Gallant Rogue (Reluctant Heroes Book 3) (7 page)

The recent journey with the Greystowes brought trouble of a different kind; the men were all agog over the women on board and neglected their duties when the nanny and maid emerged with the children to give them daily exercise. The little boy found a knife a crewman left lying about and sawed through a rope while they thought him angelically playing near the rowboats. If a sailor hadn’t noticed the hacked rope there could have been an unfortunate accident on deck when a lifeboat slipped loose and hit a crew member—or one of their passengers.

Jack exited his cabin, intent upon inspecting the count’s suite before his latest passenger was brought aboard. Her trunks had been delivered, but the lady was spending one last night up at the manor house. They would set sail in the morning, at high tide.

“Evening, Cap’n. You’ve a visitor.” Jinx, his first mate, met Jack in the narrow hallway. “Old gent from the plantation house. Says he has something important he needs to tell you.”

“Send him in here,”  Jack said as he entered Donovan's cabin. A full wall of windows faced the west, allowing the setting sun to gild the cabin in an eerie orange splendor. The count’s souvenirs from his days in Ceylon were everywhere: exotic statues of pagan deities and mythic creatures, expensive vases, and intriguing paintings depicting Far East landscapes.

Jack moved about the room, taking note of the luxury accommodations and making certain all was in order. There were various novels on the bookshelf. It was something to pass the woman’s time during the long days. Some drawing tools and paper were left behind by one relative, probably Michael. A few wood blocks and a wooden horse, toys belonging to the Greystowe’s children, occupied the floor in one corner. Those, Jack picked up and stuffed in the storage cubby under the window seat. No need to add to the woman’s schedule of tears with reminders of what she had lost.

The bed in the smaller room had been given fresh linens and the tiny port window was open to let in the fresh sea air. He returned to the larger room and opened the door to inspect the privy closet. Clean, spotless, just as he instructed.
Excellent
. He moved to the wash-stand. An enamelware pitcher was settled on it, cradled by the small rails that bracketed any table on a ship to prevent items from slipping to the floor in rough seas. The pitcher was filled with fresh water for washing. A wooden keg sat next to the slender mahogany stand, offering a private store of water for the cabin inhabitant. It was a trick Jack learned early on for the convenience of the traveler, and more importantly, to prevent said traveler from tying up his crew with constant requests for water to be delivered to them at their whim. That was another irritant, having his crew at the beck and call of Donovan’s relations as if they were running hotel, not a ship.

“Captain Rawlings, how good of you to receive me.” Nicholas Barnaby stepped into the count’s cabin. His mug registered wonder as he took in the regal splendor of the small, low-beamed room. As with most people who rarely sailed, Barnaby must have assumed all ship berths were comprised of tight, poorly lit cubicles with swaying hammocks, dark, dank closets surrounded by rough wet boards and populated by rats. That was the lot of passengers traveling in steerage because they did not possess the coin to pay for a private cabin. 

“You can tuck your chin back up to your face and close your mouth now,” Jack commented. “This is the ship owner’s cabin, and as you are acquainted with Count Rochembeau, you are aware he is not a man of tight means.”

“I sailed on the Pegasus recently, with the Earl of Greystowe, as you recall.” The old apothecary bobbed his head like a seagull. “I shared a room with the cook. I was never admitted into this cabin. The lord and lady were indisposed for much of the journey. Some are not suited for sailing, are they, Captain?”  the eyes framed by round spectacles seemed full of wisdom.

Jack cleared his throat, ashamed to realize he didn’t recall the old man being on board last month. He’d been too distracted by rough seas, and as the main party—Lord and Lady Greystowe—had been indisposed, Jack did not hold a traditional captain’s dinner. He hoped the man had fared well during the journey. Next time, he reminded himself, when the group returned to England, he’d make certain the old bugger was given due consideration by offering him one of his officer’s cabins on this deck. Old bones, and sharp ones judging by Barnaby’s sparse frame, should be well cared for. “How can I be of help, Mr. Barnaby?”

“I came to warn you. There is something you must be made aware of, a bit of mischief from years ago that may... er...has the
potential
...”  Barnaby paused and leaned closer to a watercolor painting in the fading red light. “I say, does that woman have six arms?”

