Across a Moonlit Sea (11 page)

We had the cables attached and the men on shore to careen her when we saw sails on the horizon.” He stopped and snorted at some terrible irony, which he shared a moment later with Spence. “They were bloody zabras. Six India guards unluckily driven off course by the same storm that ripped at us.”

“Blow my ballocks,” Spence muttered. “What did ye do?”

“The only thing we could do: We stood and fought. The
Virago
was wounded, aye, but we had Bloodstone at our back; we should have taken them in a trice. He was to remain out of sight behind the island while we drew fire and led the zabras away. The intention was to catch them with their eyes looking forward, not back, and while the
Talon
bore some damage to her mainmast, she still had full steerage and an equally full battery of guns to call upon.”

Dante’s voice grew brittle and a tremor appeared in the hand that gripped the pewter cup.

“The zabras took the bait, as we expected they would, and came on, all six of them bristling with their own importance. We sallied forth to meet them, feigning we were in worse straits than we were, knowing that Victor Bloodstone, courtier to the Queen, nephew of Elizabeth’s chief counsel, would be running out from behind the island with all guns blazing.” He paused and tossed the considerable contents of the cup down his throat. “He ran, all right. Bearing due north and east the last glimpse we had of him, with every square inch of canvas warped into the wind. He ran and just left us there, one against six, knowing full well that this time
we
were the fresh, bleeding meat, and the Spaniards were the stalking wolves.”

Dante’s throat was beginning to roughen from the spirits, but the blazing blue eyes remained fixed and burning on the pewter cup. “My brave, brave
Virago”
he whispered.

“She took them. Sank four and sent the other two limp pricks off, dragging their sails behind them. There were sixty of us left at the end of the day … sixty out of one hundred and thirty men, fighting on decks that ran red with their own blood. When we returned to the island to lick our wounds, everything was gone. All of it: the gold, the silver, even the barrels of food and water. And what they could not load on board the
Talon
, they smashed and threw into the sea. The wounded,” Dante finished on a savage hiss of fury, “did not stand a chance.”

He fell silent and Pitt took up the remainder of the story. “We patched the
Virago
as best we could and rigged enough sail to catch the prevailing winds, not knowing whether or not the two zabras managed to limp into a nearby port to relay our identity and position. The ship was too badly damaged and the crew too weak to have held off another attack … which might explain, although not excuse, our extreme caution and lack of manners this morning when we saw you sliding out of the mist.”

Spence nodded pensively. He was dumbfounded, and more than a little outraged himself at the treachery perpetrated on the crew of the
Virago.
There were unwritten laws, codes of honor among seafarers as sacred and unbreakable as the laws of God. First among others was never to abandon a sister ship in distress, and De Tourville, though half French himself, had sailed the
Virago
under English colors with a mostly English crew. He was a privateer and an adventurer. To be sure, some even called him an opportunist and a pirate, but he was also a respected member of the elite group of sea hawks whose skill and daring on the high seas was the only thing standing in the way of Spain’s complete dominance of the oceans as well as the New World.

While publicly commiserating with the King of Spain
over the losses suffered at the hands of the sea hawks, behind closed doors Elizabeth not only encouraged her privateers to plunder and raid the rich treasure ships that sailed between Panama and Lisbon, she was the largest single investor in many of their planned expeditions. There had been rumors flooding England for over a year now that King Philip was at the end of his patience over Elizabeth’s feigned innocence. Her fledgling navy of merchant marauders was costing Spain staggering losses in shipping and prestige, and there were stories of an enormous fleet of galleons being amassed in Spanish harbors, a great armada of warships being built to carry an army of conquest across the English Channel.

It was no time to hear of open treachery and cowardice among the English ranks. Elizabeth would need all her best captains, her fastest and deadliest ships, to counter any threat Spain might present.

This was not to say all the sea hawks were friends. Most were bitter rivals who would no sooner reveal their plans and destinations to a fellow privateer than they would voluntarily report the full value of their plunder to the Crown. Even Jonas Spence had his secret compartments and false walls, though both were sadly empty at the moment. Nor was he above a little larceny or piracy if the acts were warranted. But to abandon a sister ship? Or to tuck his tail and run for safety while someone else fought to the death? He had not lost two fingers and half a leg because he went out of his way to avoid confrontations.

