Jonas had served his apprenticeship on the Black Swan. While he had mostly learned to control his violent urges under their mother’s watchful eye, he was too much like his grandfather and given to magnificent rages passed down through the Spence bloodline. Gabriel, on the other hand, had benefited from the tutelage of Geoffrey Pitt and therefore had come to appreciate the lethal difference a rational, clear-thinking head could make.
Her father stood with Pitt by the unlit fire in the hearth, the two men speculating, no doubt, on the stir it would cause up and down the Spanish Main when it became known a Dante had captured one of Spain’s most celebrated warships.
Isabeau, Gabriel, and Pitt’s wife Christiana sat together by the open french doors that led to the veranda. In all her life, Juliet could have counted on the fingers of one hand the number of times her mother had voluntarily shed her breeches and doublet for the more feminine trappings of a skirt and bodice. The surprise of seeing her dressed tonight in a gown of pale blue silk was surpassed only by the pleasure of seeing her father in full court regalia, complete with the decorative, gold-embossed baldric and the sword Gloriana had presented him following the demise of the Spanish Armada.
Gabriel was his usual cool and fashionable self, his hair curling in glossy waves over his collar, his long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles. Jonas had changed into dry clothes, but since his wardrobe rarely varied from brown breeches, leather doublet, and billowing white camlet shirt, there was little difference in his appearance.
The last familiar face able to put a faint smile on Juliet’s face was Lucifer who, after all these years, had still not acquired a liking for more clothes than he could remove with a flick of the wrist. He stood behind Simon Dante like a glowering watchdog, black as sin, dressed in half breeches and a striped doublet. He had been guarding the pirate wolf’s back for three decades and it was his bald head that turned now, his gaze drawn to where Juliet stood unobserved in the doorway.
Though his face seemed not to have aged in all the years she had known him, the patterns and whorls of dotted tattoos had grown and spread. From the earliest markings that had pinwheeled across his cheeks, the inkings had spread down his throat and across the gleaming black marble of his chest and shoulders. There were even characters etched on the pendulous bulk of his sex—a testament to his threshold for pain—a cobra’s head whose body swelled and stretched into layers of gleaming scales when roused.
Lucifer’s lips parted around a murmured word to his captain before widening into an enormous grin. It was a sight that normally sent grown men cringing, for his huge white teeth had been filed into wickedly sharp points. When she was a child, Jonas had told her he had sharpened them for tearing his enemies apart and eating their entrails. The truth was somewhat less dramatic, for the filings were the mark of a great warrior in the village where he had been born.
Some of that warrior-like bloodlust came through in the snarl that brought him striding to the doorway. There, he did something she had only seen him do on very rare occasions: he offered a deep and formal bow to salute the great victory of the Iron Rose and acknowledge the courage of her captain.
“You have done us proud, Little Jolly,” he said, addressing her by the nickname he had used since she was a child. “You have learned well on the heels of your brothers. So well they sulk and scowl now like mewling chicks.”
“We are not scowling,” Gabriel protested. “In fact, I stand in awe of our little sister,” he added, rising to his feet, “and have no doubt that in time, she will bring us back the entire Spanish fleet. By hell’s burning flames, we could probably send her to Spain and she would bring back Felipe himself, still seated on his throne.”
Geoffrey Pitt came forward and took up her hand, bestowing a gallant kiss. “Ignore the great buffoon. He is as jealous... and as proud... as the rest of us. Fifty-two guns, by God, and you took her with barely a scratch. The cannon alone are worth twice their weight in silver bars for the Spanish are particular about the quality of brass they use in the castings.”
“I understand you deserve congratulations as well. Another boy, is it? You’ll have enough soon to fill the crew of your new ship.”
Over his blushes, she gave him an enormous hug and kiss then walked over to Christiana. She was petite and dark haired, possessing the face of a cherub and the body of a waif despite giving birth to thirteen babes.
Juliet reached into her doublet and drew out a small, satin-wrapped packet which contained a large square cut emerald Nathan had found on the Santo Domingo.
