Pirates of Britannia Box Set

by Devlin, Barbara

  A flurry of activity below caught her attention, her horror increasing as a dozen or so black men and women were prodded out of a hole in the deck and shuffled into a line. They were manacled together, causing many to stumble as they came out of darkness into the bright sunlight.

  The overseers walked along the line, peering at each face as if they were inspecting a herd of cattle, then examining arms for the marks of ownership branded into the skin of many slaves. They tapped two men and the two women on the shoulder with the whips, and English sailors separated those from the others.

  The four were chained together with metal collars around their necks and prodded down the gangplank, followed by a Royal Navy seaman who accepted what she surmised was a bag of coin from one of the overseers. She gripped a nearby railing, indignation and disgust warring within her as the recaptured slaves disappeared into the crowd with the overseers. She feared they would be severely beaten for running away. Maitland’s superiors were likely unaware he was using a British navy ship as a slaver.

  Her complaints about Manuela’s strict expectations seemed childish in the face of what these people endured. Maitland was right, she was naive.

  She was about to turn away, unwilling to watch as the remaining slaves were herded back into the hold, but one of them caught her eye. He looked up and her blood froze when their gazes met. She’d seen him before, with Santiago, at the Letter of Marque ceremony, and again at Mosé.

  He smiled, looking defiant and confident, despite his chains, and suddenly she didn’t feel so very alone.

  Don’t worry, his eyes seemed to say.

  And she knew then Santiago would come.

  Santiago loved the sea, but feared he might go mad if they didn’t sight land soon. He shouldn’t question Izar’s judgement. However, without Christian at his side, things just weren’t as they should be.

  He paced the fore-deck, hands behind his back, unable to resist the temptation to look up at Xiang every few minutes.

  Melchor, on the other hand, simply stood ramrod straight beside the ship’s rail, staring out to sea for hours on end. Santiago’s heart and belly were in knots over Valentina’s plight, but she was Melchor’s flesh and blood, his only child.

  Through no fault of his own, the diplomat had been forced to surrender the colonial territory that had been entrusted to his governance. He had done his utmost to ensure any Floridano who wanted to flee had the opportunity, then ultimately been betrayed by his second in command.

  Honor would prevent him ever returning to Spain, and Santiago knew from personal experience how difficult it was to prosper in Cuba without money. Melchor had lost everything.

  Deeming it time to build bridges, Santiago took the steps down from the fore-deck and joined Melchor on deck. “This is probably of little consolation to you, Your Honor, but I care deeply for Valentina.”

  The former governor kept his eyes on the waves. “She is certainly taken with you.”

  A worm was eating away at Santiago’s innards and he suspected Melchor was similarly afflicted. The issue had to be faced. “Whatever befalls Valentina in the course of her ordeal will make no difference to my feelings.”

  Melchor gasped. “I would do anything to spare my little girl such dishonor.”

  Santiago felt obliged to break the silence that followed. “I dare say you hoped she would one day marry a nobleman, not a pirate.”

  Melchor scoffed. “A nobleman like Montserrat, perhaps, who has betrayed me and absconded with with daughter? Or like the captain of an English ship who steals away in the night with the intent of enslaving free men and women?”

  Santiago had no answer so he remained silent.

  Melchor finally turned to look at him. “You forget, Velázquez, I know your history. I know why you fled Spain and the reason you became a pirate. Sometimes a man has no control over the disasters that befall him.”

  Santiago nodded, knowing the governor spoke from the heart. “But we do our best to rise above the evils others inflict on us.”

  To his surprise, Melchor gripped his shoulder. “And you will rise above this. Few men would risk what you’re risking for a woman, for my Valentina. I couldn’t wish for a better man for my daughter.”

  Valentina took every opportunity that Maitland offered to go out on deck while the ship remained docked in Nassau taking on supplies. It was preferable to sweltering in the cabin, though the pitiful cries and moans of the recaptured slaves in the hold could be heard even over the hubbub of the busy port.

