Gates and Flint watched as the brigantine hove to, close enough to read the letters that spelt "The Walrus" in plain view. "Ahoy," someone from the big brig shouted, and they watched as a jollyboat was lowered, and a figure in a black cloak was making his way carefully down a rope ladder into the boat.
"Captain, he looks like a merchantman, why the hell would he be taking the chance to come so close? And look, there's another boat holding a trunk and a chest if I'm not mistaken. Now who the hell would take the risk of hailing us? They're a sitting duck, if you ask me."
Flint turned to him, a broad grin on his bearded face. "Who indeed, Gates, if not my sister Catherine. That wench could charm the devil himself into giving her a lift. Give the men the order to bring her aboard. Damn their superstitions, they're are going to have to live with a woman on ship for a while."
He watched as the boats came to the side of his ship, and a rope ladder and cargo net fell down the side. Catherine smiled up at him as she deftly mounted the ladder, holding on to her portmanteau. She could still climb like a monkey, he thought, he wondered idly if she still knew her knots, or if the rigging would intimidate her. Not likely, Catherine was afraid of nothing.
He helped her on board, only slightly embarrassed as she threw her arms around him hugging him tightly. He held her at arm's length, "Let me have a look at you, Miss Catherine," then pulled her close and kissed the top of her auburn curls.
The men in the jollyboats were still waiting. "Flint," she said, "I told them that you'd give them safe passage in exchange for taking care of me. You're not going to make a liar out of me, now are you?"
He threw a small bag of coins to one of the boatmen and raised his hand. "Tell your captain thanks for taking care of my sister. And unless he's a privateer, it's best that he avoids these waters in the future, for gentlemen of fortune make their way here. You've brought me my dearest treasure and I thank you." The boatmen lowered their heads and turned the boats around and made their way back to the merchantmen as quickly as their arms could pull. Their encounter with Flint would make its way into legend, and in the future, their captain would avoid the Caribbean at all costs.
Flint wished he could wipe off the ridiculous smile that must be on his face. He put his arms around Catherine's shoulders and introduced her to his crew. "My sister, Catherine Fiona Flint. Anyone who does not treat her with respect and courtesy will find themselves making a quick trip to Davy Jones' locker. There's to be extra rations of grog tonight in celebration."
"That's enough staring, get back to work," roared Gates, knowing the men's concern, "No excuse for standing about idly. The master's not giving you extra grog for idleness. Now, off with ye."
"Thank you Gates," Catherine breathed, "To a man they looked like they wanted to throw me over the side, captain's sister or no. If it wasn't for…"
He put his arms around her shoulder. "There, there, Miss Cathy, I know. You're well versed in the ways of the sea, but you're brave enough to venture out upon her all the same. I know Flint is glad to see you, I've not seen him smile like that in ages. I'll put your things in his cabin, and you'll not need to worry about them." She smiled that winsome smile that he'd first seen on her arrival in Nassau. Then she'd been all red curls and green eyes, fearful yet curious about the circus that was Nassau, Bahamas. Now she was grown up and self-assured, but the smile had not changed.
She also still knew sailors. She looked around, seeing the furtive stares. Not curiosity, but open hostility if she met their glance. "Damn sailors," she thought, then said out loud, "Buy a girl a drink big brother?" Lord knew that she could use it.
He took the hint and picked up her portmanteau. "Come on," he said, and made his way into his cabin. He settled her into a comfortable chair, then pulled a bottle of rum out his desk. He took two glasses from a cupboard and poured generous portions into each.
She drank deeply, savoring the flavor. "Ah, good old Cuban rum. I'd sworn I'd never again drink it in my life. I never thought I'd ever say this, but I'm tired of fine wines, and brandies, and champagne. I want to eat some good Creole cooking, and go to sleep in a bed and not worry that I'm going to hear pounding on my door."
"A little bird told me you were on the run from the Cuban authorities. Something about some treasure stolen from the Cuban viceroy." He raised his eyebrows, eager to hear her reply.
"Some treasure he intended to give to the pope. Much more than he needed. I personally gave the Pope a lovely crucifix of gold and emeralds, and a rosary of the same. Gave me a lovely little gold medal engraved with his name and face. It was so easy to get an audience when I showed the officials my intended gift. Gave me his blessing for my journey and everything. Almost enough to make me want to go back to the Church—almost." She smiled at him.
"Well, my little caper sent me on quite a journey. I caught the first ship leaving Havana Harbor and headed to Italy. I banked some of my loot in Genoa, then put some in a bank in Zurich. It's funny how if you have enough money, bankers don't care what you want to deposit." She took another drink then looked at her glass thoughtfully.
