Fortune Trilogy 1 - Fortune's Mistress Read online

  You’re mad as a shipwrecked parson. Sailing across the Atlantic with a man who pirated your father’s boat and tried to drown your brothers.

  “Maybe I am,” she murmured under her breath. But she knew what had really made up her mind had been Jamie’s question, “What’s waiting for you in England?”

  Lacy drew in a deep breath. There was no acceptable answer to that weighted question. She had no future in England—not if she wanted to stay clear of the gallows ...

  But the honest truth was that part of the reason she’d agreed to sail with him was the unfamiliar feelings he’d aroused in her when she was near him. Sensations no other man had ever produced ...

  Harry strolled out from behind the canvas and gave a hoarse meow.

  Lacy picked him up and cuddled him against her chest. “Don’t you understand?” she whispered into the cat’s good ear. “It was sign on with Jamie or never set eyes on him again.”

  Her inner voice screamed a scornful reply. Put your trust in a such a blackguard? If you do get to the islands, he’ll trade you to the first pirate he meets for a fistful of doubloons!

  Harry squirmed to be put down. She set him on the bunk and crumbled a biscuit for his dinner. “There now, eat that, you ungrateful cat.”

  She sighed, unwilling to be bested by her own doubts. She’d made her decision, and she’d stick by it ... even if she knew she was taking a terrible chance.

  She’d always been a good judge of men. Hellfire and damnation! She’d been raised around enough rogues to know one when she saw one. James Black was a scoundrel of the first order who would use any means to get what he wanted. She’d never be able to believe more than half what he told her ... and she’d never be able to trust him. Considering those things, she’d still deliberately placed her life and fortune in his hands to set off on a wild venture that didn’t have a chance in hell of succeeding.

  All for the sake of a few giddy feelings in the pit of her stomach ...

  “Well, maybe a tiny chance of succeeding,” she whispered to Harry. The cat yawned and licked biscuit crumbs off his chin, as if to indicate that it was an insult to his intelligence that she should say such a thing.

  “He took a beating for my sake,” she argued. “At Newgate. When I slipped and fell, he caught me. He paid dear for it,” she said, remembering the bruises on his chest, “but it proves he has some redeeming qualities.”

  Harry closed his eyes, ending the conversation. “You’re a male,” she said. “How could you possibly understand?”

  There was something about James Black that made her go all fuzzy inside. Something she wasn’t ready to let go of ... not just yet.

  She added a pot of honey to the box tray that contained biscuit, cheese, and two apples. The wind had picked up, so she’d not wanted to start a fire and cook the bacon or salt pork. There was a full cask of fresh water as well as a few bottles of wine and a jug of cider. They’d not go thirsty if they didn’t make land for a few days.

  Already, she was counting up the supplies and trying to decide what they’d need to take on to make the first leg of the journey to the Canaries. She had salt and flour, although she’d need a lot more flour for biscuits. Alfred had always maintained that Dutch sailors stayed healthy on long voyages because they carried sauerkraut to vary their diet. She’d want sauerkraut, and turnips. Onions, dried or fresh, would help season a fish stew. There was a container of dried cod, but Ben’s supply of hooks and fishing gear would last longer than that.

  “Lacy!” James called.

  “Coming.” She gave the cat a stern look. “Ye stay below until Jamie gets to know you better. Considering the size of the Silkie, it wouldn’t be long. Catch a rat,” she suggested to Harry. “He’ll see how useful you can be if ye rid us of vermin.”

  Balancing the tray, she climbed the ladder to the deck. “We’ll have to stop along the coast,” she said to Jamie. “We need more supplies if we’re to make the Canaries without starvin’ or dying of thirst.”

  “And you know just the village, I suppose,” he said.

  “Aye. Well ... not exactly.” She ignored his displeased expression. “What I know, Lord Jamie, is what kind of village to stop at. Not too large, because there might be authorities there who have news of our escape—and not too small, because in a tiny settlement, strangers are immediately suspect. We’d stand out, especially you, like a turtle in a net full of smelt.”

  “My name is James.”

