A Pirate's Command

by Meg Hennessy

  “Gracias, Your Most Excellency.”

  They stepped through the wrought iron door, adorned with helmets and breastplates overhead, and entered the vestibule.

  “Allow me to have refreshments made for you. I’ve had rooms made ready for your return,” his father was saying as they walked through the vestibule into the great hall.

  Sun streamed in through the large stained glass windows of the great hall, which rivaled that of a castle. Surrounded by his father’s land, the manor house was considered a castle, minus a moat. The large arching windows reached to the ceiling and lined a cloister that led to a flying staircase to the master portion of the house.

  Donato remembered, as a child, being enamored with that flying staircase leading to the master’s hall, which was on two floors, with the quarters consisting of bedrooms, sleeping porch, sitting room, and two baths. The third floor of the master’s hall had a secretary’s alcove.

  The great hall had changed little. The coral-colored floor was trimmed in black polished tile and much of the furnishings were old, having been with the estate for several generations. The same tapestries from his childhood hung on the rib-vaulted walls.

  A large twenty-foot table stood in the center of the room with two large candelabras on each end, and an iron chandelier hung overhead. Large rugs tried to warm the room during winter, but the sheer immensity of it made that nearly impossible. He could fit his ship in this room alone.

  “I have arranged for you to stay in the west tower.” His father broke into Donato’s thoughts. “It is perfect. It has three bedrooms, a sleeping porch, a room converted to a playroom, and a room for the nurse.”

  Donato didn’t miss the reference to a playroom and nurse, but said nothing.

  “Rest well tonight, son. Tomorrow we speak with our cousin, King Ferdinand—” His father looked around confused. “Where is the little boy I’ve heard tell of?”

  Rayna cleared her throat, stealing a glance at Donato. “On the ship, Father.”

  Donato caught something in that look of his sister’s that said leaving her collateral behind had not been by accident but by design. In that split second, Donato knew her to be more friend than foe.

  “But this is nonsense! I have made arrangements for your family.” His father continued, “Bring him to me! I must see him.”

  Donato glanced over at Ramón.

  Opportunity lost.

  …

  Colette had no idea what to expect as she and her son were ushered in the landau toward the Roche estate. She greatly appreciated receiving Donato’s message that he knew they had changed ships. They had been forced to dress like sailors when they moved to the second ship. Colette had feared they would be sent to France. She had had little contact with Donato’s sister the entire time they had journeyed together to Spain. Rayna had never joined her for dinner, checked on her, or asked about the accommodations. It was like a mirage. On occasion, Colette had caught sight of her from a distance.

  Much like her brother, Rayna had the silky raven hair that waved down her back and dark swarthy eyes. Unlike her brother, she was aloof and distant. It was hard for Colette to discern whether she was a pawn or perpetrator.

  Enio found this travel exciting, pointing out all the sights along the way, having no idea they were in danger. Her heart broke with every excited word he blurted out. He liked the horses, the water, the ship, the pretty colors of the drapery in the landau. She kept herself calm and admired the many new sights that amused him, wondering how long it would be before she’d see Donato.

  Leaving the sights of Cádiz behind them, they continued down a long forested road. Her mind started to work against her, fearing this was some kind of death march and that perhaps Donato knew nothing of it. Maybe he thought she was still safe on the ship, and would learn later they had been whisked off to France, or worse…

  They had offered to let Enio ride up front, but Colette declined, stating she and the child would not be separated.

  Was Donato all right? Who did these men work for?

  She kept herself strong, smiling down at Enio every time his arm pointed at something new, but oftentimes she closed her eyes and silently prayed that Donato knew where she was and would soon join them.

  After what seemed like hours of travel, the small entourage turned down another long, narrow cobblestoned road. Colette leaned her head out the window to see a castle appear on the horizon. A beautiful manor, or small castle, of white stucco trimmed in stone of warm gold and fire red. The windows were made of bronze-framed blue-stained glass. The entire manor had been softened with a cloak of ivy that hung from the windows and red tiles of the roof.

