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Chapter Nine

21 April 1721

Early Evening

Le Havre, France

Bryston patted the horse’s wither as the friendly stable lad led the gelding into the mews behind the unexceptional whitewashed lodging house located in a respectable neighborhood several streets from the Le Havre’s harbor.

The sun hovered low on the bronze and berry-toned horizon, casting everything in a warm, golden glow as he hefted the bulging bag of garments for Branwen onto his shoulder. He’d placed the order yesterday morning and paid extra to have three gowns, a night rail, undergarments, stockings, a hairbrush and pins, a shawl, bonnet, and a few other feminine necessities ready by this afternoon.

It had rained earlier, and puddles dotted the ground here and there. A pair of songbirds bathed in a shallow pool until sensing his perusal, they shook their wings and tails before flying away.

For the second day, he’d scoured Le Havre since after breaking his fast at dawn, seeking information about Mical De La Beche. Delphine had once told him that her mother said her lover had hailed from Normandy. It only seemed logical to Bryston that, as a former pirate, De La Beche might be known in the area.

He’d been about to give up for the day when he’d encountered an old, stooped shoulder sea salt at a seedy, smoke-filled pub on the waterfront. The shrunken man, deep wrinkles carved into his wizened face, claimed to have sailed with De La Beche over two decades ago.

After buying the nearly toothless tippler a bottle of superior rum, and joining him in a dram, Bryston coaxed the information he’d sought from the sailor.

According to him, De La Beche was alive and well, living in Rouen. On occasion, he ventured to Le Havre, but the former crew member hadn’t seen him in a couple of years.

It seemed shortly after leaving Tortuga all those years ago, Mical De La Beche had risen to the ranks of the respectable. He’d married a nobleman’s daughter and now lived quite a luxurious life on a sprawling estate outside Rouen.

Bryston couldn’t help but wonder if the pirate’s change in status was the result of the mystical treasure.

Could it have really existed?

He scratched his jaw, then rolled his shoulders.

Mayhap.

Until now, he’d doubted its existence, mainly because Delphine had been so skeptical. But if so, De La Beche wouldn’t be the first pirate to retire in comfort, living the remainder of his life off the wealth he’d acquired during his days of plundering and pillaging upon the high seas.

Bryston had spent the last hour making arrangements to hire a coach for the journey to Rouen on the morrow. He nodded at Jabir and Bayu sitting on a bench outside the inn as he approached.

Two yellow and white cats curled together near Jabir’s feet, opened their citrine eyes and watched his approach. Neither moved except for a single flick of the larger cat’s white-tipped striped tail. Evidently, determining Bryston wasn’t a threat, they closed their eyes and resumed their naps.

“Any luck, captain?” Bayu asked as he continued to sharpen one of his daggers after casting the bag a casual glance. “What have ye there?”

Bryston felt his neck heat. He didn’t owe his men an explanation, and he certainly needn’t feel chagrined for thinking of Branwen’s comfort. “Och, just a few things for the lass. We fled so swiftly, she dinna have time to collect any of her belongin’s.”

“Quite so.” Did Bayu’s lips twitch the merest bit?

Jabir chuckled outright as he leaned down to scratch behind the purring cats’ ears.

Insolent scunners.

Deciding that ignoring the clotheads was the wisest thing to do, Bryston placed his free hand on his hip. He glanced around, surveying the tidy circular drive and the potted plants on either side of the entrance. Le Chien et le Coq, The Hound and Cock, had been a good choice to stay at. Foreigners frequented the lodging house regularly, and Bryston didn’t worry that he and the others would draw any unwanted attention.

“Aye,” he said with a satisfied nod in answer to Bayu’s first question. “De La Beche’s in Rouen. Or, at least, he was.”

“That is good news.” Flashing a wide smile, Jabir nodded, his almost black eyes keen and alert. “All’s quiet here, captain. Your lady took a short walk earlier and is reading in the courtyard, just there.”

He angled his big, shaven head toward a walled garden area a few feet away.

Branwen hadn’t been happy about not being permitted to search for De La Beche with him. Still, after he’d explained precisely the types of establishments he meant to visit in his search for information, she’d reluctantly agreed.

He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to see the inside of more brothels, particularly in France. She’d be thoroughly scandalized.