Fortune's Flame

by French, Judith E.

  Swirls of red-and-black colors teased the edges of her consciousness as an unfamiliar male scent filled her nostrils. Bay, and rum, and tobacco. No, not the odor of a pipe, but snuff overlaid with French toilet water. Bess fought to orient her senses. Where was she? Who was this middle-aged Englishman in the floral-brocaded banyan and black, curled wig? She caught sight of his slender, ringed fingers as he brushed stray tendrils of hair away from her face.

  “Annemie! Come and give her something to lower the fever. Annemie!”

  Annemie. That was the woman, Bess reasoned. Who, then, was this man? Her lips formed the question, but no sound came from her throat. She tried again. “Who . . . who are you?” she rasped.

  He smiled. “Peregrine Kay, my dear,” he murmured. His smile widened. “Falconer. At your service, my lady.”

  Too weak to fight and too tired to care, Bess closed her eyes and willed herself back into the welcoming arms of fevered dreams and half-remembered pictures.

  Steel clashed against steel. All around her, men were fighting with swords and pistols. The Tanager’s deck ran red with blood. She stood at Kincaid’s back, a flintlock in one hand. A swarthy sailor ran at her, crimson cutlass arcing through the air. She raised the pistol and fired point-blank into his chest. Rudy stumbled through the smoke, his black face twisted with pain, and fell almost at her feet. The handle of a knife protruded from his back. She screamed, but her cry was lost in the blast of a musket.

  Hostile faces surrounded them. Flames shot up from the deck. Kincaid shouted something to her, but she couldn’t make out his words. Bloody hands grabbed at her. Kincaid cut and slashed, forging a protective circle of bright steel. Then another shot rang out and he shuddered as a musket ball pierced his flesh.

  “No!” Bess screamed. “No!”

  Kincaid sank to the deck and she flung herself over him, shielding his body with her own. “Bess,” he whispered hoarsely. “Leave me. Save yourself, lass.”

  A swearing seaman ripped her away from Kincaid and drove a rapier into his side. Then merciful blackness ended her agony, and she tumbled down and down into a bottomless abyss.

  “Elizabeth.”

  The commanding tone dragged her back to the present. She opened her eyes. Kay was still hovering over her, watching with the eyes of a predator. “He’s dead,” she said. “I saw him die.”

  Peregrine nodded solemnly. “That was weeks ago. You must put it behind you, my dear, and concentrate on getting well.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing her knuckles with a light kiss. “I will care for you now, sweet Elizabeth. Nothing or no one will ever harm you again. You have my word as a gentleman on it.”

  Bess tried to pull her hand free, but he held it tightly. “Bastard.”

  He smiled, releasing his grip. “You have her spirit. I’m glad of that. You look so much like her, you know, except for the eyes. Your eyes are as blue as—”

  “Who? Who do I look like?” she demanded, struggling to a sitting position.

  He laughed. “Why, Lacy Bennett, of course. Your grandmother. You’re the very image of my father’s portrait of her.”

  Weakness assailed her, and she covered her face with her hands. She wanted to get up and run, to strike out at Kay’s smug face, but her body betrayed her. She was so weary, and the bed was so soft. She felt herself sinking back again. “Please,” she whispered. “I must know. Please. Is Kincaid really . . . really . . .” Her eyelids closed and she didn’t hear Kay’s mocking answer.

  It was raining when Bess woke again. The shutters were closed and barred; the room was in twilight. Raindrops drummed rhythmically on the low. roof and patted at the precious glass windowpanes.

  She felt stronger, but when she tried to raise her head off the pillow, the elegantly furnished chamber began to spin.

  “Rest,” Annemie advised, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. “Rest is what you need, missy.”

  Bess looked around anxiously. “Where is he?” She glanced back at the tall woman, wondering if she was wife or servant.

  “He is lying down,” Annemie explained. “His own health is fragile. Too much excitement is bad for him.” She lifted a painted glass chimney and lit a lamp from the candle she carried.

  “Who are you?” Bess asked.

