The Marauder (Pirates of Britannia Book 11)

by Anna Markland

  “Good, you’ve regained your wits,” the governor said gruffly. “We need your ship. They’ve taken Valentina.”

  “And my first mate,” Santiago replied through gritted teeth. “Slavers.”

  But why take Valentina?

  The truth dawned as he recalled who had led them into the trap. His gut roiled. “Montserrat?”

  Melchor nodded. “I’ve had my suspicions for a while about his designs on my daughter, and about his loyalty. Can a Spaniard ever really trust a Catalán? One of the British ships slipped away in the night, and I’ll wager he’s gone with them. We must go in pursuit.”

  “But how do we know where they’ve gone?”

  “That’s easy,” Izar the Navigator said. “HMS Lively is based in Jamaica.”

  Santiago’s heart bled for his beloved Valentina and his loyal friend. “That makes sense,” he rasped.

  Xiang fussed over him all the way to the skiff. He noticed most of the Cuban vessels had already departed, which meant at least some of the refugees were on their way to freedom. He would never forget the despair in the eyes of the desperate blacks chained and gagged in the launch. And now Christian was among them.

  His anger knew no bounds when he remembered seeing Valentina in the launch, oblivious to what was transpiring. But she would probably have awakened by now. He could well imagine her indignation. “Montserrat might come to rue the day he tangled with your daughter,” he told Melchor.

  “He will when I get my hands on him.”

  Santiago shook his head. “No, Your Excellency, I claim the right to deal with Señor Mapache.”

  Melchor smiled grimly. “That’s what Valentina calls him.”

  “I didn’t know that,” he confessed, “though I’ll wager she’s using a few more colorful names now.”

  “Perro traicianero,” Valentina shrieked. “Treacherous dog,” she repeated in English so Maitland couldn’t fail to understand the depths of her contempt. Abducting her was one thing, betraying his country…

  But then he was from Cataluña.

  “Ratón,” she growled, glowering at the wretch cowering behind Maitland as she advanced on him.

  “I’m beginning to understand the scratches,” the Englishman jested.

  “Traitor,” she hissed.

  Maitland’s smile disappeared as he held up a hand. “Amusing as this is, Miss Melchor, I’ll ask you to refrain from attacking Montserrat. He is, unfortunately, considered valuable by my government.”

  “My father will kill him,” she spat.

  And Santiago will cut out your heart.

  Montserrat seemed to find his courage after hearing the Englishman’s words. “You’ll never see your father again, and as for that pirate…”

  Fortunately for the Raccoon, Maitland strong-armed him out of the cabin before she had a chance to scratch out his sunken eyes.

  “Do you need anything, miss?” Collins asked.

  She suspected the lad had understood very little of what had been said, and his genuine wide-eyed concern calmed her rage. “No, gracias.”

  Left alone, she strode over to the mullioned window, looked out at the endless sea, and dissolved into tears.

  A bath and clean clothing improved Santiago’s humor, though his head still throbbed when he emerged onto the deck of the Santa María.

  “The sea air will help,” Izar declared, as if sensing his captain’s malady.

  Santiago inhaled, admitting inwardly that the warm sea breeze on his face and the smell of the sea did make him feel better. But he wished the Basque would refrain from blowing smoke from his pipe all over him. “You’ve set a course for Jamaica?”

  He had learned long ago never to question the competent navigator, but they were heading east, not south.

  “We’ll turn south when I’m confident we won’t run into the Royal Navy,” Izar explained, once again reading his thoughts. “We’ll thread the needle through the more isolated islands of the Bahamas, then hopefully catch up with the Lively in the Windward Passage between Cuba and Saint-Domingue. Her captain will be cautious plying those hostile waters, despite the British victory.”

  Santiago looked at the sails, thinking of the anguish his stalwart first mate and his lovely Valentina must be enduring. “It’s imperative we intercept before they reach Jamaica. We’d never be able to extricate them from that British stronghold.”

