The Clover and the Tartan
Hey guys! Apologies for the long break, but I had to be hospitalized last week and couldn't post the new chapter! We are now going to discover the mysterious Cuban property. This chapter is once again all sweet and calm (literally the calm before the storm, haha), I hope you like it!
Thanks weheartnoelle, Skylarmikaelson and Guest for your reviews, as well as faerypiratequeene and Izzymg for hitting the follow/fav button!
Weheartnoelle: ahahah indeed. Brianna grumbling about Mary's lack of manners is literally the pot calling the kettle black! xD I know this will be terrible when this fiction is over (I loved writing and publishing it) but there are still a lot of great moments to come in the next few chapters! ;)
Skylarmikaelson: thank you so much for your review! I hope the last few chapters won't disappoint you!
Guest: I hope you'll love this wonderful home! I wanted it to be perfect and quiet, so that Stephen would be relaxed and ready for… the Truth. (* dramatic music *). Thanks for your review!
~o~
33. Slán Agus Beannacht (Health and Blessings)
With her elbows on the rail, Brianna admired the Cuban coast stretching out before her eyes. The south-eastern end of the island was the most mountainous and least populated area. There were no vast expanses of white sand on this side, but steep cliffs surrounding a few tiny coves of sand and rocks. Beyond were green mountains as far as the eye could see, all higher than the previous ones as they sank into the land. And not a single living soul.
"I think I can see it…", O'Brien muttered beside her, his right eye glued to a spyglass.
Brianna straightened up. "Where?"
The first mate waved her over and handed her the spyglass, which she immediately raised to her eye. Then he shifted the instrument slightly to point it straight ahead. "Follow the coast to the right. You should see the mouth of a river first, then a cove and just after that, a big house on the edge of the jungle..."
He smirked as Brianna winced against the spyglass, before her features finally relaxed. "I see it too! And there are plenty of other outbuildings all around. It looks huge..."
"Good… I like our lads, but if I could avoid sleeping with them even when I'm ashore…", O'Brien quipped as Brianna gave him the spyglass back with a smile.
"I will make sure you get the best outbuilding, no matter what the jealous people say..."
"Yeah, you'd better… I'm the first mate, after all."
Brianna chuckled and resumed her observation of what might soon be their new pied-à-terre. An hour later, they dropped the anchor a hundred yards from the shore and left the Gloriana in the shore-boat to reach the small cove at the front of the property. The main house was surrounded by other small cabins scattered all along the beach, as well as a few others buried in the vegetation a little higher up. But no one seemed to have lived there for months. The roofs were damaged, the shutters unhinged, and the doors open to the winds. We're going to have quite a bit of work if we want to fix it all up, Brianna thought with a disappointed pout.
The mansion, on the other hand, appeared to be in better condition than the outbuildings, although a major renovation was needed. Soon the boat scraped the ground and Stephen jumped out with Boyle to stabilize it. The captain then gallantly extended his hand towards Brianna to help her leave the boat with the grace required from the ladies, but she had not even seen his offered hand and had jumped off the boat to land heavily on the other side, both feet in a few inches of water. Stephen smirked and lowered his hand, shaking his head. After pulling the boat out of the water with the help of the dozen sailors accompanying them, it was Jimmy's turn to help Mary get off and the girl accepted his arm with a beaming smile.
Brianna had already set off for the house, a strange feeling in her stomach. A sense of déjà vu, of familiarity. The funny thing was she had never set foot in Cuba – let alone in her time, as the country was under an embargo since the early 1960s – and had never approached a house like this one. Made of local stone and adorned with long balconies and columns that ran along the facade, the two-story building was overlooking the whole beach. The large French windows protected by slatted shutters were for the most part closed upstairs, but those on the ground floor were open, allowing visitors to catch a glimpse of an abundantly flowered patio inside the house, around which interior galleries led to every room and bedroom, in the pure style of Spanish Baroque.
Cautiously, Brianna walked through one of the French doors, leading directly to a small living room, in which most of the furniture was covered with sheets. Rugs had been rolled up and stored in a corner, upright, and there was almost no dust on the mantelpiece whose purpose was probably purely aesthetic in these latitudes. Everything suggested that someone was still taking care of the place and Brianna deduced that the doors were opened not from negligence, but to ventilate the interior of the house.
