Pirate Wolf Trilogy (86 page)

“They said,”
Jonas screwed his golden eyes down to disbelieving slits, “you came
out of nowhere and put five of them on the sand without breaking
stride. Said you looked like a great bloody bat with your cape
flying out like wings.”

Varian stared a
moment, then turned to finish dressing. He plucked his cloak off
the wall peg and tossed it to Beacom, who in turn, had to pry
himself away from the bulkhead to carry it forward and drape it
over his master’s left shoulder. He ran the ties under the arms to
fasten it in place, then fetched Varian’s sword belt and buckled it
around his waist.

“Going
somewhere?” Dante asked casually.

“Your daughter
has informed me I am. To England, with all haste.”

“And... you are
not happy with our decision to send you home?”

“I am neither
happy, nor unhappy at that particular decision. What does not
please me, Captain Dante, is being set forth like a pawn and deemed
dispensable once the opening gambit has been played.”

“If you have
been given that impression, sir, it was not my intention.”

“Was it
not?”

Simon shook his
head. “No. It was not. In fact, it was not even my idea to send you
home. Certainly not to insist we send you in one of our fastest
ships with one of our best and most indispensable captains.”

“
Then
why... ?” The question escaped Varian’s lips before he could bite
it back. The answer was there before him: It was Juliet, of course.
It was her idea, much as she had attempted to shift some of the
blame. He was, after all, her chattel, her prize, her
responsibility and he, like the
Santo Domingo
, could be disposed of any way she saw
fit.

“
The
captain of the
Gale
is taking
on extra provisions and fresh water,” Dante was saying. “He should
be ready to leave on the evening tide. I have all the papers and
documents you will need to take with you back on board the
Avenger
, so
whenever you are ready—”

“
I am
ready now,” Varian said abruptly. “If you have no objections, I
will accompany you to your ship, then leave from there for
the
Gale
. I would be
remiss,” he added, forcing a tense smile, “if I returned to England
having never set foot on the infamous
Avenger
.”

“As you wish.
Can your man manage the chest or shall I send someone—?”

“Oh, I can
manage it sir!” Beacom was so ecstatic at the thought of actually
going home that he could have flown up to the deck with the sea
chest balanced on his head. “Yes indeed, I shall be right upon your
heels!”

Simon nodded
once at Varian before he turned to leave. At the door, he paused
and looked back. “If it is any consolation, the decision to send
you back was made before we left Pigeon Cay. In light of everything
that has happened since then, she might not be quite so adamant
about it.”

