Moonlight on the Caribbean
Chapter Two
Three months later, the deck of the H.M.S Dolphin
Chloe rested her elbows on the railing of the ship, watching as the sun crested the horizon. Bright rays of sunlight streaked across the ocean, traveling over the rolling waves. She smiled as the glorious sun rose above the sea and began it's ascent into the azure blue of the sky. She felt alive, thrilled in unknown regions of her soul. Something about the sea made her feel complete. She tasted adventure and life on the breeze. And she knew that, for better or worse, this day was the beginning of her real life. All the previous eighteen years had been nothing but stepping stones for what was to come.
Chloe watched the coast of England slip farther and farther away until it was gone completely. She didn't know when, if ever, she would see it again. A brief, fleeting pain hit her heart as she thought of her mother and father. There was no telling when she would see them again either. They still didn't approve of the choice she had made, and they had made their feelings known. But they were still her parents. They still loved her. She forced back tears as she recalled their tender goodbye this morning.
But no, she wouldn't dwell on that. She couldn't. The whole of the Atlantic Ocean lay before her, bringing with it the promise of a future as unknown and impenetrable as the depths of the sea itself. When she tried to form some mental picture of what lay ahead of her, it was obscure and clouded. But the salty spray of the ocean filled her lungs, and she knew that it was a part of her destiny. She felt she could endure anything, even marriage to a man like Philip, for the chance to live her life near the sea.
"Chloe, what are you doing on deck unaccompanied?" a parentally scolding voice spoke up behind her.
Chloe turned slightly to smile at Lord John Black. Belle's father was making the journey with them to Jamaica, acting as chaperone and guardian to his daughter and her best friend, in addition to his official duties, a tour of inspection of the British colonies in the West Indies. Apparently, he was taking his position as Chloe's protector seriously. "I'm fine, Lord Black," she said, with a look of childish pleading. "Nothing's going to happen to me. And I do so love the sea."
John took his place next to her at the railing with a wistful look on his face as he too stared out at the rolling waves. "I once loved the sea too, m'dear," he said distantly, his expression dark and troubled.
Chloe winced. How could she have been so careless? Belle had told her the whole sad history. She should have known better than to say such things. Wishing to give him some small comfort, she rested her small, smooth hand on his rough, calloused one. "I'm sorry, my lord," she apologized softly. "I didn't stop to think. I didn't mean o bring back those memories."
John turned to her, his look turning to one of surprise. "Belle told you?" he asked, in amazement. Knowing how Marlena felt about any mention of those events, Belle had always avoided discussing them. At least in front of them. He was curious to know what Belle said about it to her friends.
Chloe nodded sympathetically. "And I'm so sorry for making you think of them. It must pain you to even be here, and then to have me say such thoughtless things must make the hurt that much more intense." Chloe's flair for the dramatic was getting the better of her. In her mind, John's tragedy might as well have happened yesterday instead of twenty years ago.
John patted her cheek gently, a soft smile on his face. "It's all right, Chloe. All you said was that you loved the sea. I don't begrudge you that. How could I?" He removed his hand from her cheek, and Chloe saw a barely subdued fury enter his eyes. "Besides the sea isn't to blame for the actions of God. Would He have seen fit to be merciful and take us all then."
Chloe's jaw dropped open, unladylike, before she managed to recover herself. "But…but you can't mean that!" She had never heard anyone speak so flippantly of their own life. "Think of all the things you'd have missed out on. You've had such a wonderful life."
John shook his head, once again staring out to sea. "I've had an eventful life, Chloe. There's such a difference. I keep busy so I don't have to remember. I don't have to remember…her. Or what happened to her. What happened to our son."
"You must have loved them very much," she responded gently, touched by the love and agony in his tone. She wanted to find some way to pull him up out of the pit she couldn't but feel somewhat responsible for putting him in. "But surely you love Lady Marlena and Belle just as much."
John smiled, but it was weak. "My Izzy has been the one bright spot in my life for the past twenty years. If only to have had her, you're right, I should have lived. But nothing can ever compare to what I had with Isabella—my wife, not my daughter. She was the one true love of my life. I love Marlena, Chloe. I want you to understand that. But it's with a different kind of love. Isabella and I were soulmates, meant to be together forever. And we were so blissfully happy, so young and innocent and untroubled."
