Wind Raven (Agents of the Crown) Page 22

  The members of his crew who had served in the British Navy now demonstrated their experience as they smoothly moved through their paces, preparing the ship for the fight Nick instinctively felt would soon be upon them. They picked up speed and he braced for the roll of the ship as the added sails billowed above him. Raising his spyglass, he looked again at the ship that followed in their wake. The sails of the smaller ship grew larger as the pirate drew closer, sailing close to the wind. Nick hurried below and armed himself with his saber and pistol. Then he paused. He had to see Tara one last time.

  He didn’t knock before opening the door to her cabin. The memory of the night before was still fresh in his mind and he didn’t care in what dishabille he might find her. She whipped around as he entered, a knife in her hand and still wearing her breeches. Crossing the short distance, he took the knife from her, set it on the bed and pulled her into his arms, kissing her deeply. As if knowing this kiss might be their last, she did not object but returned his ardor, fervently clinging to him. He wanted to stay with her and hold her, a last effort to convince her how much he cared, but he had no time. “I can’t stay,” he said, pulling away, “but God willing, I’ll be back. As long as I live, Tara, I won’t let him have you.” Her blue-green eyes looked long into his, telling him she believed him.

  He turned and hastened above decks to see the Retribución closing fast. His attempt to outrun the pirate had failed. Only three hundred yards separated the two ships. Very soon they would be within firing distance.

  The smaller schooner pulled alongside, then began to circle the larger, slower ship. “Prepare to fire!” Nick shouted. Just as he gave the command, the pirate’s guns belched fire and smoke as chain shot ripped through the Wind Raven’s sails. One of his crew screamed as he fell under the assault. Nick looked aloft, relieved to see Joshua still holding firm in the crosstrees.

  Nick ordered, “Fire!”

  Balls flew from both ships and found their targets, the exploding powder creating a thunderous roar and sending white smoke billowing around them. Shouting orders from the quarterdeck, Nick was gratified to see the foremast of the pirate ship shattered. But his own ship was taking on damage as well, two of his guns now disabled. The port bow had been smashed in, the gun there overturned and useless. The shot-riddled foresail strained in the wind and split clear through to the boltropes, torn into worthless strips of canvas. He heard a yard crack aloft as the topsail slewed around, rigging snapping like pistol shots as the lines parted under the strain.

  Mr. Wilson’s gun crew had successfully fended off many a French ship when they had been privateers for England, but Nick realized that would be of no avail as the small schooner circled around to their stern like a wasp harassing a bull.

  Nick could see the tall blond pirate standing astride on the deck of his ship, his axe gleaming from where it was tucked into his red sash, a confident smile on his face. The ships were so close Nick could hear the shouted order from the pirate captain to fire at their rudder. A loud boom sounded and the Wind Raven shuddered, taking the hit below the water.

  Nate had the wheel and one look was all it took to tell Nick what he’d already surmised. The pirate had clipped their rudder, leaving them unable to maneuver.

  The real fight was about to begin. His men rained down musket fire on the pirate ship.

  “Prepare to be boarded!” shouted Russ.

  The pirates brought their ship alongside and soon the grappling hooks clawed the rail, locking the two vessels together. The fact that both ships had sustained damage wouldn’t prevent the battle that was about to ensue. Nick drew his saber and then his pistol, his mind steeling for the onslaught.

  Cofresí stepped confidently onto the Wind Raven’s deck, his axe held high, ready to strike, just as Joshua, in his role as lookout, yelled, “Sail ho off starboard!”

  Nick’s gaze shifted to starboard, where a large brig flying the flag of Royal Spain was rapidly closing on them. He recognized it as one of those that patrolled the shores of Porto Rico and the colony of Santo Domingo.

  “Stand down!” he shouted. “Stand down, I say!” The crewmen of the Wind Raven froze in automatic obedience. One of the pirates made as if to lunge forward, but Nick raised his pistol and the pirate faltered and stopped. Nick glared at Cofresí. “Control your men, Captain. This fight is over.”

