Nobody's Saint (33 page)

“What do you mean?”

“We were good people, darlin’, and smart, as well. The both of us had enough self-control and good sense to stay out of trouble, but we knew there was only one way to keep Calder Larcombe from taking her back to England. It wasn’t me only she wanted, though I’d like to say it was. She fell in love with Ireland and the people. She wanted to stay.”

Mary Kate had to laugh. “Well, at least I know I come by my shameless conniving honestly.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing. I’m moving to Londonderry, Da. I’ll find work and then a husband who can take me back out to sea.”

Her father pulled her up from the chair to stand between his legs. “We’ll miss you, Mary Katherine.”

“I’ll miss you all, too,” she said.

He pulled her into his arms and it struck her that, odd as it seemed, she still missed the smell of whiskey.

*

At the beginning of her third week in Londonderry, Mary Kate realized that working at O’Byrne’s Pub was no way to meet her sea captain. O’Byrne’s was frequented most by English navy men who seemed to think Irish lasses all had light skirts. Murphy’s was the house in Londonderry that attracted more Irishmen, but she needed a dowry, and ‘twas the English with all the silver.

She drew a tankard of ale from a barrel behind the bar and added it to a wide tray loaded with nine others. She was glad to have spent a little time back on the farm building up her muscles. After only a fortnight at this job, most of the regulars had learned that Mary Kate O’Reilly could balance a full tray of drinks and still kick an Englishman in the arse if she had need to. At the same time, she was nobody’s fool. She smiled and flirted, and so long as they kept their hands off her chest and her backside, she got along with them grandly and ended most nights with her pockets jingling with extra coins.

She set the last tankard down at a table full of navy sailors and winked at the man who had ordered it. He tossed her an extra copper and she smiled, pretending to slip it down her bodice, but when she turned away she rolled her eyes and dropped it into her apron pocket. Another group of men pounded their cups on the table, trying to get her attention, and some snooty, high-ranking fellow was shouting to her about his food taking too long. She muttered a curse upon them all under her breath.

Then she looked up and saw Captain Fredrick Fielding walk through the door. Freddy was perhaps five or six years older than Mary Kate, and wore his customary wig of curly chestnut hair and a coat trimmed in gold braid. He gave her what he surely thought a dazzling smile but looked more like a death grimace to her, and she smiled dutifully back.

Freddy’s presence generally encouraged bad behavior from his mates, for they found it endlessly amusing to watch him turn bright red and rush to her defense when they teased her. And when the pub closed for the night, he’d be the last out the door. Mary Kate cast her eyes upward and beseeched the saints for patience. She collected tankards from the men who had been pounding with them, promised the commander she would check on his lamb stew, and signaled to Fredrick that she would see to him shortly.

Her next tray included drinks and the stew, and her back began to ache. Tankards went first, to lighten the load, leading the officer with the stew to scold her for ignoring his rank. There would be no extra coin for her here, so she walked away while he was still in mid-tirade and joined Fredrick and his friends. The tray dangled from her hand at her side, and when one of his mates pinched her bottom, she cracked him across the head with it. Not too hard, but she made her point.

“Look all you like, Stuart, but kindly keep your hands to yourself.”

“You’re a hard woman, Mary Kate,” he said in a dreadful imitation of an Irish lilt.

“And I’ll wager you’re a hard man,” she said, giving him a slanted look.

He grinned. “Would you like to find out for yourself?”

She dropped all pretense of seduction and snapped, “And you’ll stay a hard man with no relief save your own if you don’t learn to mind your manners!”

The rest of the table burst into laughter, even Stuart, but Fredrick gave her a scowl of disapproval. He stood and muttered in her ear. “You only encourage them when you talk like that.”

“And you encourage them by following after me like a puppy. You’re a nice lad, Freddy, but ‘tis an Irishman I’m after.”

“You are half English, Mary Katherine.”

“My bad half.”

“Tomorrow’s Sunday.”

“So ‘tis. I have to see to that table over there, now. Take your seat and drink your pint.”

He grabbed her arm, and Mary Kate scowled at him.

