Capture The Wind (20 page)

“Miss Angela!” Emily burst out. “You cannot mean this.”

Angela turned. “Of course I do. I have no intention of taking a chance ashore here, where we know no one to help us should the occasion arise. And you must realize that, with pirates, it is quite likely that an occasion will arise where we will need aid. So don’t be too quick to say anything, Emily.”

“But to go all the way to America—it’s because of Philippe, isn’t it?”

“Yes. But only partly. I’ve no desire to be left at the mercies of brigands who have no compunction about holding honest Englishwomen hostage. At least in New Orleans there will be someone we can depend upon to see us safely home again. Philippe will pay well.”

“With what?” Emily shook her head, dark curls rioting around her face. “He has no money.”

“I do. In my own account. I will transfer every shilling to Captain Saber and his estimable crew when I am safely ashore in New Orleans. And it is a sizable amount, as you well know”

Dylan made a sort of whuffing sound and shrugged. “I’ll tell Saber what you said. He ain’t gonna like it.”

“His likes and dislikes are of no consequence to me,” Angela said with more confidence than she felt. “If he will not cooperate, I am certain there are those in Ponta Delgada who will feel differently. That is where you said we are disembarking, is it not?”

“Sweet Jesus. You pay attention at the damndest times. Yes, but don’t get any grand ideas.”

“If Captain Saber does not take me to America, I will tell the authorities exactly who he is,” Angela said calmly. “He will be arrested. If I am not mistaken, Ponta Delgada is Portuguese territory. Pirates are not well received in Portugal, last I heard.”

Dylan stared at her. “I don’t think you want to broach that idea to Saber,” he said at last. “He may not take it well.”

“Better now than when it’s too late.” Angela brushed a speck of imaginary lint from her dress sleeve, not quite able to look at Dylan. “It would be dreadful for the captain and crew of the
Sea Tiger
if they were to be hanged as murderous pirates, but I am certain England would be grateful.”

After a long moment, Dylan said slowly, “It may be too late. Turk has gone ashore to meet with the commissioner, and Saber is making the arrangements for your safe return.”

“Gone ashore?” Angela glanced out the round port and saw nothing but sea. Then she realized that the ship was not moving as usual, but gently rolling. She looked back at Dylan. “But we are not in a harbor.”

“No. Saber prefers to remain moored a distance out. They took the skiff in. It’s safer that way.”

“Safer from what?” Emily asked in a frightened voice, and Dylan gave her a faint smile of reassurance.

“Anyone who might wish us harm. It’s easier to fight when there’s plenty of sea beneath the ship. We were grounded once, a long time ago, when we made the mistake of mooring close. Tide went out, and there we were, stuck like crabs, scuttling around and firing back until we managed to work our way free. Haven’t done it since.”

“I’m elated to hear that Saber seems to learn from his mistakes,” Angela snapped, and Dylan sighed.

“Look. You really don’t want to give him an ultimatum. Listen to me—I’ll talk to him. We’ll work it out. Don’t do something stupid.”

“Stupid would be allowing him to ransom us to Portuguese pirates when I can negotiate for our safe delivery to New Orleans.”

“New Orleans.” Dylan shook his head. “Saber won’t look at this as negotiating, you know. He’ll consider it blackmail. If you’re foolish enough to do it, you’ll be sorry.”

Angela took a deep breath, ignoring Emily’s moan of fear. “Nonetheless, I intend that he shall hear me out.”

“You’ll be sorry,” Dylan predicted gloomily, and she wondered if she was, indeed, being stupid. But there were no other options that she found feasible. And it was the last alternative that didn’t involve being sent home like an errant child, or voluntarily ending her days in a convent.

“Oh, Miss Angela,” Emily whispered miserably, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

So do I,
she thought.
So do I.

Saber thought for a moment
he had not heard correctly. Crossing his legs at the ankle, he shifted his booted feet slightly so that Dylan could sit at the table. A trill of violin music from a very bad musician screeched sourly in the great room of the seaside inn. He frowned and focused on Dylan again. Smoke and too much heavy Portuguese wine was having an adverse effect on him, he could tell.

