She hardly heard the ceremony. She was too caught up in Kitt’s gaze. It held hers with a look that communicated his pledge to her better than any words. If her voice shook as she said her vows, it was to be expected. It wasn’t every day a woman was loved so thoroughly or so well. It was an overwhelming prospect to know she’d wake up to this man, to this love, for the rest of her life.
Waves rolled lightly over their bare feet as the vicar pronounced them husband and wife. This was the life and it was hers to claim, hers and Kitt’s. Kitt tipped her chin upwards and covered her mouth with his, sealing their vows with a kiss, sealing them together, for ever.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an excerpt from THE LOST GENTLEMAN by Margaret McPhee.
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Chapter One
May 1812—Caribbean Sea
The sea was a clear green-turquoise silk, rippling and sparkling with crystal-flecked waves. The sky overhead was vast and expansive; the type of sky that only this part of the world held, a vivid never-ending blue, cloudless. It was only ten in the morning, but the sun had already unfurled its bright strength, bleaching the oak of the small American pirate schooner Coyote’s wooden deck pale and baking it.
Kate Medhurst could feel its warmth beneath the bare soles of her feet and was grateful for the shade of the dark awning that stretched over this section of the quarterdeck—that and the cooling sea breeze. It sent the dark silk ribbons of her straw bonnet flicking and dancing against her neck and the muslin of her black skirts hugging her legs, but Kate noticed neither. Her attention was fixed solely on one thing—the ship coming into view in the distance.
There was the sound of a raven’s caw, a slightly sinister call, out of place here in the middle of the ocean.
‘A raven on the mizzen mast. A portent that our luck is about to change,’ one of the men murmured from the deck before her. Kate knew the superstitions the same as every man on the ship. But unlike them she did not touch her forehead, making the sign to ward off evil. She did not believe in such omens, but superstition was a very real thing to most of those who spent their lives on the waves, so she did not mock them.
‘For the better,’ she said, ‘if what is coming our way is anything to go by.’ Through the spyglass she held to her eye she followed the course of the large black-hulled merchant schooner, struggling against the wind.
She snapped the spyglass shut and turned to Tobias, standing by her side. He was a tall man, over six foot in height, with a skin lined and weathered to a nut brown and hair that hung, from beneath his tricorne, in long matted braids interwoven with beads and feathers. His nose was flat from it having been broken in too many drunken fights in the past. With his looks and his faded, frogged frock-coat, Tobias was the very image of what one expected a pirate captain to be, with a temperament to match. He was still staring up at the raven with a vicious look in his eye.
‘She’s flying the Union Jack, but I cannot see her name.’ Kate spoke not to Tobias, but the small, sturdy older man standing on her left-hand side—Sunny Jim. The bandanna wrapped around Sunny Jim’s bald head had once been red, now it was a grubby faded pink, pale in comparison to the mahogany-darkened leather of the skin of his face and neck. She passed him the spyglass. ‘Can you?’ She frowned, knowing the name of every British ship she had ever attacked.
Sunny Jim frowned even more than usual, shaking his head as he passed the spyglass to Tobias for appearances’ sake. ‘Not yet, ma’am.’
‘What does a name matter?’ Tobias asked as he peered through the glass.
‘Probably nothing.’ But it bothered her more than the large black bird that still sat on the mast top watching them.
At the sight of the ship, Tobias grinned, revealing his missing front teeth. His gold-hoop earring glinted in the sunlight and reflected golden dots of light to dance upon the tattoo inked upon his neck. ‘Nice,’ he hissed.
‘A straggler from the merchant convoy that passed at dawn, no doubt,’ she said.
‘Fallen behind, all alone, without the protection of those mean, son of a gun, Royal Navy frigates.’ Sunny Jim almost managed a smile. ‘Oh, dear, oh, dear, oh, dear. We can’t leave her out there all on her own now, can we?’
‘We certainly cannot,’ Tobias agreed. ‘We should slit their English throats.’
‘There will be no slitting of throats.’ Kate exchanged a glance with Sunny Jim, then shot Tobias a fierce curbing look.
Tobias’s upper lip curled. ‘You are too soft on them.’
‘Not soft at all,’ she countered. ‘Hit them in their pockets and leave them alive to bear the pain and witness to the fact that America’s seas are just that. America’s. It is enough.’
‘And supposing I disagree?’ He looked at her with angry challenge in his eyes.
‘Again? You seem to be disagreeing with me over much these days. This is not the time to be having this discussion. We will deal with it when we get back to Tallaholm. For now, you are on my ship, under my command and you do as I say.’
‘Do I? When so many think I am Coyote’s captain?’ He stepped closer, trying to intimidate her.
‘You do, you young cur,’ Sunny Jim said with soft deadly menace and pulled his cutlass free from its scabbard. ‘You would do well, Tobias Malhone, to remember that you’re a nobody playing a part. There’s only one true captain of this ship and, for all your fancy coat, it ain’t you. So if the Captain says it’s enough then it’s enough. Comprendez?’
