Page 38

B eing a lighter ship, the Cygnet’s speed could easily outpace the Black Wind , though Rose was reluctant to insult Lafitte’s premier captain by doing so.

Instead, three days out from the Bahamas, Rose hung back more than usual and when questioned through the speaking trumpet, expressed concern that her ship was dragging.

The helm seemed sluggish and slow to respond, possibly due to some undetected damage or fouling below the waterline.

When Fonteyne backed his sails and brought the Black Wind alongside, she further advised him that they were half a day’s sail from Cayo Hueso and could stop there to make whatever repairs were needed. The cay was one of many small islands in the chain curving down from tip of Florida.

“I confess I am not familiar with the island,” Sebastien said, looking over her shoulder at the chart laid out on the binnacle.

“Nay reason to be familiar with it,” Stubb said, brushing a pudgy hand across the chart. “Sand an’ palm trees, mostly. Natives from other cays used it as a graveyard for a few hunnerd year. Wind an’ storms uncover hills o’ bones, but mostly the cannibals ‘ave moved to another cay.”

Archie Penman blinked. “Did you say … cannibals?”

“Aye. Bloody plague o’ them used to be in these islands. Liked to boil sailors in a big pot then gnaw the meat off to the bone.”

Duardo cuffed him on the shoulder and Rose shook her head with a beleaguered sigh.

“The repairs shouldn’t delay us more than a day,” Rose added, quickly rolling up the chart. “But since you want to get ahead of the fleet and reach Barataria with time to spare, there is no need to wait for us.”

Fonteyne felt a scratch across the back of his neck. He had seen a small X on the chart before she swept it up and changed the subject. Stubb was beside her, hands behind his back, rocking on his heels. Duardo stood like a big black giant behind them, his face as blank as slate.

“Are there any signs of leakage below?” he asked. “I can send over a couple of my carpenters if you need them.”

Rose looked up and smiled. “We’re quite capable of handling any repairs that might be necessary.”

“If you’re certain?—”

“I’m perfectly certain, Captain. But thank you.”

She settled her hat on her head making the tall ostrich feathers dance. “How far do you suppose the Pride has gone in the past four days?”

“She’s had a fair wind behind her,” Fonteyne said. “Fair enough that we’ve not caught up with her yet, which is a pleasant surprise. Another two or three days I warrant, and she should be dropping anchor in Barataria Bay.”

“Wouldn’t your little pirate king be more convinced of any impending danger if he heard it from you?”

“Why, Captain St. Clare, if I was a suspicious man I might think you were trying to get rid of me.”

“Not at all. I just see no reason for you to linger while we fix our rudder … and every reason for you to sail on ahead and warn Lafitte of a possible attack on Barataria.”

“Lafitte is a stubborn bastard, but he isn’t stupid.

At this point he trusts neither the British nor the Americans, so it’s more than likely he has already started emptying his warehouses of his most valuable and useful cargo.

I know for a fact he’s been squirreling away caches of guns and black powder all through the bayou for weeks. ”

“So for all of his supposed animosity toward the Americans, he might well have decided already to throw his lot in with them?”

“I did not say that. Nor would I say that, since his mind changes from one day to the next depending on which way the wind blows. Much like that of a woman.”

“On the other hand, being always predictable can be tedious, can it not?”

“So can being predictably un -predictable.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

He arched an eyebrow slightly. “For instance, if I was a suspicious man, I might think you were planning to do something foolish after I sail away.”

“Something foolish? What could I possibly do on my own?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Lurk behind your cannibal-infested cay until the British fleet sails past then cull one of the ships out of the pack perhaps? There is always one that lags temptingly behind.”

“I give you my word I have no intentions of risking my ship by attacking the British fleet on my own. That would be?—”

“Something foolish, indeed,” he finished for her. “So what, exactly, were you planning to do? And don’t insult my intelligence by carrying on with the porky about a damaged rudder.”

Behind her, Stubb and Duardo moved discreetly toward the ladderway, and once there, scrambled down onto the maindeck. Archie Penman watched them leave, then coughed a muffled excuse into his hand and followed them down.

Fonteyne, meanwhile, crossed his arms over his chest and glared at Rose.

“Well?”

“Well nothing. This is my ship. I can bloody well take her where I want to take her and do what I want to do with her. You said yourself that Nicholls is probably bound for Pensacola, but what if he has a different plan in mind. Lake Borgne is a hundred and fifty miles closer to New Orleans and deep enough to accommodate at least part of his fleet. What if he sails there instead, while General Jackson is valiantly marching his army overland to Pensacola? Fifteen thousand redcoats could overrun the city before Jackson was even aware they had landed.”

