"Before you had him wrapped around your little finger and he married you?"
"He was a kindly old gentleman and very good to Molly and me," she said in defense. "I, in turn, was grateful to him."
She did not have to elaborate on the meaning of 'grateful' but the tilt in her chin made Dante smile. "I warrant you were."
Bella glared up at him. "I felt safe, Captain. For the first—and only time—in my life, I felt safe. Marriage to a gentle, kind man was a small enough price to pay."
She fell silent and Dante studied her profile. The muted glow from the ship's lantern traced a fine bright line around her silhouette. Mist droplets clung to her hair making it seem as though the tangled black cascade was woven with tiny jewels. There was no denying she was a beauty, but that beauty had an edge as sharp as any sword or blade in his possession and while he was not fooled by any of this sudden willingness to confide in him, he was curious to see how far it would extend.
"Your brother, I gather, chose to stay with this Peter Dullcock fellow?"
"Peter Dimcock."
"Peter Nocock, for all it is worth."
"Liam never wanted to work too hard for his comforts. Thus, between the whores and the gambling dens, he owed more to Dimcock than he could ever hope to pay off, even after stealing the thousand pounds."
"It would seem you got away cleanly, and yet you came back to Londontown."
"My husband's choice, not mine. But we lived well away from Gutter Lane and after so many years, I did not think anyone would associate the very proper Lady Bellana Harper with the light-fingered Bella Baker. I had changed enough for all but the sharpest of eyes to recognize me. Moreover, with the constant, deadly rivalry amongst the underworld guilds, I did not think for an instant that Dimcock would have survived all those years. Chances were in my favor that he would be dead. Liam too," she added without remorse. "But I was sadly mistaken. Liam saw me several months ago and recognized me. It took some time, but he managed to discover my new name and identity."
She explained the night on the darkened road when he had waylaid her husband's coach and robbed them.
"So you see, Captain Dante, my life is not the great mystery you think it to be. I am not some grand noblewoman fallen on hard times, forced to steal to keep food on the table for ten starving siblings. I am a simple thief, born into a family of simple thieves. My error was thinking I could change myself into something else. Have I answered your questions? Satisfied your curiosity?"
"Somewhat," Dante said. "Though I doubt anything about you is simple."
"God spare me, sir, was that a morsel of flattery cast my way?"
Dante's grin was crooked. "Catch them while you can, Lady Nimblefingers, for they are as foreign to my nature as lace collars and satin trunk hose."
That almost… almost won a smile as she attempted to picture him prancing about in silk and lace.
His quick eyes caught the tremor at the corner of her mouth and, accustomed to making rash decisions, he made one now. "It may not be safe for you in Londontown, but do you have any friends in Truro?"
"My husband had friends," she said warily. "They tolerated me because of him; they knew my blood was not as pure as theirs."
"Be that as it may, I ask because we will be sailing past the coast of Cornwall. It is not in my nature to be particularly accommodating where passengers are concerned, but in this instance, I can carry you as far as the Lizard if it suits you."
Bella bit the inside of her lip. It did not suit her at all, for Truro was a dull, dreary place full of sheep farmers and tin miners. She had appreciated its isolation when she lived in relative comfort in one of the few elegant manor houses in the area. But she would sooner pry out her own fingernails than go back there now.
On the other hand, Truro had a deep water harbor where merchant ships did a brisk business. She and Molly could buy passage to France or Italy, Ireland or Scotland… anywhere!
She tried not to look too keen on the idea as she moistened her lips and murmured, "I do not wish you to go to any more trouble on my account, Captain. But yes, taking us to Truro would be a possible alternative."
Dante was about to ask exactly what other alternatives she had when he heard a shout and saw Hobson Grundy approaching at an urgent pace. "As we speak of trouble, thus it appears."
"Capt'n! We got company. Redcoats headin' for the wharf."
"Soldiers!" Bella's heart skipped a beat. "Could they have found the body already?"
"Calm yourself. These particular soldiers have come to impress me not you."
"You!"
