The Heart Queen

by Patricia Potter

  They should reach the Caribbean in less than three weeks. The Ami was swift, a quality necessary for a privateer. They needed speed, friendly ports, and targets: British ships loaded with goods from their colonies or sugar and molasses from the West Indies. Just the idea of extracting even a small price from the British for Culloden filled him with anticipation.

  At the moment he just enjoyed the wind and the sun and the sky. It was a moderately warm day with a brisk wind, the kind of day every sailor relished. The sun brushed his cheek, and he savored the sense of freedom, of control, that had been missing from his life for the past two years. He could forget the scar and the way that his leg gave out far too often. Here, none of that mattered.

  The sound of yelling interrupted the relative satisfaction of the moment.

  “Captain,” one of the crewmen shouted.

  Then he heard a loud curse by a young female voice, and a “Let me go,” uttered by a young male voice.

  He uttered a curse of his own.

  He turned to the hatchway. A sailor had two short figures in tow, both wriggling in his hold. “Stowaways, sir. Found them in the munitions storage in the afterhold,” he added with disapproval.

  Alex tipped the cap Meg was wearing and saw that she had cut the long red hair that had been her best feature. Her face was smudged and her lad’s clothes were filthy.

  Robin didn’t look any better. Though he tried to draw himself up into a position of dignity, he looked like a chimney sweep. He appeared small and defiant and uncertain all at the same time.

  “How in the bloody hell did you get here?” Alex asked.

  Meg stuck out her lower lip and remained silent.

  “The barge, sir,” Robin said.

  “The barge?”

  “We heard you talking about the supply barge from Paris. We went to the riverfront and found out which was going to your ship and we, ah, we went aboard.”

  “You stowed away on the barge?” Alex said.

  “Aye.”

  Alex glowered. It was all he could do. He had been a thief, and the children knew it. It did not matter that he had done it for them. And, perhaps, a little for himself. He’d wanted to live long enough to hurt the British. So he hadn’t exactly been a great example for children. He seized on the only reasonable argument. “You promised to do as I said.”

  “That was a year ago,” an obviously unrepentant Meg pointed out.

  “A promise is a promise,” Alex said, finding it very hard to be a figure of authority. He had been that—of sorts—for a year, but he’d always thought of it as a temporary condition to be ended shortly. He’d never really known children before, had not thought to have any of his own for years, and he’d steered away from trying to be any kind of father to them. He had simply provided—usually not very well—for their basic needs until he found someone who could give them the security they needed.

  He didn’t have any love left inside him. There was only anger. The children had enough anger of their own without being even more infected with his. He didn’t know how to comfort. He definitely did not know how to teach values when he had been without them these last few years.

  He certainly didn’t want them to be identified with pirates. It was fine for him. He had nothing else. He had no future. No woman would marry him with his physical wounds or the other less visible ones.

  Burke came up from below deck and stopped at the sight of the children. “Bloody hell,” he muttered. “How—”

  “The barge,” Alex said. “Though how they got aboard the Ami is another matter.”

  Robin shifted his gaze to Meg, then to the deck.

  “Robin?”

  “It was not difficult,” he said. “We saw you leave. We took some fruit aboard and sold it to the sailors. When no one was looking, we hid in the hold.”

  “If a ship had fired at us …” Alex closed his eyes. He couldn’t bear thinking of what might have happened.

  “But it did not, my lord.” He shifted again. “Meg and I are thirsty.”

  “And hungry,” Meg said. “We ate all our fruit.”

  “When were you going to make yourselves known?” Alex asked.

  “When you were far enough away that you couldn’t send us back,” Robin said, “but Meg was hungry … and …”

  Meg turned on him. “You were hungry, too.”

  Four days in the dark. Four days with little food and probably less water. But then their stomachs had known hunger before.

  Still, it hurt the heart he’d believed shielded against such feelings. He’d thought once he reached Paris, he would be relieved of those nettlesome feelings that sometimes made him wonder whether he had guarded his heart well enough.

  Claude, his first mate, joined the growing circle of seamen, all of whom eyed the stowaways curiously. “Stowaways?” he asked.

  “Aye,” Alex replied.

  Claude was a frightening figure, standing two inches over Alex’s own substantial height. He had the girth that Alex did not. Nearly two years of healing and being on the run had made Alex lean. He still didn’t eat as he once had. Some of the children had stuffed themselves on the ship that took them from Scotland to France, but others—including himself—continued to chew food extensively to take away some of the hunger. It was a habit he’d been unable to break. Neither had Meg, who was far too thin.

  “We can throw them overboard,” Claude offered, but Alex saw a twinkle in his eyes. Claude was a disciplinarian aboard the ship, but in the weeks Alex had known the first mate, he had also seen a patience and even humor that had already made him a favorite with the men. Alex had remained aloof. Distant. He didn’t want to know men he might well get killed.

  Now each looked at Claude with concern on their faces, obviously wondering whether the formidable man was serious.

  “That’s an idea,” Alex said.

  “Wouldn’t take much effort, puny as they are,” Burke observed.

  “We do not have enough food for another hand,” Claude said severely. “Especially not for two.”

