The Iron Rose

by Marsha Canham

  The island was also the ideal base for launching attacks against merchant ships traveling from the New World to the Old, in particular the Spanish galleons that had been using the Straits of Florida as a main route to the Atlantic since Columbus had first discovered land. Even those who chose a different avenue were fair game, for the island lay within a few hours sail from the Providence channels and the Mona Passage. Between one route and the next, there were thousands of low, sandy cays where a stalking ship could hide and pounce on its victim without warning, which was why vessels often banded together for protection, and why the rich treasure fleets were escorted by a small armada of warships.

  Varian was on deck as the Iron Rose sailed toward the mouth of New Providence harbor. As stimulating as the approach to Pigeon Cay had been, this was less blood-pounding by comparison but equally as intriguing, for there were easily more than twenty ships anchored in the bay. Lookouts posted on the outer island had obviously recognized Simon Dante’s silhouette and pennons. They waved and shouted hails across the water, curious to know about the Spanish galleon in their midst, a sight which filled the decks of every ship and brought men down onto the beach by the droves.

  Ever a cautious man, Dante had elected to leave the Tribute, the Valour, and the Santo Domingo cruising offshore with the Christiana, but there was no mistaking the enormity of the warship, even at a distance. Jonas and Geoffrey Pitt were on board the Avenger, and Gabriel was sailing in with Juliet, though he was politic enough not to crowd his sister’s quarterdeck while the ship was maneuvering into port.

  He was, in fact, standing beside Johnny Boy in the waist of the ship, laughing and whooping along with the rest of the crew as the lad tied small molded cartridges packed with charcoal, lampblack, and copper filings to the tip of an arrow, lit the fuse, and launched the missile up into the sky. When the arrow reached the top of the arc, the packet exploded, sending a fountain of burning blue sparks showering over the water. The rockets were sent up in response each time one of the other privateers fired their bowchasers by way of greeting the new arrivals.

  When several dozen arrows had been spent, Johnny Boy slung the longbow over his shoulder and happily caught the coins some of the men flipped at him for the show. Gabriel’s contribution was gold, accompanied by a pat on the tousled head before he sauntered over to join Varian by the rail.

  “I was not aware the longbow was a favored weapon so far south of English forests.”

  Gabriel hooked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the quarterdeck. “Jolly thought it was something the lad could handle. Muskets and arquebuses are too heavy, too cumbersome to load and fire with just one leg. He is adept with a dagger and is able to throw one with the skill of a gypsy. But when he fit the bow to his hand, it was like fitting a woman’s breast to the palm. In a matter of weeks he could shoot an arrow from one end of the ship to the other without taking out anyone’s eye. Nog assisted in the endeavour by making him a special bow, sized down for his height and weight. After that, well, he was unstoppable. And there is, of course, a more practical side to the skill—aside from displays of flying sparks. Arrows can carry a pitch-soaked fireball to an enemy’s sails from three hundred yards out and, with Johnny Boy sighting the target, can strike to within a finger’s width of where it is aimed.”

  Varian glanced at the boy, who looked hardly old enough to have acquired such skills, much less that he should have been faced with the need to learn them.

  “Are you well rehearsed for your role, your grace?” Gabriel asked, his eyes scanning the beaches, the surrounding hills.

  “As ready as I can be with forged documents and a lie on my tongue.”

  Gabriel smiled. “Ah, but they are excellent forgeries, you must admit, and your tongue seems smooth enough to have already taken you places that few men have dared to go before. Mind, you do not seem to heed warnings very well, do you?”

  Varian kept his gaze trained on the forest of swaying masts that filled the harbor, and refused to acknowledge the barb. Juliet had insisted on some degree of discretion throughout the past two days, although it seemed from the moment they had emerged from her cabin that first morning, the entire ship’s crew was aware of their transgressions. Gabriel Dante had been on board less than half an hour and it was apparent that he had already been informed that their afternoon in the cavern had not been the end of it.

