The Diamond King (7 page)

Meg looked at him with huge eyes the deep blue of a Scottish loch. She would be very pretty someday with her dark red hair and vivid eyes. But now her hair was hacked off, and she had the usual smudge across her face. Her front teeth were biting her lower lip as she tried to contain her pain.

She was a gallant little soul, although he would love to strangle her at the moment. He should have locked them in the first mate’s room, or his own. Or he should have taken them back to France.

But now he suffered with her.

Hamish came through the hatchway door. “Wha’s wi‘ the lass?” He knelt next to Meg. “Ah, lass, I have to be taking this out of you.”

She nodded.

“Hold tight tae the lad,” he said.

Alex inwardly flinched as Hamish took out a clean cloth from the bag he’d brought and told Robin to hold it with his spare hand. Then he pulled the large piece of wood from her arm; blood poured from the wound. Meg paled yet still didn’t utter a word.

Hamish stanched the bleeding with the cloth, then studied the wound. “I must fish around for the cloth that was driven in,” he said. “It could cause putrefaction.”

Alex saw her small hand grip Robin’s even tighter. He wanted to take the other one that was knotted in a tight fist, but there was no place for him. Pain ripped through his body as she gave a small, brave nod. “ ‘Twas my fault,” she said. “Will told us ...”

Alex wanted to say nay, but he couldn’t afford the sentiment. They had to learn to obey. The consequences were too disastrous otherwise.

Burke crowded in. “How’s the lass? I heard she was—” He looked down and the tough outlaw swallowed hard as he too watched every move Hamish made.

“Sir?” Claude was playing with his hat. “The boarding party is ready. Do you wish to go with us?”

“Aye,” Alex said. He really did not want to go. He wanted to stay and comfort brave young Meg, but Robin seemed to be filling that function.

Keep your distance
. He had tried to do that these last months. One day they would leave him. They would be on their own.

Robin looked up at him with wounded eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I should have been quicker.”

Alex did not trust himself to speak.

Instead, he turned and made his way to the boat that was ready to be hauled away. He sat down at the stern and tried to concentrate on the matter before him. They were all armed, in the event that all the fight wasn’t quite gone on the part of English captain. Still, he couldn’t get Meg off his mind, or the way she’d tried so hard to be brave. She’d always been brave. She’d also always been reckless.

They reached the other ship and climbed up the ladder. They were met by a man in a blue uniform. His eyes were fierce with anger.

“How dare you fire on an English ship?”

“By the authority of the French government,” Alex said. “I sail under a letter of marque.”

“You are nothing but a bloody pirate,” he said. “Our navy will hunt you down, and I’ll watch you hang.”

“Perhaps,” Alex said. “In the meantime I would like your log and bill of lading.” He paused. “Whom am I addressing?”

“Captain John Talbot. And who will I be watching hang?”

“Captain Malfour,” Alex said. “But if you are this foolish again, I doubt you will ever watch anyone hang.”

Talbot’s lips pressed tightly together, and a muscle leapt in his throat. He was furious that someone would accost a British vessel. Typical English arrogance, Alex thought.

“Your cargo?”

“Wines, flour, lard, candles, tools, furniture.”

“Nothing so grand as to risk destruction of the ship. And the lives of your crew,” Alex said.

“You are Scottish.” Talbot uttered the words as if they were an accusation.

“How astute of you.”

“A damned Jacobite.”

“Who is now your captor. You might remember that. Why did you fire those shells? Surely you knew you were outgunned.”

Talbot’s face grew red. “I didn’t know your intentions. You might well have killed us in any event. A civilized crew does not fire on another.”

“There we are again,” Alex said lazily. “Talking about who is, and who is not, civilized.”

“Damn you. What
do
you plan to do?”

“My prize crew will take over your ship and sell it in Martinique. You and your seamen will join us on my ship. I am afraid I will have to confine all but the officers until we arrive.”

A pause. “I have passengers.”

“They will not be physically harmed.” He stressed the word “physically.” He would not guarantee their property. Not until he knew who and what they were.