“Come to church with me.”

“I’m Catholic, Freddy.”

“Then I’ll come with you.”

“You’ll take your hands off me and let me do my job.” She pulled her arm away, and headed toward the table of newcomers.

Freddy took a seat next to Stuart, who looked at him in mock pity.

“Give it up, Freddy. Have you no pride?”

“You can’t keep your hands off of her either.”

“
I’m
looking to get her into bed, not church!”

Freddy’s face turned red. “She’s nothing like that!”

“She’s Irish. What are you going to do? Convert and become a papist?”

“She’s half English. She’ll come ‘round.”

“You’ve heard her tell the story. She’s braved pirates and Spaniards and every sort of scoundrel out there to get away from England.”

“So we’ll stay here.”

Stuart shook his head. “You’re a bloody embarrassment.”

Nonetheless, Freddy stayed until O’Byrne kicked him out, and he still had no one to go to church with that morning. But Frederick Fielding was nothing if not persistent, and come Monday, he was still trying to think of a way to successfully woo Mary Kate O’Reilly.

“Captain,” Salvador began in a tentative voice. “I know you have been adamant about this change in plans, but really, how do you plan to sail through that strait without drawing fire?” He pointed to the narrow channel that led to Loch Foyle and the port of Londonderry.

Diego looked overhead. “That is why we fly a white flag, Salvador.”

Salvador looked to either side at the ships that were on a course to flank them.

“You are quite sure these English captains will respect our signal for a conference?”

Diego refused to look. If he allowed the nerves he felt to show, his already edgy crew would go to pieces. “Certainly. I have dealt with the English many times. I know how to gain their respect.”

“If you say so, Captain.”

If you say so, Captain
. A ship full of men had sailed into enemy waters on his say-so. He was risking the life of every man on board a ship that was not yet his. A part of him said he was being unpardonably selfish and irresponsible. Another part of him knew this was what he had to do.

He gazed into the distance at the strait into Loch Foyle.
Please, Magdalena, if ever I needed your intercession…

But somehow, he had the feeling he was on his own this time.

As soon as they were within range, both ships fired warning shots across
Magdalena’s
bow. Salvador gave him a look of wild-eyed panic, and one crewman shouted that they should prime their guns.

“Stay where you are!” Diego shouted. “Do you wish to threaten them now? There are two of them. How long do you think we would last?”

He had gone through so much to regain the trust of his crew. The hostility in their eyes now did little to allay his worries. He was going to make this work. Short of anything that would seriously endanger his crew, he would make it work. Right now, he was far enough from the coast that to fire upon his ship while the white flag had been hoisted would cause an international incident. He was counting on that to stay the hands of the English naval captains on either side of them.

The ships stopped at a menacing distance. Close enough to fire upon
Magdalena
, but not close enough for anyone to cross from one ship to the other without boats. The two English captains waited for each other in their rowboats so they could board
Magdalena
together.

The trio of captains bowed and introduced themselves, but there was an air of hostile civility.

“My name is Capitán Diego Montoya Fernández de Madrid y Delgado Cortés, and I thank you, gentlemen, for responding to my signal.”

The British navy had yet to designate true uniforms, but both Englishmen wore formal wigs and elegant coats. One, who looked to be well into his fifties and obviously accustomed to command, looked shrewdly around him.

“I am Admiral Henry Shaw. Are you in some trouble?”

The second, younger than Diego, followed the senior officer’s lead. “And I am Captain Fredrick Fielding. Quite far off course, are you not?”

Diego spoke to the older of the two. Since neither Englishman was smiling, Diego kept his countenance serious, as well. He would speak to these men as an equal, not a supplicant. “I need to make port in Londonderry. Naturally, I realized that to sail through the strait without an escort would be suicide.”

“You are requesting escort into a British port?” Shaw asked. “For what reason?”

“Aye,” Fielding echoed, not to be left out, “what business have you in a British port?”

Shaw shot him an irritable look.

Diego almost smiled. Perfect, let Fielding absorb any hostility
Magdalena’s
presence had aroused.