“I grant you, your argument may be sound, but?—”

“Thank you. Sometimes women do have the capacity to think without men around to help them.”

He paused and glared. “What were you going to do if he does bypass Pensacola?”

Rose’s gaze flicked for a moment past Fonteyn’s shoulder, so he knew before he heard her voice that Billy Burr had come up onto the deck behind him.

“What is the one thing sailors fear above being shot or hacked to death with a cutlass?”

“Runnin’ out o’ rum.” Stubb’s voice came through the rails, proof he had not gone far enough to avoid being left out of the conversation entirely.

Billy ignored him and supplied the answer herself. “Fire.”

Fonteyne’s frown deepened. Fire was a genuine fear on board any ship. Hulls were wooden, sails were canvas, cables were hemp and soaked in pitch, all of which could burn out of control within minutes.

In the next instant, his brow cleared as he recalled the conversation he had interrupted between Billy and Rose when he was still considered a captive on board the Cygnet .

“Fireships? You want to send fireships against them?”

“If they worked against the Spanish Armada, they could work against the British fleet.”

Fonteyne took a step back, startled, but not entirely shocked for some unknown reason.

“ That’s your crack-brained idea? Just how were you going to get close enough to launch them? Dutch flag or not, they would see the Cygnet coming from ten miles away and every gun on board would be primed to blast you out of the water.”

“We don’t plan to let them see us coming.”

Billy moved up beside Rose. “We’ll use longboats.

We load them with casks of powder and pack oiled rags around them.

Add a mast and a sail for steerage and disguise them as small flotilla of fishing boats.

Natives sail around and between the islands every day.

They would hardly raise suspicion. Once the boats are close enough to the frigates, we light the fuses then jump overboard and swim away. ”

Fonteyne studied both determined faces then paced to one side of the quarterdeck, stared out over the turquoise water for a moment, then paced back.

“Do you have any idea how bloody dangerous that would be?”

“Bloody clever, too,” Stubb voiced. “If’n it works.”

“Oh, shut up,” Fonteyne growled, glaring back at the disembodied voice. When he swung back to Rose and Billy, they were both watching him with unperturbed calm.

“It would work,” Billy insisted. “If I pack some rockets and incendiaries in with the casks of powder, the boats will explode with enough force to send fireworks up onto the decks and yards. A crock or two of pitch will help stick the flaming cinders to the canvas sheets.”

“Would I be wrong in suspecting you did not just come up with this crack-brained scheme today?”

“No,” Rose said. “You would not be wrong. We’ve been debating it for days.”

“So there is nothing wrong with your ship; there is no damage to your rudder causing her to lose steerage?”

Rose shrugged. “I was genuinely trying to avoid another argument.”

He glared and planted his hands on his hips. “And you don’t think you’ll have one now?”

“No. I don’t. Because the last time I checked, I was still the captain of this ship, still able to make my own decisions, and still able to come and go where I please without seeking anyone’s permission or approval before doing so.

What is more, I am sure you would rather leave my ship the same way you came on board instead of having Duardo toss you over the rail and make you swim back to the Black Wind . ”

The steely gaze flicked from one determined face to the other. It was a fierce, threatening stare that normally sent grown men crumbling to their knees. Yet neither woman crumbled. They both weathered the glare without evasion or fear, even mirrored it with a spine-chilling directness of their own.

Not for the first time, Fonteyne was torn between anger and admiration.

He couldn’t condone their hare-brained plan by any measure, and he was fairly certain it would fail miserably, but he had to admit it was gutsy and bold.

As bold and gutsy as creeping through the fog and capturing the Black Wind without firing a single damned shot.

That still rankled.

“Very well,” he said after a moment. He donned his hat and smiled thinly at Rose. “I will leave you to it then. Good luck. Good hunting.”

Billy and Rose exchanged a wary glance. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?”

He took a step then looked back at Rose. “You said you wanted to avoid an argument and you seem to have your mind made up.”

“I do, yes.”

“Then once again, I wish you good luck and good hunting.”

He descended the ladderway and walked along the deck to the gangway, collecting Penman along the way.

Rose and Billy moved to the rail of the quarterdeck and watched until both men vanished over the side of the hull.

They heard two solid thuds as the men jumped aboard their gig and moments later saw them being rowed across the clear azure water to the Black Wind .

Fonteyne did not look back when he was in the gig, nor did he look over once he was on board his ship. Instead, the faint echo of roared orders came across the water and within minutes, the sails were dropped and the tall ship was leaning into the wind heading west.