  The golden eyes were not going to relent and Varian braced himself to meet them, but won a moment’s grace as Juliet came up behind them.

  “What are you two plotting?”

  She was dressed in her black doublet and breeches. The black cape with the scarlet lining was as striking as the whiteness of the ruff on her collar.

  “We were just discussing how truly handsome you look, Captain,” Gabriel said, bowing over her gloved hand. “And … dare I say it? … happy. There seems to be a bloom in your cheeks these days and a wicked liveliness in your step. Indeed, I fear for the safety of Van Neuk’s manhood if he attempts to pinch your rump tonight.”

  “Faith, he has been trying to pinch it since I was eleven.”

  “Ten years, without success,” he mused aloud. “Perhaps, if he had condensed his efforts into ten days, he would have had more success.”

  Juliet smiled. “Behave. Or I will stab you.”

  Gabriel raised his hands. “I am only saying aloud what most of your crew is whispering behind their hands.”

  “Let them whisper. And when you go ashore tonight and bury your face between the breasts of the first whore who lowers her blouse, I pray you suffocate on your piety. Now, and again when you return to Pigeon Cay and explain to Melissa why your prick is red and itchy. Did you by chance meet my brother’s paramour in your wanderings on the cay?” she asked, turning to Varian. “You could not possibly have confused her with anyone else if you had, for she stands over six feet tall, has breasts the size of ripe melons, and a temper hot enough to fry an egg.”

  The sudden infusion of dark blood to Gabriel’s cheeks caused him to waver slightly with the light-headedness.

  “Yes.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “Well.” He squinted up at the sky. “We should get ashore just in time for a sunset.” He lowered his head again and after a few more moments of silence, his eyes slanted toward Juliet. “Yes, well, all right. Just be careful, that is all I’m saying. You would not want to give a room full of freebooters any reason to think you have gone soft, or worse, that you have been swayed by more than just the rhetoric of the king’s envoy. I doubt Father would be too keen on knowing it either.”

  He tugged a lock of hair by way of a salute before he wandered away to talk to Nathan Crisp.

  Juliet only sighed and placed her hands on the rail, turning to face the harbor. The scarlet plume in her hat was barely ruffled by the passage of air, indicating the Iron Rose had slowed considerably as she glided toward an anchorage. The Avenger was just ahead, a half-pistol-shot off their starboard side, and they could hear the running of the cables through the hawser, the splash of the huge iron anchor as it hit the surface of the water.

  “He is right, you know,” Varian murmured. “Perhaps we should—”

  “Keep a modest distance from each other? Are you afraid of shocking the sensibilities of a tent full of privateers? Or are you afraid of what my father might do if he found out where you have been spending your nights?”

  “I am not afraid of your father. Not entirely, that is.” He flushed. “I just think—”

  “You think we should behave with proper decorum outside locked cabin doors?”

  Varian’s breath caught, for her hand had slid between him and the bulwark and cupped around his groin. “It might be prudent to show a little restraint, yes.”

  She laughed and withdrew her hand. “Prudence and restraint? My, how you do test me, sirrah. Shall I test you, then? Do you have your speech prepared? Father will not want any time wasted on niceties. This late in the afternoon, most of the captains are likely drunk or well on their way, but
first thing in the morning, he will be tossing you to the lions and you will have to be convincing. The fact that you have arrived under his protection will gain their initial attention, but the rest will be up to you. If you falter or show any hesitation …”

  “What is there to hesitate about? If these men cannot disrupt the fleet, then England will be at war with Spain. There will not be peace on either side of the line. And exactly who is this Van Neuk?”

  Juliet thought she saw the smallest flicker of green in the midnight eyes and almost smiled. “He is a Dutchman. Anders Van Neuk. He has been sailing these waters nearly as long as my father and fancies there should have been a stronger alliance made between our two families. A brutishly handsome devil he is, too. I was almost tempted, the last time we met, to accept his invitation to enjoy a private dinner on board his ship.”