Talbot clamped his lips together as if he wanted to say more.

“Have all your crew and passengers come up on deck. I want your mate to show this man your weapons closet.” He nodded toward Burke. “My first mate will want your log, lading, and ownership papers,” Alex said. “As soon as we’ve secured the weapons and log, we will transport you to the
Ami
.”

Another hesitation. Then, “I have several ladies aboard. I want to be assured that they will be treated with respect, that they will not be harmed.”

Alex suddenly knew why the merchantman had hazarded firing shells. Perhaps they had thought him a true pirate and had not wanted to risk the ladies. Alex’s respect for the English captain rose a notch.

“I do not hurt women,” Alex said. “Unlike the English.”

“I take offense at that.”

“Then you were not in Scotland after Culloden.”

The captain looked offended. “You lie, sir. The English honor women.”

Alex balled his fists. “Unless they are Scots. Or Irish.”

The captain flushed. “I want your oath that you will not harm the ladies,” he persisted.

“And you are asking that of a liar? That is not the way to gain a favor.”

“I will not move from this deck, from this spot, until I have your oath.”

“You have it. We have no interest in pale Englishwomen.”

“Two of them are Scottish. One is a lady.” The captain hesitated again.

“The name, Captain?”

The man’s reluctance warned him. “I imagine her name is in your log,” Alex prompted lazily.

“Lady Jeanette Campbell,” the captain finally said.

“Campbell?” His fists had relaxed. Now they tightened again. If there was one family in Scotland that he held responsible for the destruction of many clans, it was the Campbells. His sister had married one who’d turned out to be a rotter of the worst sort.

He hated the Campbells with every fiber of his being.

The captain must have seen his reaction, or even felt the enmity radiating from him.

“Your oath,” he demanded again.

“You get nothing, Captain Talbot,” he said coldly. He turned away from his prisoner. “Burke, find the weapons storage and place three of our men there. Then flush the passengers from the cabins. Mr. Torbeau, you will search the captain’s cabin for his log and for any instruments you think we can use.”

“Aye, sir,” Claude said.

Alex stood there, watching as his men rounded up the crew and isolated them on the bow. Then the passengers were brought on deck.

There were ten in all, including three women. He identified the Campbell immediately by her dress. Though simple, its quality was evident. So was the way she held herself, even as she had an arm around another slender woman.

One of the prisoners came up to him, blustering as the captain had about being an Englishman.

“I would not brag about tha‘ in this company,” Alex said, deepening his Scottish burr. “There is no love for your kind on my ship.”

His gaze did not move from the woman.
A Campbell
. She would bring a good ransom if he could bear the presence of her long enough to collect it.

She was not a particularly comely lady. Or perhaps that was his prejudice speaking. She was slight and her light brown hair was untidy. Her face was unusually darkened by the sun, which meant she seldom wore a hat, but oddly enough she wore gloves up to her elbows despite short sleeves of a simple gown that had no hoops.

Her eyes—a blue green, almost the color of the Caribbean sea—were her best feature. They were sparking with outrage.

Well, he had his own outrage.

“My lady,” he said in a mocking tone. “I understand I have the ... dubious honor of addressing a member of the Campbell clan.”

She drew herself up to her full height, which was considerably less than his own. “I am Jeanette Campbell,” she said, her gaze sweeping over him with contemptuous dismissal. It did not hesitate on his scar, though, as the gazes of so many did.

She had spirit, if little else.

“Campbells are a plague upon Scotland,” he said, turning to the pale woman beside her. She was obviously suffering from mal de mer. She looked as though she could barely stand. “And this is ... ?”

“Celia, my companion,” the Campbell woman said. “If you harm her, I’ll see you hang.”

“My, but you are a bloodthirsty bunch,” he said. “ ‘Tis to be expected of a Campbell.”

“And you are?” she asked with more courage than the others apparently had.

He bowed. “Will Malfour at your service.” His mocking gesture belied his words. “Gather what possessions you wish to take. Only what you can carry. One of my men will go with you to collect them.”

“What about the rest of my belongings?”

“I’ll decide that later,” he said.

