Christine Dorsey - [Sea 01] (28 page)

But discovering the truth—if indeed there was something other than the obvious to discover—would have to wait.

As soon as Miranda reached the parlor door her father grabbed for her hand. “I’ve had the coach brought around front.”

It wasn’t far to St. Phillips Church opposite the half-moon battery, but Miranda didn’t argue about riding. She sat beside, her father and across from the imposing figure of Captain Blackstone. He said nary a word, and Miranda followed suit as she deliberately studied her gloved fingers.

Henry, on the other hand, seemed unable to allow a moment of quiet time. He spoke of the weather, of the rice crop, of anything that might relieve the tension that hung as heavy and damp as the sultry summer air. And he seemed obviously relieved when the black cypress church came into view.

Miranda imagined her father thought one or both of them might suddenly change their minds about this wedding and bolt out a door. Smiling, Miranda imagined herself, leaping from the moving coach only to trip over her train and land in an ignominious heap on the dirt road. As soon as the coach rolled to a stop Henry jumped from his seat. Reaching back in, he took Miranda’s hand and gave it a tug. Her lashes lifted, and for the first time since the encounter in her bedroom, her eyes met the captain’s.

She lost herself in the sea green depths, forcing herself to look away only when Henry gave her fingers another yank.

After the gloomy interior of the coach, the bright sunlight made her squint. When her eyes opened, Miranda thought she must be dreaming. A group of people, perhaps twenty strong, stood in front of the church. Most of them were leading citizens of Charles Town, friends her father had obviously invited. But standing off to the side, conspicuous in rough but relatively clean clothing, stood the pirate crew.

Miranda smiled when they broke into a loud huzza.

“What the hell...?” Jack swung through the cramped doorway to the cheers of his crew. In a half-dozen strides he reached the scraggly group. “What are you doing here?”

“Come to see yer weddin’, Cap’n,” Phin said, showing his snaggle-toothed smile. “Yers and her ladyship’s.”

Before Miranda could say anything, Jack grabbed Phin’s upper arm and hauled him off to the side. He bent till his head was close to the quartermaster’s ear. “What in the hell are you doing? Who’s unloading the cargo and taking on supplies? We need to leave as soon as this... wedding is over.”

“Don’t ye worry none, Cap’n. Me an’ the boys done took care a all that. The
Sea Hawk’s
ready to sail with the tide.”

“But—” Jack was about to mention that consorting with the gentry was one way for the pirates to get themselves caught—his neck had started itching the moment he saw his crew—but Miranda stopped him. She elbowed her way between the two men, clutching hold of Jack’s hand and pulling. Jack was so surprised he let go of Phin’s arm.

“Don’t you go bullying him, Captain Blackstone. I’m glad your men came today. I invited them.”

“
You
invited them? You? What gave you the right to do anything with my crew?”

“They may be your crew, but they’re my friends, no matter that they’re—” The widening of Captain Blackstone’s eyes made Miranda stop. “No matter that they are seamen,” she finished. “And I certainly have a right to invite whomever I choose to my wedding.”

“You do, do you? Well, let me tell you this—” Jack faced his bride nose to nose. But something, perhaps Henry frantically clearing his throat, made him broaden his focus.

Lined up behind Miranda, not a single one doing anything to hide their interest in what he was about to say, were some of Charles Town’s citizens ... including Graham Hicks, the constable, and Joshua Peterson, the royal revenuer.

Jack swallowed, then dipped his mouth, brushing it across her cheek. Her expression of shock was comedic. “Sweetheart, you were wonderful to invite them. But then everything about you is wonderful.” Before she could do anything but stare up at him, her mouth gaping, Jack took Miranda’s arm and propelled her toward the church door. “Let’s get on with this, shall we?” he hissed for her ears alone.

The citizenry followed them into the cool sanctuary of the church, and Jack let out a sigh of relief. If he made it through this day without being arrested, he’d feel fortunate. Thankfully things seemed to be progressing satisfactorily.

