by Jane Toombs
"They all know about the gold now. How much was stolen from me and where I suspect it's cached. Soon the whole village of Acapulco will know."
A horseman rode past them, raising dust.
"Good," Thomas said. They walked to the inn and were about to enter the courtyard when Esteban rode up from the opposite direction.
"How did you fare?" Jordan asked him.
"Muy bien. The fishing boat is at our disposal, as are two men to row us. Gold coins work many miracles." He dismounted and clapped Jordan on the shoulder. "Your scheme is mad and dangerous, Capitan Quinn. That is the reason I like it."
Esteban looked at the Bible in Thomas's hand. "I think you'll need a more powerful weapon tonight," he said.
Thomas opened his jacket, revealing a pistol and a knife. "Not more powerful weapons, merely different ones," he said. "The Lord will understand."
The sun was setting in a splendor of gold and yellow when Thomas, Esteban and Jordan pushed the dugout canoe into the surf and scrambled aboard. The two Indian rowers, clad only in breechclouts, began paddling with long, steady strokes. No one spoke as the canoe glided south a few hundred yards offshore.
The sky darkened, the evening star shone brightly in the west and the other stars began to appear overhead. They rounded a point of land and saw the blaze of three fires punctuating the night. A ship lay on its side near the fires, and another rested at anchor in the bay.
"By God," Jordan said, "it is the Kerry Dancer. Look at her, isn't she a beauty?" He studied the ship. "She's rigged to sail. They must want to get themselves and the gold away from here as soon as they can."
They rowed into the bay, keeping the ship between the fires on the beach and their canoe. Slowly, silently, the oarsmen approached the Dancer. There was no sign of life aboard as the canoe slid closer and closer, finally nestling against the ship's side.
"Eight bells," someone called out in Spanish from the deck above them. Again there was silence.
"Here," Jordan whispered. His searching hands had found a ladder on the ship's side. He grasped a rope rung and climbed up, with Esteban and Thomas behind him. Jordan cautiously raised his head over the rail and glanced around the familiar quarterdeck. He saw no one. The only light came from aft near the wheel. Swinging himself on board, Jordan crouched low and padded aft. No one was at the wheel, but he saw a seaman standing at the starboard rail looking toward the beach and the fires.
Jordan crept up behind him, circled the man's neck with his arm and plunged his knife into the man's side. The pirate groaned and collapsed into Jordan's arms. After lowering him to the deck, Jordan turned swiftly, but the poopdeck was still deserted.
Hearing a muffled shout forward, he ran back to the quarterdeck, where he stopped and looked about him. Again the ship was quiet, he saw no one in the darkness. Suddenly a figure loomed up in front of him. Thomas.
"We found two men," Thomas whispered. "We disposed of them. We've searched the deck and found no more of them.1"
"The rest are probably below," Jordan said. "Three more, most likely. If I were Bouchard I'd have two watches on the ship while she's anchored like this."
Esteban joined them. "Prisoners," he said. "Would they have prisoners aboard, Capitan Quinn?"
"They might. They'd be men they've impressed from ships they've captured, seamen who refused to join them. Or pirates who broke the articles they signed when they came aboard. Why?"
"The noise you heard. My man almost eluded me. He thought I was a prisoner escaping. They'd keep prisoners in the hold, would they not?"
"We planned to seal the hold shut," Thomas said, "and we should. It's too dangerous to go below."
"Could we use the prisoners if they would sail with us?" Esteban asked Jordan.
"We can use all the men we can get."
"Then I will go below and discover if there are actually prisoners aboard."
"No," Jordan told him. "I'll go. I know this ship and you don't. We can only risk one man."
"Listen." Thomas turned toward the shore. In the distance they heard the pop-pop-pop of musket fire. "Look." Thomas pointed. They saw torches bobbing along the beach and flashes of gunfire to the north.
"By God," Jordan said, "we did bring them. My talk of gold in the cafe did pay off. Revolutionaries or whoever they might be, they're attacking the camp. We got aboard the Kerry Dancer none too soon."
"The power of gold," Thomas murmured.
"I'll secure the hatches," Jordan said. "We've no time to go below now."