"Hola! Hay alguién ahí?", Brianna called, using what was left of her high school Spanish. But no one answered. Stephen entered the room and she saw him smelling the air with a troubled look… As if the heady scent of jasmine floating in the air reminded him of something specific. The scent was coming from the patio and Brianna followed it before opening her mouth wide in wonder. The inner courtyard, formerly made up of several precisely designed flower banks, had turned into a small open-air jungle, with shimmering colors. White jasmine and mariposa, red and orange hibiscus, fuchsia bougainvillea mingled with the deep green of the tropical plants, that had invaded the place in a magnificent anarchy. If Brianna had believed in God, she certainly would have thought herself dead and ascended to Heaven. Sensing Stephen's presence on her back, she turned, her eyes shining. The pirate was watching the small patch of nature in the middle of the house with the same indefinable expression.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?", she cried, trying not to dance around the place.
Stephen answered with a half-smile, as if part of him was somewhere else. And it was. The scent of the flowers had instantly transported him to his mental refuge, the house on the prairie, and he found it hard to realize that the smell was real and not some figment of his imagination. "It's… almost too good to be true…", he huffed. This last thought said out loud made him shiver. What if it was all an illusion? What if I was indeed dead on the gallows and all that happened next was the delirium of my dying brain? He bit his lip and watched Brianna walk around the patio to open a door on the other side. A kitchen, presumably, judging by the copper pots hanging on the wall.
"¿Quiénes son ustedes, y qué hacen aquí?", a threatening male voice said above their heads. Brianna looked up to find a Cuban in his 50s leaning over the railing on the second floor.
Stephen was about to let him know that they didn't understand his language when Brianna answered in broken Spanish with an American accent. "Hola, señor! Siento molestarle… Estamos aquí para… uh… visitar la casa? Si?"
The man stared at her for a moment with squinted eyes, and sighed. "English people…", he mumbled in their language.
"Irish…", Stephen corrected abruptly in a low voice.
Another sigh. "Coming!", he blurted out before moving away from the railing to the lower level. Smiling widely, Brianna came to stand next to Stephen.
"What did you tell him?", the pirate asked, waiting for their host to arrive.
"I asked if we could have a look at the house..."
He raised an eyebrow. "You've been hiding your language skills from me..."
"Absolutely not", she retorted with a smirk. "I mentioned it during the auction. But you weren't listening, as usual..."
Stephen was about to tell her that she was herself not very good at listening to what she was being told, when the Spaniard appeared in the patio, wiping his hands on a rag hanging from his belt.
"So, you want to visit the property? Who told you about this place?", the man asked, scanning them both from head to toe.
"Friends from Hispaniola…", Stephen eluded with a fake smile.
The Spaniard didn't seem convinced but shrugged. "I was hired by the governor to take care of the house until we found new owners. That's why I'm here today."
"What happened to the previous one?", Brianna asked, glancing around in delight. She was absolutely sure that she would never tire of this wonderful patio, its divine colors and smells.
"Died a few months ago. No heir... The people he employed in the fields could not afford to buy the place and preferred to get closer to Santiago anyway. It's a very isolated place, you know... and it needs a lot of maintenance. The ocean damages materials and the island is often swept by strong storms. Maisí Point and the cliffs will protect you from the easterly wind, but the wind still blows hard every now and then…" The caretaker jumped when he heard footsteps in the small living room and turned around to see O'Brien, Jimmy and Mary enter the house.
"There are many of us and we have a ship…", Brianna clarified with a reassuring smile. "Isolation shouldn't be a problem and we'll have enough manpower to restore the property to its original splendor."
The Spaniard relaxed slightly, as if he realized that he was dealing with actual potential clients. "In that case... if you will follow me..." He turned to walk back to the small living room, just as Boyle lifted a sheet to admire a solid wood sideboard with metal legs and handles. "Don't touch that!", the caretaker barked, as Boyle jumped and immediately dropped the sheet.