  “So ye say,” she answered saucily. “But ye also told me your name was Black ... and I seriously doubt it.” She tossed him a biscuit. “Whatever your name is, I hope you can navigate. I’ll be useless to ye once we’re away from the English coast.”

  James scowled. “Woman, cease needling me. It’s plain why they wanted to hang you—not for stealing, but to still that wagging tongue of yours.” He took a bite of the biscuit and chewed carefully. “I’ll need charts and a backstaff to measure our latitude. I saw a compass below in the cabin.”

  “Aye, Alfred would go nowhere without his compass. ’Tis a bulky thing, though. It came off a Dutch galleon. She went down on the rocks a mile from my home.”

  “With assistance from your brothers, I’m sure.”

  “No. ’Twas a storm.” She felt a sudden chill, remembering the bodies that had continued to wash up on the beach for days. “Like as not, we’ll face storms as bad between here and the Golden Antilles.”

  “It was you who said this boat could sail to China and back,” he reminded her.

  “I did,” she said stoutly. “I’ve faith in the Silkie, but ships are like people. Some tasks are too great for them.” She dropped cross-legged to the deck and nibbled at her wedge of cheese, keeping a safe distance between them. “I’d hear more of this treasure I’m risking everything for. If you’re lying to me ...”

  His dark eyes took on a faraway look. “The treasure is real, Lacy. If I wanted to lie to you, I couldn’t imagine anything as wondrous as what I’ve seen—what I’ve let run through my fingers. Close your eyes and try to imagine chests of gold and silver. Not just ingots, but jewelry; rings and bracelets, necklaces of beaten gold all set with precious gems. Pagan armbands of gold and silver, so heavy you wonder why a man would wear one. Breastplates, and nose rings that look like golden fans. Women’s hair ornaments. Earrings.”

  “God’s flesh.” She made a sound of disbelief. “Ye must take me for maggot-brained to believe such fancies.”

  “It’s true. I’ve touched it, I tell you. Heathen images of gold ... demons and gods intricately worked by master jewelers, animal figures, birds, human masks of beaten silver. Emeralds by the handful. Bowls and cups and pitchers—each one enough to buy a man an earldom. I held a little golden jaguar—a creature something like a lion—in the palm of my hand. It was solid gold, woman. Solid gold with inlaid eyes of emeralds.”

  “But where did it come from? I’ve heard the Spanish have silver mines, but such stuff is—”

  “They stole it from the Incas. Savage natives who live in the mountains and jungles of Peru. The Spanish loot their cities, even the tombs of the Indian dead. Then they bring the treasure up the Pacific coast to Panama City, then across the isthmus to Porto Bello and other towns. From there it goes to Cartegena by small ships, then over to Cuba where a great fleet is assembled to take the riches to Spain.”

  “This treasure we’re going after ...” She stared at him intensely. “Will we have to fight the Spanish to take it?”

  He shook his head. “No. The treasure’s on Arawak Island. The island’s deserted. No one lives there at all.”

  She cast him a suspicious glance. “If this treasure exists, why hasn’t someone else stolen it?”

  “The others who knew where it was are all dead. Hanged or drowned.”

  She exhaled softly, letting her eyes drift shut, trying to see the heaps of gold and silver in her mind ... trying to accept what he’d told her. “If only a little bit of your tale is true,” she murmured, “only a fr
action—then it would be worth trying for.”

  “My feelings exactly.” A wry smile played over his lips. “Henry Morgan cheated his shipmates. He tried to tell us that the bulk of the treasure slipped through our hands, taken by thieves. He put it about that a ship sailed out of Panama City into the Pacific with everything aboard. He lied. My captain, Matthew Kay, saw with his own eyes that Morgan carried the treasure off onto his own ship. Henry Morgan played false with the men who fought and died for him, and for that treasure, but Matthew made certain that our crew got their fair share. What we captured, we kept for ourselves.”

  “And that’s where this treasure came from, then?” she asked. “It’s what you carried off from Panama City?”

  “No. We took it off a column of Spanish soldiers on the jungle route. Morgan went down the Chagres River. He sent us by the land route, to be certain we didn’t miss the large gold and silver shipments being made by the Spaniards.”

