Heirs of Acadia - 03 - The Noble Fugitive (16 page)

“I’m not. I’m sick and I’m scared and I’m little.” She hugged her kitten under her chin.

“You are brave and more. You make me proud to call you friend.” In a sudden impulse he reached forward and kissed her forehead.

Falconer turned to Gareth. “All right, sir?”

“Thanks to you.”

Falconer started to tell him it was not that way at all. That in truth he had brought danger upon all their heads. But Reginald chose that moment to thrust his way forward, followed by a burly man wearing a captain’s pips upon his shoulders.

“What on earth was that all about?” the captain demanded.

“I aim to determine just that,” Falconer told him. “In the meantime, I’d be grateful if you could please send men for our cases.” He turned to Connor. “Let’s go find your mate.”

“Aye, sir.”

Together they hurried back down the ramp. All their shipmates were crowded along the foredeck and ship’s railings. They pushed their way through the throng, back to where MacAughley stood over a man seated upon the cobblestones. “There was two others that I saw,” MacAughley reported, “but soon as they spotted me, they scarpered.”

“This one will do.” Falconer crouched down.

The attacker was holding his forehead where Falconer had clouted him. Falconer scraped the steel of his blade across the cobblestones between them. It was enough to bring the attacker to full alert. “Listen carefully. You just heard the man. Your mates have disappeared. You’re all alone. You have
two choices. I hope you’re hearing me, because we don’t have time for lies or repetition. How many choices do you have?”

The man glanced about, seeking refuge.

Falconer raised his sword, as though making to clout him once more. “Answer me!”

“Two!” The man shied away, or tried to, but Connor was holding him on one side now and MacAughley on the other. “Two choices!”

“That’s better. The first choice is to have these two seamen hustle you on board. We’re headed east on the tide, but I suppose you know that.”

“You can’t! I got rights, I do!”

“Rights.” Falconer scraped the sword’s blade a second time, scarring the stones. “Of course you have rights. You have the right to a trial at sea, before a captain’s tribunal. You have the right to be found guilty of attacking innocent passengers. You have the right to hang from the yardarms until dead.”

“No! I didn’t—”

“Then your body will be sewed into a sailcloth sack with a cannon shot for company. And you’ll be dropped overboard, to sink and sink and finally rest upon the black ocean floor.”

The man was sweating mightily. He started to protest, but suddenly a flicker of recognition sparked in his eyes. “You-you’re him!”

“What’s that?”

“Him! The man they’s hunting. The murderer from Trinidad!”

Falconer rocked back on his heels, dumbfounded.

Connor noted Falconer’s concern. “All right, sir?”

Falconer forced his mind to work. The man’s response was genuine enough, he was certain of that. Which could only mean one thing. Falconer had not been the target. If he had been, they would have known whom to go for.

Which meant they were after Gareth.

Falconer moved in close. The man tried to flinch away. “You knew to go after the man with me. That much is clear. Did
you even know his name?” When the man hesitated, Falconer thumped him with his open hand, but not hard. “Speak!”

“Powers, they said. A pamphleteer.”

“Here’s your second choice, then. Answer my questions, and swiftly now. Give me what I need and we’ll set you free.”

Connor protested, “Sir!”

The attacker glanced at the muscled sailor holding him by his shoulders, then turned back to Falconer. “Straight up, you’ll let me go?”

“Give me what I seek,” Falconer repeated. “Who sent you?”

“Don’t have a clue. Honest, they didn’t tell me nothing but go after the pamphleteer Powers.”

“How did you know who that was?”

“Been sitting outside the Emporium for weeks, I have.” The man’s eyes gleamed now with frantic hope. His words tumbled out. “The man’s been seen walkin’ a time or two. But he’s always been in a crowd. And he’s never been out for very long. So we heard ’bout the ship’s sailing and we knew it was time. Now or never, that’s what they told me.”

“Who told you that?”

“Them who hired me. The two that got away.”

“Describe them.”

“Mates, in a matter of speaking. Know them from the taverns around these parts. Done a bit of this and that.”

“They must have told you who it was that hired you.”

“A banker. That’s all I know.”

Falconer was rocked back a second time. “What did you say?”

“A banker, I know that for a fact.” The words pressed out faster still. “Somebody who wants Powers dead and gone. Wants it bad enough to pay us good silver for the job well done.”

“I’ll give you well done,” Connor roared, cuffing the man.

“Hold there,” Falconer ordered. He said to the attacker, “Describe the banker.”

“Couldn’t do that. Never seen him, have I.”

“They must have told you something.”

“A narrow man, they said that much. A British gent. Older.” The man turned to whining. “I done what you said. That’s all I know, I swear. I was just hired to do a proper job on the man.”

Falconer rose to his feet, ignoring the multitude clustered about him. Half answers and mysteries pressed in from every side. “Let him go.”

“But sir, the captain . . .”

“Release him. I’ll speak with your captain.”

As soon as Connor’s hands unclenched, the man wasted no time. He leaped through the throng and disappeared.

In the distance the bosun’s whistle piped the men aloft. “Let’s be off,” Falconer said, “else our ship won’t make the tide.”

Chapter 11

Serafina’s vessel slowly entered Portsmouth harbor. The wind was strong against them, and the port’s entryway was lined with ships from every corner of the globe. There was no clearance for the harbormaster to safely maneuver them under sail. So the ship’s two longboats were lowered and joined by another from the port. The oarsmen heaved so hard their groans could be heard from the foredeck. Serafina was there, accompanied by Danny, the young midshipman. The wind whistled through the rigging and clutched at Serafina’s hair, tearing locks free from her head scarf.

“A cold, hard day for late July,” Danny said, stumbling only slightly as he spoke. “Wouldn’t you agree, Miss Gavi?”