  “I am Lord Kay’s housekeeper.” She extinguished the candle with a silver snuffer and brought the lamp to the table beside Bess’s bed. “I have been with his lordship for many years and he allows. me great liberties in his household. ”

  “You have been very kind,” Bess said. “Thank you.”

  Annemie nodded and paused beside the bed. Only her twisting hands gave away her desire to speak further.

  “Why am I here?” Bess demanded. The events of the past weeks were hazy, but she remembered the expression on Kay’s face when he introduced himself, and she remembered that he had identified himself as Falconer. “Why does he hate me?”

  The housekeeper’s lips thinned to a narrow line and her forehead wrinkled. “He does not hate you,” she said softly.

  “If he is Falconer, as he said, then he wants to kill me.”

  Annemie shook her head sadly. “No, lady. No more. You misjudge him.”

  “He sent the ships after us, didn’t he? His men attacked the Scarlet Tanager when we came out of the jungle.”

  Annemie sighed. “There is no need to trouble yourself over what happened in the past. You are in no danger from Lord Kay now.”

  “And Kincaid?” Pain knifed through Bess as she said his name. Her eyes welled up with tears. “Falconer—Kay—killed the man I loved. He might as well have murdered him with his own hands.”

  Annemie lifted a finger to her lips: Without speaking, she went to the door, opened it, and looked out into the deserted hallway. Then she closed the door and returned to Bess’s side. “In the parlor is a portrait of your grandmother,” she began. “My master’s father, Governor Matthew Kay, loved her desperately. She betrayed him with another man—the man who later became your grandfather—and together, they stole a fortune in Spanish treasure from him.”

  “But—” Bess started.

  “No.” The older woman lifted a palm. “You must listen. I will speak of this once and never again. And if you ever tell that I said anything, I will deny every word.”

  Bess sank back against the pillow and nodded.

  “Your grandmother, Lacy Bennett, haunted Governor Kay’s memory. In his later years, after a brilliant career of government service, his mind began to wander. My lord, Peregrine Kay, was the governor’s only child. All of his life, my master heard of the evil done to this family by your grandparents. Revenge against them became an obsession, first for the governor, and later for Lord Kay.”

  Annemie drew a chair close to the bed and sat down. “I know that none of this is your fault,” she said to Bess, “but you must realize the depths of wrong done to the honor of this family. My master suffers from the falling sickness. No.” She lifted a work-worn hand again to silence Bess. “Do not speak. Listen, for it pains me to be disloyal to Lord Kay.”

  Bess took Annemie’s hand and squeezed it. For a fraction of a second Bess experienced a haze of swirling blue color. I can trust this woman, she thought. Here, in the home of my enemy, I’ve found one who will tell me the truth. She offered Annemie a weak smile.

  Encouraged, Annemie went on. “The governor is long dead, but Lord Kay considered it his duty to continue to search for your grandparents and right the wrong. When informants told him that they were dead, his feud passed from them to the next generation. Your parents.”

  “My mother died years ago.”

  “And your father chose to abandon his duties on your plantation and vanish in the Orient. That left you.” Annemie exhaled softly. “My lord wished you dead. That much is true. From bits I overheard, I know that he ordered ruffians to attack and burn your plantation, and I know that he has tried—so far unsuccessfully—to seize your land.”

  “But if he w
ants me dead, then why—”

  “Shhh,” the housekeeper warned. “Keep your voice down. I did not say he wants you dead—you are completely safe here, perhaps safer than you have ever been.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opened them, Bess read the anguish written there. “Often love and hate are two sides of the same coin. My master has forgiven you for the sins of your grandmother.”

  “And?” Bess urged, knowing there was more.

  “And he has decided that what he had always felt for Lacy Bennett was not hate but admiration.” She looked Bess square in the eye. “He wants to make you his bride.”

  “What?”

  “He thinks he loves you.”

  “Loves me? After what he did? After he killed the man I—”

  “Be still. I endanger myself by confiding in you.”

  “He must be insane! Surely he can’t expect me to agree to marry—”

  “Do not refuse his offer so lightly. My master may not be a royal governor, but he makes and breaks governors. His wealth could not easily be counted. He controls ships, islands—I daresay his opinion weighs heavily in the House of Lords itself.”

