry at herself because her heart pounded. She had hoped she would never see him again, least of all on Tortuga!

  “He didn’t bow to me,” said Minette a bit crossly. “That Sir Farrow is a rude man, Emerald. He’s no gentleman at all—but I s’pect he would be to a real lady,” she added more quietly.

  “What are they doing here?” murmured Emerald. “Oh, I wish we had set sail yesterday!”

  “Vapors! Uncle Karlton is coming—and he looks angry. Oh, Emerald, something is dreadfully wrong! He’s carrying his weapons!”

  Emerald’s heart pulsated in her throat. Her father strode toward the Sweet Turtle wearing a dark scowl, his baldric slung over a shoulder. It was then she saw that Baret had stopped and turned to face him.

  “You blackguard!” shouted Karlton. “So you’ve shown yourself, have you? ’Tis about time! I’ve been waiting for you to dare!”

  “Well, Karlton,” came Baret’s pleasant greeting. “So you’ve rendezvoused on Tortuga with the rest of us. When’s Morgan due?”

  Emerald was puzzled and frightened all at once. Evidently Baret had taken her father’s gruff greeting as a jest, but Emerald knew him better. He was angry.

  Her father stood feet apart, scowling, his brows lowered. “You’ll answer for shaming my daughter, Buckington! I’ll have your head for this, or you’ll have mine. But we’ll not leave Tortuga till it’s over. I vow it.”

  Emerald’s heart seemed to stop.

  “Perhaps we best talk inside, Karlton. I am sure I can explain everything to your satisfaction.”

  “Satisfaction? I’ll split your innards and leave them for the gulls to peck! Inside, he says!” her father shouted at the gathering Brotherhood. “After the man has sullied my fair lass? It’s a duel, Buckington! Fair and square. And we’ll be letting the Brotherhood decide when and how.”

  “Now wait a minute, Karlton—”

  “We’ll meet inside all right. I demand it.” He turned to the pirates. “The sea lawyer, where is he? Where’s old Tobias?”

  “Inside,” said a black-haired pirate wearing a bright red coat and black hat. “He’s digging up the Orders and Articles of the Brethren of the Coast this minute.” He leered at Baret. “You heard ’im, Foxworth. Harwick say we best ’ave a meetin’.”

  As they walked into the Sweet Turtle, Emerald whipped about to face the astounded Minette.

  “I knew it,” whispered Emerald. “Papa’s good mood was a ruse. That’s why he’s been keeping us here. He knew Captain Buckington would be at Tortuga until Henry Morgan arrived.”

  “What will you do?” breathed Minette. “Uncle Karlton was madder than a wet parrot!”

  “I’ve got to stop them, of course. If there’s trouble, what chance does Papa have?”

  She rushed to the door and opened it, looking out onto the narrow walkway that overlooked the wide room below. She could already see the men entering.

  Zeddie, who had been snoozing by the wooden steps leading down, saw her and, straightening his periwig, stood up. The crewman at the bottom of the steps also stood and looked up at her.

  “You can’t go down, m’gal,” said Zeddie. “Sir Karlton’s orders.”

  “I must! Don’t try to stop me, Zeddie!” She brushed past him, hurrying down the stairs, holding up her skirts to keep from tripping, but midway down she was stopped by the burly crewman.

  Blocked from her descent, Emerald faced the room, her hands gripping the rail.

  At a large table the buccaneers had gathered, some seated, others standing about the outer walls, looking on. A grizzled old man, who looked more of a pirate than a scholar, was seated at the head of the table with several parchments in front of him. He put on a brown hat with a bright ostrich plume.

  Her father had entered, and so had Baret, who appeared bewildered and impatient all at once. He looked up to the steps, and his gaze swept her.

  She lifted her head with an attempt at dignity, but she blushed. Her father was making more of a spectacle of her than anything she might have faced at Foxemoore!

  “I demand a duel.” Her father’s clear, robust voice bounced off the plank walls.

  Baret looked away from Emerald to confront Sir Karlton on the other side of the room.

  Emerald found her voice. “Papa, no! Please! This is absurd!”