  In the late afternoon of the first day, Maitland invited her to return to the cabin for a meal. She was in truth too nauseous to eat, but saw an opportunity. “Have the prisoners been fed and given water?”

  He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

  “Then I will not eat or drink until you can assure me they have.”

  He arched a brow. “And why should I care if you starve?”

  Fluttering her eyelashes, she tried to steady her breathing. “Because you seek to be in my good graces.”

  He laughed. “Perhaps, you’re not as naive as I thought, young lady.”

  She breathed again when he left to issue the orders. He had kept his hands off her so far, but she suspected once they arrived in Jamaica and he wasn’t subject to the scrutiny of his men, things would be different. She’d have to cross that bridge when she came to it, but for now she determined to use his lust for the good of the slaves. If it meant behaving like a courtesan, so be it.

  He returned to the fore-deck and they watched together as bread and water were lowered into the hold.

  “Satisfied?” he asked, proffering his arm as the hatch was moved back into place.

  “Surely you can grant them air for a little while?” she said.

  Smiling indulgently, he gave the order to Collins who hurried down to the deck to pass it on to the crew.

  Her confidence faltered when the smile left his face as he took hold of her hand and brushed a kiss on her knuckles. “I think that’s enough, don’t you?”

  Seeing no point in arguing further, she allowed him to escort her back to the cabin.

  The meal laid out on his desk looked surprisingly appetizing—baked fish, crusty bread, a variety of cheeses and fresh fruits, as well as a decanter of red wine.

  A small sprig of orange blossom lay in the center of the desk. Memories of Alessandro constricted her throat. It was possible the captain’s young servant was responsible for the gesture, though she doubted it. Maitland was making overtures, trying to let her know he was a worthy suitor.

  The prospect almost made her gag, but she was the daughter of a diplomat. She resolved to use any skills she might have inherited to turn the situation to her advantage.

  He pulled out a chair for her. “I hope you’re hungry, my dear.”

  “Ravenous,” she lied, finding it easier to flutter her eyelashes at him this time.

  It became obvious during the dinner conversation that Maitland was an educated man with a sense of humor. He was likely not much older than Santiago, and certainly handsome, yet she felt no spark of attraction. Perhaps it was due to the circumstances. He was an accomplice in her abduction. She suspected he was a married man, probably with a wife in England. Not much different in fact from Montserrat, though Maitland was so thoroughly English, he would never betray his country.

  She sipped the fine wine, listening to his repartee, and came to the realization her feelings had nothing to do with the circumstances. She simply wasn’t drawn to him in the way she’d been instantly drawn to Santiago. There was no alchemy.

  Curious about the boy who slipped in and out to remove dishes and replenish their glasses, she asked. “Your servant seems very young, a child almost.”

  “Master Collins? Probably eleven or twelve.”

  “He would not be allowed to serve in my country’s navy.”

  “Well, my dear, he ran away to sea after his father beat his mother to death. I took pity on the lad. My own father…” He stopped in mi
d-sentence and clenched his jaw. “Enough of that. You’re tired.”

  He’d revealed more of himself than he intended, and it wasn’t surprising Collins served him willingly.

  He bade her a polite goodnight, promising a whole new wardrobe with fine night attire once they arrived in Jamaica.

  Choking on her revulsion, she crawled into the bunk fully clothed. The cabin was uncomfortably hot, but she considered herself fortunate when she tried to imagine the conditions the slaves were enduring.

  She thought of Santiago’s negro crewman. Was he gazing into nothingness like she was, praying for Santiago to come to their rescue soon?

  Life or Death

  “Lagidland,” Xiang yelled.

  “What’s he saying?” Melchor asked.

  “Ragged Island,” Santiago explained. “It’s part of an isolated chain of the most southerly Bahamas. We’ve often used one or other of the small cays in the bay as a safe haven.”

  “So you intend to wait there?”