As Jordan bolted the hatch covers shut, the other two men watched torches approaching the fires on the beach as though the pirates were retreating from an attack on their guard posts. They saw men running, heard their cries and shouts of alarm.
"They're not launching a boat," Jordan said. "They mean to fight it out on the beach."
"They're fools if they do," Esteban said.
"Wait," Thomas said, scanning the shoreline. "Be patient, it's still too early to tell. They will come to us. They’ll bring Alitha to us. They must."
The firing ashore grew louder and spread up and down the beach. Men ran to the pirate camp while others ran from it. The bonfires began to die down.
"There!" Thomas shouted.
They saw men, they counted nine or ten, launch a longboat into the surf. In a few minutes the pirates were rowing toward the Kerry Dancer, while behind them a new blaze erupted as the careened ship was set afire.
"Take your stations," Jordan ordered, "as we planned." This was his ship and, by God, he meant to be her captain.
Thomas and Esteban crouched behind the rail next to the only ladder on the starboard side as Jordan stood watching the approaching boat. The shooting had died down, but the fire on the careened ship blazed higher, the glow shimmering on the sails and rigging of the Kerry Dancer.
"Ahoy!" a voice from the boat hailed them in Spanish.
"Ahoy!" Jordan called to the men in the boat. "What's happening?"
"We were attacked. We bring the gold to the ship."
The boat thudded against the Dancer's side and they heard men clamber up the ladder. As the first pirate reached the deck, Thomas grabbed him by the collar and pulled him aboard as Esteban struck him over the head with a belaying pin. The pirate groaned and fell to the deck.
The first four boarders were quickly disposed of in the same way, but the next man, seeing that something was amiss, let out a cry and hurled himself at Thomas. Esteban grasped his shoulder, pulling him away, but as he did, two more men climbed over the rail onto the deck. One flung himself at Thomas while the other drew his sword.
"Bouchard!" Jordan called to him.
The pirate captain advanced with sword drawn. Jordan, a knife in his hand, retreated toward the mainmast. Bouchard slashed out with his sword. Jordan stepped aside, but Bouchard recovered quickly and thrust at Jordan's body. Jordan threw himself to the deck as the sword sliced through his jacket, drawing blood, and buried itself point-first in the mast behind him. Though Bouchard tugged mightily, he could not free the sword from the mast.
"I've waited a long time for this," Jordan said.
As Jordan advanced, knife in hand, Bouchard abandoned his sword and backed away, drawing a pistol from his sash as Jordan leaped at him, driving upward into Bouchard's body with the knife. Bouchard grunted and the pistol dropped to the deck. Jordan thrust again, twisting the knife as it entered Bouchard's belly. As he withdrew the blade, he felt Bouchard's blood on his hand.
Bouchard, clutching his stomach, staggered toward the rail. Jordan followed, grasped him beneath the arms and heaved him overboard, smiling grimly when he heard the splash from below. He turned in time to see Thomas's fist strike a pirate's jaw. The man's head snapped back and he crumpled to the deck. Esteban, one arm hanging limp at his side, smiled wanly from the rail. A pirate lay unmoving at his feet. Jordan, suddenly light-headed, touched the wound on his shoulder and felt the warm ooze of blood.
Thomas ran to the rail and looked down. The lon
gboat, with two men still aboard, had been shoved away from the Dancer by one of the pirates. He saw a figure huddled in the stern.
"Alitha!" he cried. Thomas unlaced his boots and pulled them off. He dropped his knife and pistol to the deck. Climbing to the rail, he dived into the sea, surfacing a few feet from the longboat. When one of the pirates—a short, feral-appearing man—thrust at him with his oar, Thomas grabbed it in both hands and yanked, and with a scream the man tumbled forward into the water.
As Thomas swam to the boat, the second pirate raised his pistol. Thomas ducked beneath the surface of the water. When he came up, he saw smoke curling from the gun. He grasped the side of the boat, rocking it up and down as the pirate tried to reload his pistol. Cursing, the pirate stomped with his boot on Thomas's fingers clutching the boat's side.