“It feels like winter.”

“Aye, that’s Portsmouth for you.” The crimson rose from his collar. “Perhaps as you’ve been ill, you’d care for my cloak?”

“No thank you, signore.”

He fumbled slightly over her refusal, then went on, “As I was saying, the weather—”

“Please to excuse me, sir.” Serafina turned away from the young officer. “My father is coming.”

“Of course, of course.” He cast a nervous bow and backed away, his face a bright scarlet. Two seamen snickered from the rigging.

Serafina’s father made it up the foredeck stairs by leaning heavily upon his wife’s arm. “Ah, you are better as well, I see.”

“Hello, Father.” Strange how merely saying those two words left her choking down a vast sob.

“It is good to leave that prison of a cabin behind, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Oh yes.”

“The prospect of leaving harbor tomorrow for the open sea fills me with dread, I don’t mind telling you.”

Her mother offered, “The doctor assures us the ailment will soon pass.”

“As he has said every day since we left Venice. How a merchant of our water-borne city could be laid so low by the open seas is a mystery.” He grimaced and clutched the side railing as the ship swayed slightly. “Perhaps you should lead me back downstairs, my dear.”

“Of course. Serafina, would you please aid us?”

She moved up close to her father’s other side. She had gained much strength over the past several days. Her legs trembled slightly as she took some of her father’s weight, but it was not from physical weakness. This was the first time she had been this close to her beloved father since Luca’s visit. She wrapped one arm around his back, touching her mother’s arm in the process. Her father let one arm rest upon her shoulder. As they maneuvered slowly down the foredeck stairs, he said quietly, “I have missed you, Serafina.”

“And I you.” This time the tears escaped, one from each eye.

“You are genuinely better now, I trust.”

Her mind cast upon what the morrow held, and she found herself unable to respond. She released her father as they entered the narrow passage leading to the cabins. She trailed along behind her parents as they reentered their room. Her father groaned mightily as the ship rocked back and forth, buffeted by the squall. He lowered himself into the bunk. “Perhaps you should ask the doctor to bring a bit more of his remedy.”

“No, my dear, we can use it only when truly needed. We shall be resting at anchor in but a few minutes.”

“You have no idea how long the minutes stretch,” her father said. “Or how endless are the hours.”

But I do
. The thought was so clear Serafina feared for a moment that she had spoken them aloud. But her mother
remained intent upon settling the blankets upon her father in his bunk. Serafina quietly slipped from the room.

She went back on deck and chose the railing that looked out over the gray waters to where a rain line swept steadily toward them. The only other person on that side of the deck was the English vicar, who nodded affably in her direction but did not speak. Serafina gave a quick curtsy and turned her face away. She had spent the past three nights arguing with herself over his sermon. Seeing him here only brought up the conflict anew.

Go and sin no more
, the pastor had said. Serafina resisted a sudden urge to turn back and snap at him that his words meant less than nothing. She had sinned. Yes. But she did not feel contrite. How could she? She had been
forced
to sin. Serafina leaned upon the railing and raised her face to the first drops of rain. It would do no good to argue with the vicar. What could such a man as that possibly know about love?

Her father came to Serafina’s cabin the next morning. The ship had lain quietly at anchor since the previous afternoon, but Serafina had slept little. Last night the ship’s timbers had creaked and the wind had continued to whistle through the cracks and the riggings. Twice the bosun’s whistle had signaled the change of watches. But mostly she had listened to her own heartbeat and to her father’s snores. The cabin walls were not very thick. That morning she had heard the ship come awake around her. She had also heard her parents talking and knew what her father was going to say to her long before he arrived at her door.

“Good morning, daughter.” There was color to his features and a clearer light to his gaze. “I hope you slept well.”

“Thank you, Father. You are looking better.”

“Your mother was right not to let me have more of the potion. Last night was the first time since Venice that I was not troubled by the most dreadful dreams.” He wore a suit of
somber gray, with a starched collar held in place by a simple gold stickpin. “Did you have a nice breakfast?”

“Tea and porridge. The same as every morning.” Cabin passengers were served on deck in decent weather and at anchor. Many had taken their morning meal at the railings, where they had studied the city and planned their one-day excursion into Portsmouth. The ship was scheduled to sail with the predawn tide, and everyone had to return before sunset.

“I would not know, as this is the first morning I managed to eat more than dried biscuit. I finished three bowls and am still ravenous.” He pulled his vest tight across his somewhat smaller waist and announced, “Your mother wishes me to ask you if things are settled now.”

Serafina knew all about this, for she had heard every word of their discussion. She knew the reason she had not been invited to join them for breakfast was because their debate had continued right through the meal. Her parents were going ashore. Her father wanted Serafina to join them. Her mother did not. Her mother had tried to explain that things were not better, as her father wanted to believe. But her father, ever the conciliator, hoped for peace and harmony once more within their little family.

“You are looking much better than . . . before,” her father continued.

“I am stronger now, thank you.”

“But that is not what I asked.”

Serafina examined her father carefully. He was a very good man. Gentle in demeanor, strong in character. “You have always been so very good to me,” she said and felt the lump grow once more in her throat.

“My dear sweet child.” He came over and settled onto the cabin’s tiny stool. “This whole wretched ordeal has been such a trial.”

She nodded, loving him deeply. “It has.”

“I hope you realize that everything we did was out of love and concern.” He patted her knee. “I knew your mother was
wrong in her thinking this morning. It is so heartening to know the miserable affair is behind us now.”

Slowly Serafina shook her head. “I fear you misunderstand me, Father.”

“But you said—”

“I do love you. And I wish things were different. Truly I do. But my heart has been given to Luca. I am his betrothed.”