The Winds of Fate

by Michel, Elizabeth

  “You mean to tell me he has all the Santa Margarita’s gold that the Spanish robbed from Port Royale during the raid?” said the Governor astounded.

  “The devil has all of Port Royale’s gold,” shouted Jarvis.

  “You still have your head,” reminded the Governor. “Tell us more, Captain Smith.”

  “Captain Blackmon runs a tight ship. A model for his men to follow, he abstains from heavy drinking, and discourages gambling on his ships unlike the majority of his fellow pirates.”

  “Rubbish!” said Jarvis. “He resorts to torture and murder to achieve his ends. You make him to be heroic, but they are scoundrels, all of them thieving venal curs.”

  “He has a magisterial air about him, a natural leader, but also is ruthless. As Ames gave me accounts and as I witnessed first-hand, his attacks are swift, savage and born of genius. He served under De Ruyter in the Mediterranean,” said Captain Smith.

  “I don’t believe it,” said Sir Jarvis.

  “It is true. He told me so himself,” admitted Claire. Her fingers flexed around her fork, her uncle’s crudeness like a fly in the butter.

  “Good God. He fought under De Ruyter? I thought he was a doctor. What a pack of rats, I had under my thumb,” cried Jarvis.

  Lady Morton leaned over to Claire to whisper confidingly. “I wonder about a man who would impart such a personal and important detail to a mere acquaintance.”

  Claire sucked in her breath. She would have to be careful with Lady Morton.

  “Your name, Claire, does it not mean, clear, bright and obvious like the stars in the Scorpion constellation? Perhaps there is more to this story. Perhaps you are the beautiful woman who scorned him?”

  “Ridiculous, Lady Morton. You are provocative. I had nothing to do with him.” Wouldn’t Lady Morton be surprised to learn that the Black Devil was her husband?

  “Am I? Then why do I feel you have been defending too easily a slave and pirate? What if I told you that he is marrying a girl from Tortuga? What would you think then?”

  Claire looked away. Her vision blurred. After a moment, her voice was less steady than before. “Why should I believe such tales?”

  “Is it not commonplace among the Black Devil’s crew?” continued Lady Morton settling in her chair like a hawk on a perch.

  “Commonplace? But he cannot marry.”

  “And why ever not? Pirates are people and can fall in love then marry. Why is it you object to Captain Blackmon’s nuptials?” Lady Morton probed.

  Claire could not possibly comment

  “She is a wild thing they say, complimenting his nature, don’t you think?” Lady Morton put exactly two teaspoons of sugar in her tea, stirred, studying Claire under narrowed eyes. “So really it’s all for the best. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  “I dare say, civilization fashions a cloak even for savages,” Claire said because she had to say something clever to cover her odd reaction. Because she felt too stunned to cry.

  Captain Smith opined. “According to his navigator, it should be taken into consideration that the Black Devil’s present outlawry might well have been undertaken not from inclination, but stress from sheer necessity. He had been forced into it by the circumstances of his transportation and unjust sentencing. It is noted that he doesn’t normally attack British ships.”

  “Rubbish. He seizes every ship of cargo I send to England.” Jarvis growled his contempt.

  “He does have a particular fondness for you,” said Governor Stark, pulling at the lace on his cuff. “Perhaps if you had treated him better…”

  “I should have gelded and hung him when I had him.”

  Claire threw a ball to James, a precocious boy, who stood across the lawn of Plantation House. On this bright sunny day, she and Lily hosted a party for the island orphans. Jarvis had made clear he did not want the brats disrupting his home. The governor had cajoled her uncle with an implied order that resulted in the outdoor celebration. Jarvis had gone into town for the day and she and Lily relaxed without the extra tension of having her uncle around. He had boasted of a surprise. Claire shuddered. A surprise like a cobra stuffed in a basket?

