How To Please a Pirate (33 page)

“Listen to me. Meri is supposed to use the
gold to provide for you and the girls all in style for the rest of
your lives. Then he will divvy out the remaining treasure among my
tenants and crofters. There’s enough to make them all comfortable
and then some. They can do what they please with it, but I told him
to make sure they cleared out before the Crown names a protector or
they might be forced to surrender it. If they scatter to the winds,
the treasure will never be found.”

“The pirate gives away his treasure,” she
said softly. “You are a lord, after all. Your father would be proud
of you, Gabriel.”

He shrugged and then winced at the pain the
gesture caused him. “I was hoping to make
you
proud.”

“I always am. Never think otherwise,” she
said fiercely. “Gabriel, there’s something I need to tell you as
well—”

“Drake!” Pinckney’s foghorn of a voice
interrupted. He and Isabella reappeared, flanked by three burly
guards. The warden tossed a long key at Gabriel. “Unshackle
yourself and make your way to the door. This lady has paid for an
easement of your burden.”

Isabella hurried to Jacquelyn’s side and
flashed Gabriel a toothsome smile. “I stand by my initial
assessment of you, Lord Drake. A nice hot bath, a gifted tailor and
you’ll cut a fine figure.”

“Pity the next lady on his dance card is
Madame Gallows,” Pinckney said, laughing obscenely at his own wit.
“But provided you have the coin, madam, we can clean him up well
enough to suit that Gray Lady.”

Pinckney ordered the three guards to mind
Gabriel as he was transferred to one of the solitary cells. If
Gabriel were in fighting trim, he’d have easily been a match for
these three. But now he moved with such stiffness and obvious pain,
Jacquelyn ached for him. He’d been badly beaten before being dumped
in Newgate.

The solitary cells were reserved for those
who could afford to escape the squalor of Central Holding.
Gabriel’s new home was the size of a glorified butler’s pantry, but
it did boast a narrow string bed and a barred window the size of
Gabriel’s hand.

He sank onto the creaking bed. Jacquelyn
suspected he couldn’t lie down with the wounds on his back, but he
seemed more comfortable seated. Compared to Central Holding, this
cell was a guest suite at Windsor Castle.

“We shall require a hipbath, filled with
water—hot water, mind you,” Isabella told Pinckney. “Some good
quality soap and medicinal salve. Something from a reputable
herbalist, now. I’ll stand for none of your bear grease and
soot.”

Her mother had noticed the blood stains on
Gabriel’s jacket as well. As Isabella emptied more of her purse
into Pinckney’s grasping hand, Jacquelyn reflected that God had
been especially kind to her in her choice of mothers, after
all.

“Now, then,” Isabella said as soon as the
bath was ready and the jailers left them with several rude, ribald
comments. “Off with those rags, Lord Drake.”

“I’m accustomed to bathing in private,” he
said testily.

“And are you accustomed to washing and
doctoring your own back?” Jacquelyn said. When she and her mother
stood united, no man could gainsay them.

“Come now,” Isabella said, easing his jacket
off with surprising gentleness. “I doubt there’s anything here
Jacquelyn hasn’t already seen and if
I
see something that
surprises me, you’ll be the first to know.”

“All right, ladies,” he said, rising from the
bed. “I hope it comforts you to know that you are the first to
force me to hoist the white flag.”

Jacquelyn and her mother helped him undress
and to her sorrow, there was something Jacquelyn hadn’t seen
before. She was prepared for angry welts on Gabe’s back, maybe a
few lashes that had drawn blood. She didn’t anticipate the
crisscross pattern of shredded flesh. Jacquelyn felt the blood
drain from her face and her vision tunneled for a moment.

“Well,” Isabella said, looking him up and
down as he lowered himself into the hipbath. “I can certainly see
why you like him, daughter.”

“Mother!” Indignation forced her to breathe
deeply.

“Just using the eyes God gave me,” Isabella
said, then she leaned over and whispered into Jacquelyn’s ear.
“Smile, dearest. He needs it.”

Gabriel sat stone-still as Jacquelyn sponged
his wounds, but occasionally the muscles beneath his lacerated skin
twitched like horseflesh quivering to rid itself of a fly. She
bathed him in silence, letting her fingertips remember every bit of
him. To Isabella’s credit, she busied herself with tearing muslin
into strips, her eyes averted to give them the illusion of
privacy.