“Nothing has
happened to change her mind, Captain,” Varian said quietly. “That
much I do know.”

~~~

Juliet
was determined that a cut on her thigh would not keep her from
going about her daily routine. As much as the fabric chafed, as
much as her boots rubbed against the fresh wounds, she spent the
better part of the day with Gabriel, having accompanied him out to
the
Valor
. She did
not ask about his bruised knuckles and he did not ask about the
purple splotches on her jaw and cheek. They knew, just by glancing
into each other’s eyes, what had happened, and it was more to
Gabriel’s credit that he held his tongue, for he had clearly been
surprised to see how close she had come to tears several times
throughout the morning.

The
Valor
and
the
Tribute
weighed
anchor just past noon, leaving Juliet no choice but to return to
the
Iron
Rose
and it was there,
six hours later as dusk was settling again, that she stood on the
quarterdeck and watched as the crew of the
Gale
began maneuvering the nimble ship through the
congestion of ships in the harbor. Dozens of lamps and lanterns
were hung from her rigging, casting a glittering reflection across
the surface of the water as she moved toward the open sea lanes.
One by one those lamps were being extinguished, for once she was
clear of the outer island, it would be safer to run dark toward the
horizon.

Juliet lowered
the spyglass. She had recognized Captain Brockman standing tall on
the quarterdeck, his shock of gray hair making him easy to
identify. She had not seen any other familiar figures invited to
join him on deck to mark the departure. No one with broad
shoulders, dark hair, or a dashing plumed hat on his head.

It was just as
well.

So far
throughout this endless, insufferable day she had managed to keep
her captain’s face intact. She had done that by keeping busy, by
not thinking about him, by not once going below to her cabin where
everything she looked at would undoubtedly remind her of him. The
bed, the desk, the gallery, even the chair for pity’s sake, had all
been used for other than what they had been intended and she was
not sure she could look at them just yet without feeling the taint
of his presence.

How she could
have allowed herself to become so besotted, she had no idea. Not
the how of it or the why or the when. She just knew that when she
had seen him standing at the gangway this morning, prepared to
disembark with her father, she had felt her heart crack open and
the pieces slide down into her toes. She had wanted to shout that
it was a mistake, that she really didn’t want him to go, that what
had seemed so logical and necessary a week ago left her feeling
helpless and confused now.

From the
outset, she had never been dishonest with herself or him as to what
she had wanted. She had taken him to her bed because she had wanted
his body, had craved the numbing release of a few well-wrought
orgasms to help ease the restlessness and the tension that had been
clouding her thinking. With that foolishness burned out of her
system she had fully expected to be herself again, tough, strong,
resilient.

But instead,
she found herself distracted, unable to concentrate on the simplest
of tasks. Something as second nature as calculating distances,
speeds, and plotting the course they would take in the morning had
turned into monumentally impossible equations that had Nathan Crisp
frowning and chiding her for making basic errors. She had cut
herself on the binnacle. She had nearly stumbled head first down a
ladderway. She had stared blankly when Nathan had asked her
questions for the second and third time.

It had also
occurred to her more than once, that this was the way her mother
behaved when her father was overdue returning to Pigeon Cay, but if
this was what love felt like, then perhaps it was for the best that
Varian St. Clare was leaving.

If it was love,
it was a foolish, witless thing, for she was under no illusions as
to how ludicrous a thought it was that there could be any future
between them. Their worlds were so different, there was no end to
the reasons why neither could adapt to fit in the other. She lived
by instinct and passion, he lived by rules and social dictums.

In a month, he
would back in England taking strolls along the Thames, recounting
his adventures with a dangerous band of pirates to a rapt crowd of
tittering females. He would be back in his own world, surrounded by
beautiful women in gauzy dresses who displayed soft white flesh and
perfumed cleavage. He would be reminded of his responsibilities as
the Duke of Harrow and grudgingly or not, he would do his duty. He
would take the bride his mother had selected for him, he would gaze
into her eyes and pledge his troth, then afterward, he would take
her into his bed, into his arms...

She made a
strangled sound in her throat and turned away from the rail. Nathan
Crisp was directly behind her and raised an eyebrow in askance.

“If ye give the
order, there is still time to hail Cap’n Brockman an’ have him
heave to.”

“Why the devil
would I want him to heave to?”

Nathan
grimaced. “To save us all a deal of grief. Ye’ve been like a
she-cat with turpentine up her arse all day, and I don’t see your
mood improving any the further away he goes. Give me the word and
