Page 25

T he Black Wind sailed effortlessly through the channel.

On the far side of the passage, she heeled to starboard to glide into the bay formed by the hooked crescent of land.

On the western side of the volcanic bay, the Cygnet had taken up a firing position with her starboard guns aimed at the mouth of the channel.

Beside her, the Pride was still dealing with a recalcitrant rudder, but Rose knew the ship would soon be in a firing position if Duardo had to push the hull around himself.

Once the Black Wind was in position on the eastern side of the channel, the three ships would be set to catch the revenuers in a deadly crossfire.

It was a straightforward mousetrap a blind man could have set up, so Fonteyne gave Rose no special credit for devising it. What did surprise him, however, was the presence of a fourth ship anchored in the bay, now a half pistol shot off the Black Wind’s starboard beam.

Her sails were reefed, her gunports closed. The upper yards and rails were lined with men, some of whom had removed their caps and were waving and cheering as they watched the three new arrivals maneuver into position.

Fonteyne’s frown was furrowed deep enough to stretch and endanger the line of stitching on his brow. “What the devil?—?”

Stubb, who had been anticipating a good fight, took his cap off and threw it on the deck, glaring at Rose in disgust. “Did ye bloody well know he were bloody well here?”

Rose responded with an innocent shrug. “Not for certain. Not until I saw the signal light flashing from the top of the piton.”

“An’ ye didn’t think to say aught?”

“Billy thought the crews could benefit from a drill.”

“Billy!” Stubb sputtered and swore. “Ye told her, but the thought never touched yer brainbox to tell me ?”

“It isn’t often we get to surprise you,” Rose said, smiling.

“I suppose lumber-nose knew as well?”

“Duardo? Of course he knew.”

Stubb stomped on his cap in disgust and stalked off muttering to himself.

That left Fonteyne staring obliquely at Rose. “I don’t suppose you might deign to tell me what everyone else seems to know?”

“That is my father’s ship. The Nighthawk . We had agreed to rendezvous here before I left for Barataria Bay.”

“Before? Meaning you were not anticipating a successful meeting with Lafitte?”

She sighed and shrugged. “Meaning my father humored me, but I lost a wager of two hundred pieces of silver.”

“He suspected you would fail.”

“On both counts, aye.”

“Both counts?”

“The first, of course, was for Lafitte to let me join his wolf pack.”

“And the second?”

“That I might be able to persuade him to become a silent partner of sorts. Father cannot be seen to openly provide any aide to the Americans, but he does what he can from afar and if Lafitte had agreed to the partnership, Father could have done a good deal more. As it turns out, however, I doubt he’ll be dancing a jig when he sees the two British revenue ships chasing us. So, if you will excuse me?—?”

She called for a longboat and while it was being lowered over the side, she went below to fetch the packet of documents and dispatches she had taken from the Hyperion . She buckled her sword around her waist and shoved her arms into her short coat, then snatched up her hat and headed to the door.

When she emerged from the cabin, Fonteyne was waiting in the corridor, leaning a shoulder against the bulkhead.

He looked every inch the pirate, for he had donned his black leather vest and jacket, as well as his own battered wide-brimmed hat.

Tucked into his belt was a brace of long-snouted pistols …

pistols Rose was certain she had not agreed to let him carry.

Her hand went instinctively to one of her own guns. “What do you think you are doing?”

“I was thinking it was time to take my ship back.”

“You were, were you?”

“Naturally, it would be far more civil and far less annoying if you simply gave it back.”

“And why would I do that?”

“Three reasons I can think of offhand. One, because you need me as an ally, not an enemy. And two, you are going to want my help to convince Jean Lafitte that it would be in his best interests to help defend New Orleans. I have read most of the documents and dispatches you took off the Hyperion —or did you honestly think I was so clumsy that I would need to lie in bed for two days to recover my senses?”

“Instead, you went through my papers,” she said calmly.

“As you did mine.”

“You said there were three reasons why I shouldn’t shoot you where you stand.”

He pursed his lips and nodded. “The third is because I have an unexpected and totally illogical urge to shake the hand of the man who fathered such a complete lunatic. A brazen, clever, cunning, magnificent lunatic who seems to have more trouble trusting me than I do trusting her. Having said that, I would much prefer to be introduced as the captain of my own vessel, willingly offering my assistance in dealing with the British revenuers.”

Rose hadn’t moved, had not said a word to interrupt him. Her face was without expression, mainly because she did not know if she should be angry or relieved. Naturally, she would prefer to have his men, his ship, his guns by her side willingly. It was her father’s reaction that worried her.

Alexander St. Clare was not someone likely to forgive the man who took his daughter’s virginity five years ago then callously sailed off into the sunrise, leaving her to face the consequences alone.

She slid her hand away from her pistol. “I should speak to him first. Explain all that has happened. For you to present yourself to him before I do so may not be the best idea.”

He reached up and brushed his forefinger along the curve of her cheek. “We have already had several ideas that, in hindsight, may not have been so brilliant. Where is the harm in one more?”

It was a fair point, one that was driven home by the tingling in her cheek …

and elsewhere … at the touch of his hand.

Before a blush could fully bloom across her face, she brushed past him and walked down the corridor.

At the bottom of the ladderway she paused and cast a cool glance over her shoulder.

