Microsoft Word - Sherwood, Valerie - Nightsong (3 page)

He was about to ask John who the golden vision was when distant shouts and running feet erupted from Lime Street into High Street. A cart piled high with oranges was knocked over and the oranges cascaded into the street, rolling along the gutters like bowling balls. Several people tripped over the oranges and went down beside the overturned cart. And the reason for all this commotion-a ginger-haired girl of perhaps fifteen summers running as if for her life-darted through the turmoil, collided with Hawks, and with an anguished squawk ricocheted to the ground directly in front of Carolina.

As she fell, the girl's plain brown kirtle tumbled upward, revealing a startlingly handsome red silk petticoat and a white chemise edged with lace ruffles, in sharp contrast to her dirty bare feet and sun-bronzed ankles.

From the crowd, stumbling through the rolling oranges, panted a blowzy woman in magenta satin whom Carolina recognized as one of the well-known madams of the town (indeed, it was said the governor himself patronized her establishment at times), and right behind her a fierce-looking bawd in stained pink silk who roared,

"After her, Sadie! Don't let her get away with my chemise and your petticoat!"

Carolina looked down, astounded, into the fallen girl's sharp-featured dirty face and met a pair of woebegone brown eyes.

"Oh, lor', don't let them get me!" wailed the girl, clasping Carolina around the ankles.

"They'll have my hide for this!"

The enthusiasm of the girl's desperate assault might have toppled Carolina had not Hawks, with a sudden imprecation, seized his captain's lady by the arm and righted her. He would have removed the girl's grip on Carolina's ankles with his boot save that Carolina stayed him and turned to face the girl's pursuers.

"Before you touch this girl," her voice rang out, "tell me, what is her crime?" Her crime was fairly obvious-this girl would be one of Port Royal's ever-shifting floating population, a scullery wench, perhaps, who had gone to work in one of the brothels.

Not pretty enough to make her way as a prostitute, for competition in that field was hot in Port Royal, she must still have wanted finery-and so she had stolen a chemise and a red petticoat and been caught in the act.

"She's a thief, that one! And me and Tilly both says so!" shrilled the magenta-clad madam, who came to an abrupt stop before Carolina and her frowning bodyguard.

"That she is!" roared the big woman in pink, coming up behind Sadie so suddenly that she bumped into her, almost knocking her down. "Don't let her get away with it, Sadie!" She pushed the madam forward so violently that she stumbled. "Pull the petticoat off the slut's back, and then I'll pull off the chemise!"

Carolina had asked her question only to give herself time to think what to do, and now her decision was swiftly made as the girl who lay on the street beseechingly clutching her ankles burst into tears. "Don't let them strip me on the street, mistress!"

she wailed. "Oh, don't--please!"

"I can promise you they won't strip you here on the street," said Carolina with a warning look at the two women, who were now fiercely regarding her, hands on hips.

"Tell me," she said sternly. "Did you steal these clothes?"

The girl stopped crying abruptly. Her eyes widened. Then she gulped, "It was because they was beating me-both of them. With a stick!" She regarded Carolina in rising panic. "I only wanted to get even!" she wailed.

Carolina, who always fed lost dogs and cats,and who had more compassion for human strays than could be found anywhere else on this island, gave her a look of sympathy. This pathetic waif had no home, no family-Carolina didn't have to ask; it was readily apparent.

Naught but the clothes on her back, and those were about to be ripped from her body.

She turned to the two women. "I am taking this girl home with me," she said flatly.

"The clothing will be returned to you within the hour."

"We'll have it now!" screeched the woman in stained pink, who was advancing menacingly on Carolina.

Hawks looked dismayed. Interfering in a fight between women never worked out for a man, but he must defend the captain's lady at all costs.

"Well, John," chuckled the man who lounged in the window. "I see I am about to rescue a lady!"

Ignoring his friend's clutching arm, and his desperate, "Wait, Ramon, that woman is-"

he dropped catlike to the street below and reached the quarreling group in a single bound, sending a bystander staggering as he did so.

And before Hawks could even bellow "Get back!" and push Carolina and her unlikely charge behind him, a rich masculine voice came from behind Carolina.

"No one will be stripped in the street," was his level pronouncement. "I stand to defend this lady."

Carolina swung about-to the disappointed grumbling of the ogling crowd that had gathered about, hoping for a melee-and met the tawny gaze of a stranger. A tall dark-haired stranger in dusky olive who moved with assurance and had a naked blade swinging negligently in his hand.