I’ll run up a signal. We’ll fetch him back on board so’s we can get
on about the business ahead without needing to worry that you’ll
have us firing on our own ships.”

“Sometimes,”
she said slowly, “you overstep yourself, Mr. Crisp.”

“An’
sometimes,” he paused, moving so close she could smell the
sincerity on his breath, “ye try so hard to prove ye don’t care
about something, ye only end up twistin’ yerself in tighter knots.
If ye want him back, we’ll fetch him. Simple as that an’ no one
would fault ye for it. Not after what he did last night.”

“Last night?”
she whispered.

His
grimace deepened at the look of shock on her face. “Ye didn’t think
it would stay a secret, did ye? Not with yer brother lickin’ the
tar out of every man on board the
Dove
. Whole crew knows. Whole fleet, probably, and there isn’t
a man on board wouldn’t shake the duke’s hand for savin’ them the
trouble of blastin’ the Dutchman to hell where he belongs.” He
stopped and glanced at the mouth of the harbor, where the
Gale
was putting on more sail,
picking up more speed as she neared open water. “Ye don’t have but
a minute to decide, lass.”

Juliet turned
her head to follow the privateer’s progress. Most of her lights
were doused now and as she sailed toward the darkness of the
eastern sky, her huge main sails were unfurled, shaking out full
and pale against the fading light.

She watched
until the ship rounded the island and sped out of sight.

“We will be
weighing anchor at first light,” she said quietly. “Have all made
ready by then.”

Nathan stepped
back. “Aye, Cap’n.”

She tipped her
head and looked up. “Skies are clear, we should have fair weather
ahead. If the wind holds we should be able to make the Devil’s
Teeth in two days. By then, Mr. Crisp,” she met his eyes, “we will
be far too busy to remember that we even had this
conversation.”

“Aye, Captain,”
he agreed after a moment. “No doubt we will.”

CHAPTER
TWENTY

The
serpentine chain of islands known as the Devil’s Teeth were
perfectly configured for an ambush. Dozens of small, uninhabited
atolls and islets were strung out in an elongated crescent some
fifty miles long flanking the eastern boundary of the Florida
Straits
.
Simon Dante
had provided the other captains with detailed maps and charts of
the cays, letting each decide where to position his ship where it
might be put to best effect. Some preferred the hit and run method,
lying in wait, concealed behind one of the islands until the
galleons straggled into view. Then, like dogs culling sheep out of
a herd, they would pounce on the slowest ship and engage it in
battle.

The Spanish
captains were notoriously without mercy, even to their own. If a
ship floundered or managed to get separated from the pack, and if
the captain-general did not think it worth his while to jeopardize
the safety of the other ships in the flota, the galleons would be
sacrificed to the scavengers, tossed like a scrap of raw meat to a
hungry pack of wolves.

They would not
know exactly how hungry those wolves would be this time out, or
that it would take more than a few paltry ships to appease their
appetites. The privateers would be spread out the entire fifty mile
length of the cays, luring ships singly or by twos and threes into
traps from which there would be little chance of escape.

The
Iron Rose
was
bound for a pair of atolls midway down the chain marked on the
Dante charts as Spaniard’s Cay and Frenchman’s
Cay
,
names that denoted ships of
those particular nationalities that had been waylaid on previous
hunts. Looking innocent enough from the deeper water of the Florida
Straits, the islands sat where the sea bottom rose sharply in
ridges and terraces, and where the currents that fed off the gulf
stream drove many an unwary ship onto shallower banks that were
often no more than two fathoms below the surface. Once there, a
canny vessel waiting on the other side of the bank could pound away
at the trapped ship until the white flag of surrender was run up
the mast.

With that
goal in mind, it was Simon’s intention to use the
Dove
as bait—a more practical
solution than blowing it out of the water as Juliet had originally
craved to do. He proposed setting the Dutchman and the
Avenger
in plain view when the flota
came in sight, both seeming to appear damaged and floundering in
the water. There were few Spanish captains who did not know
the
Avenger’s
silhouette on sight, fewer still whose arrogance would not
provoke them to throw caution to the wind if there was a chance
they could be the one to bring the infamous Pirata Lobo to
ground.

Meanwhile
the
Santo
Domingo
would be
stripped of her guns and mortars. They would be deployed along the
beaches of the two small islands that flanked the narrow passage
through the atolls. It was only wide enough for one ship at a time
and once the galleons were committed to chasing the
Avenger
through, they would be caught
in a deadly crossfire from the two batteries on shore. The
Iron Rose
and the
Christiana
would both be waiting out of sight behind the
islands, while the
Santo Domingo
could be used to block the retreat. They would also be
taking an additional hundred men on board, the volunteers coming in
lots of five from any ship who could spare them. The extras would
be needed to man the batteries on shore once the guns were in
place.