  Her heart started to pound with both relief and excitement. Was it possible this would work out? That Donato was inside those stone walls, waiting?

  They rolled up to the front entrance. Enio scrambled off her lap, ready to disembark. She held his hand and instructed him to wait. Her luggage, as it was only a valise, was unloaded, giving her hope.

  The door to the cab opened and a footman took Enio out and set him on his feet, then turned to assist her. When Colette stepped free of the carriage, she was astonished at the immensity of the estate. It was beautiful. She stood within the enclosed patio of pebbled stone, much like the hacienda, but this was huge. It was surrounded on three sides with stucco walls, and every corner had a blue-and-green tiled fountain.

  She lifted Enio into her arms and started for the stairs. In the corner of the portico, she noted a man standing. She recognized him from Donato’s ship, and when her gaze met his, he very slightly nodded to acknowledge her. Her breath escaped her body as she relaxed just a little. Seeing him relieved her sense of isolation and eased her fears.

  The large iron doors of the castle were opened for her, and a servant bowed as Colette walked by with Enio in her arms. She hesitated in the great hall, unsure of where to go next. Another servant brought in her valise and left it at her feet. Feeling, and most likely looking, the lost orphan on the king’s door, she waited.

  Men’s low speaking voices echoed through the hall where she stood. They were speaking Spanish, and though she knew some Spanish, she could not follow the conversation. Enio was mesmerized by the height and size of the hall itself. He stared up at the chandeliers overhead and smiled.

  “I will take the baby.” A woman appeared from a side door with her arms outstretched to accept Enio.

  Colette tightened her hold on Enio. “He stays with me.”

  The woman seemed surprised by the rebuke and bowed. “Si, Her Excellency.”

  The woman backed out of the hall and into the room where she had appeared. Colette remained standing in the hall until she heard the sound of clapping hands.

  Colette turned toward the sound.

  “A woman of contradictions, senora?” Rayna walked toward her. “You stole the child from his father and now you are his protector?”

  “And you stole him from both his mother and father.” Colette leveled her eyes on Donato’s sister. “Do be careful, Rayna, for I am protective of my little one.”

  “You address me as Your Lady Excellency.” Rayna’s eyes flashed, but she quickly erased her expression. “I see you’re passionate as well. That’s what they say about the French, is it not?”

  “I am a mother before I am French…Lady Excellency.” Colette allowed a slight bow of her head, hoping to have diffused the situation. “If you please, will you inform Donato that I am here?”

  “You do not direct me. His Excellency”—she made point of his title—”is speaking with Father.”

  Colette fought any reaction, but the relief of knowing Donato was there nearly washed her to the floor. “And his title is…?”

  “His Most Excellency Lord.”

  “Will you tell Donato that I am here?”

  Rayna stared at her.

  “Will you tell His Excellency that I am here?”

  Still no movement by Rayna except the slight curl of her lip and a way she h
ad of looking down her nose. She motioned toward that strange side room and called out in Spanish. The same woman who had offered to take Enio again appeared.

  “Assist the marchioness to her room. Dinner will be served at seven. You will see His Excellency then and, ah…dinner is formal dress.”

  Rayna turned to leave. The hem of her red satin dress swirled across the marble floor. Her long raven hair had been pulled back and coiled behind her left ear. From those ears hung sparkling jewels of rubies and gold. The chandeliers of the overhead lights played off the sparkles that lined every ruffle of her gown. Her steps revealed hand-embroidered slippers with a matching shimmer under the soft lights.

  The servant motioned for them to take a winding staircase upward into a tower. She said something in Spanish. Colette smiled as if she understood, but hesitated, wanting Donato to know she had arrived. To be so close, yet so far. She took a step toward the area that she thought echoed of male voices, but hesitated when she heard Rayna’s voice, as the woman had not yet left the room.

  “His Excellency is in conference, Marchioness. I’m sure you have much to do to prepare for dinner.” Rayna gave her dress a once-over. Zut. Colette certainly looked, as she had feared, the orphan on the king’s doorstep. “And the boy, he will be taken care of for dinner. Allow, please.”

