by Meg Hennessy
“I do not hate you, Colette. It would be so much easier if I did. As far as your promise to God, I think He releases you of that obligation, Colette. You have well served Him.”
Chapter Twelve
By the light of dawn, Colette waited by the outside patio for Donato to take her to the ship. Though he didn’t sleep in his room last night, he had left orders that he would escort her shortly after six. The sun had lifted, casting a golden hue over the water that rippled in the warmth. The sky was blue and clear and smelled of ocean waters.
The sounds of hooves beating the cobblestones caught her attention. She stood to see the oncoming carriage Donato had sent for her. A large park drag with a team of six beautiful black horses turned into the drive, stopping in front of her. There were two men in front and a footman standing to the rear. As it rolled to a stop, the footman dropped off and opened the door for her. The last time she’d seen a similar carriage was in France, never in New Orleans.
She picked up the only bag she had. In it, she had packed her two cotton dresses, slippers, undergarments, a nightgown, a gauze morning dress, two shawls, privy items, and her brother’s clothing from the night in New Orleans. It might be handy to appear as a man at times, only God knew, but she packed it just the same. On her feet, she wore leather lace-ups with matching leather gloves. Her hands would not freeze again.
This morning, she wore a light gold dress of satin and lace ruffles trimmed with silver thread that lined the hem. Her hair drawn back and up, was topped off with a plain peineta of white and a matching plain mantilla of woven silk that hung around her shoulders in the form of a shawl. She had seen Donato’s clothes laid out for him, and had noted the style of dress and the gold sash. Her attire would match and she suspected, as his wife, she was being conveyed to the ship, and was to dress for the occasion. One thing she had learned about Donato in all the time she had lived with him was that he was a man of formal tradition. Besides, it allowed her to bring one beautiful dress with her.
“Buenos días,” the man offered, along with his hand for an assist up.
Colette stepped inside. She held her breath as they pulled away from the hacienda.
She chewed a little on her lower lip, thinking about the dance last night. Did she want the thirty-five days to remain in effect? He had kissed her with the passion she thought to forget, but the moment his lips had touched hers, she knew that would never be possible. But what had stopped him? Did he want resistance from her? Would that be his goal and therefore she had disappointed him? He said she had not, but something had made him pull away from her when it was he who had instigated the entire rendezvous, music, dance, and dinner, a reminder of the many galas and fabulous evenings they had had in that same room with numerous guests from the island.
She ran her fingers over her lips, still tasting the man, still inhaling his scent. She closed her eyes, reliving that moment when he had slowly lowered his head to kiss her, remembering how anticipation had sped up her heart and had nearly stolen her breath away.
If he had wanted to remind her of the island and their passion, he had succeeded, but why did he dismiss her before that kiss had turned into more?
“We are here.”
She peered through the window, allowing her gaze to travel up along the tall poles to see the small triangle sails, unfurled and picking up wind. The larger square sails were still brailed. It was a clear day, and though she had little understanding of sailing, she knew the wind would be at their back.
The gangway was still busy with preparations. The moment she stepped clear of the park drag, a call went out among the men that Senora de la Roche would board. The men dropped everything they were doing and formed a line along the main deck. Her one bag was carried as she followed along the plank and stepped on board.
The line of men awaited her entrance, each bowing with respect as she walked by. Her knees started to give way at the idea of once again being on a ship, but seeing her reception, she forced her legs to move. She had survived the last journey across the gulf in a storm, but in spite of her bravado, her teeth chattered and her knees knocked so soundly they hurt.
She continued down the lane created by the men. This is what Donato meant when he had scolded her boarding yesterday. His wife would not board in such a fashion, and today, he proved just that.
To the end of the line of sailors was a short set of stairs that led above the helm and over the stern. Donato stood atop those stairs. Cleanly shaven, his ebony hair had been allowed the freedom of a queue. Brushed back loosely from his face, it hung about his shoulders in long waves. Tied across his forehead was a red scarf. A striking color against the olive tint of his skin and coal-black hair.
Those dark eyes, framed in long black lashes, that had seduced her throughout the dance watched her as she walked the deck toward him. He acknowledged her entrance with a slight bow of his head, then took the stairs down to meet her midway.
Whether dressed in cotton shirts and trousers of the backwater pirates or in his finest, Donato had a regal, if not royal, look about him. He wore a white ruffled shirt beneath a short waist jacket of embroidered green velvet. His breeches were black, anchored by the high leather boots. Linking the two, he wore a broad gold satin sash that held both sword and pistol.
“A beautiful woman, again today.” He held out his hand to escort her. “This is how my lady boards my ship.”
“I don’t seem to remember such fanfare in the bayous, aboard a stolen ship.”
“Ah.” He grimaced as if remembering something unpleasant. “I believe that was when we played at being swamp rats.”
Colette allowed the comment to float away on the early morning breeze. “Merci.”
“For?”
“Taking me. I know you do not want to do so.”
He lifted one side of his mouth in a half smile. “A point on which we both agree.”
