Dominic placed his head down on the table, intending to let some of the long day drain away before moving to the pallet, but moments later he was asleep.
P
“Her, sir.”
“As did I,” Gaspar replied with great satisfaction.
Clare stirred awake and upon seeing the men, hastily dragged the quilts to her chin.
“Good morning, miss,” Richmond said politely, averting his eyes. “Sorry to wake you, but I brought you and the captain breakfast.”
Dominic raised his head and stared around blearily. Upon seeing Gaspar’s amused eyes, he groused, “One word, and I’ll maroon you on the nearest isle.” Forcing himself to sit upright, he swiped his hands across his weary face and turned his attention to Clare. “You’ve already met Gaspar. This is Richmond Spelling.”
“Good morning,” she replied.
Richmond nodded. “Cook sent turtle soup and biscuits. There’s tea here, too.”
“Thank you.”
“Just set the tray down and leave us,” Dominic grumbled. “Both of you,” he added pointedly for Gaspar’s benefit.
In his own defense, Gaspar replied, “I came to give you the report on the gold you asked for last evening.”
“Later.”
The two intruders shared knowing looks, then departed, leaving Dominic and Clare alone.
“Did you sleep well?” Dominic asked her, trying not to wince from the knots in his neck.
“Yes. And you?”
“No. Tabletops only make good pillows when you’re too drunk to care.”
She responded softly, “My apologies for taking your bed.”
“None needed. It’s the price one pays for being a gentleman.” He stood. “Take care of your needs. I’ll return shortly.”
Clare was sorry he’d had an uncomfortable night, but not enough to have invited him into the bed.
Dominic made use of the ship’s facilities, then walked through the gray dawn to let the ocean breeze lighten his mood. He never felt fully awake until he took in his first deep breaths of fresh air, and this morning the assistance was dearly needed. There was a strong wind blowing out of the east, and the sails fluttering high above on the masts were taut and fat. He mumbled good morning to the men he passed while on his rounds. Considering how he felt, engaging in a detailed conversation was out of the question, but none of the crew seemed to mind, and continued with their chores, ranging from mending fishing nets and cleaning weapons, to handling the sails. He stopped for a moment to greet Esteban, who was at his post expertly piloting the
Marie
through the water.
“So, how was your night, Captain?”
“Don’t ask. How far are we from port?”
“About four, maybe five days.”
“Good.”
“How’s the lady?”
“She’s well. I’ve decided to take her home.”
Surprised, Esteban asked, “When did this come about?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m taking her home.” Dominic could see some of the nearby crew discreetly listening in, but that didn’t matter, either. On a ship there were very few secrets.
“Where’s her home?”
“Savannah. I’ll need a small crew.”
“Give me a few days at Levine’s and I’ll join you.”
Surprise and disbelief cut through Dominic’s foul mood. “A few days?” He laughed. “Once you’re inside we won’t see you for a week, at least.” Levine’s was a tavern whose ale was almost as well known as its whores.
The Spaniard shrugged. “The women like me. I can’t help it if it takes the lot of them a while to welcome me home.”
Dominic chuckled, “When it’s time to set sail, if you’re still of a mind—and can walk—you’re welcome to come along.”
“I will be. I’m enjoying watching you humbled by the
pequeno senora.”
Dominic rolled his eyes. “I’ll be back up after breakfast.”
As he walked away, Esteban called out in a voice tinged with humor, “Give her my regards.”
Dominic ignored him.
When he entered his quarters, he found her dressed in the blue gown and seated at the table; she was a lovely sight, but the breakfast tray was no longer where he’d seen it last. “Our meal?”
“In the grate keeping warm. I was unsure how long you’d be away.”
The soup tureen was perched atop the dying embers of last night’s fire. The teapot was at its side. “Thank you, but you didn’t have to wait for me.”
“I didn’t want to appear rude.”
“I would never think that.” He retrieved the items and set them on the table.
As they began the meal, he told her, “Been some time since I shared breakfast with a beautiful woman.”
“And this is the first time I’ve not had duties to complete before I could eat.”
“How does it feel?”
“Odd,” she offered truthfully. “I feel as if I should be up pressing Violet’s gowns, and emptying chamber pots and bringing breakfast instead of having it brought to me.”
“I promise, there’ll be no pressing, emptying, or bringing while you’re here.”
“I thank you for that, but I mustn’t let myself become accustomed to such luxury.”
The sadness of that touched his heart. “Then don’t go back. We’ll figure out a way to free your children.”
She froze. “My children?”
“That is the reason you wish to return, is it not?”
She stared at him with wide eyes. “How could you know?”
“A guess, really. My mother was a captive.”
Clare was speechless.
“What are their names and ages?” he asked gently.
“Sarah is ten and Benjamin twelve.” She was dumbfounded by his insight. How could he know the secrets of her heart?
“I guessed it was either children or a lover.”
Embarrassed by his latter choice, she lowered her eyes for a moment. “No, it’s my children, and if I don’t return, they could be sold again.”
Dominic knew that was a very real concern, but wished he could present her with an alternative that would guarantee liberty for all three of them. “Do you get to see them?”
“Sundays.” Which made Clare luckier than some of the other captive mothers with children. Many children auctioned on the block were lost to their families forever. Her mind went back to the brief reference he’d made to his own mother. “How long was your mother a captive?”
“Until her sixteenth year.”
“Is she still living?”
“No, she died when I was young. In many ways her death seems a long time ago, but in others, it’s as if it happened only yesterday.”
She heard his wistful tone. “You sound as if you loved her very much.”
“I did.”
Clare realized there was more to the captain than the pillaging and thievery she’d accused him of yesterday. “I love my children very much, as well.”
“That’s apparent.”
“Would you do less?”
He shook his head. “No, and you are to be commended.”