  “What stopped you?”

  She shrugged and answered honestly. “I’m not sure. Perhaps because every woman in every port brags about how big he is, how tireless, how magnificent a lover. And because if I ever did find myself carrying someone’s bastard, I would not want it to look like every other yellow-haired, green-eyed bastard scattered throughout the islands.”

  Varian’s reaction to her bluntness tightened the lines around his mouth. It was not the first time he had pondered the consequences that might result each time he spent himself in her arms. But to hear it stated so flatly, so matter-of-factly, that she would regard any child of his a bastard unnerved him more than if it had just remained an unspoken thought.

  Nathan Crisp signaled from the quarterdeck and Juliet left to oversee the final moments of dropping anchor. Varian leaned his weight on the rail but could not stop his gaze from following her as she took the steps to the upper deck two at a time. The wing of her cape was folded back over one shoulder, showing a splash of crimson silk. The blade of her sword had been polished until it shone, and so freshly honed that it could slice a candle cleanly in half without dislodging the top from the bottom. She was magnificent and his feelings for her grew more terrifying every day, for what frightened him more than any roomful of pirates, any indignant fathers or brothers, or any war that might be looming ahead was the thought that he might actually be falling in love with her.

  Anders Van Neuk was almost a caricature of what every rascal in every ballroom in London described as a pirate in order to titillate the females in the audience and leave them swooning. He was tall, with incredibly broad, square shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist and long, powerful legs. His hair was bleached almost white by the sun and hung in a mass of gleaming curls past his shoulders, interlaced here and there with braids strung with beads of pure gold. Long-lashed green eyes blazed with fire. A thin, hooked nose and full sensuous lips completed the picture and needed no help from the studded black leather doublet and crossbelts festooned with guns and knives of all size, weight, and description.

  He was by far the most impressive of the captains and officers gathered in the makeshift tavern built out of wooden spars and canvas sheets. Trestle tables had been set up on the sandy floor, and busty women with bare legs ran back and forth to the huge barrels stacked out back to replenish mugs and pitchers with ale. There were huge fire pits dug along the beach, the coals glowing red under spitted pigs, goats, chickens, as well as a whole cow that had been butchered into manageable quarters. Platters of bones and bread crumbs littered the tables, evidence that some of the captains had been in port a few days. Dogs fought and snapped over scraps of meat while cabin boys set up games along the beach, being too old to be left on board, too young to amuse themselves with the whores.

  Varian took in all the sights and smells as they walked up from the longboats.

  Beacom had taken extra care fussing with brushes to remove the smallest specks of dust and lint from the sapphire blue doublet and cape he wore. His stockings were without snags; his breeches were close fitting and absent any padding or pleats. The starched ruff around his throat was made of the finest linen crimped to quarter-inch folds, the front pinned in a descending vee over his chest by a ruby the size of a child’s fist. Flanking him were the Dantes, and a more impressive display of wealth and power could not be imagined. Also in their company was Lieutenant Jonathan Beck wearing brand new garb that was augmented by a gold-link torque and medallion stamped with the official naval insignia. Isabeau Dante had thought the torque was a nice touch, though Varian had not dared to ask where she came by the medallion. He had not asked about the wax seal that appeared on the forged papers either, or the signature that was identical, even to the slant and scrolled flourishes, with James Stuart’s.

  Most of the captains knew Simon Dante on sight and shouted hails over the heads of their comrades. Some knew him only by reputation and they turned to stare, studying each member of the Pirate Wolf’s party as if they had not believed all of the stories they’d heard to date. Many stalled when they came to Isabeau, confirming her identity with a quick glance down at the empty sleeve, after which their interest turned to Juliet, who simply returned their speculative stares until their eyes were sent back to their ale.

  Van Neuk parted the crowd with long strides, presenting a wide grin that gleamed like shark’s teeth through the neatly trimmed moustache and rusty orange beard.