  “You’re suggesting I marry a murderer? A madman? I’d sooner—”

  “Don’t say that!” Annemie said sharply. “Never say that. You don’t know him. He is a good man, kind and trustworthy. He is the soul of—”

  “If you feel that way, you marry him!”

  Annemie’s face paled to ivory in the twilight room. She turned away and looked toward the shuttered window. “I am the grandchild of a slave,” she whispered hoarsely. “If only I could wed with my Peregrine. If only I could.”

  “You love him?” Bess asked.

  Annemie’s strong hands trembled. “I have always loved him.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bess said.

  The woman stiffened and looked back at Bess. “Do not feel pity for me. I live in my master’s house, I sit and eat at his table, I see to his needs, and I listen to his joys and sorrows. Is that not as much as most wives can expect?”

  “And his bed?” Bess asked. “If I became his wife, would you continue to share his bed?”

  “You insult me,” Annemie said, “and you insult Lord Kay. He isn’t like that. He respects me and his own conscience. I have never gone to his bed. Never.”

  “I apologize. This is all so much,” Bess murmured. “I never meant to hurt you. It is just that I expected—”

  “You expected Falconer to be a pirate, in his home as well as on the sea.”

  “Most men in his position—”

  “Exactly.” Annemie nodded firmly. “Most men would take advantage of the granddaughter and daughter of slaves. But my Peregrine has allowed me my honor. He respects me—even loves me in his own way, I’m certain of it.” Her expression softened. “He is not a man for other men either, if you are thinking that. He has all the normal tastes, but he never brings his mistresses here. He keeps them decently hidden away in their own apartments. If you become his wife, be assured he will never shame you with loose women.”

  “I will never become his bride. I’d rather be dead.”

  “Dead is a long time, and the grave is dark, they say.”

  “Let him kill me if he wants. He’s already killed Kincaid.”

  “Kincaid?”

  “He was the man I wanted to marry—the father of my unborn child.”

  Annemie smiled. “Yes, you are telling the truth. I bathed you. I felt the swelling of the little one in your womb. You are not far along, but you are with child.”

  Bess clutched her belly. “You don’t think the fever—”

  “It is too soon for you to feel life yet, but only time will tell if your babe has been damaged by your jungle illness. You were out of your head for many days. When they brought you to me, I did not think you would survive.”

  “Better if I hadn’t.”

  “You speak with the foolishness of the young. Life is always better than death. My Yoruba grandmother clung to that thought in the filthy hold of a slave ship, and later, when they took away her firstborn son and sold him away from her forever. She was a wise woman, my grandmother. She could teach you much.”

  “This is Kincaid’s child I carry. I’ve got to take him home to the Chesapeake.”

  “My lord will never let you go.”

  “I’ll go, or one of us will cease to breathe—Falconer or me.”

  “I would kill you myself, Missy Bennett, to protect my master.”

  “Then why did you tell me all this?”

  Annemie’s shoulders slumped forward. “Because I too am a woman, and I could not bear the thought of him marrying you who must hate him, instead of me. You will only bring him unhappiness, and my master has had so much unhappiness. He deserves better.”

  “But you don’t hate me?”

  “I should. When they first brought you here, I wanted to let you die. But as I tended you day after day, I realized that you want this no more than I do. We are only women, after all. We are at the mercy of men as always.”

  “I’ve never considered myself—”

  The ringing of a bell broke into their conversation and Annemie rose swiftly and started toward the door. “My master needs me. I must go. Think on what I have told you, missy. But do not ask me any more questions, for I will not answer. I have told you all that I can. Use what I’ve given you, but always remember—if you try to hurt him, I will kill you.”

  Bess moistened her lips and reached for a glass of water on the bedside table. Annemie was a complex person, one who would make a better friend than an enemy. Bess took small sips of the citrus-flavored, sweetened water, and willed her headache to recede.

  She was still as weak as a newborn pup, but she needed her wits about her if she was to find a way to save herself and Kincaid’s child from this madman, Peregrine Kay. The overwhelming pain she felt when she thought of the big Scot was too great to bear, so she mentally pushed it away. There would be a lifetime to mourn him. Now she must survive.