  Claire had been alone for over a year. Being with the children was her chance to build a place for herself. After the devastation of the plague, she had rallied the islanders to donate money to care for the children who had lost their parents from the disease. With the governor behind her, a home was purchased and supplied with necessities. Lily and she spent an inordinate amount of time volunteering by reading, teaching and caring for the youngsters.

  She smiled when James caught the ball then panned a fake injury. The other children giggled. He picked up a stick and flourished several swipes through the air. “I’m the Black Devil pirate,” he crowed and chased the children. Lost in a cacophony of screams and laughter, they dispersed about the grounds and seized the day.

  The mention of the Black Devil pirate tugged at Claire’s heart. She shrugged. James, her favorite, a mischievous boy with endless energy, dimples, and green eyes was so much like Devon. Fate had changed Devon. How little she really knew him had hit her square between the eyes. His womanizing and piracy was beyond anything she could accept.

  How she wished she owned this beautiful plantation. Strong inclinations rattled up her spine and urged her to keep on exploring. Searching over and over again reaped continued failure. Jarvis had caught her one time rifling through his room. She had told him Cookie had mistakenly put the book she was reading in the drawer next to his bed. Jarvis didn’t buy it and took to locking his room.

  She sighed when James had entered through the open doors of the library. She had told the children the interior of the house was off limits. Leave it to James to break the rules. Crash. Claire balled her fists. What did he break? She stalked into the library. An expensive inlaid table had been overturned. She prayed the table was not damaged. Jarvis would have her head.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Claire. I didn’t mean to do any harm.”

  He was so contrite she didn’t have the heart to chastise him. As he righted the table, a panel in the bottom released.

  “Look, Miss Claire. A secret drawer. No treasure, just papers,” he said disgruntled.

  Claire rummaged through the papers, coming to one that looked quite legal with a stamp of some sort. Her heart leaped and her hands shook as she unfolded the documents. She held her breath, saying a silent prayer as she opened it. Her breath hitched. The deed. Reading quickly, the papers stated the plantation was deeded to her father’s descendants in the eventuality of his death. She clutched the papers to her heart and choked down a sob. As a small inconsolable child, she remembered feelings of anger and vulnerability. Nothing had assuaged the grief of their deaths. How could they have abandoned her? How could her father who loved her have left her unprovided? But her father had thought of her. He had died and left her the plantation. He had not abandoned her. “You dear boy, these are far more valuable than treasure.”

  The boy frowned and Claire hugged him. “Outside, my friend.”

  Claire tucked the papers beneath her arm and sought Lily. In a shaded corner of the garden, they poured over the contents. “Jarvis does not own the plantation. Do you know what this means? Freedom. I will not have to do his bidding. I can send him away. We can live here in peace, Lily.”

  Her cousin narrowed her eyes. “Understanding Jarvis’s greed, there may be the possibility your father did provide for you, but perhaps your uncle manipulated the will and stole what was rightfully yours.”

  Hadn’t Devon indicated the same line of thinking? Didn’t the older islanders indicate her father would not leave his estate to his brother? She was older and wiser. The deed presented an opportunity. She would fight. “How do we get to England? I must hire a solicitor to establish ownership. I have no funds.”

  The halt of a carriage and servants pouring out to greet the occupants drew their attention.

  “Claire,” Jarvis ordered.

  She stuffed the
precious documents in Lily’s arms. “Hide them in my room.” She hushed the children and instructed them to eat at the table. If only her uncle had stayed on his errand. She wanted time to go over the documents and she hated to disappoint the children. Jarvis had insisted they return to the orphanage upon his return.

  Her stomach clenched as she rounded the hedgerow. Sir Jarvis struggled to get out of the carriage. In tow was her surprise. The cobra decked in lace and satin was out of the basket.

  The color drained from her face. “Sir Teakle?”

  Jarvis laughed. “Didn’t I tell you we’ve been corresponding? Sir Teakle has come to fetch his bride.”

  She straightened her shoulders emboldened by the deed she possessed. She was no longer the vulnerable little girl cast out onto the streets. “I will not marry.”