"Aye. A disagreement with the excise men. They want more duty for the copper I have in my holds than I am willing to pay."
Dante left Bella standing at the rail as he crossed to the far side of the deck with Hobson close on his heels. "Recall the crew from the dock, close the gangway, cast off her moorings. The anchor is up?"
"Ain't been down the past two nights," Grundy said with snort.
"Good thinking. Douse the lamps. Get us out of here."
"Aye Capt'n!"
Hobson stirred the crew into action and after a few crisp orders, men were dashing up the rigging to release the huge mainsails. The canvas sheets fluttered and snapped open overhead as the lines were drawn tight but there was hardly enough breeze to stir the mist, let alone fill the heavy sails.
Dante strode to the bow and cupped his hands around a shout, and from somewhere out in the fog an answer came echoing over the water. Almost instantly two thick tow lines hanging from the bow lost their slack and the ship began to slowly inch away from the side of the wharf.
Earlier, he had ordered two longboats into the black waters of the river, anticipating the need for a tow might arise as soon as he saw the heavy mist and felt the stillness of the air. But even with eight brawny men in each boat putting their backs into it, the Tribute was a weighty bitch, more so with her cargo bay packed with twenty tons of copper sheathing.
The inches stretched into a foot, then a long pace, and by the time the sound of marching boots grew closer and the blooms of torchlights grew brighter, all but the Tribute's wide stern had been swallowed into the fog.
"Fucus maximus," he muttered.
"You speak Latin?"
Dante glanced beside him. He had pushed Bellanna Harper temporarily out of his mind and took no pleasure in the fact she was pushing herself back in. With dawn starting to lighten the mist, her dark eyes were more prominent, the violet-blue color even more remarkable. A strand of long black hair trailed across the curve of her jaw, stuck there by the dampness, drawing his gaze to the lush curves of her mouth.
He dragged his attention back to the riverbank.
"You have a hole in your side, madam. You should be below resting."
"Perhaps it would be best, after all, if I was put ashore."
"A little too late to make that decision," he said, pointing to the widening gap of dark water below.
She peered over the rail watching the mist swirl in little eddies to fill the space between the Tribute's hull and the wharf.
"You do, indeed, seem to have made it for me." Her hand gripped the wood so tight her knuckles glowed white. "Would this be a bad time to tell you, sirrah, that I have never been on a ship before?"
"At the moment there is no good or bad time for anything but getting away from here." Dante looked toward the gathering cluster of scarlet coats on the wharf. "Go below and stay out of sight. Just because the soldiers are not here for you, there is no sense flaunting your presence on board."
Bella parted the blanket enough to look down at the hugely oversized galligaskins. "I hardly think my presence would leave much of an impression."
Dante looked at the cloud of gleaming black hair surrounding the perfect oval of her face. "Go… before I have cause to question my decision or my wits. There is rum and wine in my cabin to give your sea legs a solid beginning."
Bella wrapped the blanket tight again and headed toward the hatchway. She wa
s moderately pleased with herself having won passage for herself and Molly away from London without having to give up anything in return. She was actually smiling as she passed Varian St. Clare on her way below and spared a polite nod in his direction.
Varian joined Jonas at the rail and glanced back in time to see Bella duck into the hatchway. "I thought she was resting. What was she doing on deck?"
"Annoying the hell out of me," Jonas said.
"Ah. And yet she is still on board."
"We will be carrying her and her maid as far as the Lizard."
"The Lizard? Have you misplaced your wits?"
Dante rolled his eyes and turned to watch the row of soldiers gathering at the end of the wharf, growing more visible as the yellow spheres of torchlight burned away patches of mist.
"Beg pardon," Grundy said, coming up behind them. "But we 'ave company."
"Aye," Varian said, tipping his head toward the glow of torchlights. "We can see them."
"No ye can't yer dukeship, on account ye're lookin' in the wrong direction. We got company out on the river."
Jonas and Varian crossed to the starboard rail but could see nothing in the thick haze.
"Where?"