Faced by glowering Hawks and this new, more deadly menace, the two bawds fell back, muttering. "The clothes'll be sent to you, Sadie," Hawks told the angry madam with relief. "I'll see to it myself."

Carolina ignored the pair. She was regarding the stranger in some wonder. He was extraordinarily handsome, she saw, as dark as any Spaniard, but there was no mark of the don about his casual clothes, and his English was flawless.

"I do not believe I know you, sir," she said slowly. "But I am most grateful to you nonetheless." The stranger made her a sweeping bow. "Raymond du Monde, at your service, mademoiselle."

Carolina acknowledged his greeting graciously and extended her slender hand. The stranger bore it to his lips, met her gaze with laughter in hiseyes as he kissed it-and held it a shade too long.

It was a shade too long for Hawks, too. Just as Carolina was about to give the stranger her name, Hawks broke in.

"Captain Kells'll be grateful to you," muttered Hawks. He spoke with feeling for he knew in his heart that he could not have raised his cutlass against a woman, and it would have been hard holding off two of them. And what would the Captain have said had he returned to find his lady scratched and bruised and with perhaps tufts of her beautiful blonde hair torn out?

The stranger caught that remark and for a moment there was a new gleam in his tawny eyes. "Captain Kells?" he asked in a slightly altered tone.

Carolina was used to having men's expressions alter at the mention of her buccaneer husband, but she winced when a voice from the crowd remarked audibly, "Gor',don't heknowhe's talkin' to the Silver Wench?"

The gaze of the handsome stranger upon her was steady. She noticed the little V-shaped scar at the corner of his mouth, the cleft chin, the dark line of jaw scraped clean with a razor. "Silver Wench?" he murmured. "You will forgive me, mademoiselle, but I am new to Jamaica."

"I have been called that," she admitted stiffly. He seemed to reflect. "Ah, I recollect now. Then you must be-"

"Wife to Captain Kells," put in Hawks before Carolina could reply. He moved uneasily, wishing Carolina would take the young wench-who had by now scrambled to her feet although she was still keeping close to Carolina for protection-and get them gone from here. The dark stranger was looking at Carolina in a most admiring although slightly inquisitive way. He had sheathed his sword and was smiling at her-and there was something in his smile that put Hawks in mind of a black panther from Africa that he had once seen break free of its bonds aboard a ship. There had been no subduing the panther once it was bent on freedom; it had killed three men before it was brought down-and there was something in the stranger's olive-skinned face that reminded Hawks of that panther. "We'd best go home, mistress," he muttered.

But Carolina was not listening. She was smiling into the stranger's face. "I think you have just saved me from a very nasty encounter, Monsieur du Monde," she said steadily. "My husband is away up the Cobre, but he will be back tonight, and I know he would wish to thank you himself. We would be honored to have your presence at dinner tonight."

Beside her Hawks choked. The Captain had been away on some business up the Cobre River all week and he was indeed expected home tonight. But what would he think about his lady inviting a perfect stranger -and one chance-met on the street at that-to break bread with them on his first evening home?

The stranger was gallant. His dark face flushed a little darker. "I will be honored," he declared.

"Good," said Carolina breezily. "We dine at seven. Our house is on Queen's Street.

Anyone in Port Royal can tell you where."

That was certainly true! Everyone in Port Royal at one time or another had had the house of the famous buccaneer and his almost equally famous lady pointed out to him. Even this stranger who had been in town only since yesterday evening had had it pointed out to him. His eyes glinted.

"I will be there, madame,"he promised with another deep bow. "Should we not be getting on to the market?" wondered Hawks uneasily. "No, we'll go home first and get-what's your name?" she asked the girl. "Gilly," supplied the girl promptly. "I've-got no last name, rightly," she added, mumbling.

Nothing Gilly might have said could have been better calculated to gain Carolina's sympathy. She herself-had not Fielding Lightfoot chosen to overlook his wife's indiscretion-would not have had "a last name, right-ly." But he had, and so she was Carolina Lightfoot instead of Carolina Randolph, as she might have been if her mother Letitia had been able to marry her cousin Sandy. But Sandy had a mad wife and could not divorce her. It had allIed to such terrible trouble....

Looking at dirty, underfed Gilly, Carolina felt she might, under other circumstances, have been looking at herself.

