The Diamond King (22 page)

“I want Will.” Now she looked like the child she still was. Her lips trembled.

“I know you do, Meggy,” she said, using Robin’s pet name for her. “But perhaps Robin can find out something when you go ashore.”

Like Robin’s face had lit earlier, Meg’s did now. “Oh, miss, do you really think so?”

“Aye.”

“You like him, too.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I want him safe for your sake,” Jenna said cautiously.

But Meg ignored the reason. Instead, she nodded solemnly. “Will is very handsome. I will marry him someday.”

“What about Robin?”

“Well, Robin, too.”

“You cannot marry them both.”

“Nay, I suppose not,” Meg said with a quick grin.

“Now come, I will help you dress. Then we will go out on deck. Hamish will carry you down to the quarter boat.”

“I want you to go, too,” Meg said, surprising her.

“I do not—”

Meg stuck out her lower lip in a stubborn expression Jenna was beginning to recognize. “I will no‘ go unless you do.”

“You must go and have your arm mended,” Jenna said.

“Will it get better?” The child was back. Uncertain. Afraid.

“Aye, it will. The doctor ashore may have medicines we do not have.”

“I did not mean to go on deck,” Meg said.

“I know, love.” She leaned over and put her hand on Meg’s forehead. Still too warm. “I would have done the same thing.”

“You would?” Meg said doubtfully.

“Aye; now we must get you ready. I have a clean shift you can wear. It will be much too big but I understand you stole away with very little.”

“I wish I were a lad.”

How many times had Jenna wished that she had been born a man with choices?

She would not have chosen to be a warrior. She would have liked to be a doctor, or even a farmer. She would have liked to sail to many places. She would have liked to have some control over her life.

“Then,” she said logically, “you could not marry either Will or Robin.”

Meg’s mouth screwed up in consternation. She evidently had not considered that before.

“I’ll be back soon,” Jenna said.

She went up to the quarterdeck with Robin, who pressed her case. “Meg will not go unless Lady Jeanette does,” he told Hamish.

Hamish looked as if he were being plagued by all the demons in hell. “All right then,” he said reluctantly. “Mickey can go with them.”

She tried not to smile as she hurried to her cabin. Celia was not there. She wondered where she had gone, then felt relief that her friend was well enough to leave the cabin.

Her dress would be suitable, but she hunted in her trunk for the old armor of gloves. She found a pale green pair which would match her dress and started to pull them on. She stared down at the glove that covered a mark that had ruled her life.

No one on the ship seemed to care about it. The captain’s gaze never lingered on it. Neither had Hamish’s nor Meg’s nor Rob’s. If they did not care, why did she? Why did she worry about what a stranger might think?

Or her intended husband?

She had feared his reaction ever since she had stepped on board the
Charlotte
. She had carefully kept her birthmark secret from the other passengers on that ship. It was only when she had started to care for Meg that she’d almost forgotten about the birthmark.

She pulled the glove back off. She would not hide any longer. It seemed she had spent her life hiding.

With a bravado that was new, she gathered up Meg’s clothes. She had not been able to get rid of all the blood. A pink stain lingered on the rough wool shirt Meg had been wearing.

She riffled through the trunk to try to find something that might be altered. Celia was wonderful with a needle and thread.

She was surprised to find the pouch of jewelry she’d not had time to sew into a dress, nor had searched for until now. So the captain had not taken it as she had expected.

Jenna sat on the bed and regarded the trunk, the pouch, the gloves.

The prospect of an unknown, unmet husband.

The long absence of the captain.

She should welcome the thought that he might be having difficulties. That he might be stopped. That he might be held for the British. That he might hang.

Her heart skipped every time she considered such a possibility.

Because of the children, she told herself. For no other reason.

She took the clothes she had set aside for Meg and left the cabin. She could not linger or the French authorities might change their minds. The physician may have nothing more than Hamish, but the ship’s stock of medicines seemed pitifully small to her.

She hurried back to Meg with the clothes in hand and helped her dress. Then she called in Hamish, who was waiting outside with Robin. Hamish picked Meg up and cradled her as Rob led the way up the companionway.