  “Simon Dante, you hoary old bastard! Still standing before the mast, I see.”

  Dante grasped a hand studded with rings on every finger and returned the greeting. “You’ve not kissed the gallows yet, Anders? I heard they caught you smuggling off Porto Bello last spring.”

  “A tasteless rumor—the catching, not the smuggling. They fired a few shots. I fired more, and wound up adding a new ship to my arsenal. A fine young brigantine that flies like the wind. God curse my soul, nothing that compares to a bloody great fortress like the Santo Domingo!” The glittering eyes sought Juliet. “Is it true, lass? Is it true you were the one to take her?”

  She cocked an eyebrow. “The Iron Rose and her crew took her.”

  One green eye narrowed. “Single-handedly? Your brothers were not riding off your stern?”

  Juliet crossed her arms over her chest. “If you doubt me, I can show you how it was done. I’ll hole your Dove and send you to the bottom with her.”

  Van Neuk studied her a moment, almost raping her with his eyes. “Damn me if I’d not willingly let you hole me from the bottom or the top, lady love.”

  Juliet did not respond to his crude humor, but he must have caught another movement out of the corner of his eye, for the piercing gaze darted over her shoulder and narrowed again when he saw Varian St. Clare. “Who’s this then? Looks like you’ve brought along one of the king’s lightskirts.”

  Varian stiffened and his hand dropped instinctively to the hilt of his sword, but it was Gabriel who stepped forward, cutting between St. Clare and the Dutchman. “Business can keep until tomorrow, dammit. My mouth is as dry as camel dung in the desert and if it isn’t wetted soon, my tongue will be stuck fast to my teeth and I will have no way of inquiring who—God keep me sane—those two lovely wenches were who were bouncing on your knee when we arrived.”

  Van Neuk chuckled. “ ’Twasn’t my knee they were bouncing on, lad, and you’re welcome to them if you’ve a mind, for I’ve done with my licentious ways. I’ve seen where my true heart lies,” he added, grinning drunkenly at Juliet, “and I’m swearing an oath of chastity here and now until she gives me ease.”

  “Then I regret to tell you that you will be chaste for a very long time,” Juliet said, patting him on the chest as she brushed past. She followed her father to a table that had been hastily cleared for their use and tipped her head at Varian to suggest he join them while Gabriel had the Dutchman distracted.

  He sat beside her, releasing a long breath and a disbelieving murmur. “These are the men with whom your father purports to stop a Spanish fleet?”

  “That’s good,” she said. “You look indignant and skeptical. That should win them over to our cause.”

  �
��If I look indignant and skeptical, it’s because I am indignant and skeptical. They’re coarse, they’re filthy. They are blackguards and drunkards and … and good gracious sweet God, what is that woman doing on her knees over there?”

  Juliet followed his shocked glance to where a woman was locked between the thighs of a red-faced brute, her head bobbing rapidly up and down in his lap.

  “Definitely not behaving with prudence or restraint, I vow,” she murmured. “Are you jealous?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Beg me later,” she whispered through a sly smile. “And I will decide if you are pardoned or not.”

  Juliet was still laughing softly when she turned and realized her mother had been watching them. The golden eyes were flitting between her daughter’s face and that of the duke’s, accompanied by a small frown that suggested she had heard the whispers, too, but had not quite believed them.

  The beginnings of a defensive flush started to creep up Juliet’s throat but it was forestalled when several pewter mugs spilling foam down the sides were slammed on the table, followed magically by platters of meat, loaves of bread, plates, and two large silver candelabras. Toasts were made welcoming the Pirate Wolf to the fold, and by the time Juliet remembered the soft query in her mother’s eyes, her own were blurring from the laughter and the spirits.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The strong shaft of sunlight struck Juliet directly in the eye, prompting her to move her head to one side. It didn’t help. The sun was nearly level with the western horizon, and the glare was causing the contents of her stomach to churn, her head to throb.