"Countess?" The voice belonged to a crewman of the slaver. "Why would a half-breed savage like you have a Countess on board?"
Grasping the handle of his blade, Hal turned toward the man who'd spoken. "I'd be careful of insults, laddie buck. My savages here might be of a mind to scalp you and roast your carcass over a slow fire."
Spring Moon was close enough that George was able to swing over, Elspeth in his arms. An urgent swell of jealousy forced Hal to avert his eyes from the sight.
"Who's the doxy?"
The cutlass was in his hand and the blade against the speaker's throat before Hal realized he'd intended to draw it.
"I told you to be careful. The lady should not even hear your voice. Understand?" A careful nod answered his question. "Good." Slipping the cutlass into his sash, Hal turned to Elspeth. "My lady, the gentleman here speaks no English and I have very little French. I hope your education wasn't as misspent as mine."
"I speak French," she replied.
"Will you translate for us?"
"Certainly." She stood behind him as he faced the man who was the obvious leader of these people.
"What is your name?" he asked.
"Comment s'appelez vous?"
"Chisisi."
"I am Hal. Are you the leader of these people, Chisisi?"
The man answered Elspeth's translation with "Non. Je suis slav."
When Elspeth translated, her voice caught on the word slave.
"Your people will need someone to lead them when they are free."
"We will be free?"
"We'll take you to an island where you can live in peace, or we'll help you get back to Africa if that's your preference."
Chisisi looked over at Spring Moon. "Your ship is too small."
"We shall use this ship for your transportation, sir."
Hal watched for Chisisi's reaction, knowing not all slaves wanted to stay aboard the ship where they'd suffered so. But the more interesting reaction was to the word monsieur. When Elspeth spoke it, Chisisi's eyes flicked to her, staring at her and Hal could see-for he'd experienced the feeling himself-the African wondered if she was mocking him. What the man found in her face satisfied him, for he returned his appraisal to Hal.
"We are not sailors."
"These men are." Hal indicated the ship's original crew.
Chisisi huffed a chuckle. "We will sail with our former captors?"
"They will be your slaves. You may do with them as you will."
"And if my will is to kill them?"
Again, Hal heard Elspeth's emotion in her words as she translated Chisisi's question. This needed to be finished. She was too innocent of the world to have to participate in such as this.
"I trust you are too intelligent to kill them before they get you home."
Chisisi regarded Hal, Elspeth, and the Indian crew for long moments.
"I must confer with the people. They must have a say."
He turned and spoke to his people in a strange language, full of clicks and humming sounds. When the men and some of the women nodded in agreement, he nodded and turned back to Hal.
"We shall go back to Africa. At least we know what dangers are there. And there is retribution to be meted out."
Hal understood completely.
Chapter Twenty
Some of Spring Moon's stores were transferred over to the slaver, now the property of Chisisi and his people. Elspeth stood at the rail and watched the naked Africans reaching for the food and weapons, then clothing. She heard their voices gain strength as the reality of their freedom took root. Even the children raised small swords and poked at the crew who had brought them from their home.
Elspeth understood being taken from her home. She could not understand being chained in a filthy slave ship and sold as an animal.
"Elspeth?" Hal's breath against the back of her neck broke her concentration on the scene playing out before her. "Here now, what's the matter?" He brushed at her cheek and Elspeth realized in horror her face was covered with tears.
She turned away and wiped her face.
"I'm fine. The wind..." She let her lie trail off, hoping he would ignore her and go away, leave her to her guilt and grief.
But no. The man never did what she expected. He took a place by her and leaned over the rail, his eyes looking not at her, but at the slave ship. A long moment passed before he spoke.
"You are not responsible for your husband's crimes."
How she longed to accept his pardon. Yet she knew she didn't deserve it.
"Am I not? Shouldn't I have known what Richard was doing with my money?"
"No. If the law doesn't permit you to have control over it, then the law can't hold you responsible."
She dared a glance at him. "So, you are also a barrister?"
A slow grin bared his perfect teeth. "No, but I have had some dealings with the legal system."
"I see." Elspeth shaded her eyes.
Chisisi had climbed to the wheel, dragging a sailor with him. The African shoved the sailor against the wheel and then whipped the man several strokes.
She closed her eyes and bit her lip to hold back her cry.
"What will happen to the crew, Hal?"
"I don't know."
"What usually happens to them?"
"I don't know."
"They are only sailors. They are not guilty."
"Aren't they?" He turned to her and rested himself against the rail. "It isn't as though they didn't know what the cargo was. Even if a slave ship didn't stink like an open shit hole, there's no way to cover the sounds of human misery." He shivered and straightened. "To participate in evil is to be evil. They are all guilty."
He left her then, less comforted than when he'd come to her. And he was so certain of his pronouncement of guilt. Was there no room for forgiveness in Hal Merritt's world?
* * * *
After dinner Hal went topside with his pipe and climbed the three steps to the quarterdeck. His gaze went of its own accord to Elspeth standing alone in the bow, staring straight out to sea.