Thomas grunted with pain, released his hold and plunged into the water, intending to surface on the boat's other side. He felt a dull pain in his shoulder. Had the pirate's bullet struck home after all? He tried to swim under the boat but his right shoulder was numb and he had to resurface. Looking up, he didn't see the pirate. Thomas grasped the boat's side once more and heaved himself aboard.
The pirate, waiting for him on the other side of the boat, turned and fired. Missed. The redhead picked up a sack of gold and, as Thomas hurled himself forward, he threw the sack, catching Thomas full in the chest and sending him thudding to the deck. Thomas struck the back of his head on the seat and lay still.
Jordan, using his uninjured hand, carrying a knife in his belt, clambered down the ladder and leaped into the boat where, weak from loss of blood, he staggered and almost fell. The red-haired pirate swung about, again lifting a sack of gold over his head. Before he could throw it, Jordan lunged with the knife at the man's midsection and Jordan, the pirate, and the gold all disappeared over the side.
Esteban dropped into the boat and leaned over the side, searching the dark water. He saw nothing. Both men and gold had been swallowed by the sea. Thomas rose groggily to one knee, bending over Alitha, who lay naked in the water at the bottom of the boat. He took her into his arms while Esteban grappled with a hook to bring the boat alongside the Dancer.
"Alitha," Thomas said. She didn't move. "Alitha," he said again, "are you all right?"
She opened her eyes, staring through him as though she neither saw nor heard.
"Alitha," he murmured, "Alitha." Her head fell back and she closed her eyes.
"Hurry," Esteban called. "More boats are putting out from shore. We must release the prisoners and sail." He helped Thomas carry Alitha to the deck of the Dancer.
"What about Quinn?" Thomas asked.
"There's nothing we can do for him. He's been drowned."
CHAPTER 25
Alitha stood in the doorway looking across the sparkling waters of the Sea of Cortes, breathing deeply of the salt air as she listened to the morning songs of the birds. The day was cloudless and the sun warmed her even while the breeze off the water teased her hair.
It was too early for the fishing boats to come in. She knew this, but nevertheless she couldn't help watching for Thomas's return. She was safe enough here in the house that Esteban's friend, Coronel Morales, had found for her above the village of Loreto, and she really wasn't frightened now that she'd recovered from whatever illness she'd had.
"Not cholera," The sisters had told her. "We've seen this before from bad food or drink. We do not believe you were—violated by the pirates."
The leftover chicken? Perhaps it had been tainted.
Though she'd had nightmares about her capture, those were behind her now. But she was lonely.
Alitha stepped back from the open door and returned to her bedroom to dress. There were no mirrors in the primitive dwelling, but when she pulled off her sleeping shift to put on her dress, she looked at her body, at the white curve of breast and hip. She even seemed to have regained some of the weight she'd lost. Alitha touched her lips with her fingers. The time she had lain unable to talk or to take in what went on around her was weeks lost from her life, weeks she'd never be able to remember clearly. She was grateful, because the moments she did recall, the horror of being a captive of the pirates when she was so sick and helpless were blurred and faded as though they had happened to someone else.
Alitha straightened her simple peasant dress, brushed her hair smooth and left the bedroom. Outside, she blinked in the strong sunlight. A small yellow and green bird alit on one of the prickly pears in the garden and cocked its head to stare at her.
This was hardly the Garden of Eden, Alitha thought as she glanced about at the thorny cactus plants. Her motion startled the bird and it flew off. Beauty was fleeting. Her life seemed as barren as the dry and rocky land of Baja. And as desolate. She must learn to face the truth, she told herself, for nothing on earth could change it.
The truth was that Jordan Quinn was dead. She folded her arms about her, suddenly chilled.
True, Esteban had recovered a portion of the gold. True, he had shared this good fortune with Thomas. But what did gold matter when Jordan was dead, a victim of the sea he loved so well? Not only was Jordan dead but his beloved Kerry Dancer had been impounded by the Mexicans at San Blas until they determined the ship's rightful owner. Esteban had returned yesterday, Thomas had told her, from an unsuccessful attempt to retrieve the Dancer.
