Lord of the Privateers (The Adventurers Quartet)

by Stephanie Laurens

  “From all we’ve heard, there were only the three who are here.”

  “Good. We’ve had Decker blockade the estuary—no ships are coming in or going out, so communication between the settlement and anywhere else is cut off. In addition, Robert and Declan are locking down the settlement, at least with respect to anyone heading in this direction. We hadn’t expected to find Ross-Courtney and Neill in the settlement, but thanks to Babington, we learned of their presence and their rather odd plan to go on safari with Satterly as their guide. While that raised obvious suspicions, we had no proof, so we allowed them to pass out of the settlement unimpeded.”

  Satisfaction laced Royd’s tone as he concluded, “And now they’ve turned up here, which is proof enough of their involvement.”

  “From what we’ve overheard, Ross-Courtney is the central organizer for the backers. Neill watches and observes like an investor, but Ross-Courtney behaves as if he owns the enterprise.” Caleb folded his arms across his chest. There was something in what Royd had said that nagged at him, but the discussion of the backers highlighted the most important issue. “So, to our rescue—how many men do you have with you?”

  Royd told him.

  Caleb grimaced. “That’s cutting it fine. Now Ross-Courtney and Neill have arrived... God knows what’s in their minds, and one word from them and it might all be over inside of an hour for all of us here. They inspected the mine this evening, but both have poker faces—we’ve no way of telling what conclusions they’re coming to. We’re doing our best to support Muldoon’s excitement over the blue diamonds...ah, you won’t know about those.”

  Quickly, Caleb explained how the discovery by Muldoon that there were rare blue diamonds among the stones produced from the mine had allowed them to stretch out the mining. “Supported by, of all people, Muldoon. We’re hoping he can convince Ross-Courtney and Neill that there’s a windfall still to be extracted from the mine and, therefore, it’s not yet time to shut it down.”

  Royd grunted. “It doesn’t sound as if they’re likely to call a halt tomorrow, and if you’ve got some notion for the sort of distraction you correctly identified we would need to deflect the mercenaries’ attention long enough to seize the compound, then tomorrow is all we need. I’m expecting Robert and Declan and their crews by tomorrow afternoon.”

  “They’re coming, too?”

  “There’s no way anyone could keep them away.”

  Caleb felt certainty the like of which he hadn’t felt in months rise and settle in his gut. “That means—”

  “That we’ll have more than enough men to carry off the rescue.” Royd’s tone rang with rock-solid confidence. “The one issue yet to be defined is our necessary distraction.”

  Caleb grinned. “We have that covered and the preparations required already in place.” His grin widened. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.”

  A smothered laugh came from Royd. Then, “Go ahead.”

  Caleb explained what they had planned. “All that remains is for the fuse to be lit.”

  Royd countered with his plans.

  Caleb was impressed. “That’s going to dovetail perfectly with our distraction.”

  He was dwelling on that damn-near-perfect complementarity when Royd said, “We saw Katherine Fortescue—can you confirm she’s well?”

  Caleb blinked. We. Royd kept saying we instead of his usual I. That’s what had earlier struck him as odd. Puzzled, he replied, “Yes, Kate’s well. Why do you ask?” About her specifically? Royd couldn’t possibly know of his and Kate’s newly minted relationship.

  Royd sighed. And the quality of that sigh made Caleb blink.

  Then Royd said, “Isobel Carmichael’s here,” and completed Caleb’s astonishment.

  What? “Isobel’s here?” Caleb’s wits whirled as he tried to make sense of that.

  “She’s Katherine’s cousin. The connection’s through Iona Carmody, who’s anxious over Katherine’s fate—they only recently learned that she’d vanished from the settlement—so, of course, Isobel was all for sailing out here, tracking Katherine down, and rescuing her. So I brought her with me. It was the safer option.”

  Caleb knew Isobel well enough to appreciate that, but given Isobel and Royd’s past history...

  There was safe and not so safe.

  Deciding his big brother was experienced enough to weather even a storm of Isobel’s making, Caleb tried to refocus his mind on the more urgent matter at hand—but his wits were still boggling. “So Isobel’s here—in the jungle?”

  “Yes.” That answer came more crisply. “And don’t ask.”

  Well, well, well. Caleb shifted against the planks. He wasn’t thrilled to learn that Kate was related to Iona—a dragoness of legendary fame—but as he would be marrying Kate regardless, perhaps it was as well to be warned.

  “Is there anything else I should know?”

  The distinctly sharper query jerked Caleb back to the here and now. He cast his mind over their exchange. “I think we’ve covered all that the other needs to know.”

  Royd grunted in agreement. “Tomorrow evening, then.” Unwavering determination and ineffable command colored the statement. “Go when you’re ready—once the women and children are out of the way. We’ll be watching and waiting—we’ll come in the instant the mercenaries look away.”

  Letting the certainty in those words sink in, feeling expectant excitement rising in response, Caleb remained where he was. Royd tapped the plank at Caleb’s back once, then Royd’s weight lifted from it. A succession of minor rustlings reached his straining ears, and he knew Royd had gone.

