Authors: Christine Dorsey
“If’n he be in the mood.”
Anne sighed. Though her arguments seemed
sound when voiced to Israel, she knew that made little difference.
Making her uncle understand reality was becoming increasingly
difficult. And over the years it had become Anne’s responsibility.
As time had passed and his dream of a utopian society unfolded, he
became more and more idealistic and less realistic.
And then there were the memory lapses, which
seemed to be worse since d’Porteau’s raid on Libertia.
“He has to understand what will happen,” she
said as much to assure herself as Israel. But his response wasn’t
what she wished.
“Which he is ye talkin’ ’bout?” the old man
asked, motioning with his head toward the pirate who was starting
to stir, showing every sign of waking up.
“I thought you said he would sleep till we
reached the island.” Anne slid off her seat to get a better
look.
“Said I thought he would.” Israel squinted
into the rising sun. “Should be there soon.”
“But it won’t be soon enough, I fear.” Anne
sidled up beside the captain, staring into his face. She was in
that position, her breath held, when his eyes slitted open.
His initial expression registered
bewilderment, then a smile tilted one side of his mouth. “Ah,
Annie,” he mumbled before licking his lips. His lids drifted shut,
fanning his cheeks with the longest lashes Anne had ever seen on a
man. They were a dark auburn with gold tips and Anne thought
herself the silliest of creatures to notice such a thing. She was
turning to rise, congratulating herself that he’d gone back to
sleep when his eyes popped open again.
This time he pushed up on one elbow, grabbing
his head with the other hand. “Where in the hell am I?” His gaze
swept over the small sloop before locking with Anne’s.
She met his stare but words escaped her until
she felt the bite of his fingers about her arm. That’s when she
realized she should never have moved so close to him. The pressure
increased till Anne sucked in her breath.
“I asked you a question, Mistress
Cornwall.”
“And she’ll be answering it the moment ye let
her loose... Captain.”
Jamie twisted around toward the source of the
voice, Anne Cornwall in tow. His head hurt like hell, even worse
when he moved, and somehow or another he was sailing on the high
seas. That much he could tell. But he hadn’t the foggiest
recollection how that circumstance came about. And shocking as that
was, Jamie was in for another surprise when his eyes focused on the
man standing by the tiller. Not only was he aiming a pistol toward
Jamie—one of his own or he was sadly mistaken—but he looked
hauntingly familiar.
Jamie’s eyes narrowed. “Israel... is that
you?”
“One in the same, Cap’n.”
Jamie gave a sharp laugh. “Expected you’d be
picking the devil’s pocket by now.”
“Reckon that’s what most folk thought.”
“You know this man?” Anne’s question was
directed toward Israel, but it was Jamie who answered.
“Israel and I go back a long way. He once
sailed on the
Lost Cause
.”
Even though she’d long suspected Israel of
having a less than exemplary past, Anne’s mouth dropped open. “You
really were a pirate?”
Neither man answered as they stared at each
other.
It was Israel who broke the silence. “Cap’n,
I suggest ye be lettin’ the girl go.”
“Annie’s all right, and will be as long as we
turn this tub about and head for New Providence.”
“Ye seem to be forgettin’, Cap’n, who’s got
the pistol.” Israel moved the muzzle in a lazy arc.
“True enough.”
“Good ’a ye to see it me way. Now if’n you’d
just be loosenin’ yer grip.”
Looking first at Anne, then back to the
grizzled old pirate, Jamie complied, not surprised when she
scurried away. “What’s this about, Israel? Revenge for what
happened all those years ago?”
“Now, Cap’n, I ain’t out to kill ye, though
at first when I stood there onshore watching the
Lost Cause
sail away leavin’ me stranded, the thought kept me goin’.”
“Understandable.”
“There was times, I dreamed of your cursed
mug staring up at me blank-eyed while flames danced about your
head.” Israel laughed and to Anne’s surprise so did the
captain.
“So if not revenge, then what?”
“Ye talked with Mistress Cornwall. Ye should
know.” Jamie searched his foggy brain for what they’d discussed.
“D’Porteau?”
“Aye.”
“But what has he to do with you?”
