Baret turned to look back at the church for the last time. He had no wish to visit Margarita again. He’d started to leave when a voice called from the crest of a dune behind him.
So!
Levasseur stood in sharp silhouette against the sky, an ostrich plume swirling on his hat as the sea breeze made it dance cockily.
“Bon soir, Monsieur le Capitaine,” he called. “I have waited all these days for your arrival. You see, we did not sail to Porto Bello but came here, knowing you would arrive. Ah, we watch every cove. And now you have led us to the treasure. Yet, I did not think I would have the great privilege to come upon you alone, no. So you killed Lex?”
“Why would you think that?”
“That fool,” he said contemptuously. “What other end would he have? He would not listen to me. He went with Morgan just to kill you. But I had great faith in you, mon foi. I knew you would best him! Ah, but alas! You have met your match in me!”
“Do not be a fool, Rafael! For Emerald’s sake, I do not wish to kill you. And for what would you duel? The treasure? The treasure is gone, being safely loaded aboard the Regale even now. Let us make a bargain and part—if not friends—at least with our rapiers sheathed.”
Levasseur came sliding down the sand dune, his lean tawny hand resting on his baldric. He stopped. “Aboard the Regale, Monsieur le Capitaine, but not for long. Only until I tell the Spanish governor where to find you, yes? Still, what kind of a bargain, Monsieur, do you offer?”
“A share in the treasure—as agreed upon in the articles we both signed.”
He laughed. “Ah, but already I will have a share. And, also, your father would not agree.”
“Why not? The king shall have his plenty. And after all, the booty did belong to Madrid, did it not? You have made arrangements with the governor to locate the treasure for him? You shall have more than he offers you. Come, Rafael! Bury your animosity once for all. I have a gift for you, as well—the jewels that your cousin Minette took from your cabin so many months ago—”
Levasseur laughed again. “You expect me to be content, Monsieur, by the return of that which you have stolen from me?”
“Along with the generous share agreed upon. Think what you might do with it all—plus an extra share of the treasure of the Prince Philip!”
Rafael’s black eyes snapped. “An extra share, Monsieur?”
“Yes. I will take it from my portion, to which we signed articles. The rest of my portion will be divided among my officers and crew. A double share, Rafael—plus your jewels. And,” he added quietly, his dark eyes flickering with warning, “your life, my captain.”
Levasseur smiled slowly.
“You would be very unwise, Rafael, to duel me. You may boast to your men, you may boast to Emerald, but you and I both know I can best you. Why die in the sand on Margarita when you can take great treasure back to Tortuga, marry a pretty demoiselle, and settle down to become governor?”
Rafael watched him for a long moment, then threw back his head and laughed harshly. “Monsieur le Capitaine! You speak smoothly enough. Very well—we shall have our secret bargain. Still, I will not come with you down to the beach. Ah, mon ami, I know the treachery that may await me.”
“Then I will bring your bounty here—tonight.”
“You and I alone?”
“You and I alone, Rafael.”
Levasseur eyed him. “You would not be so foolish as not to return, Monsieur. If you do not, I pledge I shall send the Regale to the bottom. And the Warspite. And the Madeleine. With all on board.”
The wind blew and stirred the sand between them.
“I am a man of my word, Rafael.”
“I will expect you, Monsieur, when the moon begins to rise.”
Baret came alone to the church ruins and stood in the open, listening to the wind whine through the mud walls and rubble. He waited. The sky was wide and black. The nearly full moon was at the horizon.
Then he heard echoing boots, and Levasseur walked from beyond the church.
Baret dropped two heavy bags of jewels and coins and, reaching into his shirt, drew out a small leather pouch. He tossed it on top of the two bags.
Levasseur came cautiously forward, hand on his rapier, and Baret stepped back, his own hand on his hilt.
Rafael stooped, untied the drawstrings, and opened each bag. He scooped up a handful of shimmering gold and silver pieces, letting them fall through his fingers. Satisfied, he opened the small pouch and checked the pieces within.