  “We might be able to keep one,” Alex said seriously.

  Meg moved closer to Robin, but Robin looked up and grinned.

  Claude shook his head in despair. “Captain, you lack a fierce glare.” He turned his gaze to Alex. “I assume you know these two … miscreants.”

  “Unfortunately,” Alex said in a cool voice. “Right now, I think they need something to drink and eat. Then we will discuss their immediate futures.”

  Claude’s threat had not had the intended impact on Robin and Meg, but his own cold words obviously did.

  “They should know no’ to go where they are no’ wanted,” Burke said.

  A look of despair filled Meg’s eyes and Robin tightened his hold on her hand. They both had been attached to Burke despite his rough ways.

  Burke apparently saw their dejection, too. His expression softened. “Come along,” he said roughly, “before one of these Frenchies decides to take the mate’s suggestion.” He grinned suddenly. “Then I would have to fight them, and you know how much I would hate that.”

  Robin’s lips twitched. Burke liked nothing better than a good fight. But then the boy looked again at Alex. “We wanted to be with you,” he tried to explain.

  Alex closed his eyes for a moment. “Get along with you,” he said softly. “Wash first, then eat. We’ll decide your fate then.”

  Robin stared up at him expectantly.

  “The barge was very ingenious,” Alex added.

  “You were a good teacher, sir.” The good manners under the cloak of dirt were infectious. So was the mischief behind the words. Robin disappeared down the hatchway before Alex could retort.

  What in the hell was he going to do with two children? He couldn’t go back. There were British ships all over the bloody sea, their crews keeping an eye out for ships leaving the French port. He’d covered his guns and tried to look innocent, but that would not always work. If they did return and the peace talks looked succe
ssful, he would never be allowed to leave again.

  “Captain,” Claude said, “do we turn back?”

  “Nay,” Alex replied. “That would be even more dangerous. The area was crawling with British patrol ships. They would be pleased to grab that lad.”

  “Lads a lot younger than that one have gone to sea,” Claude said. “We don’t have any powder monkeys.”

  “We still do not,” Alex said. “They can work in the cabins and galley but not in the munitions hold. I did not steal—and kill—to keep them alive to see them blown to bits.”

  Claude’s eyes sparked with interest at the comment, but he didn’t say anything. That had been one thing Alex admired about him: his lack of curiosity. The man, a former French naval officer, had wanted the job of first mate—and the five percent share of any prize that accompanied it—and he’d obviously trusted Etienne. That was all Alex knew, although he and Claude had dined together for the last four days. They had talked of little but the crew they were beginning to know.

  He had probed Alex’s experiences at sea, obviously weighing his knowledge, but he apparently had withheld judgment on Alex’s taste for battle. But now Claude grinned, and Alex knew he’d probably had reservations of his own at taking a berth with a captain about whom he knew nothing. For some reason, a reprehensible past seemed to reassure him.

  That didn’t matter now. What did matter were two children who’d had too short a childhood, too little security, too much tragedy. Alex had not the slightest idea of how to make them safe.

  Returning to Le Havre was dangerous. Taking them with him was just as dangerous. But the simple fact was they would probably not stay in France, even if he tried and succeeded in getting them there. They would find some way of getting back aboard.

  Four black days in the munitions room. He didn’t think he could abide that.

  And all to be with him.

  Bloody hell.

  London

  It was her final fitting.

  Jenna dreaded it, dreaded standing for hours and suffering the occasional pinprick, all for a trousseau that might never be used.

  Still, it was good to leave their lodgings. Maisie had refused every effort to leave them, even for meals. According to her, London was filled with ruffians and footpads. Her person was not safe. But the trousseau was part of her duties, and she had very reluctantly left the safety of the inn.

  As the sailing date approached, she’d become more and more silent, muttering about pirates and leaving civilized society. It was obvious that the voyage ahead held little interest for her. She had been asked to serve as chaperone by Jenna’s father. One dependent on his goodwill did not question such “requests.”

  Strangely enough, Jenna’s mother had taken a liking to the widow, or perhaps she had enjoyed lording her position over Maisie, and the woman had been brought into the house as a sort of companion/secretary to Jenna’s mother. She was considered neither servant nor relative, and she worked hard to make herself valuable and therefore secure.

  Yet her complaints were unceasing, and Jenna dreaded the thought of spending nearly a month in close quarters with her.

  She and Celia often left when Maisie retreated to her room and took one of her naps. They would walk to a market or through a park, always sure to return before Maisie awakened or there would be hours of recriminations and threats of letters about her lewd conduct to her father.

  But, oh, how she wished to visit the restaurants or visit St. James Park, or go to the Covent Garden Theater.

  Although she dreaded the actual fitting, it did feel good to be outside even with the fog this morning and a light rain.

  As before, a man stepped up to help them out of the coach, then opened the door of the dressmaker’s. As Jenna entered the establishment, she heard a terrible scream followed by a thump. She spun around.

  Maisie Campbell lay on the street—apparently from a stumble on the cobbles. A leg stuck out at an odd angle from the voluminous skirt and petticoats she wore. Maisie tried to move it and screamed again. The usher who had helped them out of the carriage took one look and frowned. “I’ll go for a physician,” he said, and started to run down the street.

