"I have no idea what you mean. I hear things in my mind and that’s how they come out of my mouth. Isn’t that the way most people speak?"
"Like a parrot, only repeating what its been told."
"That’s what my uncle says, but I always thought that to mean that I talk too much.”
“That too.”
Kate did not take offense, but held her finger to her lips for quiet.
He heard an owl nearby, barely there above the gentle rush of the waterfall they could still hear farther back on the path. She motioned him further up and they came out on top of the falls. There were large flat rocks and the din was much lower. The view was panoramic.
"Do you often wander around at night?" he said.
"No, I don't think so."
"But the moon made you restless."
"I’m leaving tomorrow,” she said. “I found a passage to Madeira."
"And from there, onto America and home?"
"My home is not a place, it's in my heart. But if I have a home, it’s on the Wilde."
"I am told you leased your home to the English earl for the long term."
She laughed. "Long term is a relative term. My uncle is on his way up from the western ports in Africa. I will decide then what I will do next, as will he when he learns of the British blockade."
A cloud covered part of the moon and a heavier bank threatened from the south. They gathered fast and looked to be forming thunderheads.
“Come, we must go back,” he said.
She looked up. “We have a little more time.”
He didn’t know what to say. He felt nervous, but it was not like when he talked to some of his father’s friends, or his other mentors in the Navy. Nor like the first smell of a battle.
This was different. This was worse.
“Why did you kiss me?” he blurted out, to his horror.
She gave him a sly little smile. “You’ve never been mistaken for a scholar, have you? My mother said that men may be charming and often brave, but sometimes they’re also quite dumb.”
“Did she now?” he said in his own Cornish lilt.
“No, you’re right, I lied. It was me who said that.”
“Why did you kiss me?” he said again.
“Because I wanted to,” she said. “And because you would not kiss me.”
“Oh.”
“You did not approve? I was just an impulse, nothing I meant as disrespect. You didn’t step away or turn green or throw up like the Marquis when I gave him the dog that had been chewing—“
He put his hand over her mouth, gently.
His fingers moved on their own, tracing her jaw line, then pushing back the strands of hair from her face. The motion touched the flower behind her ear, and he could smell the sweetness there. He put his hand to her hair then, and pulled her head to his shoulder. There he held her, just held her, for a long time.
The wind picked up as the storm came closer. She handed him the basket to carry, and took him by the arm. She wiped at her eyes, as if she had been crying. He didn’t know what to do, what to say. They didn’t speak as they started to walk back very slowly.
“Oh, wait, I almost forgot. Grandmother Earth please forgive me,” she said. “Do you have any tobacco?”
“Madam?”
“Tobacco, I was going to bring something myself, but wouldn’t you know with all the thoughts of the wolf, I forgot.”
He shook his head as he fished in his pockets. Sir Humphrey gave him a very fine cigar. He planned to smoke it later, but he held it out. She pounced on it, crushed it, then pulled a pinch from the palm of her hand and let it scatter to the wind. Of course, there was no wind, not even a breeze now, and it dropped pathetically to the ground.
But she turned a quarter turn and did the same. This she did until she had scattered in all directions. Then she set the rest down on a big rock.
“What are you doing,” he said, “besides ruining a perfectly good cigar?”
“I’m giving thanks to Grandmother Earth for giving me her bounty.”
“Are you serious?”
“Some people eat bread and call it Christ’s body. They drink wine and call it Christ’s blood. They put flowers on graves and food inside temples. Is this so very strange then, compared with some other things people do in the name of religion?”
He didn’t care to argue the point. She took his arm again. They walked back, but said nothing more between them. Better silence than argument. But he had to admit, he wished he had the nerve to kiss her like she had done to him.
* * * * *
CHAPTER 30 - The Red Wind
Standish looked around and wondered what he should do next. Clearly he would have to hide the body of the soldier and hide himself as well. He knew they had no other proof, they could not hold him long, even if they did arrest him.
“Unless they find me standing over a body.”
And there was the other soldier who had seen him . . .
This was getting complicated, but there was no other proof. Nothing solid. He had seen to that. Still, any delay would mean angering the Spanish, and he had no doubt they were true to their word: If he didn’t follow through for them, they would know it, and see him dead.
Betrayal was an ugly word, and he doubted he could convince the Spanish otherwise. They were not susceptible to his word-smithing like others had been. Diplomatic blowback was useless against men of such religious fervor. The same was true of any zealot. It didn’t have to be a commitment to God, it could any cause: French Republicans, American Revolution, King and country, like his father, or the Royal Navy, like Edward Lindsay.
His own commitment was to his own comfort, as it had always been.
In any case, it was best to solve the immediate problem, which was not to get arrested in the first place. Then he could contemplate his position, his options, and so his next moves. In the grand scheme, things seemed to be going his way. Mostly.
“And sure, I’m a lucky man,” he said, trying to sound just a little Irish and just a little like Kate.