“Are you coming, Captain Fonteyne? I expect my father is as curious to meet you as you are to meet him.”

Alexander St. Clare was in his fifth decade.

A tall and imposing figure, his hair was iron-gray, his beard neatly trimmed.

His broad shoulders were more accustomed now to tailored coats and ruffled cuffs than loose cambric shirts and leather crossbelts; nonetheless, he cut a formidable figure.

Pale blue eyes dominated a handsome face that was still able to turn heads and cause women to whisper softly to themselves.

And while those eyes held a thousand secrets of their own, the patriarch of the Dante-St. Clare Shipping dynasty had the uncanny ability to see through the trappings of a lie as if it stood naked before him.

When that happened, when the blue turned to silvered ice, his gaze was as deadly as the blade of a knife.

But it was love and pride that shone from them now as he watched his daughter climb through the gangway of the Nighthawk .

He had caught hell from his wife more times than he could count for giving Rose the freedom to sail her own ship, but he could no more have kept her pinned to the land as he could teach a butterfly to curtsy to the King.

Before they exchanged a word, Rose held out a small leather pouch jingling with coin. “I believe the wager was two hundred pieces of silver?”

“Ah. I did warn you Lafitte was a stubborn little prick, not easily persuaded to change his ways.”

“He said that having a female captain join his ranks would frighten away the men who might not be able to match the successes of a better ship, a better crew, a better fighting force. His arrogance cut our conversation short.”

Alexander laughed. “I’m sure it did.”

“I repaid his misplaced sense of superiority by stealing his prized possession.”

The blue eyes glanced over at the Pride. “So I see.” A few seconds later his gaze turned frosty as Sebastien Fonteyne stepped through the gangway onto the deck. “I also see that his ship was not the only one of Lafitte’s trinkets you brought back with you.”

“A long story best told over a bottle of rum, Father. But it will have to wait, for we have two revenuers chasing up our wake.”

Alexander nodded. “I am aware. They are still an hour or thereabouts away, so you can talk fast and we can spare five of those sixty minutes for you to tell me why you are keeping company with Lafitte’s right-hand man.”

Fonteyne stepped forward and introduced himself with a slight tipping of his head. “Captain Sebastien Fonteyne, at your ser--”

The pale blue wolf’s eyes silenced him with a glare. “I was speaking to my daughter. You will have your turn, if and when I deem it necessary.”

The tension between the two men was palpable and Rose cut through it by speaking quickly, recounting most of what had happened over the past fortnight, beginning with the capture of the Hyperion .

She skimmed through the meeting with Lafitte and the subsequent taking of the Pride .

“He insulted me and his ship was just there, so I thought …” She then replayed the dash for open water, the stashing of the copper and getting swept up in the storm, ending with the unexpected luck in finding themselves in a position to sneak up on the Black Wind undetected.

“Unfortunately, we had to sink the Hyperion ,” she concluded. “But she was carrying papers that led us to believe a British fleet will be arriving soon to prepare for an attack on New Orleans.”

St. Clare looked at Fonteyne. “If his ship was forfeit to you, why is he standing on my ship wearing pistols and grinning like a well-fed lion?”

“Because we need his help with Lafitte. And because he has offered it.”

“He offered his help willingly?” Alexander’s mouth curved up slightly at the corner. “Is that how his face got so bruised? Should I be checking your knuckles?”

“The bruising was caused by his own clumsiness, although I will admit there were moments when my fists were tempted.”

Fonteyne arched an eyebrow but refrained from making any mention of temptations.

Rose spoke quickly again. “But he did agree to help convince Lafitte to throw his support to the Americans.”

Fonteyne raised a finger to object. “That … was not exactly what I agreed to. What I said was that you might need my help to convince him to defend New Orleans against both warring sides.”

“Both?” Alexander frowned. “Are you suggesting the Americans would attack their own city? For what purpose?”

“Your daughter said it most succinctly: capture the city, you control access to the entire Mississippi.”

“The Americans have already laid claim to New Orleans,” Alexander said.

“Their grip is tentative and relies on a militia made up of shopkeepers and farmers.

A far more experienced army defended Washington City but apparently could not hold it.

The Americans have not known what to do with Louisiana since they purchased the territory from the French in ‘03? My guess would be at the first threat of a British attack, they would blow up the levee and flood the city, then run north. If they do that, if the British get a foothold on the Mississippi and land an army flushed with victory over defeating Napoleon Bonaparte ...?”

He left the sentence unfinished but Alexander St. Clare could guess the conclusion. He sighed and shook his head. “If they fail to hold the Mississippi, then they will lose the damned war.”

“They will lose more than just the war,” Fonteyne said quietly.

The discussion ended there as Alexander caught a flash of light from the top of the piton. “Best get back to your ship, Daughter.” And to Fonteyne he added, “I assume your gunners can still hit a moving target?”

Sebastien caught the sarcasm in the older man’s voice but smiled easily. “They can hit a stationary one as well.”

“Excellent.” Alexander turned and glanced up at his helmsman. “Mr. Fitch, you’ll alert us if any fog starts to roll in that may hide more ships?”

Digby Fitch, who had overheard the entire dazzling tale of the Black Wind’s capture … as did half the ship’s crew … touched his forelock and grinned. “Aye, Captain. I’ll be sure to put keenest eyes topside.”