“Isn’t it enough that they arrested you?”
Jacquelyn said. “Why did they do this to you?”

“Seems Oddbody knows about the existence of
the treasure.” Gabriel stood, the soapy water sluicing over his
form. “He wanted to know more.”

Jacquelyn blotted his back dry, trying not to
injure him further. She applied the salve and wound the clean
muslin around his ribs. “You should have told him.”

“I was tempted,” Gabriel admitted as he
slipped an arm into the fresh shirt Isabella had brought.

“Found it in my boudoir. Can’t remember whose
it is,” her mother said with a wicked grin. “Occupational
hazard.”

Jacquelyn helped him with the other
sleeve.

“But I figured out about half way into the
beating that if I told him where the treasure was, I wouldn’t even
make it as far as Newgate,” Gabriel said as he stepped into some
buff colored breeches that were a snug fit.

“Hmm. Misjudged that a bit,” Isabella said as
she eyed his lower half. “We’ll bring you another pair tomorrow.
Now, see if you can do something with his hair, lovie. The man
looks like a wild savage.”

By the time, Pinckney returned with his
lackeys to retrieve the hipbath, Gabriel was as well-turned out as
they could make him with borrowed clothing and not a razor in
sight. He still looked every inch the gentleman he was.

“Mr. Pinckney,” he said. “I wonder I could
trouble you to send the priest straight away.”

“Ah, yes. A certain date with death turns a
man’s thoughts to God, don’t it?” the warden said. “You’ll wish to
be shriven, of course.”

Gabriel shook his head. “I’m due to hang at
month’s end. There isn’t time enough to confess my sins.” He
reached for Jacquelyn’s hand. “No, I need to make this lady my
wife. I was hoping the priest would consent to marry us. That is,”
he turned to look askance at her, “if the lady consents first.”

“Yes, Gabriel, with my whole heart, yes.” She
could deny him nothing. If he’d asked her to fly, she’d have taken
a leap from any battlement he chose.

The brief ceremony had the fuzzy-edged feel
of a dream. Jacquelyn repeated her vows but the words were
unnecessary. Her heart was so bound together with this man’s, they
shared the same rhythm. This crude rite could only acknowledge the
sacred joining that had already occurred. The kiss at the end was
the only part of the proceedings that seemed real.

And its bittersweet tang made her weep.

The days fled past like dry leaves scuttling
over the cobbles. Jacquelyn visited Gabriel on each of them,
bringing food and wine and fresh linen, determined to keep his
spirits up as she prayed for a miracle. The wounds on his back were
healing without infection thanks to her attentions. She saw to it
that he had books to read and worked tirelessly to keep the general
misery that was Newgate from leeching into his cell. When she
discovered the straw tick he slept on was crawling with lice, she
had it burned and replaced.

That was the day he put his foot down.

“That’s it. Go away!” he commanded. “No
matter how much you try to fix this place, you put yourself at risk
every time you come. Do you not realize I can’t bear to see you
here?”

“And where else are you likely to see me?”
she countered with sauciness that would have done her mother
credit. She tried so hard to put up a brave front, she couldn’t
allow herself to feel the hurt of his rejection. She took refuge in
anger. “Do you think you’re the only one suffering here?”

“No, but I’m the only one who’ll hang,” he
said, giving voice to the stuff of her nightmares.

When tears threatened to spill over her lids,
he sighed deeply and took both her hands in his. Her left
forefinger was heavy with his father’s signet ring. He’d given it
to her because he had no other with which to seal their vows.

“Lyn, listen to me. I have but two days left.
As you love me, here’s what I want you to do. Take a coach back to
Dragon Caern. Leave today. Live.”

“But I—”

“I know you intend to stand by me to the end,
and I love you for your courage,” he said in a gentler tone. “But
it will give me no comfort to see you at Execution Dock.”