  * * *

  Pacing restlessly in her cabin, Tara felt the ship shudder then heard the unmistakable sound of grappling hooks being thrown over the rail. Suddenly all was quiet. She felt helpless not knowing what was happening, not knowing if Nicholas Powell was lying in a pool of blood on the deck. She might have rejected his halfhearted offer of marriage, but she had not stopped loving the man. His kiss, only minutes ago, had nearly undone her.

  Scrambling up the ladder, she came through the hatch to see Nick in front of her, poised to fight, a pistol in one hand and a saber in the other. Cofresí stood near the port side rail, some of his crew around him, as he stared toward starboard. Tara’s gaze followed his to see a brig drawing alongside. It was flying the Spanish flag.

  The pirate suddenly turned in her direction. “Tara, mi cariño!” He began to walk toward her, but Nick intervened, placing himself protectively in front of her.

  “She’s mine, Cofresí.” Nick’s voice was harsh to Tara’s ears.

  “No!” screamed the pirate, his face twisted in scorn. “Tara promised to come with me in exchange for your life. You have stolen her from me.”

  Tara stepped around Nick, looking into the pained blue eyes of the proud pirate. “I did go with you, Roberto, but I would not have stayed. Don’t you see? I need to be with my family. Cabo Rojo is not my home, and I am not yours. Captain Powell did not steal me; I went with him willingly.”

  Nicholas reached his arm around her shoulders, drawing her back to his side.

  From starboard, Tara heard the sound of grappling hooks and then the Spanish words, “¡Cesen el fuego! ¡Y atención!”

  Turning her eyes in the direction of the shouted words, she saw a Spanish naval officer in a blue and red uniform embellished with gold braid on his sleeves crossing a plank stretched between the two ships. Men in uniform followed behind him. “What did he say?” Tara asked the Wind Raven’s captain.

  “He commands us to stop firing and hear him.” At Nicolas’s words, the Spanish officer stepped down to the deck and paused, as if surprised to hear English.

  Cofresí stared at the officer, a disbelieving look on the pirate captain’s face.

  “I am Captain Juan Gravina. Who is in command of this vessel?” demanded the Spaniard.

  “I am. This is my ship,” said Nick, stepping forward. “Jean Nicholas Powell, at your service. And may I add that your intervention is both timely and welcome as we were just about to defend ourselves from this pirate’s unwarranted intrusion. As you may surmise from the damage to my ship, he was not invited.”

  Hearing Nick’s speech, the Spanish officer said, “You are English, yet you fly the flag of Spain?”

  “Ah, yes,” Nick said, “the ruse was necessary, I’m afraid, to avoid Captain Cofresí. As you can see, I was not successful.”

  “Cofresí would attack your ship while flying the flag of Royal Spain?” At that the Spanish officer turned his frown on Cofresí. “You go too far, mi compadre.”

  By this time, others of the Spanish crew had taken a position behind their captain. “Arrest this man!” said Captain Gravina to his men, pointing to Cofresí. “He has much to answer for.”

  Cofresí stood proud and defiant, seeming to consider whether to resist. Then he shrugged. Tara thought the command he gave in a whisper to his pirate crew must have told them to go along with the Spanish authorities, for while there was murder in their eyes, they sheathed their machetes. Tara watched pirate’s gaze as it shifted to her, a look of longing on his face.

  “Tara, mi cariño,” he said sadly, “how I could have loved you…” Then he turned and, having obtained permission from the
Spanish officer to leave a few of his men to sail the Retribución back to the harbor, followed Captain Gravina onto the Spanish brig.

  Chapter 18

  The sun was just beginning to set over the Wind Raven’s stern when they limped into the dock in St. Thomas. Nick’s eyes were drawn to Fort Christian standing guard over the harbor as he said to Russ, “I had planned to make a short stop in Charlotte Amalie for supplies, but it seems fate would have us stay longer. We’ve sustained some damage to be sure.”

  “I’m just glad there was enough of the rudder left to see us here,” said Russ. “I thought Nate was going to have a fit when Cofresí’s ball found its target.”

  “That rudder was his pride. Is Augie well enough to see to the new sails we’ll need?”

  “He’s already making a list,” said his first mate.