“Say that again, Dylan. There’s too much noise in this tavern for me to have heard you correctly.”

“I’m afraid not.” Dylan pulled a chair from beneath a drunken individual who had made the bad choice of passing out with his head on a nearby table. The hapless man crashed to the floor. Spinning the chair around on one leg, Dylan straddled it and met Saber’s narrowed gaze. “You heard me right. She refuses to name anyone who might pay a ransom. She wants to go to New Orleans, where she says she’ll pay the ransom herself.”

Kit snorted. “Not bloody likely.” He tilted his cup without glancing at the floating chaff. Rum would have been better, but the tavern served nothing but wine. “I’ve already made the arrangements. The swap will take place at midnight tonight. Then we’re rid of them. They’ll be Nuñez’s problem.”

“And if they won’t give us the name of her rich papa? What then? Nuñez will hardly want them if he can’t get anything for them. He’d probably sell them at an auction.”

Swirling his almost empty cup, Kit scowled down into the dregs. He didn’t want to think about what could happen, dammit. It hadn’t been his choice to have them come aboard in the first place, nor his idea to ransom them to some babbling idiots with more money than sense. What the deuce was she doing leaving England anyway? Why hadn’t her family stopped her? He gave a harsh grunt and looked up at Dylan’s worried face.

“They’d come free with the information rather quickly when faced with that undesirable option, I think. After all, even Emily has enough imagination to guess the consequences.”

“Maybe, but Angela seemed pretty determined. And it’s Angela who’s calling the shots here.”

Kit shrugged. “She might be stubborn enough to risk her own life, but I don’t think she’d risk Emily’s.”

“And you don’t mind if they’re terrorized by Nuñez.”

“Damn it, you voted with the rest of the crew to ransom them. I would have been content to just set them free with passage to anywhere they wanted to go.”

Dylan’s high cheekbones bleached pale and his throat corded. “I know that. I thought it would be the best way to see them off safely. I didn’t know Angela would be so stubborn.”

Another snort preceded the draining of Kit’s wine. When he set the empty cup on the scarred table, he shifted slightly. “You should have. We’ve been a week at sea with them. Even Rollo has taken to hiding in Mr. Buttons’ new cabin rather than face that sea witch after she chased him with a pillow for singing a song she didn’t like.”

Dylan grinned. “It was the song you taught him about the mermaid who was caught in the fisherman’s net.”

“Nothing the matter with that song. When I was a few years younger, I used to dream about the same kind of thing happening to me. A woman who is eager to please a man and doesn’t talk. Paradise.” He sat up, and swung his feet down from the table. “Have you told Turk about this new suggestion?”

Dylan shook his head. “No, he’s still meeting with the commissioner, I suppose. No one has seen him.”

“Good. Don’t tell him. I have no desire to listen to his lectures. We’ll proceed as planned, and Miss Angela can discuss her scheme with Nuñez. He may prefer dealing with her than with her papa anyway.” Kit rose and stretched lazily. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

Dylan stood up. “She said she’d inform the authorities that the
Sea Tiger
is a pirate vessel if we don’t agree to take her to New Orleans.”

“Did she. And how does she propose to do that if we don’t allow her to talk to the authorities?”

“I have no idea, but I’m not at all sure I want to take any chances.”

“Neither am I.” Kit started for the door. “I hope you left them well guarded.”

“Mr. Buttons is keeping an eye on them.”

Kit halted and swung around. “Mr. Buttons? Good God, they’ll have talked him out of his shirt and be at the helm of the
Sea Tiger
by the time we can get there. Why in the name of God did you leave him as their guard?”

Following behind as Kit shoved open the tavern door, Dylan said, “He was the only one I’d trust with them.”

“You’d best hope that he hasn’t given them the keys to the powder magazine by this time. Mr. Buttons—that’s like leaving a lamb in charge of the wolf pack.”

