Once a Scoundrel

by Mary Jo Putney

  The tall, dark-haired man who entered the cabin ducked to avoid hitting his head with the ease of someone accustomed to sailing ships. At first glance, he appeared to be merely a well-tailored gentleman, not a spymaster who worked magic behind the scenes. A second glance revealed rather more. “I assume you’re not Mr. Kirkland, but the legendary Lord Kirkland?”

  His guest smiled. “If our mutual friend called me legendary, surely it was with sarcasm.”

  “A bit, perhaps,” Gabriel allowed as he offered his hand. But there had also been respect in that description. “Welcome to the Zephyr, Lord Kirkland.”

  The other man returned a firm handshake. “Kirkland will do. Do you have a few minutes? I have a proposal I’d like to discuss with you.”

  What could a spymaster want with Gabriel? Intrigued, he said, “I have the time.” As he gestured his visitor to a chair, a gray and white streak darted from Gabriel’s desk and out the door.

  Kirkland blinked. “That was a cat?”

  “The ship’s cat. He’s a very good mouser, but shy. He doesn’t like to be noticed so pretend you didn’t see him.” Gabriel crossed the cabin and closed the door. “Speaking of our mutual friend, have you seen Gordon and the intrepid Callie since their return to London?”

  “Yes, and they’re flourishing.” Kirkland settled in the other chair. “It was during our discussion of Gordon’s mission that he suggested I should make your acquaintance because you’re well suited for certain kinds of work.”

  “Work that involves sailing ships, I presume,” Gabriel said as he took his own seat. “But what can my ship offer that you can’t find in your own merchant fleet?”

  “Experience of the Barbary states,” Kirkland said succinctly.

  The back of Gabriel’s neck prickled. “Where did you get that idea?”

  “Gordon said that one night when you were transporting him to America, the two of you shared brandy and stories,” Kirkland explained, an amused glint in his eyes. “Apparently you told him that you’d spent time in Algiers and had also visited some of the other Barbary states.”

  Gabriel had talked about that? He must have had more brandy than he’d realized. But he and Gordon shared a bond formed in mutual danger, and it was easy to talk to him. Plus, Gordon had more than his share of amazing stories. It had been quite a night. “What did he say?”

  “That you’d been a slave,” Kirkland said steadily. “That you managed to escape with a mixed crew of American and European sailors by capturing this very fine ship from the corsairs who had originally taken it from the Americans. Those are impressive qualifications, Captain.”

  He had definitely had too much brandy that night. “The escape was a joint effort that involved a number of men, providentially dreadful weather, and a good bit of luck.”

  “After I heard the story, I did some investigation. The consensus was that without your sailing skills and your fluency in the local Arabic dialect, there would have been no escape.”

  That was true, so Gabriel didn’t try to deny it. “Why does this interest you?” he asked bluntly.

  Equally bluntly, Kirkland said, “A young woman, Lady Aurora Lawrence, was taken prisoner when her ship was captured by an Algerian corsair. When her captor learned that she’s the daughter of an earl, he demanded a ransom of fifty thousand pounds. Her father can’t pay that.”

  Hawkins whistled softly. “That’s a king’s ransom! But refusing is a harsh thing for a father to do. Did he consider negotiating?”

  “There are a number of other children and the family doesn’t have limitless wealth, and of course negotiating is difficult from so far away. But yes, it’s harsh.” Kirkland’s gaze was steady. “And a situation you might have some sympathy with.”

  The spymaster had obviously done research into Gabriel’s past. His mouth tightened. “I do, but I still don’t see what this has to do with me.”

  “Lady Aurora’s mother doesn’t agree with her husband’s refusal, and she’s pawned her jewels and other personal property and borrowed every penny she can in hopes of obtaining her daughter’s release.”

  “Has she managed to raise the fifty thousand pounds? If so, it shouldn’t be too difficult to arrange the ransom and retrieve the girl.”

