The English Admiral drummed his fingers on the table. “You are assuming that St. Martine is a city of the blind, that they will be observing our sails and asking themselves who we are and what we intend.”
“If they feel secure in the north−” said Lord Sunderland, pausing and rubbing his chin, “−that very security will lull them and that should be our line of entry.”
“Perhaps,” Devon said as he pointed to the map. “But you’ll have to take to account our strength, knowledge and experience in this particular matter. Any attempt to land on this side is doomed to failure at the hands of nature. Sharp cliffs with breakers slam its sides. I know the shoals and the channels like the palm of my hand. We’ll abandon the inclination of raiding to the north, not being in sufficient strength. Instead we will force the entrance of the harbor.”
“What of the element of surprise?” Lord Sunderland objected. “We will be discovered.”
Devon smiled. “Not so. We’ll strike France’s colors. They will realize too late, theSea Scorpionthat has entered their rat’s nest.”
“How do you plan to take on the entire French Navy and Le Trompeur? Your two ships will be at risk.” The English Lord looked to his admiral.
“Trust me to understand this business,” Devon said.
Admiral Norreys jumped to his feet. “Damn it. You are not equal to it. Any one of the French Navy’s three ships is a match for both of yours.”
“In guns−aye,” said Devon, and he smiled. “But there’s more than guns that resolve these matters. I promise to give your lordship and the Admiral, a taste of action fought at sea as an action should be fought.”
The Admiral shook his head. “Impossible. The odds are infinitely against you. Seamanship is important, but cannot be eclipsed by guns.”
Devon faced Admiral Norreys and Lord Sunderland. Claire’s face swam before his eyes. He itched to get his hands on the French bastard who dared to kidnap his wife. “You may be right. The risks are heavy. But what I’ve learned, the best form of revenge on your enemies is to prove yourself superior to them. That which should have been a real attack shall be no more than a feint. They won’t know what hit them. What’s more, there will be no moon tonight. Did you happen to see a woman on theMer Un Serpent’sdeck?”
“No,” said Lord Sunderland. “Is she important?”
“She ismy wife!”
Devon ignored the raised eyebrows of his companions. He pointed out the mouth of the harbor. “The fort is barely visible above waving palms on an extended tongue of land and hosts a formidable armament. We must dispose of those defenses. Half of the crew under Bloodsmythe with a contingency of your men, with your permission, of course, Admiral, will be let out just south of the harbor under cloak of darkness. They’ll come up the backside, commandeer the fort and move the cannons to face the town. At the same time, we sail into the harbor, and anchor at the narrow passage, creating a bottleneck and making it difficult if not impossible for ships to move into the Caribbean. A group of us will row to town. Bloodsmythe will look for two lantern signals from the bell tower of the Sainte Marie Church, wait five minutes then blast away at the town. The diversion created will be enough for me to snatch Claire and make it back to theSea Scorpion. My hope is that our delay tactics will be enough to keep the French fleet bottled up until the English Navy arrives with Wolf.”
“I still don’t see how this strategy will work,” growled the admiral. “Never has this been done. And you are forgetting theMer Un Serpent.”
“TheMer Un Serpent!” Bloodsmythe spat. “I’d sooner straddle a hen in battle. Now theSea Scorpion, there is a ship to admire.” The old pirate boasted with fierce pride. “Yet truth be told, it is the Captain.”
Ames nodded. “Many years I served in the Royal Navy as navigator. In battle, no ship is better than her captain.” He fixed his eyes on both the Admiral and the English Lord. “When it comes to captains, there are none better than Captain Blackmon. None better”.
Lord Sunderland pulled Devon aside. “I perceive greatness in you, Captain Blackmon.”
Their gazes locked. Devon felt a bond with the man. He saw wisdom and faith and strength in his eyes and knew the English Lord was a man he could count on. He shared a history of Claire’s murderous uncle and how Sir Jarvis sold her to Le Trompeur to get even with him.
Lord Sunderland crossed his arms, giving Devon his rapt attention. “I had great respect for Claire’s parents and served with Sir George Hamilton in the House of Lords. I had heard of their bizarre accident but to know that Sir George was murdered by his brother’s hand? To know Sir Jarvis kidnapped Sir George’s child… Committing treason? Deliver Sir Jarvis. Heads will roll.”
Devon clasped his hand one last time.
“God speed to you,” said Lord Sunderland. “I hope you find your wife.”
The drunken merriment of pirates and French naval men pitched loftily below. Footsteps pounded down the hall, the same staccato footsteps of Le Trompeur’s boots.
Claire swung over her other leg on the windowsill. Her hands gripped a rope of twined sheets. The lock on the door rattled. The bolt slid. Claire fought a wave of vertigo.
“Salome!” swore Le Trompeur as he entered the room. He lunged for Claire and jerked her roughly across the chipped mortar. She crashed to the floor. The wind knocked from her lungs.
“So, you think to escape!” He forced her to her feet
Smothering a groan, Claire lifted her face to his. He reeked of rum and his eyes glared red. Claire trembled. “I warn you again. Release me and you will live to see the light of day. If not−” she bluffed.
“Enough. Captain Blackmon does not come for you.” Claire pried his fingers from where they dug into her arm. “I will take you now.” Le Trompeur knocked her to the bed. His face leered above her. Claire bucked and fought. He slapped her. The room spun. Le Trompeur ripped at her skirts. A sickening terror crawled up over her belly. His hands clawed up her legs, forcing her thighs to open.
“Where is your Black Devil now? Where is his power to protect you?” His hands were everywhere. He mauled her breasts in a punishing grip, pinching her nipples. She wanted to scratch his disgusting sneer from his face. When she cried out, he laughed. “You see? Your Black Devil has no power. The fates do not rule his success.”
Her heart pounded in her ears. She reached down and stretched. She slid her hand into her pocket, clasped the hilt of her knife then whipped it to his throat. She pushed it into his flesh.
