The Hawk and the Dove

by Virginia Henley

  “I do,” confirmed Drake.

  “I’m with you all the way, Francis. They have two choices. They can either weigh anchor and follow us or turn tail and run.”

  “I’ll go in with the Elizabeth Bonaventure, with your Defiant at my heels. We’ll pick out one ship and destroy it totally and see what happens.”

  “Let’s fire on the Argosy. She’s loaded with ammunition and gunpowder.”

  “Then we are agreed,” said Drake calmly.

  “Matthew, we’ve sat here in the sun for three days! We can’t see anything, we can’t hear anything, we can’t even smell anything but stinking fish.” She wrinkled her nose and cooled herself with a straw fan. “Perhaps they’ve all been captured,” she said, letting her imagination run riot.

  “Without a shot being fired?” he scoffed.

  “How do we know we could hear anything from here?” she countered. “Let’s get closer!”

  He had just about decided to sail on to Cadiz when she had challenged him. “You have no idea what a sea battle is like, Sabre. The explosions of the long guns and cannon can make your ears bleed. Ships’ guns can be packed with red-hot iron balls, nails, any iron missile that’s razor-edged. At any moment the rails or the planking of the deck can be smashed out from under you. It’s like a rain of death to be fired upon. Your fate is even worse if your vessel is boarded by the enemy. A clean gutting from a sword is the best you can hope for. Other tortures aren’t so pretty!”

  “You are just trying to frighten me!” shouted Sabre, her heart hammering wildly at the ghastly pictures he had drawn. “Don’t worry about me, for if I stay here I shall die of boredom and you can feed me to the fish.”

  He turned from her to shout an order, then said over his shoulder, “You’d best go below.”

  She set her teeth and shouted, “Not bloody likely! Give me a spyglass so I don’t miss anything.”

  Vice-Admiral Borough was absolutely incensed as he saw the Elizabeth Bonaventure hoist her flag and sail past him into Cadiz Harbor. His frantic signals were ignored by the Defiant also as it passed, close on the heels of the Bonaventure. His unbelieving eyes swept the English fleet and watched the Golden Hind follow suit.

  Both Drake and Hawkhurst positioned their ships on the port side of the Argosy, and as they sailed brazenly into Cadiz Harbor, flying English flags, they caused no small commotion. Panic had set in among the Spanish sailors that they had been caught so unbelievably unprepared.

  Hawkhurst’s long legs were braced against the roll of the ship. He was stripped to the waist with one arm raised as he issued commands to his gun captains. His arm fell and suddenly the Defiant’s double decks of starboard gun batteries erupted with fire. The ship lurched violently with the recoil as his crew hauled the bronze muzzle-loading cannons inboard to reload. The air was filled with black smoke and the reek of gunpowder. The well-trained crew reamed out snouts, put the powder cartridges in place, rammed iron balls into the muzzles, packed and primed the guns, all within a minute, and turned their sweaty, smoke-streaked faces to Hawkhurst, shouting, “Clear!” and watched for his arm to descend again.

  Cannon fire filled the air, whether from Drake’s ships or from the enemy Hawkhurst could not be sure, but suddenly the air was rent with the unmistakable explosion of powder kegs going up, and the rigging and masts on the Argosy were blown to smithereens. The Argosy keeled to one side and the sea poured into the open gunports. Most of her crew were trapped under the antiboarding netting that was laced across her decks. The screams of the trapped and drowning could be heard on the shore and on every ship at Cadiz.

  The Argosy sank in less than two minutes. Then a most astounding thing happened. As Vice-Admiral Borough and his fleet sailed reluctantly into Cádiz, they witnessed the Spanish surrender. Only one ship sunk and they gave up in total defeat!

  It was then that the work began. All the English suddenly started pulling together, their differences set aside for the moment. The true leader of this expedition had emerged as Drake and the sailors, to a man, followed his lead. They allowed the skeleton crews to leave their ships unharmed, then systematically they unloaded the Spanish ships of their cargoes and loaded them onto the English galleons.