He guided her toward the hatch that stood open. “It is a small ship. I will show you where you will stay.”
He disappeared into the hatch with Colette following behind. She took the stairs downward into the bowels of the ship and felt his hands about her waist guiding her to the deck. She saw her travel bag sitting opposite the map room, in the doorway of what she assumed was the captain’s cabin. “I will stay in there?”
He nodded.
“And you?”
“Close by. This is a very small ship.”
“How many men have you?”
“Sixty-five total. They will hang hammocks about the stateroom, wardroom, and above deck.” He meant there would be no privacy for him or her.
“I see.” She forced a swallow through her tight throat. “When do we sail?”
“Now.” Donato raised his hand to draw her attention to the calls above to unfurl the sails and lift anchor. The helmsman shouted out his course. Before she realized it, the ship started to move, leeward at first but soon making headway, and true to her analysis, the wind was at their back.
“If you need anything, I’ll be on deck.”
Colette nodded her appreciation, then walked through the stateroom and into the cabin. From the stern window, she watched the last shreds of the island disappear over the horizon. Images of Loul, Jordan, and Hattie, wondering what had happened, where she was, was she again in danger, floated through her mind. For Jordan had sacrificed so much to find her the first time. Would he set sail, in fear she was in danger? Once again, but this time through her own choice, she had separated from all who loved her. Her stomach tightened as a knot slowly turned inside it, remembering the painful isolation of the past.
She was entering into Donato’s world, and she was truly on her own.
…
The sails picked up the wind, and the small clipper plowed through the small waves. It was a clear day, with no clouds in sight. Donato stood above the helm, watching the sails. They had changed some of the square rigging to triangle sails to allow for more maneuverability, but those were smaller and forced the win
d.
The ship had been renamed last night by the men. The small clipper would be known as El Rescate, for it had become a rescue ship on a mission of mercy to bring back a little boy who had been swooped up into a political fight of which he had no understanding.
Only the king of Spain could have financed his sister’s ship. Meaning the monarch must know something of Donato’s activities, but he had no choice but to continue. As the boy’s father, he’d get Enio back, at any cost.
The ship handled the waves nicely, plowing through but not too deep, but still spraying water over the main deck with each swell. The crew was prepared for a wet journey. Besides being donned in oil slicks, they had taken precautions to ensure that what needed to be kept dry had been strategically stored. Gunpowder, matchsticks, wicks, and flintlocks were all kept below. In open waters, they would have the time to retrieve them, if necessary.
Colette had appeared this morning in a yellow gown that highlighted the golden color of her hair when the sun filtered through her wavy tresses. She had looked the angel when she boarded, with white slippers and a white mantilla draped around her shoulders.
Her skin picked up the color of the rising sun, making her face appear well-scrubbed and transparent. He noted the veins that traced down her temples that seemed to darken every time she spoke. A ruby tint flushed her cheeks when he told her they would both occupy the same room. The same tint he saw last night the moment before he kissed her. A kiss that had convinced him he wasn’t over Colette.
What would she think when she learned the truth about him?
“Donato?”
He turned. Colette had ventured out onto the main deck. She had changed into one of her own dresses from Liberty Oak, and had covered her shoulders with a large shawl that protected her from the ocean spray. “Be careful on the main deck, Colette, a wave could wash over.”
“The sea looks calm today. I don’t think I am in danger.”
So she saw through his attempt to dismiss her.
No, the skies were clear and a nice tailwind kept them going. He drew a deep breath trying to clear his head for sailing. He liked being at the helm of a ship. There was something so freeing and humbling about it. For the sea was a beautiful creature, abundant with riches beyond what mortal man could imagine, but she was equally brutal and could turn on a tiny ship in her waters faster than the sands of an hourglass. But he loved her, for she offered man the way to move about the world.
Spain had done that, developed colonies in Cuba, Mexico, and America. But Spain gave no quarter to those residents. If not Spain-born, they were not a citizen. With no voice in government, they still had to live under the laws of the monarch. Days of absolute power for any authority were numbered; the American Revolution had proven that.
It was a belief in man governing himself that had made Donato take up the cause, for no man should live under another man’s rule, simply due to the fate of birth. The Americans had rejected royalty. Men in Spain, as well as the colonies, were attempting to do the same. They just needed the money to keep on fighting. And that’s where he came in—as a pirate who stole from the French corsairs, he had sent money back to Spain, to the revolutionaries who risked their lives for the cause.
Donato glanced over at Colette, who stood near the helm, with her hands wound around the bulwark. Her golden hair sparkled in the sun as it fluttered in the wind. With the sun overhead, he could almost see through the dress she wore, and could see her brace her legs for support. A light spray showered the deck, and Colette laughed as the water soaked her hair.
She turned to face him with a smile as bright as he’d ever seen. “I think you might be right, Donato, I do indeed get wet.”
“But a pleasant wet. The water is refreshing in the heat of the sun.”
“Ah, so it is.” She laughed again. “I see you don’t wear velvet coats on deck.”