As she walked past him, Brianna smirked and wiggled a threatening finger under Boyle's nose as if scolding an undisciplined child, and the sailor rolled his eyes. For about twenty minutes, they followed the caretaker in every room of the house, from the gigantic master bedroom on the second floor facing the ocean, to the attic, through the living rooms, the kitchens and the cellar, where he recommended that they store food, water and candles, and use it as a shelter for all residents during storms. Every room they visited made Brianna's eyes shine a little more. It was the perfect place for Stephen to recover and she couldn't help but imagine the long and quiet nights he would enjoy without having to get up to steer the Gloriana. He would finally be able to live at a normal pace, take care of himself, hidden between the sea and the mountains, and heal his injuries, both physical and psychological.
"Do you know how far away is a place called the Pirate's Cave?", Brianna asked, as they went back to the first floor at the end of their visit. The caretaker's brow furrowed and Brianna hastened to clarify: "La Cueva del Pirata...?"
The man shook his head slowly. "There is a cave north of the estate, in the mountains, but nothing about a pirate... It does, however, contain a source of pure water that you can use."
Brianna looked taken aback for a moment, before an explanation started to make its way into her mind. As Stephen gave her a questioning look, she shrugged. "I must have confused it with another place..."
She waited for the caretaker to speak again – something about the fields and crops that were part of the estate – then turned away, her heart pounding. She was almost certain not to have confused with another place. The pirate's cave is here, but that's just not how it's called yet…, she thought, casting a loving glance at Stephen. She felt it deep inside her now: this house was their home. Where they would live a few months, a few years maybe, between two crossings of the Atlantic, or even forever. Until death, or anything else, do us part...
"La compramos…", Brianna said suddenly, interrupting the caretaker's speech. The man's eyes popped out of their sockets and he briefly looked at Stephen as if asking him to confirm his wife's decision.
"I haven't even told you about the price yet...", the man stammered with a nervous laugh. "The estate may be less expensive than what you would pay for it en La Habana, but it is still a large amount of money..."
Stephen narrowed his eyes and stared at Brianna with a strange twinkle in his eyes, as if he didn't quite realize what they were about to do, and yet was strangely delighted to do it. "How much?", he asked suddenly.
"Three million reales. Around eighty thousand pounds sterling."
The redhead tilted her head to the side, raising her eyebrows and waiting for Stephen's verdict. She had no idea of the extent of the pirate's personal fortune, but she remembered from their days in Philadelphia that a single order of forty tons of contraband tobacco and whiskey for MacNamara had brought in three hundred thousand pounds sterling. Of course, the money was used to pay eighty sailors and certainly his own suppliers, and maybe a bribe or two on the way… But it was not his first time either and over the years, he had probably put aside a nice little jackpot.
"Deal."
A cry of joy escaped Brianna's mouth and she almost did a little dance before remembering that she'd better not do that in front of a stranger. Meanwhile, the caretaker seemed unable to get over the ease with which he had just sold the estate.
"Well... Perfect... I guess you can sign the deed as soon as you have the money..."
"Mr. Doherty!", Stephen called loudly, startling the Cuban. The quartermaster's head appeared in the doorway that led to the dining room. "Please prepare eighty thousand pounds."
"Yes, Captain!", said the young man, running towards the beach. The caretaker's eyes followed him until he climbed back into the shore-boat and he pursed his lips. He was probably starting to connect the dots and realize that he was not dealing with a bunch of honest citizens.
"So are we really going to live here?", O'Brien asked, raising his nose to the ceiling with a dubious expression.
Stephen turned to him. "Is there a problem?"
"I'd say… it lacks a few taverns. And women…", the first mate replied, as Boyle nodded approvingly.
"If you want a tavern, you just have to open your own..."
"As for women, Jamaica is not that far... We'll just have to take a trip to the market...", Stephen added in such a sarcastic tone that Brianna could not help but roll her eyes. The three men chuckled heavily but the caretaker abruptly cleared his throat.
"I'm afraid I can't sell an estate to...", he began before meeting Bonnet's murderous gaze. The Cuban swallowed and took a step back.
"Please, enlighten me… To what, exactly?"
The pirate's tone was ice cold and soon, it was no longer one but three pairs of threatening Irish eyes staring at the terrified caretaker. Realizing that the situation needed to be de-escalated as soon as possible, Brianna reached into her purse and pulled out two of Geillis's diamonds, shoving them into the man's palm.
"Muchas gracias por la visita…", she thanked him with a disarming smile, turning her back to the sailors and looking straight in the Cuban's eyes. Her smile then disappeared and was replaced by a more serious expression: "… y por su discreción."
