The Merchant's Yield

by Lorri Dudley

  “Pass me the powder and another slug.” Lottie held out her hand. “I’m getting closer. This time I will hit it.”

  He shook his head. “I’m afraid that was the last of my supplies. We’ll try again another day.”

  Disappointment shadowed her eyes, but she flashed him a smile with a determined glint. “I’ll redeem myself. Mark my words.”

  “Of that, I have no doubt.” She was full of surprises. When he’d taught Katherine how to shoot, she’d complained about the pain in her arms, yet Lottie had held up well today for such a delicate woman. He tucked the pistol and powder bag back into his satchel and hefted it onto his shoulder. Balancing it with one hand, he offered her his other arm. “It’s time we head back.”

  She looped her arm through the crook of his elbow.

  His steps slowed, and he was surprised to find he wasn’t eager for their time to end. On a whim, he said, “There’s much still to see before we lose the light.”

  Her eyes sparkled. “Truly?”

  “It’s about time I showed you your holdings, Lady Winthrop.”

  He heard her light intake of air.

  They reached the gig, and he set down the barrel. Then he collected their shoes from where they left them at the start of the path. Both of them sat on the barrel to dust the sand off their feet before donning their stockings and boots.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her delicate pink toes. She glanced at him, but he quickly looked away. He helped her into the gig, and she settled into the seat.

  An air of excitement raised the fine hairs on his arms.

  “Do I look presentable?” She straightened her gown and fiddled with her bonnet.

  He needed to set her expectations properly. “Now, mind you. It’s a humble holding, especially the main house.”

  She nodded and bit her bottom lip, but the corners still curved into a shy smile.

  He flicked the reins, and the horses trotted away. He turned them back the way they’d come.

  Lottie’s neck craned. “Is that part of St. Kitts, or is that another island?”

  He followed her gaze. “That’s our sister island, Nevis. See the clouds that hover around the top of the mountain? It got its name, the Spanish word for snow, because the clouds make it appear like a snow-capped mountain. There’s only a strip of inlet called the narrows that separates us. It’s tricky to navigate a boat through because of the tide and strong currents.”

  She tilted her head back, allowing the sun to spill upon her face. “Smell the tropical breeze.” Her eyes fluttered closed, then opened again.

  It smelled like home to him.

  “It’s so wild and free. There are colors and life everywhere.”

  And death.

  “It’s what I imagine the Garden of Eden must have been like.”

  An image of Lottie with her long red hair unbound, biting into an apple with only fig leaves… He shook his head to clear his errant thoughts, but a part of him screamed. She’s your wife. Remember Song of Solomon? You’re supposed to be enjoying the fruits of your youth.

  Her wide eyes locked on him. “What was it like to grow up on the island?”

  He ran a hand over his lower jaw. How could he explain? “Much like living in the countryside of England, but a little more lenient on social standards and propriety. When people have a greater risk of death from disease, their priorities change. We have our own assembly, which governs and reports back to England. We have churches and schools. In fact”—he pointed up to a stone arch on the mountainside—“I attended both church and school at that very spot. That was, until I was shipped off to attend Eton.”

  She gaped at him. “You attended Eton in England?”

  His jaw tightened at her obvious surprise. “Are my manners so uncouth?”

  “No, it’s not that.”

  She placed a hand on his arm, and a tingling sensation spread up into his shoulder.

  “I’m only surprised because it’s a far journey, especially for one so young. How old were you?”

  “Age eight.”

  “Were you scared to travel to a country you’d never seen?” Sympathy shone in her eyes. After all, she had just undergone the same.

  “To me, it was an adventure. I took to the ship and its crew immediately. I followed the captain around like a shadow the entire voyage. It might be why I was so drawn to the shipping industry.”

  “Did you enjoy Eton?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Because of the conditions? I heard the food is dreadful.”

  “I’m not certain the mush they fed us could be considered food, but it didn’t bother me.”