“It is all here,” he admitted and stood.
Baret’s smile was sardonic.
Levasseur doffed his hat.
Baret did the same. Then, straightening it, he placed it back on his head as he backed away.
“Au revoir, Monsieur Capitaine!”
There was a hint of malicious amusement in his voice that alerted Baret. But he was too late. A dozen or more Spanish soldiers emerged from the shadowy trees with swords and muskets. Another voice, unpleasantly familiar, ordered, “I want him alive!”
Felix walked forward, tall and spare and as swarthy as a Spaniard. His bone-colored shirt dripped with lace at the wrists, and there were stylish ruffles on the front of his shirt. With startling blue eyes he measured Baret. The thin mouth and hawklike nose gave him an air of royalty, but he revealed his true nature now, as he smiled his malicious triumph. “So. I now have father and son to send to the Spanish governor.” He gestured with a slim hand toward Baret. “Seize him!”
Rafael’s treachery!
Baret whipped out his sword and stepped back. He was hopelessly outnumbered. Not even Erik knew where he was, for he and Karlton had rowed back to their ships to set sail for Port Royal, where they would rendezvous and each man get his share before the Regale set sail for England. Baret had wanted to come here alone, not wishing to involve them in his feud with Levasseur. And since the treasure was safely stashed in the Regale’s hold, no one would miss him until morning … no one, that is, except Emerald.
Rafael snatched up his booty and offered a mocking bow. Then he straightened, holding hand at heart. He wore a rueful smile.
“Ah, Monsieur, you are but too trusting! Tomorrow at this time I will also have Emerald and be far at sea. Perhaps I shall not return to Tortuga but to my native France.” His smile turned savage. “She will learn that I do not forgive her treachery in marrying you.”
Levasseur gave a sharp gesture toward the armed soldiers. “It is a sad thing that your father will again be turned over to them. Alas! But this time he will at least have you for company in the dungeon.”
“Take your pay and leave,” ordered Felix, showing who was in charge. “The capitan and his soldiers will go with you to seize the Regale. Then you will leave the island by morning, understood?”
Levasseur smiled unpleasantly. “But of course, Monsieur Buckington. I will take the woman with me as planned, and you will see me no more.”
“See to it. Take her and go. And do not show yourself in Port Royal—ever.”
Rafael bowed, smiled, then walked away with apparently no concern over the soldiers who accompanied him. His plans had been realized. Baret wondered if even Felix could trust him to keep his word. He watched the Spanish captain and his men follow Levasseur toward the now-dark, abandoned beach, where they presumably had boats.
What of the Regale? Baret was furious with himself. He had left men on watch. Yorke and several of his crew were awake and prepared to fight if need be, but they did not expect trouble now. No doubt they were enjoying discussing their success in stealing away the chests from underneath the sleeping noses of the governor and his soldiers. They would be dreaming of the fat share they would receive once back in Jamaica.
He was trapped. And what could he do? He looked again after Levasseur and the soldiers, then met the level gaze of Felix.
“So, Felix. You planned this with Levasseur?”
“Even an untrustworthy shark comes in handy at times. I knew you would come here afte
r you left Morgan, and Levasseur was willing to play his part to trap you—for a price. I knew that once your mind was fully on him, you’d forget any possibility I might be here as well.”
“You were right,” Baret admitted. “I did forget you were friendly with the governor. It was a foolish mistake. I suppose you overtook Carlotta and Jasper?”
“Yes, and Jasper is dead. He couldn’t be trusted. Nor would her marriage to him gain me a thing in the Spanish territories.”
“Miguel is also dead.”
Felix shrugged. “She told me how you abducted him to learn where Royce was kept. In the end it did you no good. I’m afraid your father cannot return alive to Nigel. I want that title—and I want the fortune.”
“At any cost, of course. You’ve proven that.”
He waved a hand airily. “As for Miguel’s death, it matters little. The governor here on Margarita is Carlotta’s uncle and will send her to Spain to marry. The family has ties to Seville. It will aid me.”