“For the new baby,” she said, kissing her aunt on both cheeks. “Have you named him yet?”
Christiana laughed and shook her head. “Alas no. We have run out of fathers, grandfathers, uncles and cousins to honor, so now we must just wait and see which name suits him.”
Juliet smiled, but she was distracted by the fact they were the only two speaking. Everyone’s eyes were on her, some more expectantly than others, all of them tense with curiosity.
A further glance noted that the sack Crisp had deposited inside the doorway had not been opened yet.
“You show amazing restraint, brothers dear,” she murmured, then added casually: “Silver. There are more than fifty crates of bullion in her hold, along with an equal number packed with gold, pearls, spices, even a few hundredweight of copper plating. I’ve barely scanned the manifests myself, but by all means, help yourself.”
Jonas and Gabriel reached the sack in two strides. They had the neck open and the contents spilled on the desk before their father’s laughter had stopped echoing around the room.
The next hour was spent pouring over the cargo manifest, toasting each new and incredible discovery—some Juliet was not even aware of—and making crude calculations as to the value of the prize. An accurate tally would be impossible until each crate was unloaded, the contents weighed and assayed, but as a general, extremely conservative estimate, Geoffrey Pitt put the worth at well over two hundred thousand English pounds, a staggering sum when held against the normal cargo of a treasure galleon which averaged between thirty and fifty thousand.
There was silence again, as Pitt redid his sums, but even if he was generous by half, which was not likely, it was easily the richest single prize taken since Drake had raided the treasure train at Nombre de Dios.
It was also the practical side of Pitt that prompted him to refuse another refill of wine and exchange a frown with Simon Dante. “Why would a warship be carrying so much?”
“And of such variety,” Juliet added, thankful she was not the only one who could see past the dazzle of gold to question the nature of the treasure itself. “The gold bars were minted at Baranquilla, the silver at Vera Cruz, the emeralds from Margarite, and some of the spices are clearly off the Manilla galleons. It’s almost as if she made a circuit of the Main and took on all the extra cargo the other ships could not hold.”
“What do we know about the captain... Aquayo, was it?” Simon asked.
Pitt searched a memory filled with countless volumes of facts and figures. “Diego Flores Aquayo. He comes from Seville. His uncle was the Duke of Medina Sidonia, capitán-general of la Invencible Armada. A galleon of the Domingo’s size and worth would have been a plum appointment from the king, but I agree he wouldn’t have taken on so much cargo unless he was planning to return to Spain. I am somewhat surprised, however, that he would have risked it by attacking an English merchant ship, especially one that was not looking for a confrontation.”
“I suspect the attack was more the initiative of his first officer, the capitán del navio.” Juliet said. “He was definitely well seasoned. His name was Recalde,” she added, looking at Pitt. “Don Cristobal Recalde.”
“The garrison commander at Nombre de Dios?”
Juliet nodded. “I didn’t realize it at the time, unfortunately, for we were a little busy trying to manage three hundred prisoners, but he seemed to know me—or at least of me. He called me la rosa de hierro, and said I was
a bitch, just like my mother. I took it as a compliment,” she said, smiling at Isabeau.
Isabeau frowned. “You said the Argus had already surrendered, yet this Captain Recalde was continuing to hull her?”
Juliet nodded again. “We didn’t see the opening salvos—there was a thick haze that morning and a squall had just passed by, but the English lieutenant said that the galleon had turned deliberately off her course to give chase. By the time we closed, the Argus was in shambles, her crew was screaming to surrender, and the Spaniard had arquebusiers in the tops firing down on them like ducks in a pond. They were not intending to take any prisoners, and we found incendiary loads in some of the cannon, suggesting they were going to burn anything left afloat. It was almost as if... ”
“Yes? As if what?”
Juliet shrugged and took a sip of wine. “As if they wanted no witnesses left behind to report seeing them in the vicinity. There was something else. Later that night, the men in the tops reported seeing lights riding very low on the horizon. They thought they counted at least seven ships, headed north by northeast. I went up to take a look, but either they dipped below the sea line or spied us first and doused their lights, because I saw nothing. I didn’t dare risk closing for a better look, not with the Santo Domingo in tow.”