  “Was it the strict rules?”

  He grinned. “Indeed, that was a part of it.”

  “I’ve heard the schoolmasters can be harsh.” She crossed her arms. “Especially with punishments.”

  “I’d say my punishment was fair. They sent me down to rusticate.”

  “Expelled!” Her mouth dropped open. “Truly? May I ask what you did?”

  “I rode the school master’s horse.”

  “Well, that doesn’t seem a crime fitting enough to be rusticated.”

  His smile grew parting his lips. “It is when you use the horse to leap over the headmaster’s dining table.”

  She cupped a hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened into two large liquid pools.

  “While the headmaster was still sitting at it.”

  Her hand lowered. “How did you…? I can’t believe… Why would you attempt such a feat?”

  “I was dared.”

  “You risked rustication for a dare?”

  He shrugged. “My honor was at stake.”

  She stared at him as if waiting for an explanation.

  “Children can be cruel, especially to a foreigner. They teased me, betting among themselves that I ate pepper pots while sitting on the floor. They mimicked my accent and imitated my loose gait and how I dangled my arms. I was young. For the most part, I ignored their comments, but when they bet I couldn’t seat a horse, I decided I’d had enough.” He glanced her way.

  “Seeing the looks on the other students’ faces as I wheeled the horse with perfect control was well worth the lashing I endured later. My father wasn’t happy with my return, but I’d like to say I kept my honor and earned the respect of my peers.” He rubbed a hand across his chin. “I can still picture the headmaster’s face, his eyes wide as he dove out of the way. He had nothing to fear. I easily cleared both him and the table.”

  Lottie burst out laughing. If only he had a million stories so he could make her laugh like that every day. She held her stomach and had to wipe the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Merciful heavens. At least, you were better at rebelling than I was. I should have asked you for pointers on confidence. Maybe then I wouldn’t have gotten nervous and dropped the candle.” She chortled out a sigh. “I too can still see a face—my mother’s. Her expression still haunts me. In all my life, I’d never seen Mama so upset that she lost her capacity of speech.”

  Nathan forced a straight expression. “I’m glad you said something, for I wake up screaming at night because of the same memory.” He shivered. “Gives me the chills.” His lips twitched.

  Another round of mirth swept over Lottie. This time she didn’t bother to wipe away the tears that coursed down her cheeks. “Please stop.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. “My stomach aches.”

  They bumped along the road, and Lottie swept a shy glance his direction.

  “What?”

  “It’s silly really.” She waved a hand as if to push away the thought. “Did you ever…?”

  He glanced at her quickly. “Did I ever what?”

  “There was talk in the market.” She raised a gloved finger to her mouth, frowned, and dropped her hand back to her side. “Merely something I overheard.”

  He braced himself and focused on the road ahead. His smile faded.

  The curse.

  Chapter 1
8

  I shall be joining my brother, Pierre, in the American state of Louisiana, but I shall not forget the debt I owe you. If ever you are in need of a favor…

  ~ From Mr. Jean Lafitte written to Nathan seven years prior

  “Of course, I found the gossip absurd.” Nathan watched Lottie adjust her bonnet as she spoke. “You being friendly with a pirate. Ridiculous, really.”

  The tension melted from his body. Maybe she hadn’t heard he was cursed? “They were probably referring to Pierre and Jean Lafitte.”

  Her eyes widened. “So you are acquainted with them?”

  “I attended the military academy with Jean. Pierre is a few years his senior.” Would his past friendship with Jean lower her opinion of him?

  “Pirates attend military academies?”

  “Jean Lafitte did not plan to become a pirate.”

  “You know him well then?” Surprise laced her tone.

  Honesty was the best recourse, but he searched her face for any hint of disdain. Even though he found none, he shrugged to make it seem commonplace to befriend a pirate. “We sailed aboard the same ship as recruits. He set his hopes on being a privateer, but there were signs even then. Jean always had a daring side. His quick temper got him into trouble on more than one occasion, but his charisma and wit made him a natural leader.”