  Colette debated whether or not to stand her ground but decided since she was the foreigner here and knew that Donato felt the juggler learning a new balancing act, she had to tread with caution. Longing to scream to Donato that she had arrived, she kept her calm by simply giving Rayna a slight nod of her head. “Merci.”

  Colette quietly followed the servant up the stairs.

  Colette did her best with what she had, and her maid, Lelia, proved to be far more helpful than Colette had expected and squealed with delight when Colette pulled out the yellow satin dress she had worn to board her husband’s ship. Orphan indeed. Lelia brushed Colette’s yellow dress clean, managing to remove most of the wrinkles. After a luxurious bath that Colette never wanted to vacate, her maid helped her dress and fix her hair in the proper Spanish chignon.

  Atop her head, the servant added the sparkling peineta and white lace mantilla. Though Colette never thought to radiate like Rayna, tonight changed that. She had asked where Donato’s room was and was pleased to learn it was attached to hers. Colette insisted Enio have a bed in her room. He played on the floor with a large assortment of miniatures he had been given, unconcerned about where he was or why.

  Lelia left the room but returned shortly with a velvet box in her hand. She set it on the dressing armoire and motioned for Colette to sit before the mirror. Colette did as asked, curious about the velvet box.

  “A gift from the marquis to you, Lady Excellency.”

  Colette watched with interest as Lelia opened the box to expose an exquisite set of earrings and necklace. It was beautiful, nothing like she had ever seen in her life. Even her mother, a French aristocrat, had never worn anything like it. But the titles confused her.

  “Is this a gift from my husband?”

  “Si, Lady Excellency, si, the marquis, most beautiful?”

  “Do you know what they are? What stones are these, for I have never seen such beautiful gems?” Colette tilted the box back and forth, watching the gems transform from green to red, then back again.

  “They are Tourmaline, Lady Excellency, Rubellite, meaning undying devotion.”

  Colette fingered the gems. What a beautiful gift. She smiled as the necklace was draped around her neck and hung just above the cleavage between her breasts. With each earring, she felt herself shifting from orphan to a princess. “I feel the princess in this.”

  The servant’s expression changed. “Oh, no, Lady Excellency, you are not. You are the wife of a marquis.”

  Colette smothered a smile; of course, she had not meant literally a princess. “So when do I see my husband?”

  “He will be at dinner.”

  Colette pushed away from the dressing table and stood up. “C’est bon, I’m ready to go.”

  After ensuring the care Enio would receive while she attended the formal dinner, Colette made her pilgrimage to the dining hall, following her escort down the winding stairs of the tower and along a beautiful vaulted cloister with colored glass, illuminated by the setting sun.

  From there, she descended another flight of stairs made of white stone and through double doors of walnut linenfold that opened to the dining hall. Men’s voices filled the air, but halted the moment she was announced and escorted into the room.

  There were three men in the room. She suspected she might have broken protocol in some way, as Rayna was not yet in attendance, but damn them all, she wanted to see her husband.

  The dining room was huge, with frescoed walls and coffered ceiling. There were iron sconces glowing between the hanging tapestries. The table was long, maybe eighteen to twenty feet, and made from one solid plank. The chairs were leather and studded along the upper half, the seats covered in crimson velvet.

  Donato stood to the far end of the hall. He set his glass down and started toward her. She had always thought of Donato as handsome, but in his royal attire his looks were devastating. She ran a quick tongue over her upper lip, taking in the mere sight of him.

  He wore a Spanish short jacket of black velvet embroidered in gold that hugged his broad shoulders with style. Underneath the jacket, he wore a long-sleeved ruffled shirt, with the ruffles hanging over his well-jeweled hands. The gold waistcoat beneath the jacket was finished off with a red satin sash, tied neatly to his right hip and hanging to midthigh. He wore no cravat, his shirt opened to expose his well-tanned neck. As he walked toward her, she noted the sheen of the Hessian boots that reached over his knees.