Day had faded into dusk. A few stars were barely visible, and a cool breeze wafted over the ship. The sails had been furled and the deck seemed strangely silent.

The quarter boat below was already manned by oarsmen. Jenna did not look forward to climbing down the ladder in her skirts and petticoat and wondered briefly if Meg had not had the better idea.

Hands reached out and helped her into the boat. Robin clambored down like a monkey. Then came Mickey, Meg holding on to his neck as he carried her down and lowered her to a seat. Dressed in the shirt and trousers, and with her cropped hair, she looked every bit the lad she’d wanted to be. Her face was pale, her lips locked in a grimace, and the smallest sigh escaped her lips as she leaned against Robin.

In minutes they reached the wharf. The seamen tied the boat up and helped Jenna out, then Meg. A platoon of soldiers made no effort to help.

The man seemingly in command stepped forward.

“
Docteur
?” Jenna asked in French.

The soldier in command just stared at him.

“Aye,” Mickey said. “And where is our captain?”

The man shrugged. He turned and said something to one of his men, and the soldier gestured for them to follow. Robin followed with the rest, then seemed to disappear down a street.

The lad spoke French. So did she, since it was a fashion among Scottish and English aristocracy. She had always loved the language, the beauty of its sounds, and hoped it would serve her well now. She wondered whether Captain Malfour spoke French. Most likely, if he had been part of Scottish aristocracy.

They arrived at a white building, and the soldier led the way up some stairs to a second-floor door and knocked. It was opened by an older man, who apparently had been alerted to their visit.

Mickey carried Meg inside, while the soldier hovered in the doorway.
“
Q
�
est
le gar�on
?”

“He went back to the quarter boat to wait,” she said in French.

The soldier looked dubious, but said nothing else.

The doctor clucked as he unwrapped the dressing on Meg’s shoulder.

“What have you been doing for her?” he asked in broken English.

“Lint dipped in oil,” Jenna said. “I cleaned it first.”

“It looks as if the wound has been stitched several times.”

“Aye. They were torn out during a storm.”

The doctor nodded. “She should be bled every few hours,” he said. “And given bark for pain.”

“I have given her laudanum.”

The Frenchman grimaced. “It is addictive,” he said. “Bark is preferable. And the poultice should be of bread and milk.”

“We had no milk,” Mickey replied.

“It is inflamed,” the physician said, “but there is not yet gangrene. She should be bled.”

“Nay,” Mickey said. “She is too weak already.”

Jenna nodded in agreement. She had never seen the advantage of bleeding an injured person. Many had already lost too much blood. The theory, she knew, was to rid the body of “bad” or diseased blood, but it had always seemed foolish to her. Still...

“It is the course of treatment for such wounds,” the physician said in French. “That and bark. The bark relieves pain by tightening the vessels, and thickens the matter.”

Jenna translated for both Mickey and Meg.

“Nay,” Mickey said again.

The physician’s face reddened. “You came to me,” he said to Jenna.

“I know,” Jenna said, “and we were told you were a very fine physician, but Meg has already lost a great deal of blood. Is there not anything else you can do for her?”

The physician’s eyes softened. “I will give her bark and give you enough to see her through this. Give her the bark mixture every four hours. No more laudanum. Use poultices of milk and bread. I will give you some plasters to bind the wound so it will not tear again. The arm should also be splinted. I will do that for you. That is all anyone can do. Just pray the inflammation does not move into gangrene.”

Again, Jenna translated but left off the last sentence.

“Is she well enough to travel?” she asked.

He shook his head. “I am not sure whether staying here would change anything.”

Jenna had been prepared to stay here, if the captain would allow it. Perhaps even secret the girl away. But... after seeing how Meg looked every time Robin came into the room or the captain’s name was mentioned, she knew she could not do that.

“
Merci
,” she said as the physician prepared a drink of bark.

Meg looked at it suspiciously.

“It will make you feel better,” Jenna explained, holding Meg’s head and urging her to drink it. The mixture looked dreadful.

Meg swallowed once. Her body shuddered, then she gulped it down.