  “She could only find about half the amount, which is why she needs a shrewd and knowledgeable agent. She’d heard of my reputation and approached me, hoping I knew a man who was brave, honorable, familiar with Barbary, and a really good negotiator.” Kirkland smiled a little. “With half the experienced diplomats of Europe dancing around each other at the Congress in Vienna, the list of possibilities was very short. Is this a job you’d be willing to undertake?”

  Even though Gabriel had guessed where the conversation was leading, Kirkland’s words were like a kick in the belly. The Barbary Coast. Scene of the worst hells of his life, and also the beginning of his resurrection.

  Gabriel didn’t even realize that he’d risen from his chair and started pacing until he found himself automatically dodging the two cannons that shared his cabin. He stopped and stared out a porthole at the busy Thames, where boats of all sizes skimmed back and forth in happy turmoil, a quintessential London scene. So very different from the sun-scorched shores of the Mediterranean.

  Kirkland said quietly, “I gather that is a question not lightly answered.”

  “You gather correctly.”

  “Since our countries aren’t at war and you’d be carrying legitimate credentials, you shouldn’t be in any danger if you return,” Kirkland said in a neutral voice.

  “True, and I’m not likely to be recognized anyhow. I had a shaggy beard in those days and I’m not particularly distinctive looking.”

  “Would the Zephyr be recognized? She was captured by Algerian corsairs and spent time in the harbor there.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “Because of storm damage and repairs, there have been modifications over the years, including changes to the rigging. She might be identified as of the same American schooner type, but not as the same ship. Yet even if the ship and I aren’t recognized, the Barbary shores are volatile. I’ve avoided the area ever since I left.”

  “It’s currently even more volatile than usual,” Kirkland agreed. “With Europe busily rebuilding after Napoleon’s defeat, it must be like sharing a bed with a restless elephant for the countries on the south shore of the Mediterranean.”

  Amused by the other man’s vivid description, Gabriel turned to Kirkland. “Tell me more about the suggested arrangements and about the young damsel in distress.”

  “You’ll be paid a reasonable charter fee for your efforts, though it won’t be as profitable as your journey to America with Gordon,” Kirkland replied. “I can get you letters of introduction from high-level government officials, and I think I can get you a temporary rank of consul.”

  “Those things could be useful, unless some corsair captain attacks for no good reason and blows holes in my ship.”

  Kirkland nodded with rueful acknowledgment. “That’s not impossible. I’ll personally reimburse any repairs that might be necessary for such a reason.”

  “That’s generous, assuming my ship isn’t captured or sunk,” Gabriel said with desert dryness. “What of the girl? Do you know her? Is she worth all this effort?”

  “Her mother thinks so. I’ve never met Lady Aurora, but her nickname is Roaring Rory Lawrence and she has a reputation for being intelligent, charming, and dismayingly independent.” Kirkland reached into an inside pocket and pulled out an engraved gold locket. Snapping it open, he said, “Her mother lent me this miniature in the hope it would help me recruit a champion for the girl’s freedom.”

  Gabriel opened the locket, and felt a strange, painful shock as if lightning had savaged his heart. Lady Aurora was a golden blonde, very pretty, but what made her irresistibly engaging was her laughing face. She looked like a young woman who deserved to be free and happy, not imprisoned for life in a foreign harem, a possession rather than the vibrant woman he
saw in the miniature.

  In an odd way, she reminded him of all the ways his life might have been different. He couldn’t change his past, but perhaps he could help this golden girl regain the freedom and laughter she deserved.

  His mouth twisted as he realized that he’d been wondering what he should do next, and fate had decided to whack him with a rescue mission to a place he thought he’d left for good. He snapped the locket shut. “Her English rose coloring must make her valuable, though they prefer them younger.”

  Kirkland nodded agreement as he tucked the locket away. “Usually when ransom is demanded for a captive, time is allowed for the demand to be sent to the family and for money to be gathered and a response returned. But there’s always the danger that a captor might tire of waiting and auction her off. Are you willing to undertake this rescue and leave almost immediately?”

  “I’ll surely regret it,” Gabriel said dourly, “but yes. I’ll have to ask my crew if any of them choose not to go on this voyage.” Seeing the lift of Kirkland’s brows, he said, “This isn’t the Royal Navy. A man should have a choice about what risks he is willing to take.”