  “I approve.”

  Bess choked, spitting water across the fine cotton coverlet. “Kutii!”

  The Incan leaned casually against the shuttered window, feet apart, arms crossed over his tattooed chest. He was wearing just a simple red loincloth, and his only weapon was a stone knife with a handle of bone, inlaid with a shell pattern. The sheathed knife dangled from a woven cotton belt slung over one muscular shoulder. Today, Kutii looked younger than she had ever seen him, younger than she felt.

  He flashed her a rare smile, and she realized that long ago, he must have set many feminine hearts aflutter with his ready charm. “Do not drown yourself.”

  “Where have you been?” she demanded.

  “You forget. My time is not yours. Did I not slay the headhunters for you? Did you see how they fled before me? I am a mighty warrior still, am I not?”

  “This is no time for your boasting, Kutii.”

  His brow creased in a frown. “This one needs not boast. His deeds speak for him. Men speak of Kutii the great—”

  “Stop it.” She covered her face with her hands.

  “Not now, Kutii. Not now. I need your help.” Hot tears spilled from her closed eyelids. “They killed him. They killed Kincaid. Didn’t you see it? Why weren’t you there then?”

  The Indian made a sound of derision. “Don’t do that. You know this one cannot bear to see the child of his heart weep.”

  She took her hands away and glared at him. “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve reason to cry,” she sniffed. “They killed the man I loved right in front of me. And now I’m being held prisoner by—”

  “Yes, yes. This one knows of Peregrine Kay. He is much like his father, and this one knows him well. He was a great trial to the Star Woman, your grandmother.”

  “He wants me to marry him.”

  “I heard the woman tell you so.”

  “I won’t do it.”

  “You cannot. Matthew Kay’s blood is not fit to mix with that o
f my people. Not yet.”

  “What?”

  “Your grandmother was my adopted daughter. You carry her blood and that of my people. You must marry the father of your child. He is the chosen one, the strong man your grandmother told you would come in your time of great need.”

  “You’re not making sense, Kutii.” She struggled to concentrate on his fading image. “Don’t go. Stay with me. I need you.” Even his oddly accented English was growing fainter.

  “To remain in your time—to make this warrior bright—is hard. Your power to see and hear beyond time is dimmed by fever.”

  “What must I do, Kutii?” she begged him. “Don’t leave me yet. Please.”

  “You have her strength, little one. All that your grandmother was is in you. Have faith in yourself.”

  “I can’t do it alone.”

  Only the dark eyes remained, a glowing mask against the white shutters. The rest of his outline was gone. “You are not alone,” his voice promised.

  “Kutii!”

  Her anguished cry broke off, leaving only the sound of the wind and the rain in the still room. Where the Incan had stood were only shadows.

  Bess closed her eyes. And from the depths of her heart came a message, one radiant with hope.

  He’s not dead.

  Chapter 22

  Three days had passed since Bess had seen Kutii and become convinced that Kincaid was still alive. Annemie still cared for her with all the tender consideration of a friend, but, true to her word, she had refused to discuss her master or his affairs again.

  Bess reasoned that Peregrine Kay would not demand that the wedding take place so long as she remained ill, so she concentrated on regaining her strength without allowing anyone to know she was getting better. When she was alone at night, she would get out of bed and walk around the room. In the daytime, when there was too much danger of being discovered, she contented herself sleeping as much as possible, and eating and drinking everything that Annemie brought to her bedside.

  Lord Kay, the man she now knew to be Falconer, visited her every day at noon, at six, and again, precisely at nine o’clock in the evening. Always, he was a complete gentleman. He did not attempt to touch her or threaten her in any way. He asked after her health, offered to play cards with her, and chatted politely about the weather and events currently occurring in Jamaica and the Caribbean. If Bess questioned him about the fate of the crew of the Tanager and the whereabouts of the fortune she and Kincaid had brought out of the jungle, he ignored her completely and went on chatting about mundane affairs. Although she saw that Peregrine Kay was an extremely astute man with a keen intelligence, she found his company disturbing.