His eyes took on a distant gleam, as he was swept away to a more carefree time in his life. "And our little boy. I wish you could have seen him, Chloe. He was the handsomest lad the world has ever seen. He was like my Izzy, with his sun-kissed hair and his bright blue eyes. They sparkled with life and laughter all the time. And to hear him laugh…" John's voice trailed off as he struggled to come to terms with his emotion.
Chloe felt tears prick her eyes, as she was drawn into the tale. She had never quite grasped before how truly horrific John's history was. She had heard it from Belle, who hadn't even been born when all this happened. And knowing how protective John was of his daughter, she doubted that Belle had heard more than the barest details of the history. He wouldn't have let her see his pain. Chloe wasn't sure why he was being so open with her now, but she hoped he wouldn't stop. She felt strangely connected to the story. "How old was your son?" she asked quietly.
"Only four," he answered in a hoarse whisper. "Only four. Too young to die. She was too young to die too. They had so much life ahead of them. We had so much life ahead of all of us." Chloe knew that he had forgotten her existence. He spoke only to himself now. "Why couldn't He have taken me as well? To be a family, together for always. Why did He make me wait and suffer for so long? It doesn't matter now, of course. I'll be with them soon enough."
Chloe felt a chill run down her spine. There was ominous foreshadowing in his words and his tone. "What do you mean, Lord Black?" she asked, calling his attention back to her. "Surely, you aren't thinking of taking your own life. What about Belle? What about your daughter? What would she do without you?" She spoke randomly, frantically, afraid of this Pandora's Box she had opened.
John looked at her, in full possession of his senses again. "Oh, I apologize, my dear. I didn't mean to frighten you so. Of course, I would never contemplate taking my own life. I love Belle too much to do such a thing to her. And my work is not yet finished. There still remains one task left to complete." A slight smile crossed his face, as he recalled the real purpose for his journey.
Officially, it was just an inspection tour ordered by King Charles; but his real instructions involved so much more than just an inspection. He was called upon to rouse interest in an attack against the Spanish Main. King Charles had his eye on controlling the whole of the West Indies, and Spain stood in the way of those dreams. Lord John had his own reasons for wanting the Spanish influence in South America and the Caribbean destroyed. He had long been an opponent of Spain's tyrannical policies, not the least because of Isabella's strong faith. He shuddered to think what would have happened to such a pure soul if she had fallen into the hands of the Inquisitors. There were some things worse even than drowning.
~~*~~
Mimi made her way down the narrow passageway rocking gently to and fro with the movement of the ship. Her stomach gave a small lurch, but at least she kept her breakfast down. Which was more than she could say for her young mistress. She wrinkled her nose at the smell as she carried the bucket up the stairs and onto the deck to be emptied. Even sick as she was, Belle couldn't stand the thought of having such a reminder around her. Mimi only hoped that she would return before Belle was sick again.
She emerged into the bright light of early morning and breathed deeply of the fresh ocean air. Even while the ship's motion took some getting used to, Mimi knew she was going to like life at sea. There was something so invigorating and exciting about it. Especially to a girl so starved for adventure. She could only hope to have her mistress's good fortune and meet a man as perfect for her as Commander Brady was for Lady Isabelle.
A sailor gave a low whistle as she passed by. She lifted her chin haughtily and ignored him. She'd been around such men all her life, and they held no charms for her. Unlike so many of her girlhood friends, she had no intention on throwing herself away for some fleeting pleasure in the arms of a man who wouldn't stay long enough to watch the sunrise. She had better plans for her life. She'd rather stay a maiden all her life than become so cheap. Just because one wasn't born a lady, didn't mean one couldn't behave like one.
Mimi accomplished her task and prepared to return, before spotting an unusual sight. Lord John was talking to Lady Chloe. They both seemed so serious and sad. That alone might not have been enough to catch her eye, as Lord John had always acted as a second father to Belle's friend. But when combined with the presence of Jan Spears watching them surreptitiously from a short distance away, hidden behind the wheelhouse, it meant that something was most definitely wrong.
Mimi's eyes narrowed as she studied the alert, fox-like cunning on Jan's face. The others of course hadn't noticed. No one ever seemed to see the things she did. But Mimi's upbringing had prepared her for better observing skills than those of Chloe and Belle. Mimi hadn't trusted Jan from day one. She was too self-assured, not subservient enough. She seemed to take delight in flouting Chloe's orders. Like she knew her position was secure. She had pointed out on more than one occasion that she worked not for Lady Chloe, but for Mr. Kiriakis.