“I knew it was foolish of Modyford to discuss Morgan’s attack on the Main with you at that meeting.”
Felix’s smile revealed he was quite satisfied with himself. “There are few British secrets kept from me. I knew the treasure was on Margarita, of course, but I needed you to learn of its precise location from your father. I naturally assume you have done the daring and noble thing in rescuing him from Porto Bello, else you wouldn’t be here now. He’s aboard your ship, I suppose.”
Baret remained silent, wondering how he could get out of this, if not for himself, then for Emerald and his father. If he could fire his pistol, it would alert Yorke and put him on guard. If he could stall Felix …
“By the time the sun rises, Governor Sevastian will have a vessel out looking for Farrow and Karl ton. They won’t come back to try to rescue you, if that’s what you think. The governor has cannon, and the harbor walls bristle with guns. I have promised Levasseur the life of Emerald, but the others will be taken prisoner.”
Baret knew that eventually Felix would not leave anyone alive, for fear that even one man might escape to tell the ugly tale to Modyford. Once successfully eliminating Royce and Karlton and Baret, he would return to Jamaica and England to resume his life as a spy for Spain.
But, strangely, Baret felt more anger toward Levasseur than toward his uncle. Felix he had always known to be a deadly and unfeeling enemy who could betray his own brother. However, although he had always disliked Levasseur, he had mistakenly believed Rafael could be reasoned with for booty. Evidently his jealousy over Emerald went far deeper than Baret had guessed.
There seemed no escape. Could he reach Felix, kill him before the soldiers standing about overpowered him? Could he hurl his knife? He chanced getting killed by doing so. But it was worth dying now, here on the beach of San Felippe Mission, rather than going to the dungeon with his father—his beloved father! No! They could not take him a prisoner again. He would not let them!
The remaining Spanish soldiers had spread out cautiously, forming a wide circle around Baret. Felix gestured for them to take him.
“You’ll die first, Felix,” Baret gritted. “I’ll empty both pistols into your treacherous heart before my father is taken prisoner again.”
As though his own situation had just dawned on him, Felix’s black eyes dilated, then narrowed. His thin mouth twisted beneath his mustache.
“Would you kill your own uncle?” he mocked.
“As efficiently as I would blow off a viper’s head,” came the cold response. “You ceased to be an uncle when you sold your brother to Don Miguel Vasquez.”
Baret knew that if he did kill Felix, the soldiers would turn on him with their muskets. Still, the gunfire would alert Yorke, and perhaps then there was a slim chance the Regale could weigh anchor and get away with Emerald and his father …
Before he could act, however, he heard a soft footfall behind him. Then a heavy thud sounded through the back of his skull. He felt himself dropping to his knees in the sand. The sand blurred as he fell face forward.
In the castle near the harbor, Governor Sevastian sat with Lord Felix and Carlotta at a long low table to a late dinner of roast pig and wild hen.
“I commend you for a job well done, Senor Felix. To have captured pirate Foxworth will bring the smile and reward of His Most Christian Majesty in Madrid.” He raised his silver goblet and toasted Felix, then emptied it with a smack of his lips. His long glossy black curls dusted the broad shoulders of his burgundy jacket, which sparkled with gems at the broad black cuffs. His large fingers flashed with rings as he devoured a chicken leg and tossed the bones into a bucket, which an Indian slave quickly offered him. Sevastian impatiently gestured for another slave to fill his goblet with more Madeira and reached for more chicken.
“Tell me, Senor Felix, if you knew these heretic dogs would take Porto Bello, then how it is you did not warn me sooner or send word to my fellow governor at Porto Bello?”
Felix looked across the table at him with tried patience, yet needing the friendship of this man to further his own plans for wealth in trading slaves on the Main. Then he lifted his goblet. “I assure you, most noble Hector, that the man I sent from Jamaica was killed before he could reach you. And then, I was also delayed. I was obligated to overtake my daughter, who ran away with the help of Foxworth. Fortunately, I was able to deliver her from the biggest mistake of her life—marriage to Jasper.”