  “That’s reasonable. Do you think many of your crewmen will choose not to go into such uncertain territory?”

  Gabriel smiled a little. “They’ve all run blockades with me so I doubt the Barbary Coast will disturb them. But as I said, they get to choose.”

  “If you need replacements, I can supply you with seasoned sailors,” Kirkland said.

  “I’ll bear that in mind.” Gabriel cocked his head. “Why are you so sure I’m the best man for the job?”

  “Gordon said that besides being a first-rate seaman, you went above and beyond the terms of your employment when you took him to America, into a war zone no less. A mission like this needs a man who will do whatever is necessary.”

  Which was true. Remembering that golden, laughing girl, Gabriel knew that he would do whatever was in his power to bring her safely home to her family.

  But he couldn’t help but think of the last time he’d seen Algiers, in a raging gale with scattered Algerian warships trying to shoot holes in the Zephyr’s hull as he escaped captivity in the city. Having been mad enough to agree to return there, he was glad that he would be doing so as the captain of a well-armed ship. Credentials to make him a temporary British consul would also be useful.

  The times had changed and in theory, there was peace between Algeria and the nations of Europe and the United States. Which didn’t stop corsairs from sometimes taking captives and demanding ransoms.

  Old customs died hard.

  Chapter 2

  A shattering impact rocked the ship violently, jolting Rory from sleep. Shouts and gunshots drowned out the soft night sounds of waves and creaking rigging. Dear God, a pirate attack? The Devon Lady should be safe in the mid-Mediterranean, but that gunfire was very real.

  She slid from her narrow upper bunk, heart pounding. Her companion, cousin, and friend, Constance Hollings, stirred in the lower bunk, coming awake more slowly. “What’s happening, Rory?”

  She peered out the porthole, squinting to decipher what she saw. Her stomach clenched when she saw that a long, low galley had rammed into the Devon Lady, its battering ram crashing over the top deck and locking the two ships together. Rope and grappling hooks had been up hurled into the deck of the schooner, and pirates were swarming aboard. “A corsair attack!”

  Feeling sick, she continued, “Remember the conversation we had with Captain Roberts over dinner the night we sailed from Athens? You asked what we should do if pirates captured the ship. He laughed and said that wouldn’t happen, but if it did, we should dress in our most expensive clothing and look as if we’re worth being ransomed.”

  Grimly, she opened her small chest and located a silk gown by touch, then yanked it down over her shift. Constance rose and fastened the back, then dug into her own chest for clothing.

  Rory added her best jewelry, then sat on Constance’s bunk and tugged on sturdy half boots in case she ended up having to march across desert sands in whatever she was wearing tonight. As she rose to help her friend dress, she said, “I’m going to take a few things like my notebooks and pencils in case we aren’t allowed to come back to our cabin.”

  Having been raised in a doctor’s household, Constance said, “I’ll pack my medical kit. There may be men wounded in the fight.”

  Besides her notebooks, Rory tossed her jewelry box into her canvas knapsack, hoping it would be interesting enough that the pirates would ignore the notebooks. Then a wide-brimmed hat and long cotton scarf to protect her eyes and face from the ferocious Mediterranean sunshine.

  She was slinging the bag over her shoulder when the door to their cabin was wrenched open and a richly garbed and turbaned pirate stormed in, others behind him. He barked brusque words and made harsh gestures that were clearly orders to go with him and his companions.

  She followed quietly, her heart pounding as she was marched through the dark, narrow passage, then climbed the ladder to the main deck. Face set, Constance followed. Moonlight revealed the aftermath of battle. The crew of the Devon Lady was gathered in a tight knot ahead of her, and some were wounded. Merchant ships like this one had crews of only a couple of dozen men, and she knew them all, from Captain Roberts to the young cabin boy.

  Constance swore under her breath and moved toward the wounded crewmen. When a corsair tried to stop her, she glared at him and brandished the roll of bandages she carried. He stepped back and allowed her to continue. She dropped beside an injured sailor and went to work.