Then he brayed in laughter, but the noise choked off as he realized it was much too loud. He could swear he heard his grandmother’s voice, shushing him to silence. He listened for a bit, but to his relief she said nothing more.
Standish tried to move some crates so he could shove the soldier’s body behind, but they were all too heavy.
“Never have a barrel when you really need it.”
He settled for rolling the man to the dark end of the warehouse. Sometimes it was used to house animals, and he found a supply of molding straw. It would have to do. He used the musket butt to push away as much hay as he could, then he rolled the corpse under with his foot.
After he had covered the dead man, he climbed up a few of the crates and tossed the musket down on the other side of their stack. Better to have it found later than be seen with it now.
He brushed himself as clean as he could, fighting the sneeze and the nausea. He lost on both counts.
When he finished retching, he was in a cold sweat. The straw chaff stuck to him and made him itch. He thought about going to an inn for a bath, but that was too risky. He headed to the door of the warehouse and listened.
There were only the normal sounds of the quay. He wondered for a moment about the patrol and checked his watch. The dead man’s companion had gone for help a good while ago. Perhaps they came and went already. No, he didn’t feel that lucky. Perhaps they didn’t believe the young man and would never come at all. Standish shook his head slowly, for optimism was never one of his faults.
Either way, no patrols seemed to be about now. He had to make the best of it.
He hurried down the quay, but stopped to look at the waiting ship out in the harbor. Its red-painted hull was still distinguishable among all the others in the moonlight. It looked like a terrible thing, unearthly.
His grandmother said, “That is a ship of death.”
It was a corvette, what the British sometimes ca
lled a sloop-of-war. It was smaller and rated below a frigate-class, with three masts and one tier of guns. They used ships like this more for speed and close fighting than for the comfort of any passengers. But comfort was not what he had in mind for Kate, and he was lucky to have found a first mate so willing to take his suggestions.
There was always trade here in Gibraltar, but since the blockade, many ships waiting were not here for commerce. Some were Royal Navy vessels, some were those taken by the Royal Navy in the blockade, or commandeered for its service. Of those, many had damage from the battles that had been fought to win them.
But there as no damage on the red-hulled corvette. He hadn’t thought to ask the captain of the Red Wind how he had come through the blockade—a bribe perhaps? A bargain with the British?
Evil spirits need make no bargains, his grandmother murmured.
He replied, “Perhaps it carried missives from another country around the Mediterranean.”
More likely the Red Wind was just a supply ship from some Eastern merchant fonder of money than any European cause. The rest of the world didn’t come to a halt just because Europe again was at war. It could have been working for the British, after all.
He paid dearly for his own passage on the Red Wind, but for Kate, he got passage for free. The captain and crew were foreign, Middle Easterners too. He told them she was his wife, which made her more like cargo than a passenger. Of course, he would have to pay for her food, but that wouldn’t be for long.
Nearby, a group of passing soldiers started laughing. Standish glanced back in alarm. But they were not a patrol; they staggered with their drink and danced with their singing. It wouldn’t be long before a patrol would find them too. He walked further down the quay, searching for a place to stay.
I will come back in the morning to assist Kate on board, he decided. It would be dangerous in the light of day, but it must be done. She would expect it, and all must be seen to be normal. After all, nothing ventured, nothing gained.
His grandmother said only, “A snake must shed its skin.”
Standish agreed. “A disguise is in order, I think.”
* * * * *
In the morning, Standish was pacing, waiting for Kate. She came with very little baggage: the type of pack bag she always carried, a small wooden cask, and also a small trunk.
“That’s all?” he said, then shooed away the wharf brats still waiting, even though Kate had just paid them for hauling her load.
“I’ve been traveling light. What have you done to yourself, Ambrose?”
“What do you mean?”
He hadn’t shaved, and the stubble of his beard was dark red and splotchy. It looked more like a rash than a beard, but it appeared to change the shape of his face. He had also trimmed his hair a great deal so that all that remained was the white-gray.
His clothes were now as austere as that of a minister. It was his disguise of sorts, but there was no need for her to know that.
“Our hosts on the Red Wind are from the Middle East,” he said. “I am trying to be more temperate in deference to their religion, that’s all.”
“Oh. What should I do?”
Nothing, just keep your mouth shut, he thought. He said, “Don’t worry, they know you’re a Christian woman. They will treat you like the plague.”
She shrugged and directed the crewmen to be careful as they carried her baggage aboard the rowboat. She only had a few dresses, one new, but all simple, since the rest of her things were either scattered in places she had left in a hurry, either by choice or by force: Louis’s house in southwestern France, her mother’s family home near Paris, San de Luz, or back in the warehouse near the Wilde.
“I need to deliver this, Ambrose, it’s important.” She held up a small folded parchment packet.
“What is it?”
She blushed and held it close to her in hesitation. This intrigued him.
“What is it, Katie?” he said again, and reached for it.
“It’s a message, that’s all. A farewell. It’s important to me, not to world affairs. I didn’t have time to . . .”
“Why, Katie, I believe you are blushing. How charming. Is it a love note? Not to me, I take it?”