"Oh, almost forgot. I brought you this from France." She pulled out a bottle from her portmanteau and handed it to him. "The finest brandy in France. I went there after I left Zurich. I settled in Paris for a few months and had a new wardrobe made—Pa was always too cheap to buy anything not English, remember? I caught a ship from Calais to London, then from London I headed to Martinique. When I saw the Walrus I asked the captain to please take me to her. A handful of gold coins and a promise of safe passage convinced him to do it. So here I am. Hopefully you are headed to Nassau, because after all the fun I've had, staying on shipboard would be tremendously boring."
Flint scratched his head. "I wonder how you do this. This is the second time you narrowly escaped being caught by the Spanish. I know men who have not had half the luck you do, but aren't nearly as foolhardy. But yes, to answer your question. We're a day away from Nassau and I plan on putting into port for a while. Will that suit your ladyship?"
"Quite," she said haughtily, "And if you are short of cash, big brother, I can help you out, only don't tell anyone but Gates. I'm more than set up for life with what I have with me, and I could help you out, too. I'd like to find someplace to settle where the Spanish can't find me, only it's not going to be Europe. Maybe Italy, but not right now. The Indies suit me just fine. I'd never be happy in England. Too cold and grey. And the Seychelles are out—I don't know any of the pirates there, so I'd best stick close to home. As long as home won't send me to a Spanish prison."
"Well," said Flint thoughtfully, "New Orleans might suit you, if the French take it back. Port Royal perhaps, but after that earthquake, that's a place I'd avoid. I don't think Martinique would be exciting enough for you, and now you'll have to avoid Havana."
"A change of subject: When were you going to tell me who's in port?"
Aha, he thought, now we come to it. "Well, Teach hasn't been around for quite a while, but your old friend Charles Vane and the Ranger are there."
"Vane doesn't concern me. Wasn't he skirting after Eleanor Guthrie? Isn't she a little old?" Too old was five years older than Catherine, Flint mused, and grinned at her.
"Vane was a mistake, Flint. Half the time we were trying to kill each other. The first time he hit me, he learned I wouldn't put up with it, but that didn't stop him. He liked it when I fought him, it aroused him, made him hard. A pistol was the only thing that could make him see reason."
"But you put up with it for…" he interjected, but she interrupted.
"Too long. Too damn long. Okay, I desire the man, but I hate him. If Eleanor's in his clutches I feel sorry for her, but she's perfectly capable of taking care of herself. I want a man who isn't go to hang or die a gruesome death. Vane's going to swing, it's inevitable. He's arrogant enough to think he can do anything he likes." She held up her hand, "I don't want a man who'll bore me, thanks to you. I may just settle in Rio and learn Portuguese and party until I'm too old. Maybe there is no man for me, so I'm free to do just as I like." She leaned forward, "Now, are you going to let me climb the rigging and help work the sails?"
The Walrus was due back any day. Charles Vane, captain of the Ranger, had a lot of questions for Flint regarding the proposed raid of the Spanish treasure galleon. Eleanor had suggested that he might ask Flint if he would need help, which was not unlikely. The Spanish would have plenty of guns and cannons, and would be more than Flint might be able to handle on his own. And it was not recommended that he let himself be captured by the Spanish.
He thought about the rumors he had heard of Flint's sister. She had disappeared from Nassau only to wind up in Havana. How hard had it been for her to seduce the Spanish viceroy and get her hands on his treasure? Catherine was smart and clever, as well as beautiful. Catherine had left him—admit it, you drove her off, he told himself—leaving him heartbroken, until he noticed that Eleanor McGrath had lost none of her golden loveliness in spite of her age.
When had he decided that he was attracted only to beautiful, intelligent women who were far above him? He had seen Eleanor's blond beauty without seeing that beneath that lay a steely ambition. When her father disappeared she had taken over his business and ran it far better than he had. She was clever, shrewd, and he had underestimated her as he had Catherine. When she, too, had left him, he swore that he would nothing to do with these self-assured women and sought the company of the whores in the tavern who demanded nothing of him. But settling for brass coins after possessing gold sovereigns had proved unsatisfactory.
He noticed a ship had appeared on the horizon, headed for Nassau. He grabbed the spyglass of the man standing next to him and recognized the sleek lines of the Walrus. Flint stood on the bridge with Gates, along with someone he didn't recognize. At the pace she was traveling, she'd be dropping anchor in the harbor soon. He sighed and, uncharacteristically for him, handed the man back his spyglass. He headed to a waterfront inn to drink until he had changed his mood—if not to fair, then to foul.
When he emerged from the tavern, the Walrus' jollyboats were being rowed to shore. Flint sat in the prow, with someone behind him that Vane could not see, then Gates and Billy Bones sitting behind. The oar men beached the boat and Flynn swept the mysterious passenger into his arms and carried her to shore, setting her on dry sand.
A woman, tall and straight, swept the hood of her cloak back from her head and turned around. Vane found himself staring straight into the green eyes of Catherine Flint.
Son of a bitch.