  Lacy clasped her hands together. “Morgan’s in disgrace. Did ye know that? He’s been brought back to London to answer charges of piracy. England was at peace with Spain when ye sacked Panama City. We signed a treaty six months before ye made the attack.”

  James shook his head. “The royal governor of Jamaica, Sir Thomas Modyford, issued Morgan letters of marque to raid the Spanish Main,” he explained. “Matthew Kay and the other captains had them as well. We were commissioned by the crown. That makes us privateers, not pirates. If a peace treaty was signed, none of us knew it. Certainly not the Spanish. They sunk the Bristol Lady off Hispaniola in December of ’70, a month before we struck Panama. They murdered every soul aboard, including women and children, and burned the ship to the waterline.”

  “Can it be done, do ye think?” she asked. “Can we reach the islands in the Silkie?”

  “I told you before. I must have a backstaff and charts.” He shrugged. “God alone knows where we’ll lay a hand on them, but we need them. Even I can’t sail across the Atlantic without knowing where I am.”

  “That’s all ye need?”

  He gave her a scornful look. “Yes, woman, it’s all I need.”

  “Why didn’t ye say so?” She pointed to the after end hatch, which led to the cargo hold. “Below, there. Alfred had such stuff. We took it from the cabin of a wrecked square-rigger. Alfred meant to sell the backstaff if we ever found a buyer.”

  “A backstaff?” His dark eyes widened with excitement. “You’re certain?”

  “Aye. Ivory and teakwood it was, set with silver mounting.”

  Nothing would do but James must see the charts and backstaff for himself. In less time than it took to sing “The Ship Carpenter’s Wife,” he had the hatch open and was down inside the hold. In another half-minute, she had slammed the hatch and bolted it fast.

  He swore and beat against the hatch with his fists, but she ignored him. Chuckling, she took the tiller and set a course for a village Alfred had mentioned that lay a few hours southwest of Plymouth ... a village where few questions would be asked of a woman with choice items to trade.

  She reached the harbor at Cheswold just before dusk. The wind had died, and it took all her skill to bring the Silkie in close enough to hail a boy on shore. She dropped anchor while she waited for the lad to row out to her. James had given up his pounding, and his voice had grown hoarse from shouting threats.

  “Be still,” she warned him as the boy neared the Silkie. “I’ll not betray ye. Wait, and trust me.” She stood up and smiled and waved. “Will ye row me ashore?” she called to the boy. “I promise ye won’t be the poorer for it.”

  Cheswold might be the last chance they had to take on supplies before they faced open ocean. She knew that James would be sorely vexed by her trickery, but having him along when she was trying to strike up a trade with the villagers would be fatal. His speech was too high-class to pass him off as a smuggler, and his attitude was too haughty. Someone would take him for a king’s officer working undercover and run a knife in his back.

  And if rewards were already posted for the two of them, she couldn’t take the risk that they’d be seen together. One country wench was much like another, but a man like James Black ... Anyone who saw him once would remember him. No, if it came to sneaking around, Jamie was a definite liability. She might have signed on as his partner in this venture, but she hadn’t thrown all her sense overboard when she’d done it.

  If they had any chance of reaching the Caribbean alive, there were things they had to have. She wanted clothing for them both, kegs of fresh water, and supplies, including the sauerkraut and some apples to keep them from getting the saltwater sickness. There were herbs for medicinal purposes she didn’t want to sail without, and personal items a woman had to have if she was going to be at sea for months.

  Since James was occupying the cargo hold, she had to limit her list to what would fit in the cuddy or be tied down topside. She wasn’t certain what Alfred had been carrying in the hold or using for ballast, but judging from the way the Silkie was riding in the water, she thought it must be something heavy. Likely, he’d taken on a full load of brandy. If so, they Could exchange some of it when they reached the Canaries . . . if they reached the Canaries.

  Alfred kept his best trading goods in a compartment under the bunk in the cuddy. He also kept the backstaff and charts there, wrapped in oiled cloth to be safe from moisture. She hadn’t lied to James about the backstaff; she’d only hedged about where exactly it was stored. Surely, he’d calm down once he saw that she’d only locked him in the hold for his own good.