  Hawk was startled to see Matthew board the Defiant He grinned his congratulations to his brother as Hawk shouted, “What the hell are you doing here? Never mind —we’re stripping these ships of their cargoes. Take anything that isn’t nailed down—ammunition, food, clothing, saddles, horse armor, tents, wine. The trick is to get the hell out fast before reinforcements come flocking from Seville.”

  As each ship was loaded it left Cadiz Harbor and set course for England. Then Drake and Hawkhurst set fire to the empty hulls and set them loose on the flood tide. In all they had destroyed a total of thirty-three Spanish ships.

  Sabre stood at the rail of the Devon Rose, mesmerized at the sight of the burning Spanish galleons that lit up the darkening sky and turned it the color of flame. The horror of the sinking of the Argosy would stay with her forever, yet the other things she had witnessed that day had held her spellbound at the railing for hours. Her face was blackened from the smoke of gunpowder and streaked with the tears she had shed. She ached from standing and finally pushed herself from the rail to go below. Hawk caught a glimpse of her as she moved from the rail, and though the Defiant was a good two hundred yards from the Devon Rose, he could never mistake the sight of her. Grim-faced, he lowered a small boat and rowed himself over to his brother’s ship. He came over the side like an avenging angel, blackened with sweat and grime. He did not trust himself to speak. Instead, he strode up to his brother and laid him out flat with one blow—all six feet of him. The crew gaped. Though they were loyal to their captain and would have knifed any other man who came aboard and assaulted him, they stayed out of this one. It was between Hawkhursts.

  Almost without breaking stride Hawk strode down to the cabin and flung open the door. Sabre had just washed her face and stood in white pantaloons with a tiny white cotton busk covering her breasts. His face was terrible to behold, and fear gripped her and rippled along her veins. Without a word he picked her up, tossed her over his shoulder like a sailor’s canvas bag, and strode up on deck. She pummeled his back and kicked her heels, but unheeding, he went over the side and dumped her unceremoniously into the bottom of the rowboat.

  She was so afraid of him at this moment that she did not dare open her mouth to speak. The veneer over the brute male, always so very thin where Shane Hawkhurst O’Neill was concerned, had disappeared completely. He had turned into a savage beast. The small boat banged into the side of the Defiant, throwing her backward with her legs in the air. He again slung her over his shoulder and began ascending the rope ladder. Suddenly grinning, cheering sailors were reaching down to haul her aboard, and when they let her go she fell to the deck, mortified to be so roughly handled, her white drawers streaked with the grime from Shane’s body. One look from their captain ended the capering, jibing laughter of the crew, and again he hauled her over his shoulder, this time managing to knock the breath from her solar plexus. He opened his cabin door and threw her onto the berth. He rummaged in an oaken sea chest and took out a small, heavy whip. Without taking his eyes from her face he slapped the weapon into the palm of his other hand and repeated the threatening motion half a dozen times.

  She whispered, “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “I’m going to give you a good thrashing! You are the most willful woman I’ve ever encountered. You have every undesirable Irish trait in the book!”

  “And you don’t?” she demanded.

  He was incredulous. “Still you defy me, after I’ve warned you time and time again. You’ve been asking for a lesson—begging for a bloody lesson, and I think it’s time I gave you one.”

  “You are a brute and a bully … don’t brandish that whip at me,” she spat.

  “You had better pray I keep brandishing it, because when I stop, I’m going to use it!”

  She
narrowed her eyes like a cat. “I swear, if you use that thing on me, Shane Hawkhurst O’Neill, I’ll take a terrible vengeance … one day I will hold the whip hand!”

  He lashed out, striking the locker beside the berth. It cracked like lightning, and the tip touched her bare thigh with a sting. Then in a black rage he snapped the whip in half and flung it from him in disgust. He departed before he lost total control, locking the door behind him. Sabre was so frightened and humiliated, she burst into tears. She drew her knees up under her chin, crying and rocking herself. The day had simply been too much for her and she needed the release the good cry gave her. She fell asleep exhausted, without even washing herself.