“It could give substance to the rumors we have been hearing for the past couple of weeks that the plate fleet is planning an early return to Spain,” said Geoffrey Pitt. “Some of our normal sources of information have been showing an unusual reluctance to accept our gold, but we have sent out a scout to have a closer look.”
“And what of this other treasure you have brought us?” Jonas planted his hands on his waist. “This... envoy from the king. What is it this time? A demand for Father to return to court and kiss his ring? Or does he want a larger share of the purse, perhaps?”
Juliet shook her head. “From what I have managed to pry from between the duke’s teeth, it would seem the king is seeking to uphold the terms of the peace treaty between Spain and England. He has sent our lord peacock with his fine plumage and threats, to warn all the brethren against further hostilities while the king of England and the king of Spain negotiate the terms of a peaceful co-existence. He says if we refuse, we risk being branded as pirates and traitors.”
Jonas snorted. “In truth, I have never understood the differences between a pirate and a privateer save for a poxy piece of paper giving royal permission to ‘trade by force if permission is denied.’ I’m surprised you did not toss him overboard long before now.”
“He is annoying enough that I probably would have... had he not saved my life on board the Santo Domingo.”
Like bloodhounds scenting fresh meat, all ears perked in her direction and she felt an uncomfortable warmth spread up her throat to her cheeks.
“It was a trifling thing, of no account, and I repaid him tenfold by saving his mangy neck from the Argus.”
“Then why is he here?” Gabriel asked.
“Mainly because we needed the English crew to help bring the galleon home and it would have looked a tad peculiar to go out of our way just to disembark a duke and his manservant.”
“I would have solved the problem in a more practical way,” Jonas muttered.
Simon Dante held up his hand to end the discussion. “There is no harm in hearing what he has to say. But not tonight. Tonight we celebrate the victory of our rosa de hierro. Come. A feast awaits us on the dining table and I want nothing to spoil our mood.”
~~~
It was hours before Juliet could excuse herself and climb her weary way up to her bedchamber. She had eaten far too much and drank far too much, and after Jonas had shaken off his displeasure at the presence of the king’s man under their roof, they had sung too much. All the people she loved dearest in the world were in that room, and, looking at Jonas with his flame red beard and raucous laugh, she could even feel the spirit of her grandfather beside her.
As tired as she was, she ordered a hot bath and soaked away the salty rime that made her hair feel like wire and her skin like parchment. When the last vapors of steam had expired, she towelled herself dry and donned a shapeless shirt for sleeping. She had learned from experience that while her brothers may have appeared to collapsed into drunken stupors, they were not adverse to creeping into her room an hour later and playing a prank that proved costly if they found her. The last time she had outfoxed them, they had thrown her naked into a vat of indigo dye and the stains had taken weeks to fade away.
As a precaution, she bundled a roll of pillows under the blankets of her bed and arranged it to look like a sleeping body. She doused the lamp and crept to the opposite wing of the house, careful to light no candles or leave any clues behind. With luck the Hell Twins would search her room and assume she had gone back to the Iron Rose.
The furniture in the room she had chosen was covered in white sheets, the windows latched shut. Needing air, she raised the sashes and opened the french doors, then went out onto the wide balcony to wait for the room to cool. Most of the lanterns on the lower tier had been doused and apart from the glow that came from several windows closer to the front of the house, the rest were dark. There was nothing as extravagant as the sixty-five bedrooms Harrowgate Hall had to boast, but there were half dozen chambers on the upper floor that were furnished for phantom guests who never came.
The shrill humming from the cicatrices was constant, a sound that took a day or two for Juliet to adapt to after several weeks at sea. The breeze rustling through the palms was similar to the rush of waves beneath the keel, and helped ease the transition. Far below was the lighted circle of the harbor with its cluster of ships riding at anchor. They looked almost insignificant from such a height, like toys in a pond.
