A Pirate's Wife for Me (34 page)

"Of course not." Taran examined his own fingers, then glanced around. "I need a horse I can ride. I need one now."

Like a ghost, Wahkan disappeared into the depths of the stable and came back leading a beautiful, sleek, long-legged mare, saddled and ready to ride. "Take Hanna. She is older now, but she will carry you far and fast."

Taran stroked her nose, spoke softly in her ear, then put his foot into the stirrup and swung his leg over her back. He settled into the saddle with the ease of a born rider. "Tonight, I thought to visit the noble families who cling to their lands."

"The Trujillos. The Martins. The Vincents. Most of the families will welcome you. But first" — Wahkan put his hand on Hanna's neck — "first, go to Arianna. Go to the cathedral. The rebels, they meet there. You must win them over before you can take your kingdom back — and keep it."

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

The moon lit Arianna's ragged thatch
roofs and illuminated broken windows. The schoolhouse was empty of desks, the window shutters torn off. If anything, Cate had spared him in her description of Arianna. Misery ruled the city. In the twelve years he'd been absent, exiled in Scotland and then sailing the world on a pirate ship, his people had gone from prosperity and pride to poverty and humiliation. They were beaten down, set apart from the world, without hope. Taran had failed them, but he would not fail them now.

As he neared the cathedral, he heard a low murmur, like the wind in the pines. But no, it was voices. Wahkan had directed him well. Taran made his way to the back of the once-proud building. He tied Hanna to a post, then went to the side door. It yielded to his touch. As he made his way inside, his boots crunched in dirt and desolation.

From the inner sanctuary, a woman's low voice predominated. But several men argued with her. Who were these people? What were they doing?

He lifted the latch and opened the door a crack.

The woman was speaking. "If we rush Giraud, we win nothing. Sir Davies is not there. The servants are not our enemies."

"But we can take the house," one of the men said. "We can confiscate the firearms."

Two of the other men shouted their agreement.

"Shh," the woman said. "Do you want the mercenaries to catch us and set fire to the cathedral?"

No one replied.

"If we take the firearms too soon," she said, "the mercenaries will fight us. They will win, and Davies will still be in control. We must wait until he returns, and take
him."

The man wasn't ready to give up. "We need to move now!"

"Your impatience will get us all killed." Her voice was low and intense. "We have waited this long. We can wait another day or week or month, whatever it takes so we can rule our own lands."

The people of Arianna were planning to overthrow Davies. Good. Taran wouldn't have to rouse them. But if they moved too quickly, they could interfere with his operation and get themselves killed. He needed to recruit them, to convince them that his cause and theirs were one and the same. Surely that would not be difficult.

He pushed on the door, opening it slowly. He looked; two torches lit the old church. Footmen and serving girls, mothers and children, farmers and fishermen, sat on overturned pews or stood with arms crossed or with pitchforks and knives in their hands. Zelle stood on the altar, straight and proud, directing the men with the force of her personality.

Zelle. Of course.

It appeared he was not the only one who hid leadership beneath a humble mien.

He stepped boldly into the room.

The good people of Arianna turned on him with a ferocity that left him in no doubt of their determination.

He held his hands up to show that they were empty. "I heard you," he said. "Let me help you."

The blades pointed at him inched closer.

Zelle examined him with a frown. "You are a spy."

"A spy would have turned you over to the mercenaries," Taran said.

She watched him as if trying to place him. "Why would we let a stranger help us?"

For the first time in many years, he declared himself by his full name. "Because I am Antonio Raul Edward Kane. I am your crown prince."

Profound silence met his announcement. In the faces turned to him, he read disbelief and outright fury.

"Antonio? Prince Antonio?" Zelle radiated hostility as she walked down the steps toward him. "Why should we care?"

He had imagined this scene many times; his people would recognize him, welcome him, take him on their shoulders and shout forth their joy.

Another dream crushed by the burden of reality. "I can lead you. I can help you."

"We have leaders," one of the men said. "Leaders who won't betray us."

One of the women with a pitchfork poked it toward his belly. "Where have you been while we were suffering? Off living on the continent, drinking wine and chasing women. We laugh at your leadership. We spit on your help."

Taran flinched away from the sharp points.

"We're not going to have a king," Zelle said. "We are going to take over the country and run it ourselves."

"No, you're not." The many pointy objects moved suddenly closer. Taran lifted his hands higher. "I promise you, I was not off drinking wine and chasing women. I was the captain of a pirate ship, learning the ways of the world so I would be an able king. I earned a fortune so I could come back to Cenorina and right the injustices done to you. I wish — I intend — to make things right."

"A pirate ship." Zelle snorted. "Prove it."

Everyone laughed derisively.

As he had done with Cate, he stripped off his shirt and turned his back to them.

The jeering stopped. The silence was profound.

"I bear the scars." He faced them again. "Do you think I don't know what I owe to the people of Cenorina? I am responsible for my mother's imprisonment, my own exile, and your suffering. Listen to me. Please, just listen to me. I have a plan…"

As he rode back to Giraud,
he laughed softly. He had, he realized, bribed his people with the promise of his fortune
and
Sir Davies's fortune, explained international politics as controlled by Britain, the most dominant country in the world, and coaxed them with promises of his own good behavior.

At one point, the men had wanted to hold him prisoner. Only Zelle had refused, holding him in her hostile gaze. "Let him go," she'd said. "He's no threat to us."

But he was. And she knew it, for unspoken was the knowledge that he led fighting men, pirates, and perhaps, just perhaps, he could take control of Cenorina with or without their cooperation.