She had not been well enough to talk to Esteban since he had helped rescue her from Bouchard and his men. She thought of him often, recalling the time they had once been so happy together here in Baja. Once Alitha had thought she would hate to leave Mexico, for she loved its people, its contrasts, its beauty. Even here in the desert land of Baja, she enjoyed the warmth of the sun, the palm fronds rustling in the wind and the ever-changing panorama of the sea only a short walk from her doorstep. But now, with Jordan gone, she. was indifferent to her surroundings.
So it mattered little to her that the time was fast approaching when she must leave.
Alitha shook her head, unable to recall when she had been so torn by indecision. What did she want now from life? Love, of course, she wanted love--a man and woman who loved one another came together in passion. Would she ever find another man to truly love? Perhaps not. Maybe no man would offer her love again.
But she wanted more than love. She had a passion for living—at least she had before the last few weeks—a penchant for daring, for voyaging into the unknown.
Her gaze left the choppy waters of the Sea of Cortes, wandered in to the white-tipped curl of the surf, to the cluster of thatched huts of the fishing village of Lore to, finally to the gray buildings of the mission and the presidio.
A lone horseman rode up the hill from the presidio toward her. Alitha gripped her hands together as she recognized him. She'd know him anywhere. How graceful he was, how dashing. With a stab of excitement she remembered the first time she'd seen him at the Indian rancheria. How handsome he'd been then--how handsome he was now. Esteban swept off his hat as he reined in his horse in front of the gate. Dismounting, he walked slowly to her, smiling. He tossed his hat to one side and bowed, taking her hand and raising her fingers to his lips. What would happen if he kissed her, she wondered. Would she feel the same overwhelming passion she'd once felt?
"Alitha, my love," he said. "My dove, my heart of hearts. Now that you are well again, I have come to take you with me to my rancho at Santa Barbara. All will be as it once was. You and I will be together, Alitha, only you and I."
"Esteban," she murmured, turning from him to hide her confusion. "You're expecting a ship?" she asked to give herself time to recover from the unexpected rush of warmth she felt for Esteban. He wanted her, she thought. After all that had happened to her, he still wanted her as much as ever. Perhaps more.
"A ship arrives tomorrow," Esteban said. "Bound for Alta California and the Sandwich Islands. I hurried here to you as soon as Coronel Morales informed me. I never want to be away from you again as long as I live."
"Aren't you forgetting
something, Esteban? Aren't you forgetting someone?"
"How is it possible for me to keep anything else in my mind when all my thoughts are of you?"
"Aren't you forgetting Ines?" Alitha remembered the blue-eyed little girl smiling at her at the Gutierrez rancho. "After all, you're going to marry her."
"I knew I had something to tell you before your loveliness drove it from my mind. But first—" Esteban brought a dark red hibiscus from behind his back and put the flower in her hair. "How beautiful your golden hair is, my Alitha," he said.
"You were about to tell me of Ines," she reminded him.
"Ah, of a certainty. Ines, a lovely girl. I intend to speak with Senor Gutierrez when we return to Santa Barbara, and I am confident that he will graciously agree to release me from my commitment to marry his daughter."
Alitha wondered if gold coins would have to change hands before Senor Gutierrez showed his graciousness, but she said nothing.
Esteban dropped to one knee in front of her.
"Alitha," he said, motioning behind him with his hand, "imagine that Spanish guitars are softly playing a love song. Imagine it is night, with the moon full and bright above our heads, that the stars in the heavens are as numberless as the grains of sand on the shore. Do you remember our journey to Mexico? Do you remember, my Alitha?"
"I'll never forget. How could I?"
"Do you remember the many nights beneath these same stars when I held you in my arms and you whispered of your love everlasting?"
"You were my first love, Esteban."
"And you were mine, my Alitha. No woman was ever like you. I never loved a woman as I love you and I never will. I want you to sail with me. I want you to be my wife."
He rose and took her in his arms, and when his lips found hers, it was as though she were no longer in Baja but in Santa Barbara again, and she loved Esteban more than she had ever thought it was possible to love anyone. For a long moment she surrendered herself to his kiss.