  Rory was led to a heavily armed man who wore richly colored layers of clothing, topped with a turban and a lavish, fur-trimmed burgundy red robe. This must be the reis, the captain of the pirate galley. He was broad and intimidating and had a scar curving down his left cheek into his beard. His eyes looked surprisingly light, though she couldn’t tell the color in the darkness.

  His gaze moved over her, coldly evaluating clothing, jewels, her ringless left hand, and the body beneath her silk gown. “I am Malek Reis, the master of the Middle Seas,” he barked in accented French. “Who are you? A great lady or a rich whore?”

  She raised her chin, refusing to look cowed. “I am Lady Aurora Lawrence, daughter of a great English lord, Earl Lawrence,” she said in her most aristocratic voice. “He will pay a good ransom for me, but only if the ransom includes my cousin, Lady Constance Hollings, and the crew of this ship.” She gestured at the knot of sailors.

  The reis’s eyes narrowed. “Why would he care for such common men?”

  “My father is known for his sense of justice. These men have become my friends, and I insist they be freed with me.”

  “You insist . . . !” He laughed nastily and reached out to her. . . .

  * * *

  Rory jerked awake, heart pounding as fiercely as when they’d been captured. She’d had nightmares about the attack ever since. If she was lucky, she woke before the reis grabbed her. She hadn’t suffered a fate worse than death, but Malek Reis had held her jaw in a ruthless grip as he’d studied her with chilling practicality, as if she were a thing.

  She’d stared back, struggling to hide her fear. He’d reluctantly agreed that if the ransom was sufficiently large, he’d release the captive crewmen as well as Rory and Constance. She’d been grateful for his agreement, but it was a temporary victory at best.

  She uncurled from her narrow bed and walked barefoot across the cool tile, not wanting to wake Constance. Her light robe flowed around her as she opened the door and stepped into the small courtyard. At this late hour, the air had cooled pleasantly. Moonlight leached color from the flowering shrubs and silvered the fountain whose gentle splashing soothed her to sleep every night.

  Their quarters were comfortable and the courtyard lovely, but it was still a prison and the walls seemed to crush closer every day. She crossed the courtyard and settled on the rim of the fountain, trailing her fingers through the water. The moon was a slend
er crescent in the sky, reminding her of how many weeks had passed since the capture of the Devon Lady.

  It took weeks or months for Barbary ransom demands to reach a captive’s family. Then time to collect money, more weeks for the response. Malek Reis was waiting with increasing impatience for a fortune to be delivered, and Rory doubted it would happen.

  She’d been appalled when Malek had told her how much he was demanding for the release of Rory, Constance, and the ship’s crew. Fifty thousand pounds was a staggering sum, enough to support a gentry household for decades. It was far more money than her family could afford, even if her father was inclined to ransom her from captivity, and she wasn’t at all sure he would.

  Like many aristocratic families, the Lawrences were rich in lands and other holdings, but poor in terms of available cash. Her father wouldn’t beggar the family to save one wayward daughter whom he loved, but found infuriating. He’d never understood her restlessness, and she suspected that he would see her captivity as trouble of her own making.

  He wouldn’t be wrong. If she’d been willing to marry one of her well-bred English suitors like a proper young lady, she’d have caused her family no trouble at all, apart from going quietly mad. She liked men very well, but the thought of marrying one made her feel suffocated. She simply wasn’t suited to marriage.

  Though she accepted that her father wouldn’t bankrupt the family for her sake, she did not want to spend the rest of her life as a harem slave in Barbary. From the way Malek Reis treated her, she sometimes wondered if he’d demanded such a high price because he didn’t really want his ransom demands to be met. He regularly summoned her to the gardens or his private menagerie, talking to her and studying her intently, perhaps wondering whether it would be worth foregoing a fortune in order to keep her as one of his concubines.

  If that happened, she wondered how long it would take to find a way to kill him.

  In a soft voice that couldn’t be heard over the sound of falling water, she murmured, “If I ever get back to England, I’m going to publish an exposé about life in a harem. There’s nothing romantic and glamorous about this—it’s just boring!”