The Spaniard glanced quickly at his hand and wondered for a moment if his silence had a price. Apparently so. He closed his fingers over the two white diamonds and nodded solemnly. Stephen hadn't understood everything Brianna had said, but he certainly got the meaning of the word "discreción".
"I'll get the paperwork. It's already ready, you just have to fill in the blanks..."
"Thank you very much…", Brianna repeated, watching him walk through the patio gallery to an office at the other end of the first floor. The other three were still fuming and O'Brien clicked his tongue in annoyance. Whatever they did, wherever they went, the whole world always looked down on them. Even as they arrived as rich as Croesus and ready to buy a property legally, they were still considered as thugs.
"All right, let's talk seriously…", Boyle began, slowly walking up to Brianna to put an arm around her shoulders. "Where is my room?"
"You're joking, right…?", Brianna retorted, raising an eyebrow.
"Oh come on, Madam Captain… A small maid's room?
-No.
-A mattress in the attic, then? Or in the cellar!
-No way.
-I get it... You want me to sleep by your side, you naughty g-"
The characteristic sound of a blade pulled out from its scabbard echoed around the room, and Boyle cast a slightly worried glance at Bonnet, whose fingers were tightly gripping the handle of his knife. He hadn't forgotten Boyle's raised hand at the wedding and was obviously planning to keep a close eye on him. The sailor laughed to put on a brave face but let Brianna go and took two steps back.
"Live here and hear them fooling around at every hour of the day and night? Oh Lord…", O'Brien mocked, but his smirk vanished as quickly as Boyle's arm from Brianna's shoulders when his captain turned his threatening face – and knife – on him. Fortunately, the caretaker chose this moment to reappear and everyone smiled appropriately, as the knife quickly returned in its scabbard. Approaching a table covered with a sheet, like the rest of the furniture, he placed on it an inkwell, a quill and several yellowed sheets of paper where a text had already been copied, leaving spaces for names and other information about the new owner.
"Señor, would you please read, complete and sign each copy…", he said, holding out the quill towards Stephen. After a few minutes spent reading the deed that would make him the rightful owner of Cajo Babo, Stephen wrote his name, year of birth and city of origin in the spaces, then added his signature at the bottom of each page. The caretaker nodded approvingly and was about to collect the copies he would bring back to the governor's office when Stephen motioned for him to stop.
"Wait…" With the quill still in his hand, the pirate turned to Brianna and handed it to her. "I want her to sign too."
"Women are not allowed to-", the Cuban began before a cold look from the Irishman made him change his mind. "Of course, Señor."
Stephen turned back to Brianna, who hadn't moved an inch, and stared at her. "I didn't mind not signing anything on our wedding day… as you wished. But I want your name on this one."
Brianna felt her heart race at the thought of leaving a written trace of her trip in the eighteenth century – which she had been trying to avoid all along. But she knew from the way he looked at her that she had no way to shirk from this. He had made a great sacrifice accepting her terms at their wedding, but this time he would not give up. No matter what she did, he would always find a way to bind her a little more to him every day, until he regained a semblance of sanity and peace of mind. Trying not to show any sign of nervousness, she walked over to the table, grabbed the quill in her right hand, and set it down on the paper. Slowly, with her most beautiful handwriting so as not to contrast too much with the magnificent old calligraphy on the rest of the document, she began to write her first name: Brianna. Then the second: Ellen. She was starting to draw the Randall's R before remembering that no, in this century her name was Fraser. She had just traced the upper horizontal line of the F when she froze. Her name wasn't Fraser anymore either, and what better way to cover her tracks in the twentieth century than using a name no one there would associate with her family? Not to mention the happiness that this would surely bring to a certain pirate...
Brianna smiled at the idea and changed her F into a B. Brianna Ellen Bonnet. She repeated the process on each copy and rested the quill on the side of the inkwell. It was then that she met Stephen's gaze and as she expected, she saw a glint of triumph but also tenderness. So much so that she forgot for a moment to breathe, to think, and even that they were not alone.
"Hey, can I sign too?", Boyle whispered as O'Brien kicked him in the back of the knee. The sailor grumbled. "Christ, I was joking, mate..."
