by Meg Hennessy
“It is better?” He massaged her knee, wanting to move his hand upward along the inside of her thigh.
“I hurt no more. I appreciate.”
He withdrew his hand before tucking her leg in under the quilt. Without thought, he leaned down to kiss her on the forehead. The moment his lips touched her warm skin, he knew he had fallen into the habit of what he had always done in the past. But she wasn’t his anymore, and that little touch of affection should not have happened. He straightened up, feeling her gaze on him.
“Are you all right? I need to check the ship,” he said as dispassionately as he could.
“Ever so.”
He turned to leave, but hesitated at the sound of her voice.
“I beg you to find a way for us to leave. We must get Enio back.”
“That’s a promise.” Donato closed her door behind him and met Ramón coming in through the inner patio.
Within seconds, they had tacked horses and pounded across the island at breaking speed.
The air was damp and smelled of rain when he reached the clipper. Waves slapped the hull, rocking her back and forth. The ropes groaned and creaked with every swell.
Donato had wanted to use a fast ship that would cut through the waves and give him an advantage with the wind. He had a reputation for getting speed where others would fail. Ships ate out of his hands. A good captain knew when to stretch those sails and when to have them soft and slack. But could he push this small clipper into service and meet the challenge of an ocean voyage?
The clipper had two masts. The foremast with two shrouds and the mainmast with one. It was 123 feet in length with a breadth of twenty-four feet, three thousand square feet of main deck. Its rake of stern was so excessive it could not stow more than two months of provisions nor bear the weight of bow guns, creating a disadvantage if not able to outrun a man of war. But it had a bowsprit designed for ramming, a slight plus.
The first hatch going fore opened into a stateroom and captain’s quarters. The companionway hatch opened into the main hold where there was a galley, and a fireplace opened aft. The crew of sixty men would swing their hammocks in the wardroom.
The problem with this particular ship was her stability, but she’d offer speed. Her sloping V-shaped hull would cut through the waves rather than ride above them, forcing a nearly constant water spray over the main deck.
“Can we provision in twenty-four hours?” he asked Ramón.
Ramón nodded, animated with a new plan in place. “Si, Capitán.”
“Good. I have listed our supplies.” He pulled from his pocket a list of what provisions they’d need. The list included water, salted beef and pork, hardtack, bread, flour, pickled hog, oatmeal, rum, coffee, vinegar, molasses, potatoes, cheese, butter, brown sugar, and a few hundred candles. “But for this ship, considering her size, cut everything on that list in half, except water and candles.”
Donato took the stairs down to the stateroom and entered his cabin. It was a small room of decorative panels with carved badges of leaves and scrolls over the arched stern windows. Mounted against the larboard side was a small bed with a small built-in wardrobe next to it. To the stern stood a small table and two chairs.
Close quarters for a long journey.
Close quarters for him and Colette.
He returned to the stateroom where Ramón waited and pulled out a set of nautical maps he kept stored in every vessel.
He drew an imaginary line across the drawing of the Atlantic Ocean. “Here is where I hope Rayna stopped through the storm, unless she made enough speed to put the storm behind her.”
“If that is the case, you won’t be able to catch her.”
“No.” Donato looked up at his trusted friend. “We’ll end up in Spain. I would understand if you do not wish to make this journey.”
Ramón blinked in surprise, then his face grew tight. “I would think to do no other.”
“Do the men know this journey might land us back in Spain? In harm’s way? We are traitors to the crown.”
“Si, Your Excellency, like in New Orleans, we are with you.”
“Ramón, the title.” Donato motioned with a clip to his throat. “Don’t use that.”
“I sometimes forget, Your Ex—Capitán, I forget.”
After Ramón left to start the laborious task of rerigging her sails and provisioning the ship, Donato continued to review his nautical maps, hearing the constant activity above on the main deck.
Nearly five thousand miles. That’s how far Spain was, and right now his sister had built quite a lead. The idea of returning to Spain brought on a tight painful turn in his stomach. He had no choice but to return to where it had all started, where the saga must end.
He pulled out his dagger and jammed the sharp point into the table marking their destination.
Spain.
…
It was an unusually pretty day, considering the ravaging storm of just hours before. Colette had been up, bathed, and dressed for hours, but no Donato. She tried to inquire as to his whereabouts, but the servants politely pretended not to understand her broken Spanish, and she knew why. She had taken the much-loved Enio away.
She continued through the inner patio, walking by beautiful fountains of stone basins and poetic statues. Citrus and palm trees lined the corridors and bathed the walkways in dappled shade. She continued through the outer gardens and patios, noting the sprinkled color of the oleanders just starting to bloom. Above the kitchen chimney rose a hazy smoke that smelled delicious, and she knew the evening meal was in preparation.
Standing on the cobblestoned road, she could see the fields where the hacienda grew sisal, henequen, and sugar. All exported. The grounds had a granary and a henequen factory. There was a network of rails and tracks to move fiber to the factory, then to the docks.