“Blow me,” he muttered again. “I can well see why ye’d be wantin’ to chase after the fellow. An’ with more guns than a mere merchant trader would have to offer.”

Dante shook his head, causing his earring to glitter in the lamplight. “He has more than a two-week start on us. Even burdened as he is, I have come to believe over
the past few hours, it would be sheer foolhardiness to think we could catch him.

Spence’s brow pleated over a frown but it was Beau, still looking on in silence from the doorway, who felt her spine prickle at the implication that the Egret was too slow and unrefined to merit the pirate wolf’s respect.

“I would have you know, sir,” she said, striding briskly into the pool of brighter light, “with a fair wind in our sheets we can run at fifteen knots and better.” She dropped the platter without ceremony on the table and leaned forward on the heels of her hands. “We have sailed from Plymouth to the Tortugas in under six weeks. I doubt even your
Virago
could have outrun us.”

Dante glowered while Pitt stepped quickly into the breach. “You must have had an excellent navigator and pilot.”

“We did,” she said evenly, turning to meet the smiling green eyes. “Me.”

The smile was startled off Pitt’s mouth. “You?”

Spence settled his weight back in his chair, balancing precariously on the two hind legs while he folded his arms across his chest. “Best damned pilot I ever had at the helm. Hell, she once took us through Magellan’s Straits in a storm. An’ her charts? Ye’ll see none their equal. If anyone can run us up the arse o’ yer rogue captain, it’s my Isabeau.”

“A woman,” Dante muttered, still disbelieving, “at the helm of a ship? Has the world gone mad?”

Beau glared at him. “Only the small portion with you in it.”

“Well, regardless,” Pitt interjected quickly, “it does work to our advantage that we know precisely where Bloodstone is going.”

“To London, ye mean.”

“To London.” Pitt nodded. “He’ll waste no time boasting
his prowess to the Queen and her counsel, likely taking all the credit for the venture in the same voice he uses to mourn the loss of Simon Dante.”

“Aye, an’ he’ll do it all with yer gold in his pockets.”

“My gold,” Dante agreed, finally tearing his gaze away from Beau. “Which could be half yours if you brought me within striking distance of the cowardly bastard.”

“Half?” The tiny glands under Spence’s tongue squirted with more than casual interest. And, looking at the hard gleam in Dante’s eyes, he saw no reason to doubt the man would, indeed, pay the price gladly. The
Talon
would be doubly burdened and moving slower than a snail, taking longer routes around known lanes of shipping in order to avoid being set upon by scavengers. Two weeks of plodding could be made up in a few days of spirited sailing with the wind in their teeth.

“Beau?”

She looked at her father, amazed he was even considering the possibility. “What if the zabras did make it back to a Spanish port? What if there are a dozen ships out there right now hunting for a wounded privateer?”

Spence pursed his lips and had to acknowledge the threat. The Spanish coast was less than two hundred leagues off the starboard beam, and if they had indeed sent out hunters …

Something else the Frenchman had said caused Spence to frown and turn to Dante again. “Ye said yer mission was not yet finished after ye left Veracruz. What more were ye plannin’ to do?”

Dante drew a deep breath and avoided catching Pitt’s eye. “We were planning to make a small detour past the harbor at Cadiz.”

Spence’s chair thumped forward and he shook his head as
if to clear water from his ears. “Cadiz? Did ye just say
Cadiz?”

Dante smile grimly. “That was the same response Bloodstone gave me. He wanted no part of it, either, and was planning to separate from us once we veered east.”

“Why, by God’s grace, would ye want to veer anywhere near Cadiz and risk the charred toes and crimping irons of Philip’s Inquisitors?”

“Pitt,” Dante said on a rum-laced sigh.

“Pitt?”

“A damned efficient fellow. Too efficient at times. While most of my men were busy picking the treasure house at Veracruz clean of anything that glittered, Pitt was bending over a packet of letters and documents waiting to be included in the next flota to Spain. He thought they might provide the Queen and her councillors some interesting reading.”