  Santiago nodded. “It will give us a chance to consider our options and plot our next course of action. The Lively won’t have taken the same circuitous route, so we have no way of knowing if she has already passed through the Windward Passage between Cuba and Saint-Domingue. If she hasn’t, I don’t want to be out in the open sea when we encounter her. If she has…”

  “They’re out of our reach in Jamaica.”

  Santiago preferred not to acknowledge that possibility. For two days, they hadn’t encountered a single ship. It was as if all the combatants knew the war was over and had sent their fleets to friendly ports. Which meant Kingston harbor would probably be crammed with Royal Navy ships.

  He inhaled deeply as the Santa María sailed into what he considered one of the most beautiful bays in the whole Atlantic. The shallow waters teeming with dolphins were of a turquoise color he’d seen nowhere else. He would bring Valentina here when…

  “Raccoon Cay, dead ahead,” Izar shouted.

  Santiago gritted his teeth. It was a sharp reminder of the treacherous dog he intended to kill. “I doubt my navigator chose this particular little island on purpose,” he assured the puzzled Melchor with a wry smile.

  “Nevertheless, let us consider it a good omen,” the diplomat replied.

  They dropped anchor in the shelter of the cay. Santiago called Izar and Melchor to his cabin where they pored over the charts they had of the area.

  The cabin soon reeked of smoke from Izar’s pipe clenched firmly between his teeth. Melchor began to cough, drowning out the navigator’s words. Santiago’s eyes watered to a degree he could barely see the charts. “Can you dispense with the pipe, Izar?” he finally asked.

  The Basque frowned. “My pipe?”

  “Sí,” Melchor rasped, waving his hand back and forth like a fan. “Too much smoke.”

  Izar took the pipe out of his mouth, rapped it on the desk and swept the resulting detritus onto the floor with his hand. “Why didn’t you say so before?” he said, clearly annoyed.

  Hoping the hot tobacco didn’t flame to life on the planking, Santiago brought their attention back to the charts. He ran his finger from the eastern tip of Cuba to the western shore of Saint-Domingue. “It’s a distance of roughly sixty miles, but I’ll wager the British will want to sail close to the middle of the channel. If there are any French or Spanish vessels still patrolling, they’ll stick close to shore. What say you, Izar?”

  The Basque stared blankly at the charts, scratching his head. “I cannot seem to think without my pipe.”

  Melchor rolled his eyes.

  Santiago picked up the pipe and thrust it at his navigator. “Just put it in your mouth then.”

  Izar clamped his teeth on the clay stem, and brightened instantly. “That’s better. You’re right, but it’s a moot point if they’ve already reached Kingston. On the other hand, they may have called into Nassau, which means they are behind us.”

  “Only one thing for it then,” Santiago declared. “King George II will sail to Jamaica.”

  Valentina was relieved to leave Nassau after two days in the foul-smelling port, though it meant the voyage to Jamaica was once again underway. Out on deck, she inhaled the warm sea breeze, intrigued by the turquoise color of the Bahamian waters.

  On their second day in Nassau, she’d seen Montserrat leave the ship, but had no idea if he’d returned. On the one hand, she hoped not, but the notion of playing the rivals off against each other was the only plan she’d come up with so far. She acknowledged ruefully it wasn’t much of a plan. Maitland held the upper hand and would win any confrontation. Then she’d still be in his clutches.

  Unless the men killed each other.

  Her stomach churned at the extreme unlikelihood—a measure of her growing panic.

  She hadn’t seen Santiago’s man since the first day in Nassau. If she could just get a glimpse of those reassuring eyes…another sign of her desperation.

  She wasn’t conversant with the exact geography of the island territories south of La Florida, but knew that Cuba wasn’t far from Jamaica. Perhaps she could jump overboard and swim to the Spanish island if she caught sight of the shoreline. But how to be certain it was Cuba? She’d never learned to swim, but it was her only hope of escape. Better to drown than live a life of degradation as Maitland’s amante.

  Xiang’s keen eyesight would alert Santiago to the nationality of any nearby ships.

  The crew could likely run up various flags and change his ship’s identity in their sleep.