“She can stay here tonight,” the physician said.

Mickey shook his head.

“Nay,” Jenna said, “but if she gets worse we will call you.”

The physician put an adhesive plaster on the wound, then rigged a sling. He gave them a bottle of bark.

“Milk?” she said.

“You will have to get that in the morning,” he said.

She nodded.

Mickey leaned down, picked up Meg, and carried her to the door. The soldier was outside.

They made their way down to the wharf. Suddenly, Robin appeared at her side.

“They are keeping the captain prisoner,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“The British have threatened the island.”

An unexpected ache settled in her heart.

Will. The captain. Whoever he was would unquestionably hang if the British caught him.

They couldn’t let that happen.

For Meg’s sake.

Under the eyes of the French soldiers, the quarter boat returned to the
Ami
. Jenna climbed aboard with little trouble this time. Then she waited for Meg, who was half slung over Mickey’s shoulder, her good arm around his neck.

Once aboard, Meg stood on her own legs, though she swayed a little. She took some deep breaths of air. Then Jenna helped her to her cabin—the captain’s cabin. Jenna thought the bed would be far more comfortable than the sick bay cot, and she would use a pallet. She and Celia could take turns looking after her.

Celia was more than agreeable. Still, she searched Jenna’s face. “When will we leave the ship?”

“I do not know,” Jenna said. “The French are holding the captain and will not let anyone leave the ship.”

“Not even us?” Celia said.

“Nay.”

Meg eyed them anxiously from the captain’s bed.

“I will not leave you,” Jenna promised, knowing that she had already made that decision earlier. Wherever Meg went, she would go. Whether it was to this island or on the ship. If the captain or the French did not like it, she would find a way.

“You get some rest,” she said, pulling a blanket over Meg. Then she gestured Celia outside. She had to tell Celia what she planned.

“I may remain. If you wish to go home, I will leave you with enough money for your passage to Barbados, and then back to Scotland, or you can stay here or in Barbados. You are good with children, and Mr. Murray may wish you to stay. You can take a letter for me.”

“I cannot leave ye, my lady.”

Guilt ate at Jenna. She wanted to give Celia every opportunity to change her mind. “I know the sea does not agree with you, and one of the other passengers can help you find passage to Barbados and a position if you wish. I am so sorry I dragged you from Scotland.”

“You did not drag me. I thought it would be a glorious adventure. And it would have been if I had not gotten so sick.”

Jenna gave her a quick embrace. “You have been as dear as a sister. I want what is best for you.”

“It is staying with you, my lady.”

“Even if we stay aboard this ship?”

“Even if,” Celia confirmed. “And,” she added, “there is a gentleman—”

“A gentleman?” Jenna didn’t think Celia had been well enough to see any of the prisoners from the
Charlotte
.

“A crew member,” Celia said. “A mart named... Burke. He has been bringing me food while ye have been with Meg.”

“Burke?” Jenna had seen him several times. He seemed closer to the captain than any of the others, despite the fact that he did not appear to be an officer. A burly man with little grace, yet when he had been in to see Meg several times, Jenna had noticed a certain rough tenderness in him.

“Aye, my lady. He has been bringing me concoctions to help my sickness. He said he had the same illness, but that he no longer does. Ye can get used to it, he says.”

Celia was slight, pretty, and timid. Jenna could barely imagine her with the rough, gruff Burke who looked like the worst kind of brigand. She wondered how many times the two had been together.

“We will talk later,” she said with a smile. “Stay with Meg until I return.” She meant to talk with Mickey and Hamish and Burke as to what they intended. She had been invisible most of her life. She did not intend to be invisible any longer.

She planned to fight for Meg. And for herself.

Alex paced his prison while Claude watched him. He cursed, plotted, raged. He had to get released without setting the entire French government against him.

If possible, he would sell the entire contents of the
Charlotte
at a very low price, and get the bloody hell out of these waters. At this point, he was inclined to give the governor whatever he wanted, even if it included the
Charlotte
. Just as long as it did not include his head, the
Ami
, his crew, and the children. The latter was the most important.