Dante held out his cup for another splash of rum. “As you must know yourself, over the past year, every ship that leaves an English port sails under orders to keep their eyes and ears open. Although Drake and the other sea hawks have been warning Elizabeth to prepare for an invasion from Spain, without any real proof of Philip’s plottings, she cannot justify emptying the treasury to build more warships. She is stubbornly determined to find some way to negotiate a lasting peace, despite every logical sense and argument telling her she should be adding to England’s pitifully small navy, not tying their hands behind their backs.”

Spence felt a chill run down his spine. “Are ye sayin’ ye have such proof?”

“I have more than rumor and gossip. I have letters from the governors of Panama and Mexico applauding the King on his choice of Don Alvaro de Bazan, Marquis of Santa
Cruz, to
lead the invasion fleet.
I have documents that read like a list of supplies and provisions the governors will be able to provide, as well as an estimate of a million ducats’ worth of gold that will be available
before spring
to pay for the army. Of course, he may have to amend that estimate somewhat now, but there are other lists, other provisions promised in such quantities as would suggest the rumors we have been hearing are all true. Philip is preparing for war.”

“And you were planning to stop him by sailing into Cadiz and spitting in his eye?” Beau asked wryly.

“I was planning only to sail past the harbor and see for myself what strength he has hidden there. Cadiz was mentioned prominently in nearly every document, as was Cantabrico and Lisbon. Frankly, I have no idea where Cantabrico is, and Lisbon is too well protected, the harbor being enclosed and well fortified. Cadiz, on the other hand, is far enough south and too deep in Spanish waters for them to even dream of an Englishman sailing down their throat.”

“No more probable than an Englishman sailing into Veracruz and making a withdrawal from the King’s treasure house?”

Dante actually smiled up into the amber tiger eyes. “Exactly so.”

Spence grumbled deep in his chest. “Still an’ all, do ye not know what they do when they catch an Englishman, or do ye just not have any particular love fer yer nether parts? It’s torture, lad, with hot irons and wooden racks and red-hot faggots thrust up yer arse; all done in the name o’ Catholic purification. Afterwards, if ye survive, it’s into a galleass with ye, chained to an oar till ye die or the ship sinks.”

“I am well aware of the fate of captured crews, Captain,
but I am also well aware of the fate that awaits England if Spain has a thousand ships to send against us.”

Spence had no retort and Dante’s gaze traveled beyond the rim of his cup, lifting to Beau’s stubbornly set chin and firm, bow-shaped lips.

“I thought you relished a good challenge, mam’selle?”

“If it is a sane and sound one, I usually do.”

“Of course,” he mused, “if you are simply not up to it…?”

“You obviously weren’t.”

Dante scraped to his feet, looking for all the world as if he ached to have his hands around Beau’s throat again.

“You have a singularly sharp tongue on you, mam’selle, and you seem bent on testing its edge on my patience.”

“You have a singularly sharp arrogance about you, m’sieur, and you seem to think that because you are who you are and you have been so grievously maligned, it gives you the right to treat others with contempt and disregard.”

“Only those who deserve it,” he snapped. “You seem to have conveniently forgotten you held a knife to my vitals and threatened to blow a hole through my chest. Such refined behavior warranted a little disregard, in my opinion.”

“You seem to have forgotten you held a pistol to my head first and threatened me with rape. Hardly an honorable accounting of yourself.”

“It was hardly an enthusiastic threat,” he countered evenly, his gaze sliding down the tautly held length of her body. “Or delivered with much conviction.”

“Scarcely any conviction at all, Captain. I have encountered more
substantial
threats from boys.”

“I’m sure you have. Youths and weanlings, no doubt, who find the dirt under your nails most appealing.”

Beau’s cheeks flushed crimson and he started to raise his
cup in a salute to his own wit. He never quite completed the maneuver, for the cup slipped out of his fingers and splashed the remaining drops of rum down the front of his shirt. Dante blinked and stared at the splatters for a moment, his face contorted with surprise and not a little shock as he started to pitch forward, his legs turning to jelly beneath him.