“Shiva, a goddess in the east. You were speaking of mischief from years ago?”

“Ah, yes. Thank you.” Barnaby pulled back from his close inspection of one of the count’s art pieces and glanced about. “Might we have a little bit of light? I can hardly see the room with the sun almost swallowed by the sea.”

“Here, my cabin is just this way.” Jack led the way to the door. “Follow me. I’ve brandy and plenty of lanterns in my own berth.” He heard Barnaby’s footsteps behind him. The slatted doors of the officer’s bunks passed them by as they moved down the narrow corridor and soon they were inside Jack’s private repose.

“I say, very deceptive. From the dock this deck doesn’t appear large enough to have all these cabins within it.” Barnaby’s head bobbed up and down in that queer fashion again, like a damned bird on the docks. He looked like a grey seagull, as even his arms were behind his back.

“Yes.” Jack gestured to the table, offering his guest a seat. Unlike the count, he didn’t require a room full of fancy furniture. He had a round table that could accommodate his officers for dinner or cards. He had a cushioned window seat, a well-worn reading chair and a desk. It was enough, more than enough for a man accustomed to the basics in life.

“I recall we shared a brandy some years ago. On a special night.”

“The Ravencrest Christmas Ball.”

“The first!” Barnaby’s bony finger rose to make that distinction. “Ten years ago this past Christmas.”  His hand shook a little as often happened with those of advanced years. “And much has changed since those days, hasn’t it, sir, for all of us.”

“Your apprentice, the humble Mr. O’Flaherty, has come into his own. A remarkable transformation, going from being an indentured servant to possessing one of the most powerful titles in England.”  Jack delivered the drink to his guest.

“Kieran was always the Greystowe heir. He was just misplaced for many years, lost and found again.”

Jack nodded. Lord Greystowe had an unusual history. No one had suspected the freckle-faced, sunburned red-head known only as the apothecary’s apprentice in Basseterre was a lost heir to an earldom. This humble apothecary had treated that unfortunate child with kindness during his indenture, securing the restored earl's affections and support for the rest of his days.  

“What is it I can help you with, Mr. Barnaby.” Jack asked, reminding the man of the reason for his visit.

“The lady you admire greatly is now free again. Just as she was on that night long ago, when you and Mr. O’Donovan nearly came to blows.”

Aye, there it was, the rock hiding under the surface of the sea, waiting to crush his hull.

Jack said nothing. He found it best to do so when in these peculiar circumstances, to listen and wait before acting recklessly. He’d done the reckless bit often in his youth. A man his age must show more wisdom than folly.

“You do recall the incident?” Barnaby prodded when he didn’t answer.

“Vaguely,” Jack muttered as if it didn’t matter when it mattered a great deal.

“Mrs. O’Donovan, back then Miss Ramirez, was a fetching young woman,” Barnaby added, as if Jack needed reminding. “As I recall, the two of you shared a tender moment.”

“I danced with her,” Jack replied evenly. “Nothing more.”

“Oh, there is more to it, my good man,” Barnaby countered, his tone taking on a sharp edge. “You kissed her under the mistletoe."

“I was one of many who did so that night.”  Jack sipped his brandy.

“Yes, and then you took her outdoors to help her get away from the other men. Poor girl wasn’t even allowed to sit down and capture her breath between zealous beaus carrying her off for yet another dance, and another. And then you took her away from all that sordid attention. You rescued her ..."

“I did nothing of the kind. 'T’was you who pointed out to me that she was ready to faint from exhaustion; you advised me to spirit her away so she could recover herself.”

Barnaby’s lips rolled, and he looked away from Jack for the first time during this odd conversation. “I was concerned for the young lady. Her devoted suitor seemed oblivious to her plight, God rest his soul.”

The more Barnaby spoke, the more Jack recalled of the evening. Yes, Gareth O’Donovan had been brick brained when it came to looking out for his intended. Jack supposed it was due to all his bookish learning and such. Chloe had been in desperate straits with men fawning over her and abusing the rules of propriety by insisting she dance with them.