  Izar nodded. “If the wind holds, we’ll manage it. The Santa María is lighter than the Lively. Not as many guns.”

  Santiago clenched his jaw. From what he recalled of HMS Lively, she wasn’t a man-o-war, but still boasted at least twenty cannon, compared to their own half a dozen. Only creative tactics would allow them to overcome that terrifying disadvantage and board her in order to rescue Valentina and Christian.

  Chapter Twenty

  NASSAU

  Valentina awoke in Captain Maitland’s bed. She had no memory of falling asleep and sat up abruptly when she realized the Englishman was seated at his desk. “You’re awake at last,” he tried in Spanish. “We’ll be docking soon.”

  She got out of the bunk with as much dignity as she could muster and faced him, holding onto the rail as the planked floor shifted. “You must put me ashore.”

  He shook his head. “You wouldn’t want me to do that,” he said in English. “Nassau isn’t a safe place for a young lady.”

  She’d heard many tales about the town, previously a haven to pirates for decades, though a British territory. “It is your duty as an officer to see me safely returned to my father,” she insisted.

  He stood and came so close she could smell the liquor on his breath. “No, my duty is to sail this ship to Jamaica, unload the slaves, and perhaps install you in a nice little cottage I keep there.”

  She tried to move away, her stomach in knots, but he trapped her against the bunk. “You’ll never have to see Señor Montserrat again. A Royal Navy captain is surely more suited to your social standing.”

  Panic surged. The nightmare had suddenly become more complicated, though rivalry between the two men might be to her advantage. It was a notion she’d have to ponder later, her thoughts wholly preoccupied with something he’d mentioned in passing. “You are carrying slaves?”

  She breathed again when he returned to his desk and dipped a quill in the ink pot. “I decided not to waste the time we were obliged to spend escorting the Cuban flotilla to Mosé. A number of plantation owners in the Bahamas and Jamaica will be only too glad to get their property back.”

  She was afraid she might be sick again. It seemed she wasn’t the only one who’d been abducted from the stockade. Her father had told her something of what runaway slaves in La Florida endured to escape slavery, yet this arrogant Englishman was speaking of them as if they were chattels. She thrust out her chin. “They are Spanish citizens.”

  He chuckled, penning something in a ledger. “You are naive, my dear, but it’s an attractive quality. You and I will enjoy getting to know one another.”

  Her retort was pre-empted by a tap at the door. “Comin’ into port, Captain, sir,” Collins declared.

  Maitland stood, put on his tricorn, straightened the jacket of his blue uniform and proffered his arm. “A spot of fresh air on deck? Take in the sights and sounds of Nassau, such as they are?”

  She hesitated only a moment. He simply wanted to show off his command over his men but, if she learned more about the ship, there might be a chance of escape later. She accepted his arm, though they had to walk single file up the narrow companionway to the deck. He put a hand on her hip and she was reminded of Ivanna Luna boarding the French warship. She’d never liked the woman, but felt a twinge of pity for a wife who was waiting for her husband in Cuba, unaware of his infidelity. It was difficult to contemplate she hadn’t known of his treasonous activities against Spain.

  All that seemed a lifetime ago as she watched Nassau come into view.

  Maitland had brought her up on the fore-deck, but she deliberately turned her back,
determined not to give him the satisfaction of her attention. The town was more interesting anyway. He had mentioned the sights and sounds, but said nothing of the overwhelming reek of fish guts, smoke, and other unidentifiable odors. The bustling port teemed with bare-chested, sweat-glistened men, whites shouting orders, blacks and mulattos doing the heavy work of loading and unloading.

  A group of three stern-faced white men watched the ship dock. They weren’t dressed as gentlemen, but their white shirts with sleeves rolled up to the elbows suggested they might be overseers for local plantations. All three carried a bullwhip.

  She suddenly felt very cold, despite the humid heat.

  The gangplank was lowered and they came aboard.

  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 thoroug
hly 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 mid-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?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  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…”