Henry introduced him to the Anglican minister. He was a prunelike little man with a dour expression, as if he’d just sucked a lemon. But he made no comment about never having seen Jack in church before. Or about the circumstances of this wedding.

Again, Henry took up the task of keeping the conversation going, and for that Jack was relieved. He wished everyone would settle into their pews so that they could begin. He glanced over his shoulder to check on progress and noticed a small group by the door. The next instant he heard the first voice raised in anger: Phin’s.

“God’s blood,” Jack mumbled under his breath. He started back the center aisle, ignoring the clergyman’s expression of reproach. “What is it? What’s going on?” His men, looking every bit the blood-thirsty pirates they were, despite their fresh scrubbing, stood huddled in the doorway. Constable Hicks blocked their way. Jack clenched his fist to keep from scratching his neck.

“We ain’t leavin’ him outside, Cap’n. No matter what this here constable says.”

Jack thought for a moment Phin planned to spit, but thankfully, he didn’t. “Leave who outside? What are you talking about?”

“It’s quite all right, Captain. I shall wait here.” This from King, who stood tall and straight, his arms folded across his powerful chest.

“This here Negro can’t come into the church,” Constable Hicks explained.

Jack looked from Hicks to King, and back again. His voice was deceptively low when he spoke. “Mr. Hicks, I don’t believe you understand. Mr. King is a member of my crew and an invited guest.”

“That don’t make any difference. He’s a Negro... could be an escaped slave for all I know.”

“Mr. King is a free man. You have my word on that.”

The constable snorted his opinion of Jack’s veracity, and Jack’s fingers relaxed around the hilt of his sword. Hicks saw the action and reached for his own weapon, but in the next instant, his arm was bumped by an apologetic Miranda.

“I’m so sorry, Constable Hicks,” she said, smiling at him. “Jack, dear, what is the delay? My father is starting to pace. Oh, hello, King. I’m so glad you could come to our wedding.” Miranda talked while maneuvering herself between the men, forcing them apart. Then she took the blackamoor’s arm and twined her own under it. “Let me find you a seat,” she said, leading him through the group. Constable Hicks stepped aside, and the rest of the pirate crew followed Miranda and her escort.

Jack could only stand and stare.

By the time the ceremony began, Miranda was tired and irritable. She wanted nothing more than a quiet corner where she could read, or perhaps study a specimen under her microscope. The Anglican minister’s voice droned on, and Miranda sighed. This entire thing was so foolish, so... Miranda’s head turned ever so slightly, and her eyes met Jack’s. At that moment, something happened to Miranda, something that she didn’t expect and couldn’t explain logically or otherwise.

It was as if she just realized exactly what she was doing. Marrying Captain Blackstone before man and God.

She and her grandfather had often discussed religion, mostly how it related to science. She had no strong opinion about which religion was the right one, partly because she’d studied several. Don Luis was Catholic, and though she knew countries fought over such things as religious supremacy, Miranda thought that very foolish. She didn’t consider herself by any means devout, and that was probably why the feelings flooding through her were so illogical.

Words drifted through the clergyman’s litany. Words such as love and honor and obey. Words she was promising Captain Blackstone. Words he was promising her.

He was holding her hand. It wasn’t a romantic act. He’d been told to do it. But no one suggested he squeeze her fingers, or stare intently into her eyes. It was as if he felt it too, this strange, steadfast sensation that came over her.

They stood before the altar, and the cleric’s voice seemed to fade away. Miranda imagined she could feel the captain’s heartbeat racing toward her through his hand. And miraculously, it matched her own.

She could smell him, wild and free. Remembered how it felt to be touched by him, to become one with him, and in that moment she realized it was happening. She
was
becoming one with him. It was a mystical, magical feeling, and quite strange for a woman who believed only in logic and reason.