  Tucked into her bodice, Lacy carried a pair of steel scissors and a silver thimble. They would make a nice gift for the wife of the tavernkeeper. Once they’d established a friendly atmosphere, Lacy could mention the casks of French brandy she had to trade. An innkeeper’s wife knew everything that went on for miles around a village, and if her husband didn’t deal in contraband goods, she’d know who would.

  It was all quite civilized, and if the king was denied his tax, too bad. Common folk had to look out for themselves—didn’t they? Lacy had never felt a moment’s guilt over the smuggling her family had openly engaged in.

  The wrecking was another matter ...

  But all that was behind her now. She smiled at the boy and leaned forward so that he could see the tops of her breasts as she climbed down into his shallop. “Do ye have a tavern in the village, by chance?” she asked sweetly. “A place where a decent woman might find a spot of supper?”

  “I should hope I do. The Crown and Goat makes the best clam pie on the coast.”

  “It’s not a place where a lady has to fear for her reputation, is it?”

  “Naw. ’Tis my Aunt Jenny’s inn. She keeps order under her roof, I can tell ye.”

  “Good lad.” Lacy settled down on the broad wooden seat. “If you’ll take me to this paragon of virtue, I’ll see you’re well rewarded.”

  As he rowed toward shore, Lacy looked back at the Silkie bobbing gently at anchor and hoped James would have sense enough to keep quiet until they were safely under way again.

  James heard the splash of the anchor and the scrape of wood against wood as the small boat came alongside the Silkie. Then he heard Lacy’s voice—too muffled for him to understand what she was saying—and the thud of an oar pushing off. After that, there was only the gentle, rhythmic lapping of waves against the hull.

  He crouched in the cramped hold and cursed himself for being a fool. How could he have been so stupid as to fall for a buxom jade’s ruse? Trapped like a rat with nothing to do but wait for the authorities to come and arrest him again!

  She’d not get away with it. Not if he had to come back from hell and strangle the life out of her with his bare hands. No, strangling would be too easy. He’d think of something more painful.

  “By all the imps in hell!” His voice was too far gone to do more than rasp. He’d argued with her, pleaded, and threatened. She’d not even given him the decency of an answer.

  The space he
was folded into was too low for him to stand upright and so narrow he could reach from side to side and touch the stacked cargo. In pitch-blackness there was little he could discern, but, using his fingertips in place of sight, he did identify the outline of a brandy keg. In frustration, he pulled the cask into his lap and used his knife to pry out the plug.

  He cut himself only once in the process.

  Raising the gallon keg, he drank deeply. Damn, but it was fine brandywine Lacy’s brothers were smuggling. His stepfather had served the king no better at Monkton Hall. It had been years since James had tasted any so smooth.

  As the brandy warmed his insides, he softened his attack on himself. He’d trusted the wench, certain, but it wasn’t from lack of judgment on his part. It had been a natural weakness. Any man who’d been without a woman as long as he had could be expected to fall prey to the come-hither eyes of such a temptress.

  He took another long swallow.

  Yes, Lacy Bennett would die as unpleasantly as he could manage. She was the worse kind of witch and deserved no mercy. Even if she did have the shapeliest little arse a seagoing man ever yearned to fondle . . .

  Chapter 6

  Cold rain spattered on James’s face. Unconsciously, he shielded himself with an elbow and blinked against the gray light. One minute he was sleeping soundly and the next he was coming upright, lips drawn back from his teeth in a snarl and his fists balled to do battle.

  His senses registered one after another in rapid succession. Gray open sky above him. The hatch to his prison stood open wide, letting in the clean rain. Damp salt air, water-soaked deck ... and the snap of wet canvas in a twenty-knot wind.

  James scrambled out of the hold, his blood pumping, heated to a fevered pitch. “What the hell?” he roared. All around him lay open sea, lead-gray and ominous, the waves churned to five-foot whitecaps.

  He remembered his knife and fumbled for it, his clutching fingers finding only an empty waistband instead of steel. Blinking, he whirled around, forcing his brandy-soaked mind to clear.