  Maisie wailed. Two men carried her inside the dressmaker’s establishment. Tears streamed down the older woman’s pinched face as Jenna hovered nearby, uncertain as to how to comfort her. Celia wrung her hands.

  The physician arrived and diagnosed what everyone else had known.

  “Mrs. Campbell has a broken leg. I’ll set it but she must be kept still in bed for several weeks.”

  “We were to go on a voyage in three days,” Jenna said.

  “To Barbados,” added the dressmaker helpfully.

  “Not this lady,” the physician said. “Not if she wishes to walk again.”

  Maisie Campbell grimaced, but still Jenna saw a note of relief in her chaperone’s eyes. Jenna knew her companion had never wanted to take the long voyage and had been terrified of pirates. She had been more afraid, though, to refuse the head of the Campbell clan.

  “We will have to go home,” she stated, trying to restore her lost dignity and authority.

  “No,” Jenna said. “Celia and I will go on. Mr. Murray is expecting me.”

  Maisie looked at her in horror. “You cannot go alone. It would be scandalous.”

  Scandal, Jenna knew, was the worst possible thing that could happen to someone in charge of her good name.

  “The fare has already been paid,” Jenna reasoned aloud, desperate now not to return to her life in Scotland. “I doubt if we could get it back, and the next ship to Barbados is weeks away. I do not believe my father would regard the delay kindly. He has given his word to David Murray.”

  Maisie frowned, obviously unconvinced. “Your father—”

  “My father wants me out of Scotland,” Jenna said bluntly, not caring if anyone else heard. The hurt still pierced deeply. She knew she could not return home.

  Maisie’s gaze fell. It was something she could not deny. “You will be disgraced,” she protested weakly.

  “Is that any worse than what I am now?” Jenna asked. “Because I carry a birthmark, I am considered damaged, tainted, even evil. Perhaps society in Barbados is not so condemning.”

  Maisie flushed. “Then I accept no responsibility,” she said.

  “You have none. I am twenty-five,” Jenna said. “From now on, I will see to myself.”

  Her mind was already wrapping itself around the fact that her father had paid for three passages and two cabins. Now she would need only one. If she could get a refund on the second, then she would have the money to leave Barbados if necessary. Perhaps to the American colonies, where she’d heard people were judged on their merit, not on their position or appearance.

  Her heart lightened. The journey now held more than one ray of hope. If David Murray did not want her, she would be off on another adventure.

  With the assistance of the dressmaker, she made arrangements for Mrs. Campbell to stay in a private residence where she would be cared for until she could return to Scotland. A letter was sent by coach to inform her father what had happened and her own plans to continue on. It would arrive well after her ship had left London.

  That accomplished in her usual efficient manner, she stood for the final fitting. She didn’t even mind the long sleeves as her mind bubbled over with new enthusiasm. No Maisie Campbell. And she would have extra funds from an unneeded cabin that had already been engaged and paid for.

  It was a good omen. She knew it.

  Chapter Three

  The Caribbean, One Month Later

  Alex took his first English prize with only a shot across the bow. The ship had no guns, and Alex’s Ami had far more speed. It did not take long to convince the English captain to surrender.

  He decided to send the rich prize of rum and sugar back to France. The prize should recompense Etienne for the bills they’d incurred in refitting the ship. It could also carry Meg and Robin back to France. Alex
thought that would be the safest place for them. The English crew was put ashore a French island with little access to the shipping lanes. News of the ship’s capture would take months to reach England, making its voyage to France safe. At least safer than his own ship that bristled with guns.

  His next prize would be sold in Martinique, the largest French island in the Caribbean. Etienne had assured him there was an active market there for captured vessels. He knew he would get more in France if he could sail the ship there, but he could spare no more of the crew. Although the monies would be less, the sale should provide him with enough gold to turn toward South America … and search for the diamonds.

  The smuggling of diamonds, he and Etienne had agreed in Paris, would be a safer endeavor now that an English and French peace treaty seemed more likely each day.

  Alex sent a skeleton crew under the second mate—a highly qualified and loyal man, according to Claude—to sail the English ship back to France.

  But when the last quarter boat was ready to leave, the children had disappeared again. A search of the ship found nothing.

  He guessed they were somewhere in the hold, but bloody hell if he could find them. He rather suspected that one or more of the crew was helping the two. They had become favorites in the past month, both of them working as hard as any of the sailors and doing jobs that the seamen preferred not to do, such as scrubbing decks, working in the galley, and cleaning the heads. They’d charmed every member of the crew.

  Alex’s threats accomplished nothing.

  Finally, he could tarry no longer. It was too dangerous for both the Ami and their prize. The ships could not be found together.

  After their prize had sailed, Meg and Rob appeared silently, solemn expressions on their faces, both unrepentant and ready for the lecture they would receive.

  Alex was at a loss again. How could he punish two scamps for using everything he’d taught them? He was in a conundrum of his own making. Next time, he secretly vowed, he would lock them in a cabin.

  “You need us,” Meg said, sticking her lower lip out.