"Never you mind," she said comfortingly. "Do you have a place to stay?"

"No," mumbled Gilly.

"Well, you do now." Carolina's voice was brisk. "I'll take you home and get you settled. The market can wait." She turned to Hawks and as she did so her gaze passed over the two angry women, thwarted of their prey. "After all, I'll want to get the"-there was the faintest insulting pause-"ladies' clothes back to them as soon as possible."

There was an angry sniff from the madam and a squawk from the bawd beside her, but they made no move to follow as Hawks, hiding a grin, turned to accompany Carolina back the way she had come.

Raymond du Monde watched their progress, smiling, until they had turned the corner off High Street. Then, ignoring the door, he put his hands on the green windowsill and hauled himself up to where his friend

John, gone several shades paler, was waiting.

He vaulted into the room.

"How could you so call attention to yourself, Ramon?" John cried reproachfully. He hastened to close the shutters behind his friend.

'''Raymond,' if you please," Ramon said absently. He brushed off his cuffs fastidiously as if the dust of the street might have contaminated them.

"I was about to tell you that woman was Kells's wife when you threw yourself into the street!"

"The Silver Wench? Ah, yes, I should have known that it could be none other."

Ramon drew a deep sigh. "These clothes I am wearing do not appeal to me, John.

Do you think a better suit could be procured for me on short notice in the town?"

John stared at him, aghast.

"Surely you do not actually intend to dine at his house?" he cried. "I heard you say it, but I thought you were making a pleasantry with no intent to do it!"

Ramon's soft laughter held a wicked note. "Indeed, John, wild horses could not deter me from dining with the lady!"

"But you heard her! Her husband is expected back tonight. Kellshimself!I'll remind you that 'tis said Kells personally spied out Porto Bello before he raided it-"

"As I am spying out Port Royal," interrupted Ramon with a grin. "And I'll remind you also that you were in Porto Bello just before that raid!"

"I left-s-some have said providentially." Ramon's thin lips twisted. Although his head was cool, his manner was flippant. "Had I stayed but a day later, John, I would have met this infamous Captain Kells too soon! As it is, I will be glad to meet the fellow at last!"

"Yes, yes, you are sure your sword could have turned the tide," said John Daimler in an agonized voice. "But although you assuredly did not see him, Ramon, you are overlooking the fact that Kells may have seen you there! After all, you were in command of one of the forts there just before the raid."

Ramon shrugged. "True, there is always that chance."

"And if he does recognize you, there in his dining room, have you considered the probable consequences?" pursued Daimler.

"I will meet them when they come—if they come," was the indifferent response.

"And you would take such a risk on the off chance a wench will favor you-and a buccaneer's wench at that?" John Daimler's temper exploded at last.

The straight black brows that faced him drew together; the narrow jaw seemed to square a trifle. "I know that we were boys together, John, and played together in the courtyards of Toledo," he said silkily, "but do not presume too much on old friendship.

Where the ladies are concerned, I accept advice from no one!"

"Madre de Diosl" thundered John. "You will get us both killed!"

"You go back to your Spanish beginnings, Juan," chided Ramon, his good humor restored. "Please do remember-as you have been reminding me ever since I arrived here last night-that as of today I am French and you are English. And now, since it is a most beautiful day, I find myself ready to go to see the forts. I am anxious to assess their strength and"-he grinned with a flash of white teeth-"their vulnerability!" He beamed at Daimler. "Be of good heart, John. Remember, if I succeed in subduing this cursed island, I may well be made governor of Jamaica. And if I am, John, you shall assuredly become my lieutenant governor!" He slapped his old friend on the back.

John Daimler shook his sandy head and mopped a brow dampened from more than the tropical heat that was even now spreading over this city built on sand. It was true that he had been promised much if this mad venture succeeded, but at the moment he wished with all his heart that it had never been begun, that he had left what Ramon chose to call his "Spanish beginnings" buried as they had been these many years. His Spanish mother had died long ago in Toledo, his Spanish relatives had never really accepted him--indeed had scorned him after her death. They had been glad enough to pack him off to England when his English father, long estranged from his mother, had died and left him a small shop in Bristol. And John Daimler had come away to the West Indies, believing that change of location would change his life. In England, with his strong Spanish accent (since lost), he had not been well accepted; but in brash new Port Royal he had hoped to forget his divided heritage and choose the one that had given him a start in the mercantile world-he could be all English.