  “Absurd, is it? Is that what you call it?” And Sir Karlton strode toward the steps to look up at her. “Will you have this scoundrel abduct you from the wharf and make off with you like a common wench?”

  “Papa—” Emerald felt her face turn hot. Her hands formed into fists at the sides of her pristine white skirts. Her eyes swerved to Baret, who now appeared calm and cool, and a sardonic smile played on his mouth as he watched her, then Karlton.

  How can he be amused? she thought, horrified.

  Karlton turned back to Baret, hand on his sword hilt. “Well, you black-hearted scamp, what have you to say for yourself?”

  Baret’s voice came smooth and hinting of cynicism. “What would you have me say for myself, Captain Harwick? I am most certain you have this all planned out.”

  “Planned out? Before the Brotherhood, I demand you answer me! Did you not abduct my fair and comely lass from Port Royal against her wishes?”

  Baret folded his arms across his chest. He glanced up at Emerald. “Aye, I did. Honor forces me to confess.”

  “And did you not bring her aboard the Regale for nigh unto three weeks, keeping her in your cabin?”

  Emerald jerked her head away, gripping the railing.

  “I did.”

  “And did you not buy her from the scamp she had intended to marry, James Maynerd, brother of poor Charlie hung at Port Royal by your uncle, Felix Buckington?”

  There was silence. Slowly Emerald looked at Baret.

  “I bought her for twenty thousand pieces of eight.”

  “Ah …” came Sir Karlton’s voice, reeking of accusation. “I demand a duel, Buckington. For the honor of my daughter. And I’ll have your heart cut from you and tossed to the sharks for this!”

  Baret stood staring at him, his smile gone now. He measured Karlton, who stood unrelenting. “Karlton, there is no need. I return your daughter fairly and with not so much as a strand of hair touched by me or any of my crew. If you’d simply calm down and let us speak alone in private I can explain—”

  “No, Buckington. It will be settled here and now in public before the Brotherhood.” He turned toward the head buccaneering official, who still sat at the table with the parchments spread before him.

  “How does it read, Tobias?”

  T
obias drummed his fingers on the table. “As a sea lawyer I pledge you there’s nothing in the Articles against you dueling Captain Foxworth for the honor of your daughter.”

  “What’s the law on it?” demanded Sir Karlton.

  “Wait a minute,” said Baret. “According to the Articles of the Brotherhood a captain is privileged to do with his prize as he pleases. And I please to return Captain Harwick’s daughter to him.”

  “On the other hand,” said Tobias, picking up the parchment, “prisoners taken at sea are usually sent home in good condition and worth their weight in ransom.”

  “I relinquish the ransom,” said Baret with a scowl. “And I relinquish the twenty thousand pieces of eight—already divided up between Maynerd and the crew of the Venture.”

  Sir Karlton took a step toward Baret. “And you’re forgetting something, Buckington. According to the Orders and Articles of the Brotherhood, I’ve a right at duel for my grievance without interference from others.”

  Emerald stood horrified as her father took off his wide-brimmed hat and smashed it down on the table. He unsheathed his sword.

  “Papa!” she cried. “No! He didn’t hurt me! I vow it! He’s telling the truth!”

  “Nae,” he growled. “A duel, Captain Buckington.”

  “You heard him,” said Tobias to the buccaneers. “Give room! Move the tables back!”

  Emerald struggled to get past the crewman who continued to block her way, but he wouldn’t budge.

  “Then a duel you will have,” Baret said. “But to draw blood only.”

  “Nae, indeed, but to the death it shall be.”

  Emerald ceased her struggle, her wide eyes swerving to look first at her pale father, then to Baret, who stood gravely. He seemed to judge her father’s seriousness and, as if now believing it to be genuine, folded his arms again.

  “You are not a fool, Karlton. I could kill you. You know that.”

  “I do.”

  “And yet you will go through with this?”

  “Aye. To the bitter end. Naught too much a price to pay for the pristine honor of my daughter, Emerald.”

  She saw Baret’s eyes narrow under his lashes. His jaw tensed. The silence grew in the room as all eyes were on the two men. Emerald’s knees were weak. Surely, oh, surely! All this must be some hideous nightmare. An ironic joke?