"Half pistol shot off the bow. Can't see 'em from down here but word came down from the tops. "Lookout caught a glimpse of a ship when the mist broke an' he saw 'em creepin' up on us. She's a brigantine, two masts, row o' redcoats lined up along the rails."
"The king's weevils?"
Grundy leaned over and spat. "Taxmen, aye. Like as not aimin' to block the river."
Jonas swore. "Blast this fog."
Hobson chuckled. "Aye, we could do that."
"No we cannot," Varian said flatly. "This is London, not Barranquilla."
Dante ignored him. "Load the bow chasers with incendiaries. Aim them straight up over their masts. Perhaps a little shower of flame and sparks will offer some discouragement."
Varian frowned. "Surely you do not intend to do battle with one of the king's ships right here in the river!"
"It wouldn't be much of a battle," Jonas said with a confident smirk.
Both men adjusted their stances as the ship rocked through a slow, deep roll. Some of the canvas sheets were quivering and fluttering at the edges as a lick of river air drifted across the deck, thinning the mist as it went.
"Ah, good. The wind is picking up and the current should give us a push once we're in the middle of the river. As soon as we gain some steerage, recall the men in the longboats and pile on all sail fore and aft. Are the chasers loaded?"
Hobson looked to the gun captain, Artemis Franks, who grinned and whirled his arm to signal the cannon were loaded and ready.
"Then fire away and let us give Londontown a bright farewell."
Franks lowered the red tip of a burning fuse to the touchholes of the four three-pounder chasers that were fixed to the forward bulwark. With their brass snouts pointed upward, the thin-shelled canisters—loaded with a mixture of pitch, antimony, saltpetre and Venetian turpentine—blasted upward in an arc and burst apart directly over the creeping excise ship. Four stunningly loud explosions shattered the silence and showered the river with fountains of brilliant sparks. The crew on the king's ship could be heard shouting, scrambling for cover as tiny glowing ingots landed on the deck and sails. The pop pop pop of musketfire arose through the confusion but the only shot that found its target chipped a small piece of wood out of the Tribute's forward rail.
An order was shouted and the soldiers on the wharf dropped to one knee and began firing their muskets blindly into the mist. For a time both of the king's companies thought they had trapped the Tribute between them, but when the mist finally cleared away, the privateer was already half a league away down the river, the polished silver glow of dawn light reflecting off the slanted windows across her stern.
Chapter Nine
The insult of scorching one of the king's ships did not go unanswered and a fleet of three brigantines was dispatched to pursue and catch the Tribute. All three ships' captains were acquainted with Jonas Dante's reputation, and, being in awe of his legendary feats at sea, it was no wonder they made poor time down the Thames and stalled as one of their number—who drew the shortest straw—accidentally sailed too close to shore and ran aground. The delay caused by waiting for the tide to help free the keel, put the Tribute a full day's sail ahead, whereupon it took another full day to send a courier back to London for instructions whether to follow the privateer into the Channel or not.
Jonas was not concerned. In two years time, when another Dante ship was due to make the voyage to England, he expected the booty they would bring to the king's coffers would more than make up for a few burnt sails and bent noses.
Of more pressing concern was the conversation he'd had after the escape from Bellyn's Gate wharf.
Varian St. Clare had accompanied him back to his cabin and helped himself to a cup of rum.
"I had thought to mention this to you earlier, but you were occupied with other matters."
Jonas set his compass points aside and leaned back in his chair making the leather squeak. "It would appear that the other matter has found her way into my berth again, but aside from that, the wench occupies my thoughts not at all."
Varian followed his brother-in-law's glance to the berth where Bella was fast asleep on the wide berth, the blankets drawn up to her ears. "I was referring to the act of getting under way and making it to the Channel without engaging the king's entire fleet in battle. However, I am equally happy to hear that the lady does not enter your thoughts at all."
Jonas scowled. "You said you had something important to speak to me about?"