Mimi knew the behavior of a lady's maid; and despite Jan's impeccable references, she didn't carry herself like one. She was haughty, arrogant. If that girl was a maid, then Mimi was the rightful Queen of England. Lady Chloe didn't like her either, but she didn't seem willing to let on. It was almost as if she was afraid of Jan. Which, Mimi thought ruefully, she probably was. And with good reason. The only reason Mimi could think of for Philip to engage a maid like that for his betrothed would be to spy on her.
Well, Mimi had had enough of it. It wasn't fair to Lady Chloe. Chloe had her faults—many of them, in Mimi's opinion. But she was a virtuous woman, who didn't deserve to be treated this way. And Mimi would be damned before she let Jan Spears defame the good name of Lady Belle Black's dearest friend in all the world. Especially if Jan involved Belle's father in her slanders. Pushing the sleeves of her plain brown workwoman's dress up above her elbows as if preparing for a fight, Mimi stalked across the deck for a long-overdue confrontation with Jan.
Jan Spears whirled around as she heard Mimi approach. Her dark cinnamon eyes flashing with momentary fear before settling back into annoyance and indifference when she saw who it was. "What do you want?" she greeted her harshly, as if Mimi was the one doing wrong.
Mimi crossed her arms, unaffected by Jan's attempt to put her on the defensive. "I could ask you the same thing, but I feel it would be a waste. You're obviously above such things as telling the truth. Still, I wonder how Lady Chloe would take the news that her maid is spying on her when she left you with instructions to stay below."
Jan
raised her chin defiantly. "Tell her
whatever you like. You know full well
there's nothing she can do to me. I am
employed by Mr. Kiriakis to see his future wife safely to his side." Mimi might have been mistaken, but she
thought she detected a note of resentment in Jan's voice. "I intend to do that, and I intend to make
sure she arrives there as pure as she was on the day he met her."
Mimi felt hot anger on behalf of Chloe surge through her. She'd never realized before how much she cared for Belle's best friend until she heard her threatened. For that's what Jan's words amounted to, a threat to denounce and defame her if the occasion arose. "There is no one in the world more pure than Lady Chloe, unless it's my own mistress. And if you knew anything about innocence yourself, you would know that."
Jan's eyes narrowed dangerously at Mimi's blatant attack on her character. Choosing the wiser course and avoiding responding in anger, she turned her attention back to Chloe and Lord Black. She inclined her head sardonically. "Well, maybe I'm seeing things through my obviously sin-clouded eyes, but I don't think that looks so innocent, do you?"
Mimi followed her gaze to the twosome. Chloe's hand rested gently on top of Lord John's while she looked up at him with an expression in her eyes that could easily be misinterpreted, if the observer was so inclined. John was speaking in low tones to Chloe; and Mimi was suddenly grateful she didn't have to analyze the look on his face. She hated to think what a depraved person like Jan would think of it. But Mimi saw the scene for what it was. "I think it looks perfectly fine," she maintained stoutly. "Lord Black has known Lady Chloe since she was just a child. He's like a second father to her."
Jan smiled coldly, vindictively. "No doubt that's what you and the rest of them would like people to think, but I'll make sure Mr. Kiriakis knows of this. I'm sure he will not be pleased." That said, she spared Mimi one more icy glare before turning on her heel and marching down the steps. Mimi watched her go, her feeling of apprehension growing by the moment. Lady Chloe had made a dangerous enemy, whether she knew it or not.
~~*~~
Port Royal, Jamaica
Jason made his way into the crowded tavern, pushing his way past several drunken buccaneers. He felt out of place in a group he would normally have been a hero amongst. But few, if any, would recognize him here. Brady made sure of that. They left the boat and the crew in Tortuga for that exact reason. While most of the buccaneers were welcomed with open arms in Jamaica, those who broke the Rules of the Brethren, those who crossed the line from buccaneer to pirate were in danger not only from the government but by their fellow adventurers.
So Jason had put aside his traditional pirate's garb, for the uncomfortable disguise of a gentleman's gentleman. He knew that any true person of society would be able to see that he was not a simple valet, but he was able to fool the masses here quite easily. He was met with alternating suspicious glances and respectful distance. That was just fine with him. The farther they stayed away from him, the less his chances of getting exposed for what he really was.