A small town was to the south end of the island. She had often heard ringing bells and had visited the small adobe church. There were several merchants and private homes off the main street. The island was bustling with economic activity, six hundred square miles of robust commotion, making her curious as to the revenue of the island and the relationship with other islands. Why would Donato be involved in piracy, for it appeared he was a man of means?
Afraid of being left behind, she demanded a horse be tacked up for her to ride, then headed toward the other side of the island. Keeping her mount at a slow walk, she followed the road that crisscrossed the island. The sun migrated upward into the sky, telling her it was noon before she found the dock.
She reined in, halting the horse.
Floating atop the undulating water rode the clipper. He hadn’t left without her. Still docked, the ship bobbed freely in the waves that ricocheted off the large boulders as the men readied her for sail.
They had a ship!
Colette slid off her horse and ran along the gangplank, dodging between men laden with crates and demijohns. She found herself on the main deck, but it was a different ship than she’d ever been on and had no idea how to find Donato’s cabin.
She hesitated, pulling together her little knowledge of Spanish. “Ah, ¿dónde es el capitán?”
One of Donato’s men motioned for her to follow and opened a hatch to the back of the boat, exposing a short staircase.
“Muchas gracias.” She climbed into the hatch and down the stairs, her leg giving out twice. Once on the quarterdeck, she turned into a small room where Donato stood working over some maps.
“We have a ship?” She was so excited she couldn’t stop herself from throwing her arms around his neck. “You are provisioning?”
In her excitement, she temporarily missed how tired Donato looked, his drawn expression, and that those broad shoulders that her arms had embraced were tense and burdened with worry. She knew without asking, he had not slept at all. It had been hours since he had slept; he must be exhausted.
“You must need sleep,” she whispered in his ear. She felt his arms come up around her, but it was nothing more th
an a polite embrace before he stepped back from her.
“There is much I need, but little time.”
“You must sleep, to keep yourself strong. But this is good news, to have a ship?”
“She’ll have to do.” He looked around as if wondering who had accompanied her. “How did you get here?”
“I rode a horse.” She couldn’t suppress an eager smile over that accomplishment.
“Alone?”
“Why, of course I did, but that is not important. This is.” She opened her arms and twirled through the map room.
“But we are still married, Colette. This is not a proper way for my wife to board my ship.”
She halted her spin. A slight tingle raced up her spine when he said they were still married in his low, heavily accented voice. She swallowed hard, pushing her reaction deep inside. “Pardonne-moi, I don’t wish to disturb, but we sail when? And before you try to convince me not to go, remember I have sailed the ocean three times.”
“Not on a ship like this. She’s a small clipper.”
“Being small, she flies over the water.”
He watched her for a second or two before responding, making her feel the fool. “It drives through the water, not atop it.”
Her heart moved a notch up into her throat, painfully remembering her near flight off the deck of Jordan’s ship. “Like my brother’s flushed ship.”
He seemed impressed with her conclusion, raising one dark eyebrow over his left eye. He nodded. “Not as perilous as that, but she dives into the water, too much wind and she buries her and us under the sea, or capsizes.”
“I will go.”
“Thought so.”
“We sail today?” Colette had gotten a little ahead of the conversation, but Donato made no note of it.
“There is much to do to secure the island and bring in material for repairs on the other ships. Not to mention the westerlies.” He shook his head. “I will have you escorted back to the hacienda. Tomorrow before dawn, we sail.”
“We?”
“We.” He nodded. “You and me. It’s time we get our son back.”
…
“You didn’t tell her.” Ramón had been standing at the base of the companionway when Colette left the map room. “You didn’t tell her the danger that awaits you in Spain.”
“What am I to tell her? Who I really am and that my piracy is a cover-up? That I am a revolutionist and believe that Spain can govern herself, as does America? That I have turned my back on my birthright, my nobility, and have taken action against my king? It matters not, for we no longer share our lives.”
But her apology had run through his mind several times during the night. She hadn’t apologized for leaving, but for doing it in the way she had. Again, he didn’t believe the why, and maybe that was the discussion they should have had.
Colette rode across the island today. The same woman who knew nothing about horses just days ago. But Colette and the island brought life to each other, unlike the stuffy Kincaid residence that seemed to subdue her spirit rather than let it fly. He doubted she’d understand that, though. Having lived her prescribed life for so many years, she had immediately fallen into the mold upon her return.
Donato had double-checked the list of needed supplies and preparations for the trip to Spain. He had sailed enough in the open sea to know the many moods of the water and how often the weather might turn without notice. He knew storms and wind droughts awaited them, not to mention pirates in the form of French naval ships, British, or worse, Spanish. There was no flag in particular that would ensure safe passage, so several would be on hand and at the ready.
He’d never catch Rayna, but he’d arrive not long afterward. She’d most likely port in Cádiz, the closest to their father’s estate. She knew Enio was not Spain-born, and why that didn’t matter puzzled him, but the answer was ahead, and forward he must go.
To Donato’s appreciation, Ramón dropped the subject of Colette and returned to the journey ahead. “This is dangerous travel with this ship.”