She put it back into her skirt pocket.
He laughed. “No, give it over, I’ll have someone take it. I don’t have time myself, and I won’t even have time to read it first.”
Still she hesitated. Then she climbed into the boat. He shrugged and turned away.
“Thank you,” she said, and finally handed up the parchment. It was addressed to Captain Sir Edward Lindsay, Government House.
Ambrose smelled it, then sneezed. “What is this?”
“It’s wild ginger, a sort of remembrance. Just a note, as I said, nothing special.”
“Look, there’s a carriage over there. I’ll give him a coin and have him deliver it there. I have a few odds and ends to tie up, then I will be on my way over as well.”
He waved the boat to take off with orders to come back for him when they had delivered Kate aboard the waiting ship. He called out as they cleared the quay, “These lads know where you need to go, Kate. I’ll see you shortly.”
She called back, “Maybe I should not have—“
”This is the right thing, Kate. The passage came up when you needed it. It was fate, if you believe in that sort of thing.”
He knew that she did.
She nodded and sat down in the boat, not looking his way as they rowed away.
He strolled toward the carriage. He knew she would be watching him now, so he asked the driver if there were any good taverns nearby. The driver told him there were, and which ones. Standish gave him a coin and ordered him to drive to one and have a drink.
When the carriage took off with neither argument nor question, Standish put the note in his pocket. It will amuse me later on, he thought.
* * * * *
Kate had never been on such an unfamiliar vessel. It was strange in many ways. The design, the sails, even the crew—all were foreign to her. She had seen French corvettes before, but from a comfortable distance. This one was different from those, and the color made her just a bit uneasy. There was no one about to offer sympathy. None of the crew was related to her, which was usually the case on her family’s vessels.
She was in unchartered waters.
A few men excused themselves as they passed by with their business. Two spoke in English; a few spoke Italian. The others did not speak at all as they carried their loads and went about the tasks that all sailors needed to do before shipping out. That was familiar, at least, and she knew enough to move out of their way.
A man stepped up beside her. He was too close, and she took a step back before she looked him up and down. He was quite tall and had a large barrel chest. He wore a red sash around his waist, and his head was completely bald.
He wore no jacket, and his shirtsleeves had been rolled up. He had a tattoo on his forearm, a swirling whirlwind design, in red. She assumed it meant Red Wind, the name of the ship according to Ambrose Standish.
It looked just like the swirling eye of a cyclone, which Kate had only seen once in her life. But once was quite enough. She hoped that part was not going to be fate. Maybe it was a bad sign. For a split second, her mind flashed to a huge white owl with large green-gold eyes staring at her. She blinked.
He spoke over her head, not looking at her at all. “I am the master of the ship, I will show you to your quarters. I would ask you to stay there until we leave port. When you are on deck, you must wear this.”
He handed her a shawl-like cloth, dark and thick, though finely woven. She was to cover her hair, at least. Fair enough, she thought, at least he meant to let her out on the deck. He was off without waiting, and Kate rushed after. The cabin was not large, but it was clean and well kept. Some items looked new, like the matting on the set-in bunk.
There was a pitcher and bowl in the little stand in the corner. The stand had a tiny railing around t
he top, carved with a design. The railing was common and used to keep the china from sliding to the floor and smashing with the motion of the ship. She had never seen such carving before. It was intricate and beautiful. It reminded her of her bracelet.
She ran her finger along the design, and then realized the pattern was of two long twining snakes. Erotically twining snakes with more detail than seemed decent and more anatomy than seemed natural. She pulled her hand away.
There was one small porthole. Its glass was colored blue and red. The design was the same as the man’s tattoo. A red wind on the blue sea, perhaps. An expensive notion, someone loved this ship.
She turned to thank him and ask him his name, but he had already gone. She only caught the back of him as he shut the door with quite a bang. She understood that to mean that he meant what he just said. She would stay here until they were well under way.
“How much did Ambrose have to pay to put me in here, I wonder?”
A cabin of her own probably meant that she was the only woman aboard. Were they the only passengers then, and how had he managed that? She did not like owing the man. She did not like being around him either. Well, no matter, she thought. It will be over soon.
“Any port in a storm.”
She had not slept at all after the midnight-stroll with the wolf. She hadn’t expected to see Edward Lindsay last night, but put that down to fate as well. They didn’t speak when they parted company; he only kissed her on the forehead. She thought about him the rest of the night, still feeling his arms around her as he held her quite close.
Kate yawned and stretched out on the bunk.
I wish I had kissed him some more.
When she woke, she could feel that they were already out to sea. Too late to change my mind, she thought—then searched around for the bucket usually provided for this occasion. She didn’t find one, and settled for the chamber pot. Kate was seasick the next few days of the voyage.
By the time she got the courage to go up on deck, she felt ravenous. To her relief, Ambrose Standish was standing there too. He had shaved, but he looked quite pale.
The Wilde Flower Saga: A Contrary Wind (Historical Adventure Series) Page 30