She motioned to his changed attire of a sailor’s shirt worn under a waterproofed tunic and pantaloons. Around his head and forehead he wore the bandanna, and over that a low-crowned leather bicorn. All more suitable for sailing.
“I see golden dresses with sparkle disappeared as well.”
“Too beautiful to get wet.” She smiled and glanced over at him, as if acknowledging the dress had been a gift from him, long ago. It had…been given with much love.
Though she seemed to be unaware of it, she was nothing like the unfalteringly quiet, reserved woman of the Faubourg Sainte Marie and Jordan’s home that Donato had observed from afar, while he had waited to take Enio back.
In that year, he had never seen Colette smile or laugh as she did just now, or as when she had ridden the horse in Louisiana and raised her arms to take flight. He could see it as plain as the nose on her beautiful face, but she seemed so unaware of her own transformation.
“I never think to like a ship again, but this, Donato, I like…I think.”
He had to laugh at her uncertainty, knowing at some point she would hate this ship. “I think it is the sleeping arrangements that have you enamored.”
She stepped closer to him, looking around before she spoke under her breath. “It is not I that will be disappointed, Donato, for she sails with might and we will catch your sister in less than thirty-five days.”
He couldn’t hold back a smile. “If not, my dear wife, you will hold up your end of the bargain?”
She met his gaze straight on, and he noted that her color darkened slightly. She was about to deny her interest, but that little tint of color that flooded her cheeks told a different story. “I am a woman of my word.”
“As am I a man of mine.”
“Then we have an understanding.” She held his attention with her expression unyielding, but her cheeks had turned a cherry red. Her breathing became labored, and she ran a tongue over those sweet kissable lips. He suspected that like his, her mind had traveled beyond the sea and back into the ballroom of last night. He should have swept her up in his arms and taken her then. He had every right to her as his wife, and at that moment she had been more than willing—she’d been panting.
But that was not his intention. He’d wait out the thirty-five days. It was important he do this in that way.
“Come steer a ship you like.” He motioned for her to join him on the tiller and took the stairs down to the helm. The other sailor stepped aside to allow her to stand next to Donato.
Her expression shifted to surprise, but he could see her immediate interest. She stepped closer and cautiously lifted her hands to wrap around the handle.
“You hold here and here.” He directed and she followed.
He let go and stepped back, giving her full rein.
The tiller shifted. “Oh, this is hard!”
“Can be impossible in storms, but must be done.” Donato laughed at her small body trying to wield such a large tiller. He reached over her shoulders and brought the tiller in line, wrapping his hands around hers. Her hair, fluttering in the wind, brushed his face and smelled of roses. Her fingers felt warm to his cold wind-blown hands. “Takes practice.”
“I will learn.”
Jordan’s Colette would have said no, but his Colette tried. He didn’t realize until this moment when she made him laugh, showed off that childlike excitement, and when he ran his hands over hers, how much he had missed her, how deep his longing for her had become.
“Then I will teach you, on days like this when the seas are calm.” Donato motioned for his men to take over the tiller. He turned to climb the stairs over the helm.
“Donato?”
He hesitated as she stepped closer to him. “You have yet to tell me who you are. Why your sister—”
“Sail up! Sail up!” the crow’s nest shouted. “Two points, starboard!”
Donato rushed the stairs to see over the bulwarks, picked up a pair of binoculars, and scanned the horizon. A large British warship was heading straight for them.
“Hoist the flag of Spain. For the moment, they are allies.”
&nb
sp; He glanced at Colette. “Go below, in the case it is dangerous.”
“I will never sit below again, I told you that before.”
“And you were nearly washed out to the sea.”
Her lips pulled tight at the reminder as she squinted to see the oncoming ship. “I cannot go below.”
“Then stay close.” Donato motioned to the men. “Fire off a cannon, just one, to acknowledge our great English friends.”
One fourteen-pounder belched out a ball, falling starboard side of El Rescate to show the shot was for no other reason but a salute. The British ship changed direction, fired off a response, then pulled sails and picked up speed. Within minutes, the British warship disappeared over the horizon.
Colette glanced about the ship. “You don’t have the same flag as your sister’s ship. Why?”
Donato braced for a discussion he did not want to have. “It represented her province.”
“You tease me, I think.”
“No.”
“Then why was her flag different?”
“Perhaps you tease me. It was a royal flag.” He stole a glance at her. “I know you know that.”
“And I have asked before.” She watched him as he scanned the horizon. “Donato. Who are you?”
“Ah, senora.” He gave her a sly look. “You don’t have your pistol at my throat, so I think not to answer.”
Chapter Thirteen
The ship lurched, throwing Colette across the cabin for the millionth time in the past few hours. For three days, El Rescate had battled strong winds and twenty-foot swells. After being thrown about on deck, Colette decided it would be best to stay in the cabin, despite her aversion to staying below. She watched the storm from the stern window rather than struggling to stay afoot in biting gusts of wind and punishing sprays of water.