  Early the next morning she awoke with a start and it took her a few moments to orient herself. As memory of Shane’s treatment came flooding back to her, her heart sank with a feeling that was very close to fear. He had been so angry and still would be angry, if she knew anything about him. Any moment he would come, and when he did he would punish her. He would probably give her a beating. Perhaps he would even tell her he was finished with her and tell her to pack her things when they got back to Thames View. She was in total misery. No one even had brought her breakfast or inquired if she needed anything.

  She opened the two portholes in the cabin and took a deep breath of the sea air. It was not in the least cool or refreshing, and this brought home to her the fact that soon they would again have to cross the Bay of Biscay and the return of her seasickness was inevitable. She felt so sorry for herself that the tears began to slip down her cheeks again.

  It was some time before she saw herself in the mirror, but when she did she was so shocked by her appearance that she was suddenly galvanized into action. She stripped off the grimy white pantaloons and busk and poured water to bathe herself all over. She searched through Shane’s wardrobe of clothing, looking for an item of apparel that she could borrow. The only things cool enough that would give her a measure of cover were his shirts. She chose a frilled white lawn and rolled up the sleeves to her elbows. Then she opened his drawers until she located a brush and comb and set to work on the disheveled mass of copper tangles.

  When no one came to the cabin door by midday, a little of her apprehension started to evaporate, and after two more hours elapsed she was annoyed, then angered. She was highly indignant to be ignored in such a fashion. Rather she would welcome an angry confrontation in which she ducked his blows and he ducked objects she threw at his head. She knew captain and crew would be celebrating the great victory of destroying the Spanish fleet right on its own doorstep, but surely to God someone aboard could spare her a moment’s thought.

  It was late afternoon before a young cabin boy knocked on the door with a cool lime drink for her. “Thank you,” she said diffidently. “Does the captain intend to ignore me and keep me locked up until we reach England?” she demanded.

  The boy looked shamefaced. “He’s powerful angry, ma’am. If I was you, I’d be glad he was keepin’ ’is distance! ’Twer the baron sent this drink, an’ he wrote cook a note orderin’ a tray fer yer supper an’ some wine.” The boy touched his forelock and was about to depart when Sabre grabbed his arm. “Wait!” she cried, incensed that Shane didn’t intend to come. She’d do something about that or her name wasn’t Lady Devonport! She grabbed the white pantaloons and shoved them into the startled boy’s hand. “Here! Hoist these up the flagpole. He may have defeated the Spanish, but he hasn’t defeated me! If you haven’t the guts, tell the baron to do it for me.”

  The boy grinned and flushed. “I’ll do it when nobody’s lookin’,” he promised.

  Hawk wondered what was amusing the men so much. They’d tried to hide their laughter behind their hands, but every time one of them looked his way, the hard-bitten sailors were grinning from ear to ear. Finally he caught one of them pointing and a couple more splitting their sides at his expense. His gaze traveled upward and he could hardly believe what he saw flying at half-mast. They looked suspiciously like Sabre’s begrimed drawers, offering him her challenge.

  He stared in disbelief for a minute, then he found himself grinning. Finally his roar of laughter could be heard all over the ship. Once he had his mirth under control, he ran down to the cabin and threw open the door. She’d heard his booted step approaching and stood with hands on hips, not knowing what to expect, but more than ready for anything.

  Formally he asked, “Are you flying the white flag of surrender, madam?”

  “Surrender?” she cried angrily. “Never! Your ship is named Defiant … you must have named her after me, sir!” She sat in his own captain’s chair and as he watched she deliberately lifted one bare leg and hooked it over the arm. She wore nothing beneath the fine lawn shirt and he caught a glimpse of tight coppery curls each time she nonchalantly swung her leg.

  He laughed with pure joy. “Sabre Wilde, you’re one hell of a woman!” He took only one great step to close the distance between them, and she stopped him with an imperious hand held high and green fire in her eyes.

  “Don’t think to vanquish me, sir, as easily as you did Cadiz. Don’t think you can toss me about like a sack of grain, ignore me and starve me, then stride in here and make love to me!”