Israel settled back against the side. “The
low-down bastard don’t deserve to live.” His whiskered jaw locked
about his pipe with an air of finality as if to announce that
nothing else need be said.
Jamie didn’t buy that. He wanted answers and
he wanted them now. But most of all he wanted to turn this sloop
around and head back to New Providence. He shifted his weight
toward the tiller, settling back when Israel cocked the pistol. The
old blackguard wasn’t as decrepit as he seemed. At least he
appeared quite capable of pulling the trigger and blowing a whole
the size of a small island through Jamie.
He decided to change tactics, wishing his
head didn’t feel like it was full of good Scottish wool. Jamie
turned his attention toward Anne Cornwall who was studying him, her
expression suspicious. “And just what do ye hope to accomplish with
this kidnapping?”
“It isn’t a kidnapping.” Anne ignored the
arch of his brow. “I simply thought it would behoove you to meet my
uncle.”
“Ah.” Jamie’s finger followed the curve of
his whiskered chin. “This...” His hand spread to indicate the sloop
and surrounding ocean. “This nonkidnapping is just by way of an
introduction.” His voice grew deeper. “An introduction I want no
part of.”
Crossing her arms Anne met his stare. “You
have no say in the matter.”
“True enough, Annie. For the time being.” His
lids lowered and Jamie leaned toward her. “But I shan’t always be
at your beck and call, my lady.”
“Sit yourself back, b’for I forget it was you
who saved me life.”
This revelation was enough to make Jamie
twist toward the older man. “What foolishness are ye speakin’
there, old man? I never did a thing for you, certainly not saving
your miserable life.”
Israel didn’t seem to take offense at the
captain’s denials. “I knows what I knows,” he said, then waved his
hand toward the east. “There be Libertia.”
Jamie’s gaze followed and he saw the island
for the first time. it was like so many other oasis of land that
spotted the sapphire-blue sea, the interior mountainous and green
with vegetation, rimmed by blinding white coral sand. It wasn’t
until they sailed into the protected harbor where the waters turned
a clear turquoise that Jamie noticed anything to recommend this
over any of a hundred other islands.
There was a dock, made of wood and sturdy,
stretching out into the water perhaps a hundred rods. Beyond that
were several warehouses smaller, but equal in structure to any he’d
seen near the wharf on New Providence.
Beyond these buildings were more, a small
village of them, all nearly the same in size and shape.
“That’s the town,” Anne said as she watched
him squint into the sun, his hand thrown up to shade his eyes. “It
was larger but your friend d’Porteau burned more than half the
homes.”
His gaze jerked about to meet hers. “He’s not
a friend.”
“Well, he might as well be.” Crossing her
arms Anne twisted back to look toward the fast-approaching island,
her chin set at a defiant angle.
“Now, girl, we decided to let your uncle do
the persuading since you couldn’t.” Israel’s remark had both Anne
and the captain staring at him.
“There will be no persuading,” Jamie assured
him. “I’ll be setting sail back to New Providence before the sun
climbs much higher and if you’re very lucky I won’t be hanging the
both of ye up by your toes.” Jamie folded his arms in a parody of
his female captor’s stance and set his jaw. Neither of them, not
Israel, nor Mistress Anne Cornwall knew who they were dealing
with.
By the time the small sloop was tied to the
dock a group of several men were rushing toward the beach. Anne
recognized her uncle, following close on the heels of Mort Tatum,
who must have been the island’s lookout for the morning. And
Matthew Baxter. Matthew and Mort were carrying two of the few
muskets they’d been able to hide from d’Porteau. Climbing out of
the boat Anne hurried to meet them.
“My goodness, child!” Richard Cornwall
grabbed his niece’s shoulders. “Are you all right?” His eyes
searched hers. “We didn’t know what had become of you.”
“Yes, Uncle. I’m fine. Truly I am. I didn’t
mean to cause you any alarm.”
Richard’s hand touched the top of her head.
“But you see you have worried me. You should have known that a
reasonable uncle would.”
“’Twas mostly me doin’, Your Lordship.”
Israel stepped forward and Jamie took the opportunity to latch onto
the pistol... his pistol, swinging casually from the old pirate’s
hand. To Jamie’s amazement, Israel just let it go without a
struggle. “I talked her into goin’ over to New Providence and
lookin’ up some p—some fellow seaman I knowed.”