He searched the unruly crowd for the familiar face of his informant. Every time they docked in Port Royal, Jason never failed to learn something new and helpful off of Lucas Roberts. Once a pirate himself, Lucas had given up the sea for another full-time occupation. That of drinking a never-ending supply of rum. He supplemented his income with selling the secrets of many prominent citizens of the island. Jason couldn't even begin to guess where he learned all he did, but Lucas had yet to be proven wrong.
Jason finally spotted him in a table in a far corner, laughing uproariously at the antics of several of his drunken comrades. When Jason approached, the table grew silent under the force of his stare. Lucas watched him for several minutes, before his eyes focused enough for him to recognize Jason. As soon as he did, his face broke into a drunken smile. "Welles!" he slurred happily. "Have a seat." He gestured wildly with his mug.
"Thanks, I will," said Jason, responding to his alias. He glared at Lucas's remaining companions until they grudgingly sauntered off. Jason slipped into the seat next to Lucas. "So, my old friend, how are you?" He grinned, slapping him on the back and making sure to keep Lucas in a jovial mood. He was always more talkative when he was in high spirits.
"I am good, my friend. It's been a long time since I've seen you. Has that boss of yours been keeping you locked onto that plantation?" Lucas laughed heartily for no apparent reason.
Jason laughed along with him. "Not quite. But we've been keeping busy. It's difficult to start a new plantation." Especially when you don't use slaves and are never there, Jason thought wryly. Brady had bought the small sugarcane plantation the year before to give them a better cover when they came back to land. It also gave them a place to lie low if they ever needed it.
"You should tell your boss to be careful," Lucas warned, the rum already starting to loosen his tongue.
"Why's that?" Jason asked, trying to make his voice sound casual, even as his stomach lurched. Had their secret finally been found out? Were they going to be arrested and hanged at Execution Dock after all?
"He's made himself an enemy," Lucas confided in a low tone, as he leaned in towards Jason. "And it's a big one. Kiriakis. Philip Kiriakis." Lucas's voice practically dripped with his loathing. "Pussy-footed, yellow-livered coward. Always hated that boy. Be damned if I know how he came by all that money."
"But what's he got against my master?" Jason asked, hoping to keep Lucas to the point. It didn't matter to him how Philip got his money. The point was that he had it, enough of it to cause serious problems for Brady and Jason if he put it use with the right people.
"Ah, hell, Welles," Lucas mumbled. "That's pretty obvious, ain't it? Your plantation borders his. He doesn't much care for neighbors, 'specially small ones. If you have any say with that boss, I'd tell him to sell out and quick-like. Philyboy don't like the way you're doing things, and he'll make a heap of trouble for you if you give him the chance."
Jason filed it away to memory, relieved just to know that their secret was still safe for the time being. "Thanks, Lucas. I'll be sure to let him know. Now, any real news for me?" He laid out several pieces of eight on the table, letting their rich gold sparkle catch Lucas's avaricious eye.
Lucas
gathered them up greedily. "Still don't
see what good this does you. Not like
that gentleman of yours ever leaves the plantation. What's he care what's going on?"
Jason smiled, humoring him. "My master likes to know what's going on in the world, even if it doesn't personally affect him. He's eccentric to say the least. So what about it? Anything new and interesting going on?" He listened attentively as Lucas rambled on about the various local gossip and, more importantly, the position of various ships of interest. Jason filed away everything of import in his brain for later recollection. No doubt Lucas had no idea of the interesting facts he had stored away along with the meaningless, idle prattle.
"Oh, and speaking of Kiriakis, his bride is on the way here from England. Though if she makes it here unscarred, it will be a miracle," Lucas added, with a hint of approaching moroseness. He drained his rum.
"Why do you say that?" Jason pried, hoping he had stumbled across a scandal involving Philip Kiriakis. It would come in handy to have something against him if he became a problem.
Lucas shook his head. "Bad business, Welles. Bad business, indeed. See, she's crossing in the company of some English bigwig. Some lord who's supposed to rile up anger against the Spanish. Though no one's s'posed to know that. Big secret, but the secret's out. And someone knows who shouldn't. The Spanish have issued an order that he's not to reach Port Royal alive."
"You mean England's actually thinking about fighting against Spain?" Jason asked, grasping at the glimmer of hope in Lucas's words.
Lucas shrugged. "S'pose so. But doubt they'll do anything about it, if this one ends up dead. Not sure how they'll manage it, though, short of attacking the ship he's on. He's coming with a cover of bringing over his daughter to be married. Her and her friend. The friend is the one who's marrying Philyboy."