Felix set down his goblet with sharpness. “That fool! He nearly ruined everything.” He looked across the table at Carlotta. She sat in mute rebellion, her dark eyes on her untouched plate, her arms folded stubbornly. She was too much like the fiery woman who had been her mother in Cartagena, thought Felix. Stubborn, feisty, uncooperative!
“You are better off without Jasper,” he told her again. “He could not be trusted. You would have been unhappy in Barbados.”
“You trusted him for years!” she snapped.
Felix gave a bored gesture. “A necessity. But I never fully trusted him. I had him watched constantly. It is a good thing I did, else I’d not have known that the two of you had slipped away. Baret is to blame for that fiasco as well.”
“This Foxworth sounds as slippery as a greased pig,” Sevastian said. “I will have him placed under double guard.”
Carlotta turned to him. “Uncle, what have you done with my cousin?”
Governor Sevastian, a robust man in his forties, arched both bushy black brows. “Your cousin, my fiery little leopard, is an English heretic. I could almost believe you worked with him to abduct Miguel from the San Pedro. The English pirate will be torn limb from limb on the rack for Miguel’s death.”
She gasped and jumped to her feet, looking from the governor, who reached for more food, to her father.
Felix stood. “Calm yourself, Carlotta. There is good reason to indeed believe Miguel is dead because of Baret. Your uncle is doing his duty to Spain by seeing to his punishment.”
“If Miguel is dead, then I suggest you killed him just as you did Jasper!” Her dark eyes smoldered.
“I had nothing to do with Miguel’s death, nor did Governor Sevastian,” answered Felix calmly. “It was Baret who killed him, the cousin you show such alarm for now.”
She paled and slowly sank back into her chair. “Baret would not kill Miguel.”
“No? He abducted him from the San Pedro, did he not? He blamed him for the incarceration of his father. Why wouldn’t he kill him once he had Royce free?”
She turned her head away with a jerk. “I don’t want to see him tortured!”
“If you cooperate with your uncle, maybe it won’t be necessary.”
Governor Sevastian sighed and wiped his hands clean on his large red linen napkin. “She will see matters differently with time, Felix. A few weeks here in my castle, spoiled and entertained, and she will soon become convinced to forget both Jasper and Miguel.” He turned to her. “Ah, my dear senorita, a trip to Seville to meet many other handsome and wealthy dons will eas
e your loss.”
“Both of you are to blame for my husband’s death,” she spit. “I will never forgive either of you.” She stood and threw down her napkin, then flounced from the large hall and up the stairs to her bedchamber, followed by her two guards.
Governor Sevastian stood and looked at Felix. “The business of Carlotta must wait. She will forget all this in a year or two. She is so spoiled she does not know what she wants. There are other matters on my mind. Where is the treasure of the Prince Philip? Why has that French dog not returned with it?”
“There is no need to worry. Your captain and his soldiers are with Levasseur. It will take time to secure the ship and haul the chests here to the castle. By morning we will both be exceedingly wealthy men, Sevastian.”
Sevastian faced the stairs and smiled. “If anything can soften a grieving widow’s heart, it will be a bag of jewels. And now! I would see this heretic dog Foxworth, who sailed with Morgan in sacking Porto Bello!”
22
A TIME TO KILL AND A TIME TO HEAL
Baret was shackled to the rack in the dungeon under the governor’s castle. The chains dug mercilessly into his wrists and ankles. He was pulled taut, unable to move. At times, he could hardly breathe. The guards had tightened the chains and kept him in this excruciating state from the time he had first been brought here—when?—an hour ago? Six hours? Time had ceased to exist.
When the soldiers were finally done with their sport, they departed, leaving on guard duty someone called in from another section of the prison.
The torches flared on the stone walls. Sweat ran into Baret’s eyes. In the silence he could hear rats puttering below the rack, where filth had accumulated for months, perhaps years. If he turned his head a little to the right he could see other implements of torture used to make prisoners talk—or simply to vent hatred for one reason or another.
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