Richard’s eyes moved from scanning Anne’s
face to rest briefly on Israel, then opened wide as they settled on
Jamie. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Anne had
regained his attention.
“It’s not true what Israel says. I take full
responsibility for what occurred. You see—”
“Perhaps it would be an excellent idea if you
explained, then.” Richard spoke to Anne but he watched the tall,
broad-shouldered stranger, as did the other members of the council.
They’d been in the middle of a planning meeting when Mort ran in
yelling about a sloop entering Libertia’s natural harbor.
“Well...” Anne straightened her shoulders. “I
thought... that is—”
“A wee bit of privacy might make this
easier.” Jamie stepped forward, not surprised when several of the
men behind Anne’s uncle cringed back. He seemed to have that effect
on people and truthfully he usually considered it helpful. As he
did now.
Anne’s uncle seemed to spring to life,
dragging his fingers back through his thinning hair. “Of course, of
course,” he said with a wave of his hand. “Come right this way!”
Taking his niece’s arm he led the way up the beach, apparently
expecting the others to fall in behind.
Israel motioned for Jamie to proceed, and he
quickly returned the favor, not wishing the wily old bastard access
to his back. The others who followed, forming a tiny procession
didn’t concern him much, even if one of them made a point of
rubbing his hand over the stock of a dilapidated musket.
When they reached the front of a small but
neat cottage, Richard Cornwall paused, ushering Anne, and the two
seafarers inside and motioning for the others to return to their
chores.
“I don’t think you should be in there without
me,” Mort Tatum announced, spreading his legs. “I never did trust
that Israel fellow, and his friend doesn’t seem any better.”
“Now, Mort, I’m sure he’s perfectly
respectable.”
“Did you see the size of him? And his garb?
Forswear, Richard, the man has all the markings of a pirate.”
From inside the small parlor the three
occupants could hear all that was said outside perfectly well. Anne
slanted a look toward Captain MacQuaid, surprised to see him grin
at Mort’s words. Her own lips thinned and she hustled the others
toward chairs, turning in time to meet her uncle when he stepped
into the front room. He shut the door behind him, holding up his
hand when Anne tried to begin her explanation.
“I think since we waited this long a few more
minutes will not hurt.” He crossed to the table, lifting a bottle
of deep red liquid. “Gentlemen, would you care for some
refreshment? Our guest might be surprised to learn that we made the
wine ourselves from grapes grown right here on Libertia.” He handed
a glass to Jamie, who took it with a small bow.
“Uncle Richard, this is Captain James
MacQuaid,” Anne stepped forward. If everyone intended to be
polite—and the pirate did seem to be making an effort despite his
insistence on the sloop to the contrary—she might as well introduce
them. “And this is my uncle, the founder and inspiration behind
Libertia, Richard Cornwall.”
“Now, Anne, as usual you give me too much
credit. Everyone is equally important on our island.” He handed
wine to Israel. “It is the creed by which we live.”
Anne said nothing but watched the pirate
captain as did everyone else in the room as he tasted the wine. She
wondered if he thought at all of the wine she’d given him in New
Providence. Fortunately, he seemed not to recollect that as he
sipped the fragrant liquid. With a nod he acknowledged the flavor
and Richard let out a breath.
“We’re proud of our little wine, sir.”
“As you should be.” Jamie took another drink,
then set the glass on the small table beside his chair. Though the
furnishings in the room were few, they were well made and clean. He
leaned forward. “I imagine you wonder why I’ve come here.”
“Actually we receive quite a few visitors who
are interested in our colony.” Richard settled into a chair.
“Granted, Anne does not often sail out recruiting them, but I
suppose there is always a first time.” Leaning back, Richard took a
deep breath, steepling his fingers. “What aspect of Libertia
interests you, Captain MacQuaid?”
“Well, I—”
“No, let me guess. You are a sea captain, I
assume?”
“Aye.” More or less, Jamie added
silently.
“Then unless you plan to settle here...”
Richard paused long enough for Jamie to shake his head. “I thought
not. You don’t appear the settling type.” Richard’s smile softened
his words. “Then I imagine it is trade with the island that has
brought you here.”