  “Isn’t it dangerous to associate with pirates?”

  “I haven’t crossed paths with either Lafitte in years, almost a decade.” A slow grin parted his lips as a memory resurfaced, and he chuckled. “Not since I saved his hide.”

  “How so?”

  “We’d finished running a drill. The weather had been particularly hot that day. There wasn’t a bit of breeze, and the sun beat down as we finished dueling practice. We were eager to cool off with a swim. The ocean beckoned us like a siren. Lafitte conned another fellow into finishing his duties and made a big show of diving into the water first. I had an entire deck to swab and had to listen to him taunt me with how good the water felt. He bobbed in the waves and teased us heartily. The other men groaned and fussed. We all had at least another hour’s worth of grueling work until we could join him.

  “After a while, we all tuned him out, but then he became too quiet. I peered over the rail, expecting to see him relaxing in the water. I can still see his hair flowing like seaweed. I kept thinking he’d surface at any moment and mock me for still having work to do, but he didn’t. Never had seconds felt so long. Something had to be wrong. I jumped overboard from the upper deck and swam to him. I grabbed his arm. Instantly, my hand burned.”

  “Burned?”

  “Lafitte had been paralyzed by a man-of-war.”

  “What’s a man-of-war?”

  “It’s a large jellyfish with tentacles that can stretch longer than a man’s body. Its sting burns like the dickens and can momentarily render a man immobile.”

  “Were you frightened?”

  “There wasn’t much time to think about it, but afterward I shook like a leaf.”

  “Had he been under the water long?”

  “Thankfully, no. Lafitte coughed and sputtered as he surfaced, but touching him transferred the burning sensation into my own body. I lost function of my hand, and he submerged back under the waves.”

  “Oh my.” Her fingers splayed over her chest.

  “I was able to tread water with my legs and good arm while I called for help. A rope was thrown to us, but I couldn’t dare touch Jean lest I suffer his same fate. I had no choice but to reel him in by his hair.”

  “Heavens.” Her eyes widened.

  “I looped the rope over him, and the crew hefted him over the rail. As I climbed aboard, the poor bloke lay on the deck, writhing in pain.” He struggled to suppress his smile.

  “Are you laughing?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “At least, not at his discomfort. It’s merely that…” He hesitated, challenged by the delicate phrasing. “There is a known remedy on the island to ease the pain of a jellyfish sting. It is…well, it may not be appropriate for a lady’s ears.”

  “But I must know.”

  “Let’s just say that, as I pulled myself onto the deck, the crew stood around Lafitte…er… relieving themselves.”

  She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, but he caught the hint of a smile before she did so.

  “Lafitte’s temper flared. His words made even the most foulmouthed man appear civil. Burly men blushed like maidens.”

  “Under the circumstances, I daresay, he deserved a little grace.”

  “He settled down and even thanked me later for saving his life. He promised to repay the favor someday, but shortly thereafter, we were assigned separate commands.”

  “It’s probably for the best, considering his decision to become a pirate.”

  “Indeed.”

  They continued down the narrow road back through Basseterre and past the Romney plantation. Whenever Nathan glanced her way, he found her smiling. Having her by his side chased away the heavy cloud of his burdens. His shoulders felt lighter and his chest…hopeful. His waif of a woman had the fortitude of a weathered sailor. Only a brave woman could survive living with Lady Etheridge, and it couldn’t have been easy to stand up to her mother the night of the Middleton party. She had the courage to leave her family and sail across the Atlantic with a near stranger, and then she’d survived the worst episode of seasickness he’d ever witnessed. Many men with hopes of becoming sailors never sailed again after suffering lesser bouts. Maybe he’d underestimated her.

  The vibrant color of her hair suited her passion for life. The way her expressive eyes—fringed with those long lashes—widened with delight at the smallest of things, sprouted new growth in his dead heart. He loved the soft feel of her skin and how she was the perfect height. He could tuck her head under his chin and wrap his arms around her narrow waist.