  “You must rectify the appalling mistake you made by marrying the felon in England,” bellowed her uncle. “I’ve booked passage for all of us on a ship to London where your wedding will take place.” He raised his cane.

  Lily pressed the cane downward. Claire snapped her head back. Her cousin was resolute, like a soldier under fire, slanted a well-meaning look. “We will be happy to make the voyage.”

  At the edge of the world, the sun’s light descended in its ruby and flashed golden sunbursts to life. Standing on the deck of the Sea Scorpion, Devon could hear a voice in his head, distant but dear, his own voice telling him that one day freedom would belong to him. Yet why did he feel trapped in a distortion of time? Despite the damning memories he tamped down, one unbidden remembrance rebelled, rising to the surface. Claire. Sun streaming through a cottage window, his wife standing before him, smiling, beckoning−and at this moment with the day’s sun dropping from the earth, he listened to her words.

  Devon−it’s not what you think...

  Was she innocent of betraying him? Perhaps he’d misjudged her. No. He shook his head. There lay no possibility of her innocence. It was bred in her nature. Her face swam before him. Golden eyes haunted him, lips that taunted him. He was hurting with wanting her, fueled with rage towards a world where he struggled for survival and for desiring her. But no matter how far he’d come in remembering everything about his former life, and no matter how hard he tried to deny the life he now had, he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

  He had named his ship for her. The Sea Scorpion. And like the constellation, clear and bright and beautiful, Claire ascended. And like the stinging tail of that same creature, she had scorned and betrayed him. A shrewd woman that Lady Morton. She had come close to the truth.

  Devon sighed. His fame, however dubious, spread over the Caribbean, and undoubtedly reached Claire’s ears. Cursed into piracy, a profession he had not chosen, an otherwise vile trade, where the dregs of society existed motivated by their avarice. He survived, magnified into a great evil as customary, the peculiarities of men to exaggerate. He had attempted to keep the vocation clean. The good he’d accomplished, he hoped she would hear, redeeming him. He bore upon his shoulders the grim reality. She would no doubt believe the worst, forever damning him in her eyes.

  From a distance, his eyes followed lights across the dark sea, a solitary ship passing on into the waning light. They did not realize how very lucky to be crossing his path at this time. The present void condemning his soul left him unambitious. The little ship he wished well. It would remain unmolested. He shrugged. He could offer Claire nothing, he a wanted man, his home, the sea and all its challenges, nothing much to recommend to a woman like Claire.

  Ames joined him on the bridge. He too observed the tiny ship’s progress. “You allow a fine quarry to pass us? How unlike you, Devon.”

  “They can count themselves fortunate. I am sailing in a different direction.” Ames looked at him, but did not comment on his apathy.

  In the distance cannons boomed. Devon’s keen eyes scanned the horizon, the lights he’d seen still apparent. More blasts. Bursts of light. A ship he had not discerned in the descending twilight attacked the smaller ship. In these waters a pirate attack no doubt. It was no affair of his or his men.

  Ames trained his telescope across the sea. “The Mer Un Serpent has an English merchantman in its fangs.”

  “To hell with Le Trompeur. He is no business of mine.” He watched the scene unfold with detachment. When Devon remained unmoved, Ames turned, complete astonishment lit his face. “It is unusual for you, Captain, to be weighed down with ambivalence.”

  Devon noted the formal use of “Captain” back in place, a device Ames used to rouse him. When he did not stir Ames went back to his telescope.

  Claire tumbled from her bunk. Lily dropped on top of her. Another thunderous blast rocked the Golden Gull. The attack at night had caught the ship carrying them to England unaware. The lantern swung crazily from a beam. Wicked slashes of light illuminated Cookie’s pale face. There was rush of feet above their heads, the sound of men running. Hoarse shouts and heavy thuds met her ears.

  “Pirates!”

  Nothing could be worse. Claire helped Cookie from the top bunk. In the small space they dressed amid elbows and arms. Claire’s fingers shook as she laced Lily. Cannons recoiled from the Golden Gull, knocking them to the floor in a heap

  “I’m going to assess the situation,” said Claire. She pulled Cookie up and pried Lily’s fingers from her arm.