Jason frowned, letting the reference slide. What did it matter to him? His business was to line up the next series of galleons to attack. But deep within him, he felt his spirit give way. This man, whoever he was, was Jason's hope that maybe someday this could all end. If England went to war with Spain, he could fight them in a more honorable way. They could extract more than vengeance. They could fight for justice. But it was pointless to consider it. Not when this man, whoever he was, would be dead before he could set foot in the West Indies, before he could even get a glimpse of the Spanish atrocities that haunted Jason on a daily basis.
~~*~~
"I'm telling you, this menace has to be stopped." Philip banged his fist against the table for emphasis, causing several lemonades to spill on the teakwood table. "If these pirates aren't handed over to the authorities and soon, they'll provoke us into a war with Spain. And then what will happen to our plantations?" Murmurs of agreement were heard around the table.
"What do you say, Commander?" one of the other planters spoke up, addressing naval Commander Shawn Douglas Brady who stood at attention to one side of the table. "From a naval perspective, is England capable of fighting the Spanish and still protecting its interests here in the West Indies? Especially Jamaica."
Shawn cleared his throat, unwilling to voice his true, personal opinion about the possibility of war with Spain and English plantations in the Caribbean. He doubted his views would go over that well among the gathering of Jamaica's wealthy sugarcane planters. "Well, sir, I would have to say at this point that no, His Majesty's Navy is not equipped to defend Jamaica and fight a war against the Spanish."
Philip smirked triumphantly around at the table of his peers. His smile abruptly fell however when Shawn continued. "Which is exactly why the buccaneers are so important to Jamaica's security. There are less than a dozen of His Majesty's ships in the whole of the Caribbean at this time. Obviously, once the navy is a stronger presence here, the privateers will be taken care of. But for the present, I think it's in the best interests of Jamaica and your plantations to maintain good relations with the buccaneers. They're your strongest line of defense against the Spanish in case of war."
Philip's jaw clenched as his fellow plantation owners seemed put back at ease by Shawn's words. He was losing their support, and by the words of the person he'd expected to have the most against the buccaneers. As a man brought up to believe in order and discipline and integrity, Shawn should have been an outspoken opponent of piracy. Instead, he seemed to have some sort of respect for them.
"Buccaneers, privateers," Philip sneered. "Why can't you just call them for what they really are? Pirates. Low, vile filth that pollute the seas and our shores when we allow them sanctuary here. Do we really want to make Port Royal a hideout for common cutthroats, thieves, and murderers?"
"Come now," an elderly, distinguished planter spoke up. "While their tactics might leave a little to be desired, and they're certainly not the kind of riffraff I want socializing with myself and my family, there is something heroic about what they're doing. Commander Brady is right. They protect us from the Spanish, as well as giving Spain a taste of its own medicine."
"You think that the Spanish deserve this? You think these men are heroes?" Philip returned incredulously. "The first report that reached my ears when I returned to Jamaica was the tale of the El Diablo." Several of the men shifted in their seats as the horrors of that story was remembered. "I know most of you have heard the story; but for those of you who haven't, or those who chose not to believe it, let me refresh your memory. I heard it straight from the lips of the only surviving passenger. He was a nothing, only a common galley cook. But he stood and watched as one by one the nefarious pirate crew slaughtered everyone from the capitan to the priest to the lowliest common sailor."
"I think you chose a poor example," the elder man spoke up again. "It's well known that The Vengeance is captained by a man with no regard at all for human life. It's no common buccaneering ship. This is a crew bent on revenge for whatever wrongs they feel that Spain has committed against them. I've heard that Captain Blackheart is so called because the Spanish branded him on his chest right above his heart. Some say his heart itself was burned and blackened."
Nods of agreement circulated the table, along with a collective shiver of fear. Philip saw his opportunity and took it. "So you will agree with me that a man like this should be executed as the contemptible murderer he is?"
"Of course. If you can catch him, that is," a slow voice drawled from the doorway. Heads shot in the direction of the late arrival. A tall blonde man stood leaning indolently against the doorframe. He was impeccably dressed in his white suit, even down to his ebony walking stick, which was obviously only used for decorative purposes. Nothing about this man seemed weak, except for the lazy look in his eyes. He looked as though he was perennially bored by life.