  After a moment, he pushed away from the palisade. Hugging the shadows at the rear of the men’s hut, he thrust his hands into his breeches pockets. Forcing the far-too-wide grin from his face, he sauntered back around the men’s latrines and headed for the fire pit—and all those about it waiting on tenterhooks for his report.

  * * *

  Royd walked back into the camp to be met by a wall of expectant looks and impatient faces.

  He halted by the lantern softly glowing in the center of the clearing, looked around, and grinned. “The rescue is on for tomorrow night.”

  They were too well trained to cheer, but the impulse was certainly there. Men clapped each other on the shoulder, then, their expressions openly eager, settled to hear the plan.

  Royd started by describing the captives’ planned distraction, which, given the circumstances and the limitations of what they had to hand, was impressive in its simplicity. “With any luck at all,” he concluded, “that will lock the mercenaries’ attention to that quarter—and that couldn’t be better for us.”

  He proceeded to outline the plan to get their forces into the compound—the plan that he, Lachlan, Kit, and Isobel had worked on through the day. “We’ve made a good start on our preparations, but we need everything complete and ready for action by tomorrow afternoon. We need to be in position well in advance of the captives initiating their distraction—we have to move immediately the mercenaries’ attention shifts.”

  He paused, then said, “As matters stand, we have three objectives. To get the women and children to safety. To deal appropriately with the mercenaries. And to capture all five of the collaborators currently in the compound.” He let his gaze travel the faces of the men around him—his crew, some of Caleb’s, Lachlan’s, and Kit’s men, and several of Lascelle’s crew. “There will be groups assigned to accomplish each objective, but all of us need to be aware of all three and act accordingly as circumstances dictate. We’ll need to wait until my brothers join us and we know the full extent of our forces before we assign individuals to each team. We’ll do that tomorrow afternoon. Meanwhile, tomorrow morning...”

  He ran through the list of preparations they’d yet to undertake, including reclaiming the weapons Caleb had buried near th
e lake. The devices necessary to get their forces past the palisade and into the compound were already half-made. To the men in charge of the three crews, he said, “As soon as you’ve finished, get yours into position, but take every precaution. We can’t afford even one slip.” Again, he let his gaze travel the circle. “That applies to everyone. Not one slip.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain,” came from many throats.

  With a nod of dismissal, Royd headed for the logs from which Isobel, Kit, and Lachlan had watched and listened.

  As he neared, Isobel met his eyes and arched her brows. “And our little venture?”

  He halted before her, held her gaze for an instant—simply appreciating the dramatic beauty of her face—then he tipped his head toward the compound. “We need to get cracking on that tonight.”

  CHAPTER 10

  The following morning, Isobel slept late, drained by the unaccustomed activity of sawing through countless twisted vines. She’d assumed the four of them would take turns at the sawing—that she’d be able to largely supervise. Instead, the other three had been hopeless; unable to ease back on their strength sufficiently to put just the right amount of pressure on the serrated blade, they’d constantly got the blade stuck.

  Even Kit.

  In the end, it had been faster and easier for Isobel to do all the sawing. The other three had helped in other ways—Royd and Lachlan taking turns in lifting her on their shoulders so she could slice through the higher bindings, and Kit pressing on the planks to tension the bindings so they were easier to cut.

  By the time they’d done all they’d needed to do, Isobel’s arm muscles had been screaming. But the gate she’d created behind the women and children’s hut was now held in place by only two vines, both of which were half sliced through—easy to dispense with in the wink of an eye, at least for her.

  The main gates had been more problematic; they couldn’t risk weakening the bindings to the point where opening and closing the gates might bring them down. She’d confirmed which planks they should cut between, one pair to the right of the gates, one pair to the left. Then, with her knowledge of structures and Royd’s understanding of forces, they’d determined which particular bindings needed to remain to allow the gates to stand apparently firmly and operate normally.

  Between each set of planks, they’d left a single binding vine above head level but within a man’s reach, another at shoulder height, another at waist height, and a final binding a foot from the ground, all deeply scored but still holding. She’d sliced through all the other vines lashing those particular planks together, with Royd, Kit, and Lachlan constantly testing the structure to make sure it wasn’t in any danger of prematurely collapsing.

  When they’d finally finished, she—and the others, too—had felt reasonably confident they’d made the right decisions. The gates had still seemed as solidly fixed as ever.

  Once the rescue was under way and the noise in the compound rose, sailors with machetes could hack through the remaining bindings. If all went as planned, the mercenaries would be distracted and wouldn’t hear the thunks.

  When they’d returned to the camp and she’d reached the oilskin she and Royd had been sharing, she’d collapsed in an exhausted heap and had immediately fallen asleep.

  Apparently, he’d seen no reason to wake her come morning. She’d been drowsily aware when he’d left her side, but she’d been in no mood to face the day. She’d remained on the oilskin to one side of the clearing, her back to all activity, vaguely conscious of the men rattling around. Gradually, all sounds had faded, and she’d fallen deeply asleep once more.

  She finally woke to the caw of a parrot in the canopy far above. Stretching, she rolled over and saw Kit sitting on a log nearby.

  Kit noticed she was awake and smiled. “Good morning, sleepyhead.”