She was not exactly sure when she realized she was not alone on the balcony, or how she knew the identity of the dark silhouette leaning back against the wall. The tingle in her breasts, perhaps, or the feathery shiver that ran down her spine.
“This is not a good night for you to be creeping about in the dark, your grace.”
“I merely came out of my room, which is there—” he said, turning slightly to indicate a set of open doors— “for a breath of fresh air. Furthermore, with all the shouting and singing going on below, sleep was proving to be somewhat elusive.”
Juliet smoothed back a lock of hair that had blown across her face. “We are not accustomed to catering to the needs of house guests.”
“Or prisoners?”
“As it happens, we do have a sturdy hut on the beach with bars in the windows and a bolt on the door. If you would prefer those accommodations—?”
“Mea culpa.” He held his hand over his breast. “It was a poor riposte. All things considered, you have been more than generous.”
“Benedicamus domino’.” She issued the blessing with a mock bow.
“Ex hoc munc et usque in seculum,” he murmured. “You know the Catholic liturgy?”
“I make it a point to know my enemy’s weaknesses and strengths,” she replied in Castilian. “I know their faults,” she added in French, “I know their foibles—” in Dutch— “and I know how to play one against the other,” she concluded in Latin.
“All that,” he mused, “and you can sail a ship through rip tides, shoot a pea off the masthead—which Johnny Boy was only too proud to inform me—and wield a sword like the devil’s own angel.”
An eyebrow took a brief quirk upward. “I suppose you think a woman should be nothing more than an adornment for a man’s arm?”
“Good God in heaven, no. I am in consummate awe of any female who can discuss more than fashion and the state of the weather.”
She humphf-ed and muttered disdainfully in Portuguese, “As long as they are soft and plump and lay beneath you like submissive starfish.”
“A soft body can be a comfort at times,” he agreed quietly.
His Portuguese was not quite as effortless as Juliet’s, but the fact he understood what she said s
ucceeded in unnerving her again.
“Do you enter into every conversation with the intent to annoy?”
“Not every one,” he admitted.
“Just those with me.”
He smiled crookedly. “You cannot deny that you throw down your own share of gauntlets, Juliet.”
“Which you pick up and fling back at every opportunity... Varian.”
His smile turned into a soft laugh. “I take my points where I may, for you do not allow too many openings. Your tongue is as sharp as your sword and I confess your proficiency with both weapons intrigues me. I believe I can say with complete and absolute honesty that I have never met a woman quite like you before. One who provokes the most violent urges to throttle one minute, and the next... ”
She arched her eyebrow again. “Yes? And the next... ?”
Varian clamped his teeth and cursed inwardly. He had seen the trap and fallen into it anyway. Even worse, his eyes had lost the battle to remain fixed above her chin and were making a recklessly slow and dangerous journey down the length of her throat to where the collar of her oversized shirt hung loosely open.
He had not been able to sleep. Delivered to his room by the two stout bulwarks, he had been given stern orders he was to remain inside. Beacom was nowhere in sight, locked away in another room, he supposed. With not much else to occupy his time, Varian had taken advantage of the hot bath and hearty meal provided, but the instant he had stretched out on the feather mattress, the queasy feeling he had experienced on the jetty had returned. The room was on solid foundations but he was still moving, rolling with imaginary waves, and to avoid spewing his fine meal into his lap, he’d paced a while. He’d sat with his heads in his hands and pondered his situation. He’d listened to the muted sounds of singing and revelry from somewhere below, and in the end, he had flung the french doors open and stepped out onto the veranda, fully anticipating another brace of guards posted there to turn him back.
What he found was a wide, deserted sweep of balcony. There were no barriers between the rooms, no guards to bar his way as he walked the full length of the one wing then rounded the corner and strolled across the front of the house. He counted off more than a hundred paces before reaching the end. There he met an ivy covered lattice wall that barred intrusion along the western wing of the house and he assumed that those were the family’s private quarters, including the rooms that would be occupied by Juliet Dante.
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