“Si,” Donato reluctantly answered. Though many like it had crossed the Atlantic, it had a low freeboard combined with a deep deadrise, not much different than the schooner of Jordan’s he had flushed before leaving Louisiana.
This ship would ride through the waves, creating a lot of spray, and be less stable. But with flushed wide decks and high bulwarks, the men would be able to work the sails and guns should the occasion arise. “We will find ourselves back in Spain.”
“We all expect as much and are with you as always, but your esposa? It is dangerous.”
“She must come. She is Enio’s mother. She understands the stakes at hand. She risked her life in the bayous without hesitation. She risked her life on the sail here without complaint. She has earned the right to follow her son.” Donato pulled out a flask of whiskey and poured a cup for him and Ramón. After a sip, he ambled over and closed the door to the stateroom. “Ramón, how much gold was in the ship that foundered?”
“At least twenty thousand that is lost. We might get some back, but the shoreline is too deep, I fear.”
“We have supported the revolution well, but will not ship this month.”
“No, Your Excellency. Until we are paid, we are low on gold.”
Donato again sipped on the whiskey. “Ramón, did you ever hear a legend about medallions and gold?”
Ramón nodded. “Si, a story, I thought, told in the establishments along Saint Ann’s. When combined they made a map, but the medallions were lost at sea. Just a story.”
“Not a story. The medallions belonged to Colette and her brother.” Donato pulled out a leather wallet, having stashed it in the clipper this morning with important papers. In there, he had Jordan’s notes and handwritten maps. “Copies of the maps, compliments of Jordan Kincaid.”
He smoothed the maps out on the table over his nautical charts.
“The senora’s brother.” Ramón leaned in with interest. “Appears to be a map of France.”
“By the notations, Jordan believes this to be France. He is from France but…his father, who had the medallions made, was an American. I am certain Jordan is looking under the wrong rock.”
“And you know where the gold is, Your Excellency?”
“I have an idea. But there are other markings that are strange. Two notations, death before dishonor and crooked cross. What could that mean?”
“One is a common saying. The crooked cross, I do not know.”
“If the story is true, this hidden treasure is worth close to a quarter of a million in gold.”
“That would go a long ways to fight our cause.”
“It would, indeed.” Donato smiled. “I’m sure Colette’s American father would approve. He was a revolutionist.”
“Do you think to find this treasure?”
“I do, and when I do, I will take it right out from under Jordan’s nose.”
Chapter Eleven
Colette dropped the cotton gown around her ankles and stepped out of the dust-covered clothes. Her bath had been drawn and awaited her aching muscles. She might have conquered her fear of horses and ridden on her own today, but her body ached with the slightest movement. She had spent the rest of the afternoon riffling through her clothes for what to pack for the journey. It appeared, from what she saw, that storage space was at a premium.
She had seen a lot today on the back of a horse. She had traveled not only to the ship but to the town, and had visited the church where she and Donato had been married in the eyes of God.
The memories of that day hung around her head like the white mantilla and beautiful dress she had worn on her wedding day, the excitement of the townsfolk, the street lined with well-wishers as they had ridden back to the hacienda. She had been happy that day…really happy.
What had changed?
Donato?
Jordan?
When she returned to the house, she retreated to Enio’s room, sitting in the rocker, remembering th
e nights and days she had held Enio in her arms for hours, holding the most beautiful baby she had ever seen. Remembering when she had sung to him, rocked him to sleep…
She had not had children with her husband in France, though she had so much wanted children. When he had died of lung disease she thought she’d never have another chance to conceive. Then Donato had come into her life, rescuing her from the men who had taken her ship, and had given her the greatest gift a man could give a woman—love and through that love, a child.
But she had taken Enio away.
There was a slight knock on the door, jerking her from her thoughts. “Enter.”
Clarita came into the room and bowed before she spoke. “I am to inform you that dinner will be served in the comedor at seven this evening. El Senor de la Roche would like for la senora to attend.”
Colette nodded without hesitation. “Merci—gracias.”
Knowing Donato always dressed for dinner, she opened her armoire and fingered the beautiful dresses draped on every hook.
She pulled out the blue satin dress trimmed in yellow sparkling lace ruffles that hung around the hem. Opposite of what she might do at home, tonight she allowed her hair to hang the length of her back and topped her head with a sapphire-endowed peineta, and hung from it a white mantilla with diamonds sewn throughout the lace.
Donato had never spared expense when buying her things. It was a Spanish-style dress, but those were the clothes Donato had provided for her, and she could not deny their beauty. He had said it was to celebrate her ability to find life again after her abduction, her fiery spirit. She stepped back from the mirror.
Oh, how wrong he had been about her. She could barely muster a spark. But tonight she’d wear a gown he’d bought for her, because unless they found common ground and reciprocated respect, they were doomed before the voyage began.
She opened the door to her room and walked into the Sala de Recepcion where Donato waited. He stood near the arched window overlooking the indoor patio, swirling a drink in his hand.