“I delivered a woman to Port Royal for ransom. She was to be transported here. I wish to confirm her safe arrival.”

Fielding bristled and flushed a bit. “You sailed this far from anything that could possibly be construed as Spanish waters to check on a woman you had already delivered to the appointed destination? Preposterous!”

“Captain Fielding,” Shaw said, subtle warning in his voice.

“‘Tis a thin ruse, sir!” Fielding replied.

“You must admit, Captain Montoya, this is highly irregular.”

“I take my responsibilities very seriously,” Diego said.

Fielding snorted, and Shaw sent him another glare before saying, “Might you be speaking of a woman named—” He squinted for a moment, obviously searching his memory. “Oh bloody hell, what is her name, Captain?”

“Mary Katherine O’Reilly, Admiral.”

“That is her!” Diego cried. How on earth had they known?

“Well, then, Captain Montoya,” Shaw said, “you have our personal assurances that she has arrived safely.”

“Quite safely!” Fielding echoed.

“I would prefer to see her.”

“Why?” Fielding snapped, but he simmered down at Shaw’s scowl. “Sir, this is an obvious trick. He’s been told she is safe. What more could he want?”

This time Diego permitted a slight grin. He opened his hands and gestured about him. “This is a small merchant ship, with hardly enough guns to defend herself. If you were to escort me into port, what harm could I possibly cause?”

“Espionage!” Fielding cried.

“As critically important as Londonderry is to England, and as often as Spain has tried to invade it, I can see your concern,” Diego replied, making no attempt to soften his sarcasm.

Shaw shook his head. “Just my luck to get stuck between a couple of bucks during rutting season.”

“
¿Perdón?
” Diego asked softly.

Admiral Shaw relaxed, letting some of the formality slip from between them. He put a hand on Diego’s shoulder and walked a few steps away from Fielding. “You do realize you two are from different worlds.”

Diego retained his stiff formality. “She is Irish, not English.”

“I’ll not argue with that, although I don’t know the girl as well as Fielding, there. Nonetheless, she is certainly not Spanish.”

“I wish to see her.”

“I cannot possibly allow you to make port without some legitimate business.”

“I have told you; I have come to see to the satisfactory settlement of a woman who had been left in my care.”

“
Left
, Captain. She is no longer in your care.”

“Are you questioning our word?” Fielding asked, though the other men’s backs were to him and he was clearly not a part of the conversation.

“Fredrick,” Shaw said, “let’s try to be objective, shall we?”

“We are being perfectly reasonable! You—” he glared at Diego, “can get underway as soon as we leave or we shall be forced to reduce this
ship
to splinters!”

He sneered at the word ship and it took considerable effort on Diego’s part to keep from jumping on the man and throttling him. How dare he insult
Magdalena
, and how well had he come to know María Catalina?

“Admiral Shaw,” he said, making one last attempt to appeal to the more mature of the two, “perhaps you would feel more comfortable if I left my ship here and went into port with you and your crew.”

“I’m afraid I cannot possibly help you. As Captain Fielding has told you, you have the word of two English officers that the young woman in question is safe and well. She works at one of the pubs near port.”

“A pub! María Catalina is working in a
taberna
?”

“You needn’t concern yourself. She is quite capable of handling any customer who oversteps his bounds. Is that not so, Fredrick?”

Fredrick turned red and glowered.

“Will you see her?” Diego asked. “I would at least like to send her a message. I promised her I would make sure she arrived home.”

“I’m afraid I do not frequent the establishment as often as Captain Fielding. Fredrick, would you be so good as to deliver this man’s message?”

Fredrick smirked. “Certainly.”

Shaw turned to leave, but Diego reached out to stop him. “If you could only stop by long enough to give it to her…”

“You have Captain Fielding’s word as an English naval officer that he will take the letter to the establishment where Miss O’Reilly is employed. Does he not?” he asked his colleague.

Fielding stood a little straighter. “Absolutely, my word as an officer.”

Shaw left, and while Fielding waited, Diego went to his cabin to dash off a single line of very simple Spanish. He could only hope Fielding had some sense of honor and Mary Kate would be able to read his message.