Mention of the public gallows made her knees
weak. Though the populace greeted hanging days as if they were a
festival, hanging was a grim business for those who provided the
entertainment. At Tyburn, the usual place of execution for felons,
the condemned might be lucky enough to have his neck snap in the
drop, though the body inevitably twitched and voided itself in a
macabre dance. But at Execution Dock, the gallows reserved
especially for pirates, the ropes used were far too short to offer
the slim chance of instant oblivion. Gabriel could look forward to
fifteen or twenty minutes of strangulation while the crowd made cat
calls and laid odds on how long he’d last. His body would be left
to be covered by three tides, then tarred and hung on display in a
gibbet as a warning to other seafaring men who might be tempted to
piracy.

“Hanging is no sight for a woman who’s
bearing.” He slid his hand warmly over her abdomen and splayed his
fingers protectively over the tiny life that grew there. “Think of
the child.”

“I’d rather think of his father.”

“Then think of me as I was. Think of me at
Dragon Caern,” he urged. “I can bear dying knowing that you carry
part of me with you. I can even bear hanging. But I can’t bear for
you to see it.”

Gabriel had his way in the end. She agreed
not to come again. She promised not to see him hanged. He seemed
satisfied, his spirit more settled, as they parted for the last
time. Gabriel even promised her in return that he would let the
priest hear his confession.

“As much as we’ve time for at any rate,” he
said with the wicked grin she’d come to love.

She found herself outside the prison gates
without knowing how she got there, but she supposed she must have
put one foot before the other in a stunned trance. The world had a
thin veil draped over it, all the sharp edges blurred and
indistinct. As Jacquelyn bounced along in her mother’s barouche,
she wondered if the numbness would ever go away.

Somehow, she doubted it.

* * *

“Well, there she is, children.” Meriwether’s
croaking voice greeted Jacquelyn when she pushed open her mother’s
front door without knocking. In a flurry of arms and legs and
excited greetings, the girls surrounded her, hugging and kissing
and nearly knocking her off her feet. Father Eustace was right
behind them, offering a consoling hand.

“Come, now, that’ll quite do, ye wee
heathens,” Mrs. Beadle said, borrowing Meri’s pet name for the
girls. “Let Mistress Jacquelyn catch her breath.”

“In fact, dears,” Isabella said, “I wish
you’d all come with me into the garden for a bit. Nanette has
prepared a delightful tea, just for us. It will give Jacquelyn a
chance to visit with the boring adults while we youngsters have
some fun. You can see her later.” She added a wink to the
invitation and the children trooped happily in her wake.

Once again, Jacquelyn thanked God for her
mother. She couldn’t bear to cry in front of the girls.
Fortunately, Mrs. B., Meri, and Father Eustace were willing to let
her weep as long as she needed without interruption.

When her tears subsided into moist hiccups,
they began gently quizzing her about the situation.

Yes, her mother had written for help from her
highly placed friends, but no, they’d received no word and Isabella
couldn’t be sure the party in question was even in the country at
present.

“Why did you come to London?” she asked. “I
sent no word.”

“Blame me big toe. It hasn’t failed me yet.”
Meri went on to explain the prescient nature of that digit. “I
figured Cap’n was in trouble and so I brung two of them chests
filled with gold. Do ye not think we could bribe the jailers into
letting him wander off?”

“Gold isn’t worth much if you’re too dead to
spend it,” Father Eustace said. “The warden would no doubt be
taking Gabriel’s place at the gallows if he allowed such an
escape.”

“Besides, if it were a question of money, my
mother would already have paid a ransom. How did you manage to
bring so much?” Jacquelyn asked.

“Well, we started overland,” Mrs. Beadle
said. “Then Joseph here remembered that the
Revenge
was tied
up at Plymouth. We turned around and made for there since the girls
weren’t such good travelers on the road, but they were charmed by
the idea of sailing on their uncle’s old pirate ship. Joseph’s
shipmates were disposed to take on passengers and more than happy
to help Lord Drake.”

Jacquelyn first digested the astonishing fact
that Mrs. B. was calling Meri by his Christian name and then
something else clicked in her brain.

“Is the
Revenge
still in port?”

“Aye,” Meri said. “I convinced ‘em we’d be
needing a way to return to Cornwall, so Cap’n Helmsby is givin’ his
crew a bit o’ shore leave, so to speak. Since the pardon, they’ve
been hauling cargo for one shipline or other. They’re mortal tired
of honest work and need a bit of diversion.”