Tobias gave a sullen nod and backed off from his challenge, for now. ‘If you say so, Captain.’ He placed just a slight sneering emphasis on her title.
‘I do.’ She met his gaze unflinching. ‘Are you going to be a problem for me today, Tobias?’
He looked at her for a long second before answering. ‘No.’ He sneered at her. ‘Not today.’
She understood well the implication. Not today, but another. But unbeknown to Tobias, the problem would be gone by then. ‘Then we can get on with the job at hand. They are low in the water line.’
‘Heavily laden with cargo,’ said Sunny Jim.
‘Our favourite kind of merchantman.’ She turned her gaze from the prize to Tobias. ‘Make ready. Let us see if we cannot lighten the merchantman’s load a little to speed her on her way.’
‘Aye-aye, Captain,’ Tobias said softly and without the cynicism this time. He grinned almost to himself, then spoke more loudly to the men who stood poised and waiting, ‘Take her about, boys, we’ve got a date with an English merchant schooner.’
There was a raucous cheer of approval, before the small loyal crew raced to action. Kate pushed her worries over Tobias to the back of her mind for now and watched from her place beneath the awning, with Tobias standing ahead, giving the small orders. The black canvas sails unfurled to catch the wind and the ship began to move.
‘Hoist the flag,’ she commanded.
A smile curved her lips as Coyote sped towards her prey.
* * *
Kit Northcote, or Captain North as he now went by, snapped his spyglass shut and slipped it into the pocket of his faded leather coat. The coat had once bel
onged to a pirate, now it was worn by someone markedly different—someone leaner, harder, honed; although he still wore the black shirt beneath, the shabby buckskin breeches and his tall boots.
‘They are coming.’ His gaze was fixed on the distant ship.
‘Is it La Voile?’ Reverend Dr Gabriel Gunner, his friend, asked.
‘The hull is a single black-striped sienna brown, the sail is black, and she is flying the Stars and Stripes as well as La Voile’s own flag.’
‘A skull with a mouth that is the smiling curve of a cutlass painted red with dripping blood. He is artistic. You have got to give him that.’
‘I will give him more than that when he arrives.’
Gunner laughed. ‘The captain is going to get the nice little surprise that he deserves. Does he think he can just keep attacking British merchantmen and get away with it?’
‘I expect that is exactly what he thinks.’
‘Do you know that La Voile is thought to be single-handedly responsible for reducing British transatlantic trade by almost twenty per cent? How can that be? How is it even possible?’ Gunner asked. He was tall and surprisingly slender for a man who had spent many years at sea. Freckle-faced and with hair that in colder climes was red, but now in the bright sun of the waters off the Gulf of Mexico was golden beneath the straw hat he always favoured. He had clear, honest blue eyes and long bony fingers that could wield a prayer book, scalpel and cutlass with equal precision.
‘La Voile operates under the protection of both a pirate overlord and authorities who turn a blind eye to his illicit actions. He has one vessel and a small loyal crew—low costs, tight control. He hits fast and hard. Takes what cargo he wants and leaves the merchantman and crew intact and in situ—a novel concept in the pirate world. He’s clever. Clever enough to hit only easy targets and leave the big well-defended jobs to others. Clever enough to find the inevitable stragglers every convoy leaves behind. And clever enough to avoid being caught despite the best efforts of His Majesty’s navy.’
‘Lucky for us,’ said Gunner.
‘Very lucky,’ agreed Kit and thought of the astronomically large sum they were being paid to do this job.
La Voile’s ship, Coyote, was no longer a speck on the horizon. ‘My, but he is fast.’ Gunner spoke aloud what Kit was thinking.
‘Almost as fast as us,’ said Kit.
Gunner smiled. ‘Do we take him dead or alive?’
‘Alive,’ said Kit. ‘The bounty is higher. They want to make an example of him and hang him in irons themselves. Be gentle with this particular American pirate, Reverend Dr Gunner.’
‘If you insist, Captain North.’
The two men exchanged a wry smile of understanding.
The crew on the deck hurried about as if in panic, feigning a ship that was trying to escape the jaws of a predator. The Union flag fluttered from the jack, its red, white and blue crosses and diagonals clear in the Caribbean sunlight. Men appeared as if they were trying to adjust sails.
‘Is everything ready?’ Kit asked.
‘Exactly as you specified.’
Kit gave a nod and, slipping the spyglass from his pocket once more, studied the black-sailed Coyote as she closed the distance.
‘Interesting,’ he murmured and focused on the three figures standing at the ship’s helm beneath the black awning. ‘They appear to be arguing over a woman.’
‘A woman?’ Gunner screwed his face in disbelief.
‘And a respectable looking one at that.’
‘A hostage?’
‘She is neither bound nor gagged.’
‘Abducted,’ pronounced Gunner.
‘More likely.’ Kit could see the distinct threat in the body language of the taller pirate towards the woman. The sunlight glinted on the steel of both men’s half-drawn cutlass blades.
‘Is La Voile one of them?’