  Nevertheless, nervous anticipation plagued him as the Santa María left the Atlantic. They entered the Windward Passage decked out in Spanish colors, hugging the heavily treed Cuban coastline.

  It was imperative this venture succeed. The lives of two people dear to him depended on it. Every other escapade had been an adventure, a lark, a way to thumb his nose at authority.

  This was life or death. Valentina’s pride might lead her to do something rash if she thought there was no hope of rescue. Christian would risk everything to regain his freedom.

  Santiago decided not to attempt a direct crossing to Jamaica from the south coast of Cuba. The Royal Navy was more likely to be patrolling that stretch. As soon as Izar gave the nod, they hoisted the topsails and increased speed, making a run for it south-east across the open waters of the Caribbean to the isolated westernmost tip of Saint-Domingue. Vessels usually abounded in these waters, but his hunch that most of France’s Caribbean fleet had retreated to the capital of Cap Français seemed to be paying off.

  They spent the night at anchor off the coast of Saint-Domingue and set off at dawn as the King George II. They were more than halfway to Jamaica when they were challenged by a British frigate.

  Once again, Robertson’s authentic brogue and abrasive manner convinced the Royal Navy captain to allow them to proceed into Kingston harbor.

  Tensions Rise

  The Lively encountered only a handful of British ships, none of them naval vessels, which led Valentina to believe the remote islands they were passing were still part of the Bahamas. The ship came close to several of the islands on its zigzag course, but they looked deserted and barren. There was no point risking her life in the water only to end up in enemy territory or alone on an island.

  The further south they sailed, the hotter it became; the gritty wind felt like it had blown across a desert before filling the sails. She spent most of the daylight hours on deck to escape the airless cabin rendered all the more uncomfortable by the large window.

  The moans and cries from the hold had ceased, and Valentina feared some of the captives might have succumbed to the heat. It was a small consolation that water was lowered down to them on a regular basis. She harangued Maitland about their inhumane treatment at every opportunity when they dined together, but he merely smiled indulgently and changed the topic of conversation.

  Santiago concealed his amusement when a Royal Navy launch escorted King George II to a vacant moorage in Kingston’s sheltered harb
or.

  Robertson surpassed himself in his role as captain, doffing his top hat to the British sailors as they rowed away.

  It came as a relief that they hadn’t spotted HMS Lively among the ships riding at anchor. However, lingering in Kingston might put them on a collision course with the British ship if it was still on the way to Jamaica.

  “We must sail back to Cuba as soon as possible to lie in wait in Guantanamo Bay,” Santiago told Melchor.

  He saw no point in hiding the truth of his pirating ways and Valentina’s father wasn’t a seafaring man. “We’ve used the tactic many times, staying upwind of ships we’ve plundered, thus preventing our prey from turning to meet the challenge.”

  “However,” Melchor replied, “HMS Lively carries far more firepower than the merchantmen you’ve preyed upon.”

  “Verdad, but it’s unlikely she has heavy cannon in the stern, and the flimsy structure around the large windows of the officers’ cabins makes her vulnerable to an attack from behind.”

  Melchor mopped his brow. “She won’t be expecting an attack now the war is over. You can take her by surprise and rake the stern with cannon fire.”

  Santiago explained further. “Hopefully, we can aim a shot that will fly the length of the decks and cause enough panic the ship will be unable to turn against the wind in time to broadside us with her guns.”

  “But what if Valentina is in one of the cabins? And slaves are normally chained in the hold. You might kill or maim the very people we are trying to save.”

  They spent several hours with Izar trying to devise a plan to rescue Valentina and Christian. It became a frustrating exercise, made all the more urgent by the reality of a storm already causing the King George II to pitch and roll.

  Santiago made a decision. “We have to get underway. I don’t want to be pinned down in Jamaica.”

  Izar nodded. “According to the weather glass, it’s going to get much worse.”

  “At least the conditions will keep the Royal Navy busy and hopefully they won’t pay attention to our departure.”