He knew she was still troubled by him giving March's crew into the hands of the Africans. Even less than Hal himself, the chieftain didn't seem a man to practice the Christian art of forgiveness. How many of the crew would be alive when the ship found land again?
He snorted. They would get what they deserved, what they'd been willing to allow to happen to Chisisi and his people. Seemed close enough to justice.
He packed his pipe and leaned against the mizzenmast, pretending to himself she was only part of the scenery, that she wasn't the only thing he could see.
They were getting closer to Jamaica. Only a few more days and she would become Lady Greymere again, as far out of his reach as the North Star. And as pure and as beautiful.
She turned, walking slowly along the rail, her eyes looking at some far point on the sea.
Alex March's absurd proposition that Hal sire a child with her wisped through his brain, teasing him. What she would think of one night, a single night in his arms?
Before he killed her husband.
He had rehearsed the act a thousand times, each time adding another way to torture the monster before he dealt the final blow. His fingers had itched for the feeling of March's hair as he sliced the skin from his skull, then cut his throat.
Before, the imagining had been sweet in the way of strong brandy, heady and intoxicating. Now it left him feeling dead inside. Once he'd done the thing he'd planned, the act his last ten years had been leading to, he knew he'd see only revulsion in her jade eyes.
How could it be otherwise? She was horrified at March's crew being at the mercy of the Africans. Men she didn't know. What would she think when he murdered her husband?
He watched her climb up onto the quarterdeck, seemingly not aware of his presence. She wandered toward the stern, one elegant hand trailing along the rail.
He should let her pass, so he could let her go when the time came. He stood still by the mast,
feeling her, knowing where she was without even looking at her.
He couldn't let her pass.
"Good evening, Countess."
She started at his greeting. Recovering quickly she pretended a smile.
"Good evening, Captain."
She seemed unsure of whether to continue on.
"It is a beautiful evening, isn't it?" he asked, unwilling to let her go, saying the same thing she had said to him when she'd wanted to talk. It was all he could think of.
"Indeed."
As though she, too, were unwilling to leave him, she drew nearer.
Hal puffed his pipe and remained still.
"Is that enjoyable?" she asked, indicating his pipe.
"I suppose."
She got an expression he could only call mischievous. "Do ladies ever try tobacco?"
He smiled. Always surprises with Elspeth. "Would you like to?"
Returning his smile, she nodded. "I don't suppose I'll ever get another chance."
Hal pulled the pipe from between his teeth and handed it to her. She took it daintily by the stem and put it between her lips.
"Draw on it," he instructed.
She did and immediately blew the pipe out of her mouth and onto the deck with the resulting cough.
"Oh, my," she barked.
"Finished?" he asked as he picked up his pipe.
"Not yet." She sniffed and gasped. "I don't believe I did it properly."
He chuckled. "No. You have to puff." He demonstrated and handed it back to her. "Isaac! Go get me my other pipe and some tobacco."
The boy ran off to obey. He was back in a moment.
Hal took the fresh pipe and filled it, then lit it. "Here you are. Practice."
She smiled, the first full smile he'd seen on her face since last night.
"Thank you." She took the pipe and tried again, this time taking a smaller draw.
In moments she was puffing away like an old salt.
"I think I like it."
"What would your friend the Queen say about this?"
Elspeth pressed her lips together, squashing an impish grin. "I suppose she'd be thoroughly horrified."
She leaned against the wheelhouse and smoked her pipe. Hal watched her, amused and entranced.
"What an interesting flavor. A hint of fruit, isn't it?"
He nodded, pleased she could tell. "I cured it over cherry wood."
"You did it yourself?"
He nodded. "My family has a small tobacco farm in Georgia."
She cut him a glance. "Is that where you'd be if you weren't hunting Richard?"
"Probably. There isn't really anywhere else I belong."
A frown marred the perfection of her features. "Didn't the United States government take the land from the Indians in Georgia?"
"My father was white, and a Scot with a hot temper. When they came for us, he threatened to shoot the leader. They passed on by."
"Where is your father now?"
"He died two years ago."
"I'm sorry. Would he approve of what you're doing?"
Hal laughed. "He was a Scot, my lady. Scots understand revenge as well as the Cherokee."
"Is it only revenge you're after?"
"Call it revenge, justice, whatever. My father understood why it had to be done. If he'd been able, he'd have done it himself."
A wistful expression replaced her seriousness. "Was he a good father?"
Hal turned to look at her more directly. "Yes. He was a good man."
"Worthy of love, then?"
"Most worthy."
There was a long silence.
"I didn't love my father. I hated him."
The words were so quietly spoken, Hal didn't know whether he imagined them or not.
She turned to him. "He was much like Richard. He beat my mother."
"Did he beat you?" Hal would kill him for her if the man hadn't already been dead.
"No. He ignored me for the most part."
"But you were his heir. He must have prepared you."
Elspeth laughed. "He tried his best to get a son from my mother. When he had his riding accident and was paralyzed, he realized there would be no son. He never neglected to tell me what a disappointment I was. When he wasn't drugged from the opium, of course."