  “I’m going to see Miss McConnell to an inn. I think I’ll stay the night in town myself. I want a bath and a dinner on land.” He ignored Russ’s raised brow. “Can you manage the crew’s visits to shore, and your own, till I return tomorrow?”

  “Quite well. And you might raise a glass of Champagne in celebration of our causing the pirate not a little discomfort. Prinny should be happy about that. It may earn you a knighthood like the one he bestowed on your brother.”

  “Hadn’t thought of that. The prince can be generous at times. Perhaps he’ll do something for the entire crew. In any event, I’m hoping Cofresí will be out of the water for a while. The Spanish captain did not look pleased to learn his local pirate had fired on a ship flying the royal flag.”

  “I had never considered such a ruse would aid us with the authorities, but Gravina’s face certainly showed outrage. No matter you’re English, the Spaniard was furious.”

  “We were fortunate.”

  Tara came up on deck wearing a gown and a proper bonnet, looking every bit the lady. She carried the small valise he had asked her to pack. It was difficult not to stare at her beautiful face and he remembered their one night of lovemaking. In his mind she belonged to him. He left his first mate to close the distance between them. “I would have carried that up for you, Tara.”

  She met his gaze and then looked to one side. “No matter. I am here now. Where are you taking me?”

  “Lavalette’s. It’s the largest hotel in Charlotte Amalie and a short distance from the harbor. It will give you a chance for a real bath and a fine dinner and some time on land while the ship is being repaired for the trip to Baltimore. The owner, a French merchant, is a friend of mine.”

  “Yes, I would like that very much.”

  “Shall we walk or would you prefer I get a carriage?”

  “Oh, I would love to walk.”

  A few minutes later, Nick handed his own small bag to Peter, along with Tara’s valise, and the three of them left the ship. The town of Charlotte Amalie was thriving and Nick noted the many importing houses added since he’d last been here. Red-roofed whitewashed homes and other buildings sat amidst green hills, making it one of the most beautiful ports in the Caribbean.

  “Have you been here before?” he asked her.

  Blue-green eyes looked into his for a moment then looked away. “Yes, once, a few years ago, but we did not stay long. I only left my brother’s ship one time.”

  “I was here quite a bit in those days. Odd our paths never crossed.”

  “My brothers kept a close watch on me. But now I am glad for the chance to see more of the town.”

  They climbed the steps of the two-story white hotel with the lattice railing on the second-floor gallery. Peter followed with their bags. At the counter inside the entrance, Nick was pleased to see the desk clerk recognized him. “Ah, bon. Capitaine Powell. You return to us at last! M’sieur Lavalette will be so pleased.”

  “A room for the lady and one for me for two nights, I think, Philippe.”

  “Oui.” The clerk smiled at Tara and opened his book. Speaking to Nick, he said, “Quelle belle dame!”

  Nick began to translate for Tara. “He just paid you a compli—”

  “I know what he said. Merci,” she said, smiling at Philippe. “Vous avez une langue d'argent, m’sieur.”

  “You speak French?” Nick asked her, not having realized that before. He wouldn’t have expected it from an American. But did she have to tell Philippe he had a silver tongue? It would only encourage the Frenchman.

  “A little. You might recall that when England was America’s enemy, France was her friend.”

  He was not able to avoid his hearty laugh. “Imagine my dilemma, for half my family is French and the other half is English—and the two countries are ever at war.”

  Tara laughed then, too, and the sound of it was beautiful. She had not laughed in a long time, not since their day at Elbow Beach.

  Nick decided he owed Philippe a larger coin than usual when he discovered his room was adjacent to Tara’s. Remembering Philippe’s wink when he’d placed the two keys in Nick’s palm and told them dinner would not be served for an hour, Nick decided it had been no coincidence.

  “A bath for the lady and one for myself, Philippe.”

  “Mais oui,” he replied, “You shall have them directly.” The French clerk disappeared down the steps, Peter with him. The cabin boy, who seemed delighted to be assisting his captain on land, was to pick up a few things for Russ and then return to the ship.