"Victor!" Shawn greeted him brightly, stepping away from the table to shake hands with his friend. "I was beginning to give up on you. I'm glad you were able to tear yourself away from your beloved plantation."
Philip snorted derisively. "The rest of us managed to do that, and still arrive on time," he pointed out. He had an especial loathing for his arrogant, apathetic neighbor. Victor Alamain had owned his small excuse for a plantation for less than a year, and yet still had the nerve to act as though he belonged with them. He had the gall to act the equal of the richest among them. Not to mention he was one of the most dull-witted men that Philip had ever had the misfortune to meet. Something about him grated on Philip's already raw nerves.
"Ah, yes," Victor said, his lazy eyes traveling to Philip's face. If he picked up on Philip's obvious loathing for him, he didn't show it. "So nice to see you again, Kiriakis. How was your trip to England? Enjoy yourself? Get to meet His Majesty?" He said all this with careless indifference that only intensified Philip's unrelenting hatred towards him.
"We were trying to have a meeting here, Alamain," he ground out. "If you're planning to stay for it, then kindly take a seat and shut your mouth. Otherwise, why don't you leave?" Several eyebrows were raised at the ferocity in Philip's tone, but Victor's weren't among them.
He simply laughed and sat down. "Right to the point, eh, chap? Well, well. Get on with it then. What were you talking of? Oh yes. That dread pirate…what's his name." He waved his hand airily for emphasis. Shawn barely bit back his laughter in the background. He schooled his face to show nothing of what he was feeling. An old military trick he had learned from his father.
"Captain Blackheart," Philip growled menacingly. Victor seemed utterly unaffected by his anger. But he was the only one in the room. The other gentlemen shifted their gazes from one to the other with mingled curiosity and amusement. "And he is just one example of the pirate ruffians this island gives quarter to. Maybe he's more audacious and dastardly in his exploits, but they're all the same. Vile filth that should be captured and executed as an example to any who dare to flout the rules of all common decency."
"Bravo! Well said." Victor banged his walking stick down to accentuate his statement. "I'm sure King Phillip couldn't have said it better himself. Did you perhaps meet the Spanish king as well during your European vacation?" Nervous laughter passed around the table as Philip turned a vivid shade of red.
"I am a loyal citizen of England and His Majesty King Charles," Philip said slowly and distinctly, enunciating every word, even as his hands clenched and unclenched with the desire to teach that arrogant bastard a lesson. "I see a crime against humanity to be a crime against England as well. It may be Spanish blood being spilt, but it's still human blood. And may I remind you, Alamain, that England is not at war with Spain. They are our peaceful neighbors."
Even Shawn couldn't stop himself from snickering at that statement. "There is nothing remotely peaceful about Spain," he protested with not the slightest bit of humor. "Perhaps they haven't declared war on us; but if anyone is committing atrocities worthy of condemnation, it's Spain." He stopped himself short of saying what he truly felt. That England was cowardly for not going to war against Spain. He couldn't say such things without jeopardizing his commission.
But as he had feared, the remarks he did make had only the effect of angering the planters. "Leave Spain to her own worries," said one of the men, and the others nodded their agreement, if not expressing it vocally. The general consensus among these worthy gentlemen was that as long as their plantations were safe, it didn't matter that the Spanish were torturing and slaughtering people for the crime of worshipping in a different church than theirs. "It's none of England's business."
Victor abruptly stood, bowing to the assembly. "It would seem that our views are offending the other gentleman, Shawn. Shall we remove our offending presence?" Without waiting for anyone to reply, he walked out of the room with the same dramatic flare he had entered it. Shawn followed quickly, even as the buzzing amongst the planters started.
Shawn laughed loudly as they finally made it out of Philip's mansion onto the crowded streets of Port Royal. "You certainly know how to make yourself noticed, my friend. I'll give you that. But what was the point of that anyway? You only made Philip hate you more; and I don't think that's an enemy even you want to make, Blackheart."
The pirate grinned wickedly. "It will be a cold day in hell before I worry about an idiotic swaggerer like that. He's just showing off. I wouldn't be surprised if he has his eye on the governorship. Besides, I accomplished my mission. I got you out of there, didn't I? Now, how about we can go somewhere to get a drink?"
Shawn nodded his agreement, wiping the sweat off his brow. Even a few minutes out in the heat of the day in Port Royal was enough to break him into a sweat. He pulled the collar of his uniform loose. "What I wouldn't give for a uniform like yours, Alamain."