For a few moments they ate in silence.
“I’d like to help,” he said.
“Help with what?”
“Your children’s freedom.”
For a long moment she said nothing, observing him instead, before asking, “And how might you accomplish that?”
He shrugged. “No idea now, but I’d like to put my mind to it, if it is agreeable.”
“Thank you, but no.”
“You’re refusing my help?”
“I’m refusing to pin my hopes on something that is beyond our reach.”
“You don’t want them to be free?”
“Of course I do. I’ll go to my grave content if I could see them free.”
“Then let me help you, and them.”
“I appreciate your concern but your efforts, whatever they might be, could put them in great jeopardy.”
“I understand, but—”
“So great a jeopardy that they could be sold to the Indies.” Being sold to the French-and English-controlled islands of the Caribbean was to live a nightmare. The French led the world in human trafficking because of the constant need to replace their slaves that they worked literally to death.
The last thing Dominic wanted was to begin their day with an argument, but her misgivings were legitimate ones. Exposing her children to the block would not be helpful in any way, so he dropped the subject for the moment with the idea of presenting her with a well-thought-out solution sometime in the future.
They finished breakfast soon after, and he asked, “Would you like some air?”
Clare nodded. Being confined to the cabin all day wasn’t something she was looking forward to since it would only add to her sense of being closed in. Having the sun and the wind on her face might be a refreshing alternative. “Let me get my cloak.”
Once she was ready, he escorted her out.
Up on deck the first things she noticed were the scents and sight of the open ocean. Its undulating blue-gray tone stretched to the horizon beneath a cloudless sky and a breeze strong enough to tease the hem of her cloak. The second thing she noticed was the men. There were scores of them and they’d all dropped what they were doing to stare her way.
“This is Miss Clare Sullivan,” the captain announced in a voice loud enough to be heard over the elements. “She will be our guest until we drop anchor.”
The introduction was met by a series of “Welcome, mum,” “Good morning, miss,” and “Pleased to meet you.”
Clare nodded in response. They were all heights, sizes, and races. Many sported beards framing dirty faces. Some wore breeches; others tattered trousers. None looked like he’d visited a laundress in months. All were smiling, however, and that was surprising. Not the leering treacherous smiles one might expect from a band of hardened men who made their living on the high seas, but genuine welcoming smiles made her feel at ease.
The captain helped her put names to the faces by introducing some of them: like Lloyd Beekum, an Irishman, she guessed by his thick brogue, and Washington Julian, a member of the Cherokee nation and an escaped slave. She was also introduced to Pierre Tait, a short Frenchman whose face showed only a puckered piece of skin where his left eye should be.
“Sail!” a loud voice shouted.
Everyone glanced up. The call had come from the lookout riding high up on the mast.
“Flag?” Dominic shouted back.
They all waited while the man peered through a long-barreled spyglass. “Dutch!”
Clare noticed that the
Marie
was flying the French flag now.
“Can you make her out?”
The seaman took another look. “Aye! It’s the
Amsterdam!”
Dominic froze. “Are you sure!”
“Sure as my name!”
Dominic looked into the faces of his crew. “You all know how I feel about the
Amsterdam’
s captain and crew, but I’ll take a vote. Do we keep heading south for home or do we go after her?”
A man Clare hadn’t seen before rushed up and said, “LeVeq, if you go after another prize and delay my passage home, I will see you hang!”
Dominic eyed the short, squat, balding complainer and asked sarcastically, “Are you voting no, Mr. Watkins?”
“Damn right I am!”
Dominic turned to the crew. “Our carpenter votes no. What say the rest of you?”
“I vote with the captain!” shouted Gaspar.
“As do I!” echoed Dr. James Early in a louder voice.
Man after man raised his voice in increasingly exuberant support of the captain’s plan. Soon the entire crew was roaring.
Dominic called over the din. “You’re outvoted, Mr. Watkins. For the rest of you, we’re going to run her down! Prepare yourselves!”
The men scattered, running to their stations to ready themselves and the
Marie
for the upcoming fight.
As cannons were dragged into position, sails were adjusted to heighten their speed, and Esteban altered course, Clare stood in the chaos swirling over the deck. Surely she wasn’t going to be party to another sea battle!
Dominic stopped in the middle of shouting orders to call out, “James, please escort Miss Sullivan back to my quarters.”
“Come, miss.”
But she wanted to speak to Dominic about his decision to engage the other ship. “Captain, I—”
“Clare, go with James.”
“Why can’t we ignore the other ship and go on our way?” she asked.
“Because the
Amsterdam
is a slaver, and her captain specializes in African children.”
Her knees turned to water. Without another word, she followed the doctor below deck.
Alone in the captain’s cabin, Clare was sure her pacing had carved a trench in the floor. She agreed that the slaver needed to be stopped, but questions about the captain’s decision and how it would affect her journey home did battle with others centering around her fate should the
Marie
be forced to surrender. More than likely she’d be sold again, if she lived to be sold. Imagining the worst only increased her anxiety but she couldn’t focus her mind anywhere else.
Suddenly the door opened and the captain walked in.
The unexpected entrance startled her but seeing that it was he made her relax.
“Came down to see how you were faring,” he explained, closing the door behind him.
“As well as can be expected, I suppose.” She didn’t want him to know the extent of her worry. “Have you closed in on the other ship?”
“Almost. She’s trying to outrun us, but it’s only a matter of time. The ship’s riding low in the water, which means she’s carrying a large cargo in her hold. That great weight is slowing her down.”
“Captives?”
“I pray not, but we won’t know until we board her.”
Clare prayed, too. “So you’ve had encounters with the captain before?”
“Most recently, eight months ago off the coast of Florida. His name is Paul Vanweldt. Spawn of the Devil himself. British Navy’s been after him for many years.”