The minister stopped speaking and folded his hands, and Miranda expected the sensation to pass, but it didn’t. She found herself returning the captain’s smile, and even leaning into him when he gave her a quick hug.

After that her father came forward to kiss her cheek, and somehow with the mix of people pushing around them, Miranda became separated from her new husband. She saw him again, briefly, on their ride back to her father’s house. Again she sat beside her father.

But this time they shared the coach with the captain’s uncle, who monopolized Captain Blackstone’s attention with talk of St. Augustine. Through the snatches of conversation Miranda was able to hear while pretending to listen to her father, she gathered Robert was very anxious for his nephew to go to St. Augustine.

It was also clear that his going there had naught to do with pirating coin. Through her lashes, Miranda watched her husband’s jaw clench and his face grow taut with rage. She’d seen that expression before... when he’d listened to the Indian. Right before the captain had decided to return her to Charles Town.

“Are you listening to me, daughter?”.

“Oh, yes, Papa... what did you say?”

“I said it was a lovely wedding. Now things can settle down.”

Miranda was saved from responding when the coach stopped under the magnolia tree in front of the house. Captain Blackstone alighted and almost as an afterthought reached back in for her. It was obvious if he’d felt anything for her during the wedding ceremony, it had faded in the heat of his anger. What could make him so enraged?

She didn’t know, but Miranda was certain it had something to do with where he was going. It was like a scientific puzzle. She’d gathered bits of information, and using the rules of logic she’d discover the answer.

Unfortunately, the reception at her father’s house didn’t seem to be the place to do research. It was an odd mix of people who crowded out into the garden behind the house.

When her mother was still alive, she occasionally held garden parties at the estate in Essex. Miranda was permitted to join the festivities, though even at such a tender age she preferred the stimulation of her grandfather’s library to the gaiety of her mother’s soirees.

But those parties had been nothing like this one. Probably because her mother had never invited pirates, Miranda decided, as she set off to speak with Phin. He was leaning against a column, Nat by his side. Both men were stuffing sliced ham into their mouths. Miranda noticed their pockets bulged with meat.

“I want to thank you again for coming, Phin, and bringing everyone with you.”

“It were—” Finding he couldn’t talk with his mouth crammed full, Phin swallowed, some of the savory ham and continued. “It were real nice a ye to invite us.”

“I thought it only fitting since you are...” Miranda hesitated over the word husband, “since you are Captain Blackstone’s crew... and my friend.”

Phin couldn’t suppress a grin, then gathered several sweet cakes into his gnarled hands.

Miranda took a deep breath. “I was wondering about the destination of your next cruise.”

“Ye mean, St. Augustine?” Sugar icing whitened Phin’s beard.

“Yes, that’s the one. Why are you going there?” Miranda hesitated. “It’s Spanish.”

Phin’s eyes watered as he swallowed and gulped. “Aye, it is And so’s de Segovia.”

He nearly spat the name and Miranda searched her mind. Where had she heard it before? “Who is—”

“Ye got some real tasty vittles here,” Phin said. His eyes narrowed, though he kept his smile in place. “Ye wanta know more ‘bout that damn Spaniard, I’m thinkin’ ye should be askin’ yer husband.”

Phin didn’t seem to have any trouble referring to his captain as Miranda’s husband. She wet her suddenly dry lips. “Perhaps you’re right.”

But the pirate captain was now bent toward her father, and neither seemed anxious for an interruption. Besides, she had a better idea. Skirting several ladies of Charles Town who didn’t appear to know exactly how to react toward her, Miranda headed for the captain’s uncle.

He was tall, like his nephew, but not nearly so large. He watched her approach, his head cocked to one side, and Miranda realized she didn’t really care for him. Which was uncharacteristic. She had disagreements with people, of course, and the pirates she’d disliked at first because of what they were, but this was different. It was deep seeded, and totally irrational. He even stepped forward to meet her and bowed low over her hand. But she couldn’t shake off her feeling of unease.