He laughed. "You should suggest it to His Majesty on your next trip home. I'm surprised you didn't find time to mention it this time. I'm sure King Charles would be delighted to learn that one of his highest ranking officers in the Caribbean is the trusted friend of that infamous Captain Blackheart he wants so desperately to hang."
Shawn smiled for only a moment before instantly sobering as they headed into one of Port Royal's many taverns. "They will hang you one day you know, my friend. Another stunt like the one with the El Diablo and not all the interference in the world on my part will be enough to save you. Why can't you just give up this foolish piracy and settle back to life on your plantation? I'm sure you're rich enough by now."
"It's not about the money," Brady muttered, then forced himself to lighten up as he and Shawn sat down to a table with their rum. "Besides, if I were to give up the sea, who would save your sorry ass when you get into another jam?"
Shawn smiled sheepishly. He wasn't in the habit of befriending pirates, especially not incorrigible ones with obvious death wishes. But he owed his life to the man across from him. When Shawn had first been stationed in the Caribbean, he had been an unseasoned youth; and through a foolish mistake of his own making, he had fallen overboard and been left for dead. If The Vengeance hadn't come along when it did, he would have been a dead man. And what had begun as a debt of honor had grown into a friendship built of mutual respect and affection.
"So how did your trip to England go?" Brady asked pleasantly. "Did everything go as planned?"
Shawn nodded his head vigorously, a rather foppish smile on his handsome face. "On more fronts than one. But of course, I'll start with the news I know is of significance to you. I got my audience with the Admiralty. They were highly impressed with the reports I handed them. I doubt they would have been quite so impressed had they known that it was you that wrote them instead of me; but at any rate, it got their attention. They're sending a man over to look into the possibilities of ordering a full-fledged attack on the Spanish Main."
Brady barley bit back his cry of joy. Finally. After all this time, it might yet be possible to rid the whole of the Spanish Main of those disgusting pigs. It would be enough. It would be a start. He didn't care if he died in the process, at last he would have his revenge. "Thank you, Shawn," he said with honest gratitude, clapping him on the shoulder. "Not many would take the risks you have for a common pirate like me."
Shawn smiled ruefully. "Pirate? Yes. Common? Most definitely not. You've developed quite a reputation, my good man. They've heard of you even back in jolly old England. And I didn't do this just for you. I honestly believe in this cause. And I'd like a chance to fight the Spanish myself. In my own way."
"Meaning by the book," Brady filled in. "Yes, it might be nice to fight on the same side for once. So you mentioned other good news. What is it, Shawn? What's with the idiotic look on your face? I can only assume you've fallen in love."
Shawn laughed self-consciously. "Am I that transparent?" The look on Brady's face was answer enough. "Okay. Yes, I'm in love, Alamain. More than in love. I'm engaged. To the most beautiful, wonderful, purest, sweetest, kindest angel that has ever walked the face of the earth. You should see her, old chap…" He paused, contemplating his handsome, dangerous-looking best friend. "Well, maybe not. I'd hate to lose her before she's even mine."
Brady laughed uproariously. "Don't worry, my friend. I would never take away your lady. But if she's half the things you say she is, you won't even have to worry about it. No doubt she is as foolishly devoted to you as you are to her. So who is the lucky girl? When does she arrive?"
"She's arriving on the Dolphin in a few weeks, along with her father—who just happens to be the man the Admiralty chose to complete your mission." Brady leaned forward, intrigued. "Lord John Black, and his daughter is my sweet Isabella."
Brady felt like he'd been punched in the gut. The world started spinning wildly. "Who did you say?" he asked quietly. "Who is the Admiralty sending?"
Shawn frowned at the look on his friend's face. "Lord John Black, fourth Viscount of Steventon. Why? What's the matter? Do you know him?" He'd never seen such a look on Blackheart's face before. He was always so cool, so in control of his emotions. But at the moment, he looked like he'd come face to face with a ghost.
Brady struggled to breathe. The very air was oppressive. "No," he managed to get out. "No, I don't know him. Excuse me. I…I think I've had too much rum." Without another word, he pushed away from the table and shoved his way out the door, ignoring Shawn's protests that he hadn't even finished his mug. As soon as Brady made it to the street, he turned the corner and leaned against the side of the building weakly. It couldn't be. It just couldn't be. And yet it was. His father had returned from the grave.