“And you would have preferred that I leave them with Reed, maybe? He would have liked that well enough, I imagine.”

“Not even Reed is lust-crazed enough to disobey a direct order. No woman is worth the top layer of a man’s hide, and that’s what it would cost him.”

Dylan didn’t reply to that, and by the time they reached the skiff tied to a pier, some of Kit’s anger had faded. He stepped into the skiff and untied the line, tossing it to Dylan.

“Turk can take the dinghy you used. Somehow, I have a feeling that we’d better rescue Mr. Buttons.”

But they were only a few yards from shore when they heard a muffled
boom!
and saw a thick cloud of dark smoke billow outward from the ship. Kit swore harshly and let out more sail to catch the wind. Lights danced on board the
Sea Tiger,
shimmering in hazy, broken patterns.

Kit let out another string of curses as he worked the sail. Dylan took the tiller, and the slap of water against the bow made the small craft buck wildly for a moment. Fog had begun to settle lightly on the surface of the sea, misty gray shrouds that drifted between the skiff and the
Sea Tiger.
It did not help Kit’s temper any that the explosion aboard the ship seemed to have been minor, for he saw, slicing across the water, one of the commissioner’s well-armed coastal revenue cutters.

“Militia,” Dylan said tersely.

“I see them.” This was all he needed. A quiet halt to unload cargo and unwanted passengers was apparently too much to hope for now. It was apparent that the cutter would reach the ship before he could possibly do so. He wondered if Turk had managed to ingratiate himself with the commissioner. The letters of marque giving the Sea Tiger permission to attack enemy vessels applied mainly to American and Italian ships, which should satisfy Portugal’s colonial commissioner quite well. Yet there was always the risk that they would be accused of piracy, and ransomed to the enemy government for a tidy sum. It had happened before to others.

When the skiff finally bumped against the side of the ship and the watch shouted down a challenge, Kit stood up and barked back an answer. A line spun down and he caught it deftly in one hand and tied it fast. Dylan began to uncleat the halyards that held the sails, while Kit grabbed hold of the ship’s ladder and climbed up to the smoke-hazed deck.

The first person he saw was Mr. Buttons, an expression of fright and guilt on his soot-streaked face.

“Captain Saber, sir,” he began, “it was an accident. No damage. I’ve been trying to explain it to these gentlemen, but—”

“Never mind,” Kit interrupted, and swung his gaze to the uniformed militia standing on the main deck. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

“That is what we have been trying to decide,” one of them replied in a thick accent. He smiled slightly, and rubbed at his thick mustache with one finger. “We heard the blast and, of course, must investigate.”

“I see.” Kit swept out an arm. “Shall we go below and discuss this over a glass of port, Lieutenant—”

“Garcia. Rafael Santos y Garcia.” The officer brightened. “But of course, señor. We are only doing our jobs, you understand.”

“I do. The necessary papers are in my cabin below. One of my officers has taken our letters ashore for the commissioner, but should be back at any time. I am certain we will be able to straighten out any problems quite easily, once we get away from all this smoke.”

“Sir,” Mr. Buttons began, but Kit sliced him such a fierce glance that he immediately subsided into a coughing stammer.

Ignoring him, Kit led the way below. As soon as he opened the door to his cabin, he realized he should have listened to his young officer. Angela and Emily, sooty and with torn garments, were tied to chairs in the middle of the floor. Perched on the arm of a lamp, Rollo swung back and forth in a screeching frenzy.

“Fire! Fire! More rum, boys, more rum,” the bird chanted cheerily.

Kit heard the Portuguese officer mutter something under his breath, and Angela looked up with a grim smile.

“Well, so you’ve decided to come at last,” she said. “I wondered how long it would take you.”

Striding forward, Kit knelt down beside her, his fingers curling around her wrist in a harsh grasp. She smelled strongly of smoke and—
rum?
He kept a smile on his face and his voice lightly pleasant.