"Ah. Yes. It has to do with a familiar name that came up in my conversation with the Spanish ambassador last night. Apparently his nephew has become somewhat of a hero in the Spanish courts. The accolades come posthumously, sad to say, for the hero died when—as the tale was told to an enraptured crowd—he had the courage to do battle with three of the most infamous Dante pirate villains and managed to single-handedly defeat them whilst safeguarding a goodly portion of the king's treasure fleet in the process."
Jonas snorted. "If we had a ship for every man who boasted of doing battle with us, our own fleet would fill the Ocean-Sea. Did this paragon who routed us have a name?"
Varian took a sip of rum before he answered. "Recalde. Don Cristobal Nufio Espinosa y Recalde."
Jonas's smile faded and his jawline tightened to a square ridge. The name brought an instant rush of memories to the foreground, not all of them pleasant. Four years ago, Recalde had captured Gabriel Dante's ship, the Valour, in a trap. The Spanish bastard had beaten and tortured Gabe then tied him and his crew to the rails and rigging of the Valour to use as human shields against any attempt to rescue them. Fortunately, Recalde's crew was mainly comprised of soldiers, not sailors, and they were not familiar with the cannon on board Gabriel's ship. Barely one in four shots fired found their mark. Juliet Dante thought the risk acceptable and was able to sail the Iron Rose close enough to ram the Valour amidships without suffering the damage Recalde had hoped for. Occupied with the Rose and her crew, Isabeau Dante and Jonas were both able to bring their ships close in on the attack and between them, defeated the Spaniard.
Gabriel Dante had lost his ship and half his crew that horrific day. Juliet had been injured and the Iron Rose badly damaged. Jonas, Simon, Varian, and Isabeau had not escaped unscathed. All bore scars to remind them of Recalde's treachery.
The only bright spot in Jonas's memory was the image of Don Cristobal Recalde with Juliet's blade thrusting through his chest, Varian's dagger piercing his belly, and Gabriel's musket ball tearing away half his throat.
"The ambassador was obviously unaware of my relationship with Juliet," Varian continued, wary of the cold hatred gleaming in Jonas's eyes. "He was too far in his cups to hold back on the words that were spilling from his tongue. I thought it best, considering the company we were in, not to say too much or
give his rapt audience my own eye-witness account of the events. There was far too much frothing at the mouth and zealous spittle flying about."
Jonas shoved his chair back with such sudden force, it tipped and crashed to the floor.
Varian held up his hand. "I realize it is a name none of us care to hear again—"
Jonas snarled. "Then why am I hearing it?"
"Because he had a brother: Juan Pedro Recalde. Apparently Juan Pedro was an officer on board another ship in the fleet and while he was close enough to see the battle, his commander was engaged with another privateer and Don Pedro missed the opportunity to share his brother's martyrdom. Naturally, he has vowed revenge."
"Naturally."
"According to the ambassador, Recalde has employed a highly skilled assassin, a chap they call el cazador de lobo."
"The wolf hunter. Quaint."
"His sole purpose is to hunt down and either capture or kill any and all members of your family."
Jonas waved a hand to dismiss the threat with the respect it was due. He tipped his goblet to empty the dregs of wine onto the floorboards and walked around the desk to refill it with rum.
"We have been hunted before."
Varian shrugged. "I would not have given it credence either but for the fact that this el cazador has been sending Recalde specific details about the location of Pigeon Cay, including access to the channel entrance, and—most disturbing—an accurate description of the island's defenses."
Dante's brow furrowed. "How the hell can he do that?"
"He couldn't. Not unless he is on Pigeon Cay or working on one of the crews."
"A spy?"
"Not the first, by any means. It is a fairly easy matter to wait for one of our ships to put in at New Providence. All of the captains… you and your father included… have signed on new men to replace the ones you've lost in battle."
Jonas lowered his goblet slowly. "Are you suggesting one of us brought this viper back to Pigeon Cay?"
"I'm putting it forth as a distinct possibility. If you will recall Juliet brought me to the Cay despite her suspicion that I was the king's spy. Keep in mind, none of this talk of revenge and assassins may be anything more than the boastful ramblings of an overblown buffoon attempting to impress his audience."
The Far Horizon Page 8