  His wavy black hair hung to his shoulders, combed neatly. Atop his head, he wore a crown of gold with four gold crosses all lavishly covered with emeralds, rubies, and pearls. He looked the king himself, more regal than an emperor. He nearly took her breath away, and when he reached his hand out to her, she fought not to faint and humiliate them both.

  “Your Lady Excellency.” He bowed before her. “Donato de la Roche y Borbón, Marquis de Andalusia, at your service.”

  “Merci,” was all she could muster and it was a whisper, at that.

  “May I present to His Most Excellent Lord, my wife, Marchioness Colette.” Donato smiled, took her hand in his, and led her to the center of the hall. She knew the moment she saw the older man that he was Donato’s father by the familiar build, handsome features, and dark hair laced with silver. Donato continued with his introduction, “My father, Carlos de la Roche y Borbón, Marquis de Andalusia, Grandes de España.”

  Colette lowered herself into a curtsy. “I am most honored, Your Most Excellent Lord.”

  His father came up to her and with a hand to her chin, raised her to face him. “You are French?”

  “I am.”

  “I thought that to be an error, for you are far too beautiful to be French.” He smiled as he glanced over to Donato. “I will see the boy later.”

  Donato nodded in agreement, and with that His Most Excellent Lord turned his attention to the door as Rayna appeared.

  “Do you have more rank than her?” Colette whispered to Donato, who responded with a smile and nod. “I thank you for the jewelry.”

  “Fue un placer,” he whispered in her ear. “You look most beautiful, cariño.”

  Colette appreciated his thoughtfulness regarding her dress, but the burning question that nagged with every thought, every nicety expressed, every show of royal respect, was what was the situation?

  Rayna, wearing a dress of a striking blue satin with ruffles of sparkling black lace, glided into the room as if her feet didn’t touch the marble tile. Her hair, parted in the middle and pulled severely off the face, had been braided and rounded into a bun behind her right ear. Tendrils of curls hung before her ears, framed by a pearled peineta and a black lace mantilla. She wore blue sapphires and diamonds
that reflected the vivid blue of her gown. And though a beauty, she couldn’t hide her surprise at Colette’s dress and jewels, making Colette’s evening perfect.

  The other man in attendance had been introduced as a special ambassador of Donato’s father. Donato’s number one man showed up, Ramón, well dressed for dinner, and was shown into the dining room.

  The food was delicious and with only small talk about the weather and how the voyage was, nothing of significance was broached. Colette had the feeling that perhaps his father didn’t know Donato had been forced on this journey or that their son had been held hostage. For he acted the warm, loving father, welcoming his son home after a long absence.

  She couldn’t help her eye from wandering over her husband. Her entire concept of who Donato was had changed so drastically over the past few months that she struggled to assimilate her thoughts. The man sitting across from her, a known pirate of the gulf waters, was the son of a royal noble on his own mission of rebellion. But she wasn’t really thinking about the situation they were in, or of what revolution he partook.

  But of him.

  How kind a man he was, and how, when in her darkest hour, it was he who had rescued her. Taking her away from the awful men who had taken her ship, and though she had had no memory of who she was, he had kept her safe, helped her get well, and created a life for her. A beautiful life that she had so carelessly shunned when Jordan arrived.

  She shook her head, trying to untangle her thoughts.

  He caught the slight movement of her head with a raised eyebrow that asked what are you thinking?

  Thinking?

  She couldn’t stop taking in his looks, sip by sip, as if an elixir, and she was addicted. His crown sparkled every time he moved his head. His hair more neatly combed then she’d ever seen, collected the overhead lighting, creating ribbons of blue tint that accented the dark color.

  The soft black velvet of his jacket had draped itself over the rugged, broad shoulders she had navigated many times in the past. The candlelight reflected in his dark eyes, the same dark eyes she had allowed herself to sink into. A thin layer of perspiration formed along his forehead and along his upper lip. The same lips that coaxed her passion to the surface, the flint that ignited the gunpowder.