Le Trompeur stood on the deck of theMer Un Serpent, his fingers flexed over the pummel of his sword. Claire was unbound and rowed to the French Admiral’s ship. Treated with deference, a small cabin was provided. She stuffed down food from a tray and drank from a pitcher of water. She closed her eyes, the nourishment a balm. After a bath, she spread salve on her burned skin. She sighed, to stay in the comfort of the cabin. If there was any hope of escape she must observe the direction they sailed. A fresh gown belonging to the admiral’s wife hung on the wall. Cannons thundered. Her hands shook, buttoning the back of the dress. She scrambled topside.
Her eyes scanned eastward. TheMer Un Serpentengaged in battle with a British Man O’ War. Her countrymen had been crippled by the same storm they had survived and lay an easy target for the French pirates. Her hands gripped her throat. They would sink to the bottom of the sea. She turned and the French Admiral caught her eye.
“All’s fair in love and war, oui, Madame Blackmon?”
Devon paced in constant motion up and down the length of his ship, consulting Ames, barking orders. He chomped at the bit with the constant delays. The readiness for departure took three days, not six as Dooley predicted to get theSea Scorpionand her newly outfitted companion, theGolden Gullsea ready. Nature’s fury blew them off course with a fierce tropical storm. Two more days were lost to that endeavor. His only hope lay in the confidence Le Trompeur ran adrift, blown off course as well.
On the bow, Ames joined him to survey a wallowing English ship, but idly, suspicious. Devon cursed this mission of mercy that further delayed him. He could not let the sea swallow helpless men and ordered all sail on theSea Scorpionpulled into bare poles to aid in rescue. Blasphemies rose from grim confusion and turmoil in the British Man O’ War. TheBonaventure, her foremast shattered, and a gaping hole in the side, bilged fast with an ominous list to port, a question of moments before she sank.
One of the rowboats knocked alongside theSea Scorpion. With his hands clasped behind his back, he proceeded to the helm to greet the visitors climbing up the entrance ladder. The first head to emerge was an older gentleman of modish and expensive apparel, carrying himself with the easy confidence of a man of rank. Devon gauged the man, a wizened face etched with deep lines, and eyes that scanned his uncouth crew of theSea Scorpion. He was no pirate.
“And where the devil may I be now?” He demanded peevishly. “Are you English, or what the devil are you?”
“I have the privilege to be Irish. My name is Captain Devon Blackmon. And you have just boarded my ship, theSea Scorpion.”
The gentleman stood thunderstruck. “The Black Devil. Extraordinary. I can’t believe the miracle of fate that drags me from my miseries and puts me in your presence. A fine tale this will make at home. My admiral first loses his fleet in the night by a tropical storm, then has his flagship firedunder himby a French pirate, and ends all by being rescued by the very man I traveled hundreds of miles to find. Truly extraordinary.”
“At your service.” Devon bowed, taken aback by the old man’s ravings. “And whose august company do I find myself in? And may I inquire the name of the ship that molested you?”
“I am Lord Sunderland, the King’s Governor-General of the West Indies, and this is Admiral Henry Norreys, commander of His Majesty’s West Indian fleet, at present mislaid somewhere in this damned edge of the world. Of most urgency, I’ve been sent on a mission to find you. To scour the vast Caribbean, and if need be, turn the world on its head to accomplish that feat. Lo and behold we meet. What chance opportunity is that? And to answer your second inquiry, it was the foulMer Un Serpentwho dared to fire upon us.”
“And for what purpose have you sought me out?” Devon eyed him, letting no reference from his countenance show his emotion at being on the tail of Le Trompeur.
“To ask you to fight for King and country.”
Devon snorted. “You’re sadly mistaken if you think I’d venture into the King’s enterprise. I will tolerate you as guests aboard my ship, but your entreaties will go no further.” Devon turned on his heel and climbed to the foredeck, leaving a bewildered Admiral Norreys and Lord Sunderland in his wake.
He strained to stare beyond the horizon. Why had he not protected Claire? Thoughts of his mother surfaced then veered to Claire lost in the hands of Le Trompeur, a fate worse than the rape and killing of his mother. Helplessness, fear and anger scorched him. He cursed his own stupidity in not keeping a vigilant eye and the prey of such a beast as Le Trompeur.
Devon watched the fifty-three remaining survivors board his ship. The English Lord dared to follow him.
“If I may speak frankly,” Lord Sunderland endured. “I judge, sir, your history speaks of you as a resourceful fellow. You outrank the majority of your peers in nobleness and intellect.”
“Your persistence and tact test my good humor. I would almost think that a compliment if I did not realize the character flaws of my companions,” Devon said drily, waving aside Ames who had come to escort Lord Sunderland away.
“That is only a half-truth, an over-simplification,” Lord Sunderland said with a trace of impatience. “We are all the fruits of our experiences. You can’t change that.”
“A bitter truth,” Devon agreed. “I am what I am. A felon made by a bad king. An escaped slave. A pirate. All with a sum on my head, my fate if caught to be gallows bound.”
Lord Sunderland looked him right in the eye. “Piracy is a state of mind,” he argued. “You can call Francis Drake a pirate, or a benefactor, as you will.”
“Your diplomacy outweighs your intuitions and defies commonsense. Please do not insult me by inviting further illusion that I will fight for England. Need I remind you, you are aboard theSea Scorpion, my ship, at my generosity. Do not stretch my hospitality.”
A cannon boomed and Devon reached for his spyglass. “Wolf. He captains one of my ships. Ames, halt our departure until we see what tidings Wolf brings.”
Like a dog with a bone, Lord Sunderland said, “If I may be so bold−I came out here with full knowledge of your past. I know you were accused of treason, reduced to King James’s treachery.”
Devon grew impatient. “So you know about all that. What difference−”
“It makes a lot of difference. For despite all that you are, you never went against a British ship, you saved helpless women. You play the role of a swaggering rake-hell, yet beneath that false crust, you’re a man of immense integrity and honor. If not for all the injustices, you would have had a country and freedom. I see it in your face. You want it badly. Tell me I am not right.”
Devon laughed as Wolf climbed up the ladder and joined them.
“England is at war with France,” reported Wolf, towering over the English Lord. “That is why that snake, Le Trompeur bid to make allies with you. The French fear your interference.”
Lord Sunderland touched his sleeve. Devon looked down to where the diplomat’s fingers pressed, the breach dared by the English Lord caught in his glower.
Lord Sunderland weathered his hostility. “However disillusioned you may be operating outside the shadow of the law and thumbing your nose at the very society that has scorned you, it is even more expedient than ever that you reconsider my proposal to do what is right for England.”