  “Is something amiss?”

  He blinked and shook his head.

  “It’s merely that you keep looking at me with such a strange expression.”

  Desire. It’s called desire. She wouldn’t know anything about that. But maybe...He gritted his teeth. What about the curse? Would he bring the curse upon her too? He couldn’t bear to watch the vibrant light within Lottie extinguish.

  He turned the team up a dirt road lined on both sides with the long reeds of sugar cane. The roofline of Calico Manor rested on the hill. Had this been a wise idea?

  In the fields ahead, his men hacked away at the cane with machetes, while the women bundled it. They sang as they worked, cutting the reeds in rhythm.

  Lottie sat up higher in her seat. “Listen to their music.” She raised a finger and tapped the tempo in the air. “So soulful and rhythmic.”

  Her excitement peeled away his doubts. If only he could harness her enthusiasm.

  The workers spied them pulling up the lane. Their singing ceased abruptly, but they continued working.

  “Why did they stop? It was so beautiful.”

  “Planters don’t encourage their heathen customs and songs. Many believe it will lead to uprisings and rebellions.”

  “And what do you believe?”

  Nathan shrugged. “I haven’t thought about it much.”

  She stared at the laborers as they passed, and if any of them dared to make eye contact, she smiled. “It looks like exhausting work. I do believe I’d need a little music to keep going.”

  “We’re coming up on the main house.” He slowed the horses. Would she see the dilapidated building and the unfinished kitchen and beg him to return her to England? Even as he perspired under the hot sun, regret chilled his skin. “I need to warn you. It’s unfit for a lady. The house I grew up in was bigger, but a tropical storm destroyed a wing and most of the second floor. I’ve rebuilt, and it’s sound, but if Mama were alive, I would have restored it in its entirety.”

  Lottie rested a hand on his arm. Her gaze filled with compassion. “I’m so sorry about your family.”

  The too f
amiliar stab of sorrow seized his chest, but the warmth of her hand kept his focus on the living. He nodded.

  His overseer, Marcus, was headed back up to the main house. Lunch would be served shortly, and everyone would soon gather.

  He pulled in front of the cottage house in which he’d been raised, and saw it now from a stranger’s eyes. Gone were the brightly colored shutters. He’d replaced them with plain white. Mama’s neatly laid flowerbeds had been choked out with weeds. The stone foundation had been raised to encompass the first floor because stone better withstood storms. The second floor was comprised of wood, a material easier to replace than stone after a hurricane. It had been replaced four times already, three before he was born and once after. The roofline extended out on all but one side to provide additional shade and terraced porches. On that one side, a stone wall, which used to be the foundation for the rest of the house, led to an outdoor fireplace, which was formerly the kitchen.

  Adana, their cook, huddled near a large pot hung over the fire and used a large spoon to ladle rice and fish onto wooden plates. Chickens scratched the ground in the side yard outside their coop, and a goat neighed out back.

  He jumped down and turned to assist Lottie. When she was steady on the ground, he said, “Welcome to Calico Manor.”

  She surveyed the grounds with a hint of wonderment in her eyes and a small smile. Her chin tilted up as her focus followed the fields of cane halfway up Mount Misery, then lowered as her gaze swept over the house. She paused on the large twisted branches of the Saman tree. Some of its low limbs reached down as if to steady itself. “This is where you played as a boy?”

  “I spent many hours in that tree.”

  She held his gaze, perhaps searching for the boy within. An easy smile swept across her lips.

  He reached out to pull her in and kiss that alluring mouth. It teased him with its softness, but he stopped. Instead, he slid his hand around her back and escorted her over to where Marcus now stood at the hand pump, drying his hands after washing off the grime.

  “Lottie, may I present to you Mr. Tallant, overseer of Calico Manor, it’s land, and holdings.”