  “Do not go out there,” both women pleaded.

  Claire swung from the cabin and raced up the companionway to the main deck. A pirate ship three times the size of the Golden Gull loomed off the bow. There was no chance the tiny ship they sailed had against a sleek powerful craft. The Golden Gull boasted six guns and a limited supply of powder. Laden with cargo, the vessel’s movement emerged clumsy and unable to maneuver away from the more agile, brutally weaponed pirate ship. She counted twenty-four portholes with cannons primed to fire. The pirates were sure to win.

  Her head swam, and she leaned against a wall, surveying the scene before her. Confusion and clutter, men rushing about, daggers in hand, repositioning heavy guns and dragging kegs of powder into place charged across the deck. Some brandished swords, all were sweating, and their eyes bore a mixture of fear and grim resignation. The captain stood on the quarterdeck, shouting at the men below. She fought her way to his side, unnoticed by the throng of seamen swarming over the ship.

  “Madame Hamilton!” The captain glanced to her. He peered by turns into the darkness and below at the toiling men. “Go to your room and pray for a miracle!” he bellowed.

  “Can I help in anyway?” she shouted.

  “Stay out of sight. If the pirates get a glimpse of you, they’ll fight like demons. We’ve got enough problems. Madame, get to your cabin and bolt the door. Don’t come out for anything.”

  She raced back the way she had come. Of course, she did not see any sign of Jarvis or Sir Teakle. The knights stayed below locked in their cabin. As she reached the lower deck, a great shout went up. Claire whirled. The pirate ship rose abreast. Up the grey mast flew a skull and crossbones, a fleur-de-lis flew below it. Her heart hammered in her throat. French? There was quick intake of breath among the seamen, and then all at once, a deafening roar, and the Golden Gull shook like an oak tossed on tall mountain winds. She did not wait for the smoke to clear. She jumped over a body. Sulfur burned her eyes.

  “Surrender!” A heavy accented French voice rang out of the darkness. “Surrender, or die.”

  Claire’s nails had dug into her palms where she had clenched them. She barely noticed, her mind crowded with nightmarish thoughts and unspeakable dread. The captain of the Golden Gull shouted an order. A prompt and unmistakable barrage fired from the guns lined along the deck. The French ship returned volley. The Golden Gull rattled. Confusion broke loose and men fell, spouting blood on the deck from great, black gashes, and screams of agony sounded chillingly amid the din of repeated gunfire. Claire stared with horror-filled eyes. Five paces away a sailor crumpled in a heap of twisted limbs. Claire shuddered. Burning gunpowd
er choked her. Fresh blood filled her nostrils. Welded to the wall, she stood a silent witness to a spectacle of violence.

  “Get below!” thundered the captain, his eyes murderous upon her.

  She scrambled down the companionway. Lily yanked her into the cabin, her eyes wide. Claire slid the bolt, a silly gesture. If the pirates won the battle raging above, no door, no bolt, however strong, could protect them. The pirates would take all who survived as prisoners. They would be worth more to them alive as objects of their lust. Claire shuddered.

  They huddled on the lower bunk, listening to the tumult of battle. They flinched at every sound, the clamor of feet overhead, the explosion of pistols, and terrible cries of men cut down. Claire’s muscles tensed, an unbearable painful tension built upon the fear of not knowing their fate. The battle raged−an endless struggle. If only, it would end. What was happening? She yearned for a hint, but could detect nothing. She derived no comfort.

  She moved to the door. Lily and Cookie held her back. “I cannot bear the suspense any longer. I must see−” Then all fell eerily quiet. Claire strained her ears. No shouts, no gunfire, nothing.

  She waited, hands clenched. Boots stamped down the stairs, French accented curses. The doorknob rattled. An ax chopped through the heavy oak of their locked door. Cookie moaned. Lily stayed glued to her side.