Yet he respected their autonomy — to successfully return this country to prosperity, he did indeed need their cooperation — so he asked them to consult with each other, and in three nights, he promised to return to hear the consensus.

He hoped the consensus wasn't death to the crown prince.

Dawn lightened the eastern sky as he started down the long road to Giraud. He returned Hanna to Wahkan's care, then hurried into the house and up the stairs, aware that the staff would be arriving soon. Zelle would be on the lookout for the prince, wondering where he hid, and he needed give the sharp-eyed, resentful female no cause for suspicion.

In the bedchamber he shared with Cate, he discarded his clothing, stacked it in a neat pile at the base of the closet, and climbed into bed. He snuggled close to Cate's back and kissed the nape of her neck.

She murmured a sleepy rejection.

He kissed her ear.

She jabbed him with her elbow.

He chuckled and kissed her neck again.

She sighed loudly, then turned over and slid her arms around his waist. Her body was sleep-warmed and supple. Her slurred voice declared, "You are a villain to wake me now."

"Go back to sleep and I will hold you."

"Too late. I am already awake." She kissed his mouth.

God. "One kiss from you, my unknowing princess, and I am no longer a brigand without country or family. You make me a man on the brink of the most glorious adventure of my life — an hour spent in your arms."

She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled into his face. "If you can make it last an hour, I will happily declare you a god."

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

A red sky heralded the new day
aboard the Scottish Witch, and Blowfish stood on the fo'c'sle, a length of rope in his hand, and randomly lashed the four young sailors that cowered on their knees before him. "Mutiny? Mutiny? What in hell's hot blazes did ye think ye could accomplish with such a caper? Did ye really imagine ye could steal the Scottish Witch from the Cap'n hisself? And he would let ye do it?"

One of the lads said, "Cap'n's not here and we thought…"

"Ye thought ye could pull the wool over
me
eyes? Ye boys are dumber than dung beetles! Did ye not think an old dog like me could smell a mutiny ten leagues away? And did ye not think the Cap'n knew what ye were up to even before he left on his mission?" Blowfish saw their incredulous exchange of glances. "Yes, he did. Ye were doomed before ye started. Do ye know what we do to mutineers on the Scottish Witch? Do ye?"

One of the lads finally spoke in wavering tones. "Hang us?"

Blowfish lashed him. "Hangin's too good fer the likes of ye! Why bother to tie a noose when we can sit on a coil of rope, lift us a bottle of rum, and watch ye walk the plank?"

Still on his knees, one of the lads slumped into a faint, his head smartly striking the deck.

Blowfish kicked his drooping body. "Brave mutineers ye are! But one of ye could yet save yer lousy life. Tell us the instigator behind this asinine plan."

The one in a faint revived.

The other boys didn't hesitate. They babbled, they begged, they shouted a single name. "Lilbit!" "Lilbit!" "Lilbit!" "Lilbit!"

Blowfish nodded. As if he didn't know. He seated himself on the steps, leaned his arm on his knee, and examined their eager, hopeful, stupid faces. "Where is yer leader now?"

The lads glanced at each other and shook their heads.

Maccus stepped forward. "Blowfish, one of the longboats is missing."

"Missing? Missing?
Missing?"
Blowfish's voice grew louder with every repetition. "Do ye mean that young villain stole a longboat, abandoned his pitiful crew to pain and death to save
his own life?
Is that what ye're sayin'?"

Maccus looked solemn. "Aye, Blowfish, so it appears."

"Not death!" One of the boy-mutineers looked around wildly. "I told you who the leader was. You can't kill me now!"

The seasoned crew burst into raucous laughter.

All except Dead Bob. He didn't laugh. Instead, he put his foot on the lad's neck, leaned over and asked, "Are ye telling the man against whom ye staged a mutiny what he can or cannot do?"

The boy looked into Dead Bob's bony, cadaverous face and began to blubber.

One by one, all the boys began to blubber.

The seasoned crew exchanged annoyed glances and exasperated sighs.

Quicksilver said, "Blowfish, I have an idea."

Blowfish lashed desultorily at the boys. "We should swab the deck with their wet, whiny faces?"

"These lads are young," Quicksilver said. "They've learned their lesson."

That made the boys cease their crying. "Yes!" "Yes!" "Yes!" "We have!"

"Are ye then suggesting clemency for mutineers?" Blowfish slashed at the air so hard his makeshift whip whistled. "All they'll do is grow into more villainy!"

"We wouldn't!" they chorused.

"Clemency is not quite the term I would use for what I have in mind." Quicksilver smirked. "I say banish them from the Scottish Witch, with its comfortable hammocks and its ration of rum and its kindly captain."

"That might merit some consideration." Blowfish stroked his chin as if the suggestion surprised him. Which it did not. "We could sell 'em and make some money off their scrawny, ungrateful hides."

"Sell us?" the boys wailed.

"Where do ye think?" Blowfish asked. "Sell them to a pagan whorehouse?"

"Sell them to a Spanish pig farmer!" Quicksilver suggested.

"Sell them to an English hide tanner!" Dove shouted.

Each occupation they suggested echoed the workhouse jobs the boys had held before they joined the pirate ship — terrible occupations — and they cringed and begged, crawling on their knees toward the seasoned sailors until Blowfish was sick to death of them.

"Enough!" he roared. "We'll sell 'em to a sea captain. A pirate captain."

"A harsh captain so they will suffer fear and pain," Quicksilver said.

"Aye," Blowfish said. "Of course we'll warn the captain so he knows to take measures to keep 'em in line. Whipping every other night. Half rations every other day."