  Entirely unrepentant, Isobel drawled, “Someone should have woken me.”

  “What? After our fearless and occasionally fearsome leader growled that you should be allowed to sleep?” Kit made a rude noise. “Not likely.”

  Isobel hid a pleased grin and sat up. “Well, I’m awake now. What time is it?”

  Kit glanced upward and grimaced. “I’ve no idea. Not being able to see the sun throws me off. Breakfast was several hours ago, so make of that what you will.”

  Isobel glanced around the clearing; there were only three men in sight, busily plaiting rope on the far side of the area. “Where is everyone?”

  “Other than those keeping watch on the rock shelf, a group went and dug up the weapons hidden by the lake, then stockpiled them there, ready to use. After that, they were ordered to join all the rest, who are slaving over those yards you and Royd thought up. They’re all determined to have them ready as early in the afternoon as possible. It’s going to take an hour or two to get them into position, given it has to be done so stealthily.”

  Isobel nodded. Although she’d slept reasonably well, she still felt enervated. It was the heat, the oppressive weight of warmth that seemed to press down on her and left her feeling as if her skin was even grimier than it was. She glanced at Kit. “The lake—don’t you think we should go and acquaint ourselves with the terrain? If we’re to send the women and children there, surely we need to have some notion of where to direct them.”

  Kit looked at her, faintly puzzled. “I suppose.”

  Suppressing a grin, Isobel pushed to her feet, picked up her satchel, and hunted in it until she found the linen towel she’d buried at the bottom. She pulled it out and showed it to Kit. “I believe I’ll take this in case I get wet.”

  Kit laughed. “Excellent idea.” She reached for her seabag. “Just wait until I get mine.”

  They left the clearing on the goat track that would eventually lead them up the flank of the small mountain and on to the rock shelf. But instead of going that way, before they reached the beaten path that hugged the palisade and eventually led to the lake, they selected another well-used animal track that led farther east, and in short order stepped out of thick jungle directly onto the bank of the lake.

  They stood and surveyed the small lake; it was less than a hundred feet wide. From where they stood, they had a clear view of the crude jetty-cum-wharf and a relatively jungle-free area that lay past the end of the wharf opposite where the path from the compound reached it. The retrieved weapons had been cleaned and stacked ready at the end of the wharf, just before the clearing.

  “Well, that’s fairly obvious.” Her hands on her hips, Isobel scanned the scene. “The women and children should follow the path past the compound gates and straight on to the lake, on along the wharf, then gather and wait in that area beyond it. Whichever men are assigned to protect them can form a defensive line across the wharf.”

  Kit nodded. “Nice and simple. And given how Royd plans to deploy our men, it’s unlikely any mercenaries will make it out of the compound, much less find their way here.”

  The sound of rushing water was a constant background noise. Isobel tracked it to the source and, far to their left, saw water gushing over a large boulder, a stream pouring into the lake with sufficient force to throw up clouds of mist.

  Cool mist.

  Kit had been staring into the depths of the lake. “This looks quite deep—more than deep enough to swim in—and that also means it should be cool.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Isobel replied, “but I’d rather not leave my clothes in plain sight of the wharf and that path. This trail leads farther around the lake—there looks to be an inlet tucked away with a bit of bank that must face the falls.”

  Kit peered in the direction in which Isobel was looking, then waved her forward. “Lead on.”

  The animal track wended about the edge of the lake, and eventually, they found the stretch of bank Isobel had thought must be there—a cove-like indentation facing the short waterfall and entirely ou
t of sight of the wharf.

  They raced each other in stripping and slipping into the lake. Isobel had fewer blades to unbuckle. She slid into the water, felt the wet coolness—verging on coldness—slide over her clammy skin, and groaned with pleasure.

  Seconds later, Kit joined her and uttered a similarly appreciative moan.

  They swam to the waterfall and discovered a deep, shadowed pool behind it. It was even colder there, with the air full of mist. They dallied in the dimness until their skins felt chilled, then ventured out again into the dappled sunshine.

  For the first time since walking into the jungle, Isobel felt refreshed. She looked around. There was no one bar the two of them there, and all the men were terribly busy elsewhere...on a sigh, she tipped back and floated, letting the spray from the waterfall play over her naked skin. She closed her eyes and kept herself more or less in position with an occasional flip of her hands.

  How long she lay there, quietly communing, she didn’t know.

  Then she heard Kit say, “I’m getting out. Don’t feel obliged to follow.”

  Without opening her eyes, Isobel smiled. “I’ll stay for a few more minutes. I’m sure I can find my way back by myself.”

  Kit snorted, but made no reply.

  The sounds of her dressing drifted to Isobel’s ears, then came soft rustling and the muted tramp of boots as Kit walked away.

  Isobel drifted, soothed by the coolness and enveloped by the spray, with gentle, filtered sunbeams playing over her skin—just enough to warm, not enough to burn.

  Then she realized she was bobbing up and down on a series of waves.

  She snapped her eyes open.

  Hard hands gripped her waist—a touch she instantly recognized.

  She hauled in a breath and kicked upright—

  Royd dragged her under.

  Then he juggled her to face him, and his lips covered hers...