‘I believe so. Look for yourself.’ He passed the spyglass to Gunner that he might study the three figures.
‘How big a fall in the bounty if we deliver him dead?’
‘Enough.’
‘You convince me, but I cannot deny that I would prefer a more personal approach to the spilling of his blood.’
The two men stood together on the deck of Raven and waited for La Voile to step into their trap.
* * *
It was the sight of the captain of the merchant schooner that sent the first shiver of apprehension rippling down Kate’s spine. There was something about the dark steady focus of his eyes that reminded her of the unnerving stare of the raven that had sat overhead on the mizzen mast not so long since. She pushed the absurd thought from her head and tried to ignore the unease that hung about her like a miasma in the air. This was a hit, just like any other, she told herself, but her eyes checked again for long guns, despite the spyglass having already told her they were absent.
‘Not a gun in sight,’ said Tobias as if echoing her thought. ‘Not a hint of resistance. They are yielding just like all the rest of the British yellow bellies. Cowards! For once I wish they would give us a real fight!’ He spat his disgust on to the deck.
‘Unarmed and faced with our long guns pointing straight at them? Don’t be a fool, Tobias. We should be thankful that their common sense makes things easier for us,’ she said.
Coyote’s long guns had that effect on the British merchant ships Kate selected, allowing an easy progression to locking the two ships together by means of grappling hooks before throwing down the boarding planks. The nameless ship was no exception.
Kate’s crew followed the same procedure, the same routine they were so practised at they could have undertaken it with their eyes shut. She watched the Tallaholm men disappear down the merchantman’s ladders to her cargo deck. All they had to do was take their choice pick of the goods being carried and Coyote could sail away. Same as ever she did. Easy as taking candy from a baby. Yet that same unfamiliar apprehension and anxiety pulled again at Kate, stronger this time.
Her gaze scanned over the merchantman’s deck, finding nothing out of the ordinary, before returning to the ship’s captain once more. There was something about him, something she could not quite figure out. She examined him more closely. He was lean of build with that stripped, strong look that came from years of hard manual work. She could tell by the way his shabby faded coat sat on his broad square shoulders, from his stance, and the way the shadows cast from his battered old tricorne hat revealed sharp cheekbones and a chiselled jaw.
Under his hat his hair was dark, and his skin had the golden tanned colouration of a man who had spent time at sea. Beneath his coat she could see a shirt and neckcloth, both black as any pirate’s. Buff breeches were tight on muscular legs. On his feet he wore leather boots that had once been brown, but were now salt-and sun-faded to a noncolour that defied description. The long scabbard on his left hip was empty. Its sword lay with the other weapons her men had taken from him and his crew, thrown in a paltry pile on the deck before them. The tip of young John Rishley’s sword hovered close to the captain’s chest, should any of his crew decide to defy their captors. John had proven himself a valuable member of Coyote’s crew, but Kate still wished Tobias had sent an older, more experienced member of her crew to hold the merchantman’s captain.
All of these thoughts and observations took place in seconds, her gaze absorbing it in one swift movement before returning to his eyes. Dark eyes beneath the brim of that hat. Eyes that were looking right back at her. The shiver ran over her skin again. Someone walking over her grave, her grandmother would have said. She did not break the gaze, because it was his eyes that were ringing every warning bell in her body. There was something about those eyes of his. What was it...? As she stared into them, she realised.
The captain did not look like a man who was nervous for his life or his livelihood. There was n
othing of fear in him, not one tiny bit. His stance was relaxed and easy, too easy. There was an air of quiet, almost unnatural calm that she could sense even across the distance that separated them—him on the deck of the merchantman, her watching from beneath the awning on Coyote. What she saw in that resolute, unflinching dark gaze of his was cold, hard, very real danger. She glanced at Tobias.
‘Something is wrong. Get the men out of there.’
‘What...? Hell, woman, nothing’s wrong.’ Tobias was looking at her in disbelief, as if she had run mad.
‘Do it,’ she insisted.
He glared at her but, at last, grudgingly gave the command.
But it was too late. In that tiny second everything changed. It happened so fast that there was nothing she could do. One minute the situation aboard the merchantman was quiet, controlled, run of the mill, the next, all hell had broken loose. The British produced weapons, and such a host of weapons that she had not seen aboard any mere merchant schooner before. They fought, hard and fast and with an expertise that surpassed Coyote’s crew. It was over almost as soon as it had begun. Easily handled, so that within a minute her crew on the deck of the merchantman were lying face down on its deck; all save young John Rishley, who was being held like a shield before the dark-eyed captain, the boy’s head pulled back to expose his pale vulnerability. A cutlass now glinted in the captain’s hand, as the wicked curve of its blade pressed against the youngster’s throat.
‘Sweet heaven!’ Kate whispered beneath her breath as her blood ran cold at the sight.
At that moment the rest of the British emerged from the schooner’s lower deck and cargo hold. Her men, who had ventured down there for the prize, were being led, bound and gagged.
Breaking the Rake's Rules Page 24