“I’m not going anywhere without them,” she said.

“Yes, you will. The question is whether you will go with something or with nothing,” he said, making his voice harsh. “My men are more than capable of bringing you over.”

She blanched. “Why can I not stay on
this
ship? What are you going to do with it?”

“It will be sold. With all contents.” The warning was clear. “All prisoners will be on my ship where they can be watched. I want a minimum crew on the
Charlotte
,” he said, “though I don’t believe it necessary to make any explanations. That, my lady, will be my last one.”

Her face darkened with anger. She wanted to retort. Alex could see that. He watched the struggle in her face before she composed herself.

He looked toward two of his sailors. “Go with her.”

She stared at him defiantly. “Where are you taking us?”

“Martinique.”

“I am expected in Barbados.”

“So, I imagine, is your good captain. Unfortunately both of you will be disappointed.”

“But I must get there.”

“And why is that, my lady?”

“I am to be married. My betrothed—”

“Your betrothed will have to wait,” Alex said. At least
she
had the opportunity for marriage. The English had ensured that he would not.

He turned around as if she no longer existed for him. “Start transferring the prisoners,” he said. “The crew first.”

Out of the corner of his left eye, though, he saw her take her companion’s hand in hers and disappear down the companionway, two of his men behind them. Ah, someone who followed directions. That was a promising turn after his young charges’ disobedience.

An older man stepped up to him, his arm around his wife. He was pale but obviously determined. “I want assurance that none of the women will be ... harmed.”

The woman was quaking.

Alex did not change his expression. “Your name?”

“Geoffrey Carrefour,” the man said. “My wife, Mrs. Carrefour. I have a plantation in Antigua.”

He stared at them for a moment. He wondered whether they had any Scots as bond slaves. He’d heard that some had been shipped to English possessions.

“The women will not be harmed,” he said. “You can find passage from Martinique to a neutral island, then passage to Antigua. I suggest you get your belongings quickly. One of my men will go with you. Any attempt to take a knife or firearm and you will take nothing.”

He turned to the captain. “That applies to you and your men,” he said. “Any attempt to smuggle a weapon onto the
Ami
will result in my putting all your men in irons for the remainder of the journey.”

He turned to the next passenger, the youngest of the men. “And who are you?”

“David Edwards. I’m also bound for Barbados.”

“With Jeanette Campbell?” He purposely omitted the courtesy title.

“No. I just received a position with a shipping company.”

Alex turned to the last two men. They were obviously nervous. Neither of them said anything. “Have neither of you a tongue?”

The shorter of the two stepped forward. “Jonathon Pruitt. I... have been sent to Antigua.”

“Sent?”

“I... work for the government.”

“The British government?”

Pruitt trembled. He had obviously heard part of the other conversations.

Alex turned to the last passenger, a large man with a bulbous face and a skewed wig. It was obvious he had thrown it on in a moment of haste. “And you?”

“Thomas Turvey. I—I... also work for the government.”

Alex glared at him. “Take what you can carry yourself. No more. Remember what I said about weapons. I won’t guarantee your safety if you try to smuggle a weapon on my ship.”

There were three more men, none of whom posed a threat. He turned away. Claude was approaching with the logbook and bill of lading. “A fine cargo,” he said. “Poor wine compared to ours, but...”

“You’ve tried it then?”

“
Oui
,” Claude said with a quick smile. “To see what we had.”

“Now that you’ve attended to that, let’s start getting the crew over to our ship. I don’t want to stay here like this any longer than necessary.”

Claude nodded, and started barking orders. The first members of the
Charlotte’s
crew climbed down the ladder under the prompting of guns. When the boat was full, the sailors were pressed into rowing.

One by one the passengers appeared. Captain Talbot stood by, obviously determined to stay by the side of his passengers.

Alex’s admiration for him increased, though he continued to frown. Martinique was a few days’ sail from here. He did not want any trouble during the voyage. Fear was one way to insure there would be none.

The quarter boat disgorged its occupants, and returned. Again it was loaded. The process took one more trip to finish the transfer of crew.