  Nick escorted Tara into a room dominated by a dark wooden four-poster bed. His eyes lingered on the fine blue counterpane, imagining Tara lying there waiting for him. “This should be a welcome change from your small cabin,” he said, watching her turn in a circle in the middle of the large room. He wanted to take her into his arms and toss her onto the bed and make love to her. Instead he took a deep breath. “I’ll return in an hour to take you to dinner.”

  * * *

  Tara opened the doors to the gallery and stepped out onto the balcony suspended high above Charlotte Amalie. Beyond the red roofs of the buildings crowding the streets of the prosperous Caribbean port were the waters of the harbor. The orange and red of the setting sun had turned them a shimmering coral. The beautiful picture presented brought a sense of peace to her troubled soul.

  So much had happened since she’d left London; it felt to Tara as if she’d lived a lifetime. The feeling was not new; she had experienced such before when sailing with her father and then later with her brothers. But this time the source of the feeling was different. She had become a woman, been courted by a pirate and desired by a rakish English sea captain. Her father would not have approved of either man. He wanted her to wed an American patriot, no doubt one of the rising statesmen he was ever bringing to their home. Somehow, she thought any meeting between her father and Nicholas Powell, assuming her father’s health allowed such an encounter, would be stormy.

  Then another thought entered her mind. Would Nick have one of his crew see her to her door or would he escort her home himself? Given that she still wore his ring and he’d not asked for its return, she suspected it would be the latter. At some point she would have to find a way to return it. She supposed she could have asked McGinnes for pork fat to work the ring loose, but for some reason she had not done so. As she gazed at the harbor waters on fire with the blazing colors of the sunset, she experienced a sudden and wrenching sadness at the prospect of saying good-bye to the English captain.

  Tara reveled in the steaming bath that the hotel maid arranged for her. The last one she’d had was in Cabo Rojo. Splashing water on her face for a wash while at sea grew tiresome. The hot freshwater bath was a luxury she was pleased to indulge in, as was the feather mattress in her room.

  Soon she would be home, a wiser, sadder woman perhaps, and one uncertain of her future, but still she would be home.

  An hour later, Tara had changed into a clean gown, this one with no breeches beneath it. She wanted to dress the part of the woman she had become, confident in her femininity. It was her choice, after all, and she had come to realize that looking the lady d
id not deprive her of her independence.

  Fortunately, not all of her gowns nor all of her things had been in her chest when it was taken to the pirate’s ship. So tonight she drew her hair up into curls at her crown and tied a sapphire-colored ribbon around her throat, fixing a small stone of the same color set in gold at the center. She had been saving it and had not worn it yet. It had been a gift from Aunt Cornelia on the occasion of her first ball. How long ago that seemed, and how far away. The ivory silk gown she’d worn then and now had a braided trim at the high waist in the same colors of blue and gold. It was the most elegant gown she owned, so she had been thrilled it was left in her cabin with her remaining things. For some reason, she wanted to appear the elegant lady for Nicholas Powell.

  The knock at the cabin door came just as she slipped her feet into her silk slippers. She pulled the wooden door open to see the tall handsome captain with his midnight locks reined in for the evening and his golden eyes devouring at her. He wore the same jacket and breeches he’d donned for the Albouys’ dinner in Bermuda, a dark cinnamon jacket over an ivory silk waistcoat and nankeen breeches. Instead of his black boots, he wore stockings and shoes. His cravat was more elegantly tied than it had been in Bermuda. Affixed to his lapel was a small white island flower with a yellow center, a frangipani, she thought, and absently wondered who had placed it there.

  His sun-bronzed skin had deepened in color since leaving London. Observing the smile on his face, she knew with certainty she would remember his smile for the rest of her life.

  Leaving behind her heavy thoughts, and looking for a lighter note, she said, “Hullo, Captain. How nice that you are so prompt and looking so very much the London gentleman.”

  “And you, Tara, are stunning.” His perusal of her appearance said he approved of her efforts to please him. As he offered his arm and they descended the stairs to the dining room, she considered that his clothing, like the pirate captain’s, was deceptive. Beneath the gentleman’s clothes was a man hardened, like his heart, by his days at sea.