An hour later, Doherty was back announcing that several heavy burlap bags full of pounds sterling had been prepared, and asked the caretaker where he wanted them. The Cuban scratched his head, wincing. The man lived 9.5 miles from there in Imías and he came to take care of the house on horseback, but the money had to be brought back to Santiago de Cuba, 125 miles further. This didn't take the quartermaster aback, however: the young man happily declared that they would have to take inventory of everything that needed to be repaired immediately, as well as an assessment of the materials needed, and they would be able to leave for Santiago on the next day with the money. That way, they would not only complete the purchase of the estate, but they would also buy enough materials to keep on renovating the place. The caretaker did not seem delighted with this unexpected decision, but Doherty's enthusiasm for lists and inventories was such that he had no choice but to follow him into the main house, while Murphy and Stephen were going around the outbuildings to check the frames.
As they had assumed when they had set foot on the beach, the outbuildings were much less maintained than the main house, and Murphy kept grumbling at each new broken door, rickety frame, or pierced roof. They had just climbed onto the porch of a small wooden cabin at the end of the cove, just a few yards from the beach, when a shrill cry rose behind them. Mary had just stepped out of a nearby cabin, her hair covered in a thick spider's web, while Jimmy somehow helped her get rid of it, laughing.
Stephen smiled and Murphy turned his attention to the small cottage. Stunning sea view, one room, and a pretty shaded porch where an old rocking chair swayed slowly in the wind. Ideal for a peaceful retirement. A little carpentry work and the cabin would be perfectly inhabitable, then he would only have to bask his old bones in the sun while rocking gently in his chair. Hoping that his recent heart irregularities would become less frequent. These were certainly due to all the adventures of the past few months, which had put a great strain on his body. With a little rest and patience, it would pass. He was not yet ready to kick the bucket.
"Captain…", the carpenter began solemnly and Stephen raised an eyebrow. "I would like... With your permission, I would like to be removed from my duties as a carpenter aboard the Gloriana. My two apprentices are now trained and fully capable of taking over."
He saw Bonnet lower his eyes for a moment and a flash of disappointment and resignation in his green irises. Considering his old age, it was to be expected and he would not try to talk him out of it. "You've had enough of us and now you want to leave…", he joked, but his heart was not really in it.
Murphy blinked. "No, Captain... Actually, and always with your permission, I would like to stay...", he tapped the porch railing with his fist, "... here. I really like this place."
Bonnet suddenly seemed so relieved that Murphy felt deeply touched. "Aren't you afraid of getting bored?", the pirate quipped, peering inside the cabin.
"The renovation of the estate will keep me busy for a while... And then, I suppose you will often see me gazing peacefully at the sea from this porch..."
"Soon with one of my children on each knee, I hope..."
Murphy smiled behind his thick beard and nodded, before lowering his tone. "I would be honored, lad..."
Bonnet was patting the old man friendly on the shoulder as two pairs of shoes entered the small porch of the carpenter's new residence. "Excellent choice, Mr. Murphy!", Mary trumpeted, poking her head inside the cabin. The old Irishman let out a loud growl and turned away. "This one is almost inhabitable as it is. A few small repairs and it will be good as new. And then you'll be able to rest!"
Mary had deliberately insisted on the last word, so that he would understand that she was referring to the incident of the night before, when she had found him with his hand clutching his heart in the passageway. The old man muttered something, but the blonde ignored him.
"Don't worry, I'll make sure you take regular breaks and are always well hydrated!", she chirped again with a broad smile.
Murphy's eyes flashed. "I'm still able to remember to take breaks and drink, Miss Mary! I am not senile!"
The girl shrugged and led Jimmy towards the beach. When she felt they were a good distance from the old man, she turned and yelled. "Yet…!"
"You dirty little-!"
But Mary and Jimmy never knew what Murphy was going to say, as they burst out laughing and ran off at full speed.
oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
So, what did you think of this new place? I had a lot of fun doing research on this part of Cuba, on architecture at that time and on the Cuban flora, I really wanted this place to be perfect for them, hahaha. Now, they still have to renovate the whole thing and we are in the middle of the cyclone season. The bad weather could bring much more than just wind and rain… Brianna'd better get prepared!
Hope you enjoyed this chapter and until next Monday I wish you a wonderful week!
Xérès