Jack slowly set his empty glass on the table and turned away from the canny old fellow. He looked out the large windows at the darkened sea. His mind came alive with memories of Chloe Ramirez, of that brief interlude he wished he could forget. He longed to kiss her in the garden. He yearned to sweep her into his arms and kiss her like a woman should be kissed, with heart and soul. Instead, they merely spoke briefly before Gareth came looking for her.

And then the arrogant bloke smacked Jack in the mouth and accused him of treachery.

Gareth had a flare for dramatics. He’d been deliberately laying it on thick to impress his lady. The fellow adored pithy sayings and went around quoting Shakespeare like a Methodist preacher spouting sacred verse. In retrospect, Jack understood it was Gareth’s way of making himself appear the hero and Jack the villain. Poorly done, but done, just the same. It worked, as she married the fellow within hours of the incident.

“I must confess all to you, my good man, as you will be spending much time with Mrs. O’Donovan in the coming weeks. It’s only fair I should warn you about the pull of an old enchantment that is sure to affect your senses. A spell I tampered with, I admit to my shame.”

Jack spun about on his heels to challenge the ancient wizard. He had never heard such a ridiculous story in his life. “What are you implying?”

Barnaby’s features were heavy with regret. “Powerful magic was loosed that night, an enchantment meant for one man. I interfered. I changed the intentions of the spell. I’ve been a very bad wizard, Captain Rawlings. I pray you can forgive me for my folly.”

“Great Neptune.” Jack was uncomfortable with all this talk of magic. The islanders believed in voodoo and all that rot. Even the count, a scientist, believed his wife was something of a sorceress. Druid was the term the count used. Jack just nodded politely when his otherwise logical friend talked such nonsense and let it pass. What else could one do when faced with an old and loyal friend’s delusions? Nod politely, smile, and change the subject. 

“Do you recall the lemon biscuits I gave you that night?” the old fellow asked, seeming to be taking another strict detour from his intended destination.

“Aye.” Tasty morsels. The kind he couldn’t stop eating. “Where did you get them?”

“Miss Ramirez made them. More to the point, she added some potent magic to the batter, intending to offer them as a gift to one man; Gareth O’Donovan.”

“I assume he ate the rest of the batch and then promptly fell on his knees before her and proposed that same night?  They were married quickly, as I remember it.”

“Gareth was her intended recipient, but he never received her gift. I met Miss Ramirez in the garden that night. Gareth had promised to meet her out in the gazebo and never showed up. I suspect his duties as host prior to the party kept him from their assignation.”

Barnaby placed his untouched brandy on the table.  He sighed, a great heavy sigh, and stepped closer. Jack saw the man's regret. “Miss Ramirez was walking in the garden with her plate of magic biscuits, intending to meet Gareth and give them to him as a gift. Other men were wandering about the garden that evening, waiting for the party to start. They kept snatching biscuits off her plate, one by one. I watched Miss Ramirez for some time without making myself known. I found her in the gazebo, crying, alone. She had three of her special confections left. I took charge of them and promised to only give them to the one for whom they were intended.”

“And instead, you gave them to
me
?”

“At the time, I believed you were the better man for her.”

“And you fear that because I ate some blasted magical biscuits a decade ago that as soon as she comes aboard I’ll turn into a slavering fool and ravish the woman?”

Barnaby made a face. “No need to be crude, Captain. But, yes. It was I who gave you the enchanted biscuits, three of them, mind you, so the spell is bound by three. Please, Captain, forgive me if I have harmed you, made you miserable and lonely all these years.”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit. I was miserable before that night, and nothing is changed on my end, old man,” Jack said with as much courtesy as he could muster. He wanted to laugh hard, laugh the man right out of his cabin. Instead, he endeavored to contain his amusement. An elderly man should always be treated with dignity and respect.

“Don’t you see? I tampered with the fates at your expense, sir. Please forgive me for dabbling where I had no business. Now it is up to you to decide if the pull you feel toward her is natural or magical, and to act accordingly. I could make you an antidote. I did so with the other men. You were gone by the time I attempted to correct the effects of her spell on the other men, and, well, after all these years . . . I-I simply forgot! And then, when I observed your continued captivation with her at dinner the other night, I was reminded of my misdeed.” The old man pushed his spectacles up on his nose. “Unfortunately, my eyesight is not what it once was. I would need help in the endeavor. I’d not wish to accidently poison you.”