  He knew he could breach her walls by force, but she deserved better. He would use subtler means, knowing his reward would be the sweeter for it. He bowed to her gallantly; the mocking light was gone from his eyes. He said very formally, “Sabre, would you do me the honor of dining with me? I intend to celebrate our victory and I would like to celebrate it with you.”

  With equal formality she inclined her head and said, “I should like that above all things, Lord Devonport. I only wish I had something to wear.”

  He strode over to a trunk in the corner of the cabin and lifted the lid. “There is material in here. I am sorry I have no gown for you, Sabre.” He took fresh clothing for himself from his wardrobe and departed with it over his arm. “Dinner will be served at six bells.”

  She discovered the bottom of the sea chest to be layered with the most exquisite, fragile material of so many hues, she was torn which to select. Finally she chose cloth that was almost transparent with silken ribbons of turquoise and golden thread running through it to make stripes. She cut a piece about a yard square, wrapped it about her, and knotted it on one shoulder. When she viewed herself from the right she was completely covered; when she viewed herself from the left the gown was open from her shoulder to her ankle and displayed her nakedness.

  A knock upon the door revealed the baron, who silently and efficiently set an elegant table. He spread a white damask cloth and napkins along with Italian silver forks and matching knives. The plates were of heavy gold, each stamped with a dragon at its center, and the wine and water goblets were Venetian crystal bowls set on stems of carved gold and jade. The baron always treated her with respect, but his looks seemed to have a special reverence this evening, and she wondered if perhaps Georgiana had told him that she was Lady Devonport. She had no time to discover the truth, for as six bells were struck, Shane formally presented himself at the doorway. He knocked politely and waited for her to invite him in. He wore tropical cream linen, which emphasized the dark mahogany of his deep tan. He took her hand and drew it to his lips, then allowed his intense blue eyes to lick over her like a candle flame. As a slow smile of appreciation transformed his mouth, the white teeth flashed in startling contrast to his dark skin.

  Sabre’s heart turned over in her breast at the handsome figure he presented. His lion’s mane of hair fell to his shoulders, its tips bleached golden red from the sun. His masculinity stunned her and her knees were like water for a moment as his presence in the small cabin overwhelmed her.

  The baron returned with hot covered dishes and with a large epergne filled with fruit, some of which were unknown to Sabre. When the baron departed and left them to be private, Shane held her chair and murmured, “You are the loveliest woman who ever graced my table.” Sabre sat down gracefully and draped her gown mode
stly to conceal rather than reveal her nakedness. “Something smells delicious, though I cannot name it,” she said with relish.

  “We have the Spaniards to thank for our supper tonight.” He lifted the heavy silver cover from the tureen. “This is paella, a famous specialty of Spain. It is made with chicken and shelled shrimp and spiced with garlic and Spanish saffron. It is served upon a bed of rice and hot peppers.” He poured a pale chablis into the goblets and served her a heaping plate of the fragrant paella.

  “Whatever are these?” she asked curiously.

  “Artichokes with ripe olives at their heart. You break off a leaf and dip it into the melted butter, like this,” he instructed. He smiled as she enthusiastically tried each new dish. “An acquired taste, like most foreign dishes. I find the English too ready to turn their noses up at anything different, but I believe in the adage that variety is the spice of life.”

  “Indeed, my lord?” she challenged with sparkling eyes, wondering if he were using a double entendre.

  “However, there are some things that, once tasted, are never forgotten,” he added, desire roughening his voice.

  She blushed and her lashes fluttered to her cheeks. “What are these fruits?” she asked rather breathlessly, trying to dispel the ardor that was burning deeply in his eyes.

  Shane sighed. “Well, I think you know oranges and lemons. These green fruit are limes, and these are grapes and melons. The brown things are dates, very sticky and sweet, and these are figs, delicious but filled with seeds.”

  She placed a delicate finger on the hard shell of a strange red fruit and raised her eyebrows.

  “Pomegranates, an ancient symbol of fertility. The baron, ever perceptive, laid the pomegranates upon a palm leaf. These are phallic symbols; pomegranate female, the palm male.”

  The corners of her mouth went up mischievously. “I would have to ask, wouldn’t I?”

  “Sabre, I want to make love to you.”