Fragments of memory came together. "That's why you refused any laudanum when I was setting your arm."
She nodded. "It killed him, finally. He started with laudanum for his pain. Then when that wasn't enough, he used opium. More and more until he lived in a constant daze." She sighed. "If it hadn't been for FitzWilliam, I fear there wouldn't be much of Greymere left."
Even with all her wealth and privilege, he realized she hadn't had much happiness in her life. Without realizing, he raised his hand and stroked her cheek.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into his caress. His heart clenched at her vulnerability. God, how he longed to protect her, treasure her, love her, as she deserved.
Her eyes opened and met his. What he saw there, he didn't dare give a name to.
She set her palm against his cheek.
"Thank you, Hal."
"For what?"
"For showing me there are good men in the world."
Her praise embarrassed him. He waved it aside.
"Who? Me?"
"Yes, you. On the ship, when you spoke to the African chief. You treated him with respect, though he stood before you naked and in chains. You have spent your youth to get justice for the woman Richard hurt. You cared enough what happened to me to bring me with you."
"You've forgiven me?" he asked, hoping to tease her out of her present melancholy mood.
"Possibly." A half-smile played upon her lips as she puffed her pipe. "If you keep me supplied with tobacco, I may forgive you completely."
He bowed. "My lady shall have a supply delivered quarterly."
The sound of a squeeze box concertina interrupted them, drawing their attention toward the bow.
"There appears to be entertainment shaping up. Shall we join them?" He offered her his arm.
Her hand settled on his. He squashed the thought that it belonged there. Always.
"By all means."
He led her toward the bow, knowing full well the picture they presented: the Captain and his lady.
Perhaps for as long as he had her, she could be, if only in his imagination.
* * * *
After the events of the last day, Elspeth felt she understood him better. If his only reason for harassing Richard's ships had been to free slaves, she would have supported him, now that she'd seen the reality of that horror for herself. With his more personal reasons, she knew no other course had been open to him.
Having experienced Richard's brutality first-hand, she could not fault Hal for his determination to make him pay.
One of the crew sat on a keg and played the concertina with laudable enthusiasm, if little actual talent. As he finished the tune, his audience called out requests.
"Play Nelson's Blood."
Hal chuckled beside her.
The musician launched into a song she'd never heard. Soon, the men were singing.
"Oh, a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm.
Oh, a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm
Oh, a drop of Nelson's blood wouldn't do us any harm
And we'll all hang on behind.
So we'll roll the old chariot along
An' we'll roll the golden chariot along.
So we'll roll the old chariot along
An' we'll all hang on behind!"
The verses went on and on: Irish stew, time in gaol, a nice fat cook, a roll in the clover, a night watch below, a night with the girls. Elspeth felt a blush creep up her face with that verse when all the men flirted outrageously with her.
Soon, she sang along with them, unable to stop herself.
When they finished more verses than she could remember, she asked Hal, "What is Nelson's blood?"
> "There's a legend that a well-bred lady like yourself probably hasn't heard. When Nelson died at Trafalgar, they put his body in a cask of rum so they could get him home to bury."
Her eyes widened, obviously thinking about the words of the song. "They didn't drink it?"
"Of course they did, milady," Wilbur replied for his captain. "No true sailor would waste good rum. Nelly would understand that better'n than anybody."
This comment from a North American Cherokee pirate brought forth gales of roaring hilarity.
"In fact, let's raise a drink to the old sea dog," Hal shouted, a suggestion met with resounding approval.
The men held their mugs as the rum cask was opened.
"Would you like a taste, my lady?" he asked her.
Elspeth wasn't sure. All she could think of was a pickled Admiral of the Ocean Sea floating in the barrel. Finally, though, her desire to experience everything she could forced her to accept a cup from Wilbur.
"Drink up, milady, to the ol' Admiral."
Elspeth raised her cup in a toast. "To Lord Nelson."
"To Lord Nelson," the crew replied.
She sipped the rum, surprised to find it quite palatable.
A giggle rose in her throat. Smoking a pipe and drinking rum with pirates. And enjoying herself more than she ever had in her life.
Drina would collapse in a vapor if she could see her now.
* * * *
Hal heard her soft laughter and was glad for it. He'd feared she'd be changed by what she'd seen today. But his Countess was a survivor, tougher than many men he'd known.
Campbell sawed his concertina and launched into another song, one Hal recognized. It was a waltzy song, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Elspeth sway beside him, a dreamy expression on her face.
I should ask her to dance with me.
But George was there first. "Lady Greymere, may I have this dance?"
She smiled and handed Hal her pipe and rum and hopped up.
"With pleasure, Mr. Ross." She lay her hand on George's outstretched palm and went into his arms.
They danced well together.
Damn George.
All the men wanted to dance with her. She obliged them all, even One-leg Harry, whose peg threatened with each step to take off her toes.
Finally, there was only one member of his crew with whom she hadn't danced. She came to him, offering her hand.
The Ladys Pirate Page 19
