Into His Arms (28 page)

Juan contemplated the man before him. “Are you in earnest? Even I can see that it costs you dearly to ask this favor. Do you owe this man something?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.”

“Why?”

“I made him a promise.”

“What was this promise?”

“There is a woman. We both love her.”

“But she loves him?” Juan guessed.

“Yes.”

“Then why do you not let him hang and claim her for yourself? What is this promise, and why did you make it?”

“It was I who brought him here to die. I told him that I had fallen in love with the woman who was once his. He asked only that there be nothing I would not give for her happiness. I loved her. At the time, it was an easy promise to make.”

“You are a good man, Diego,” Juan replied, placing a fatherly hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “I have no doubt that you could make her happy.”

“I thought so, once. The captain thought so, too, and gave me his blessing to try.”

Juan simply nodded and waited for Diego to continue.

“She wanted to love me, Don Juan. She was willing to give herself to me, but despite her best efforts, she could not give me her heart. She had already given the whole of it to Captain Hampton. It seems they were made to be together. How can I compete with that? If he hangs tomorrow, she will grieve him until the day she dies. If she is to be happy, I must give her my rival. I am bound, sir, by both my promise to him and my love for her.”

Juan shook his head. “He is a pirate. If she is as good and loving as you say, is he worthy of her? Often women love men who are not good for them. They are drawn to the danger or they hope to change them. Have you considered this?”

Diego nodded his head. “I hoped that was the case, but in his own way, he is a man of honor. He understands her, as I do not. They share a quest. I overheard them today, talking to an old priest. What lies between these two is even deeper than love. I know this is what must be.”

Juan paused to consider Diego’s request. “There is a bloodlust for English pirates among the Spanish colonies that will be hard to placate with anything but the death of one of them.”

“I ask only that you try. If you do not succeed, I will know that you did all that you could.”

“Well, false modesty aside, if anyone has the power to spare this Captain Hampton, I suppose it is I. Still, it seems poor payment to reward you for saving my son by robbing you of the woman you love. Are you certain this is what you want?”

Sadly, Diego shook his head. “It is what is right. It is not what I want.”

“I will do what I can. If I cannot spare him, perhaps you are wrong, and she was meant to be yours. If I am successful, I pray that it is because there is another out there for you.”

Diego nodded, his face filled with the depth of his certainty in the promise of his saint. “There is another, Don Juan. Somewhere out there, there is another.”

Juan’s smile lit his face and lightened the mood for them both. “Preferably a
Spanish
maiden,” he added.

Chapter 25

The pale beginnings of dawn slanted almost imperceptibly through the window of Geoff’s cell. Still, he was entirely aware of it. He had not slept that night and was grateful for Tomás’s quiet presence. Neither had spoken since midnight. It was as if by speaking they would make this day real. Silence could hold onto yesterday indefinitely, couldn’t it?

Nay, that was not so, and the lightening sky laughed at their folly. Shades of warm gold and peach mocked the men who steeped in a cloud of gloomy despair.

“Why are these things not always done at sunrise?” Geoff complained. “It seems I have always heard that men are condemned to die at dawn. Whatever could the judges have been thinking when they set the time for noon?”

It was a rhetorical question, and Tomás doubted that Geoff would have liked the answer. It gave Geoff more time to stew, just as he was, making the event all the more terrible. It also insured a greater audience. But he was there to comfort, not to introduce cold, hard reality into a situation already too cold and real.

Instead he asked, “Was it better that she came?”

Geoff paused, seeming to search for the answer somewhere beyond the tiny window. “It was a mixed blessing to see Faith again, but aye,” he said at last. “Though ‘twas hard enough to leave her the first time, and this is harder still, ‘tis glad I am that I leave nothing unsaid and that we have done what we must to come to terms with this parting.” He squeezed his eyes shut against the light.

“To weep would not make you less of a man,” Father Tomás suggested.

Geoff spun, his golden eyes molten. “I refuse to give them that! They’ll not get a drop from me. The Spaniards have gained victory enough here!” He brought himself up short and added, “No offense, Father.”

The priest waved the comment aside. He, too, felt he had done what he must, though he must confess and answer for it later.

“I do wish I could keep Faith from coming today,” Geoff added. “There’s no sense in making her live with the memory. What I endure will be over soon enough for me. She needn’t be there for my sake. I can see her in my mind’s eye, the wind and sun drying her hair on the deck of my ship. Mayhap the next hours will be tolerable if I spend them thus, taking out and polishing to perfection every memory of the time I have known her.” As though he could almost smell the tantalizing scent of her, he inhaled sharply and smiled.

“Aye, that should help,” Tomás replied. “Dwell on pleasant memories for a time.”

The smile faded, and Geoff turned to him again. “I’ve been thinking of my mother, as well.”

“A natural thing, my son. At such a time, you must seek whatever comfort you may.”

“I’m not sure I’d call such thoughts comforting, Father. There was very little love between us. Still, if I’m ever to reconcile with her, or rather the memory of her, ‘tis now or never. Faith is a wonder there, as well. She has every reason to be angry with her family, and yet she loves them still, defends them fiercely. Would that I could know such loyalty to the woman who gave me life. She was, after all, the only family I have ever known.”

“I think you need not hear from me that nearly everyone has some redeeming qualities, whatever their sins.”

“Aye, well, my mother’s sins were plenty, especially by your standards. Even so, she taught me to find joy where I could, though there was little enough of it for either of us. Until Faith spoke of it, it never occurred to me that my mother suffered for the life she led. It seems to me now that it was not entirely of her choosing.”

A small, ironic grin spread across Geoff’s face. “D’y’know, just now, I find I can actually think tenderly of her, remember rare moments when we were simply mother and son. I cannot decide if I’ve gone soft in the heart or soft in the head.”

Father Tomás chuckled quietly. “These are hard times, my son. A bit of softness is a blessing in either case.”

“She was a beauty. I’d have given her that even when I hated her most. Well, we may see one another again all too soon, and if we do, the place will be hot enough

without anger and regret.”

Tomás shuddered. It did not rest easily with him to hear the Englishman speak so blithely of God’s eternal wrath.

Though they both knew that it would be hours ere a guard would come to escort Geoff to the gallows, both men jumped at the sound of footsteps in the corridor and the scrape of a key in the lock.

“
Vamos
,” the guard commanded in a flat voice.

Geoff had heard the command often enough that he did not need Tomás to translate.

“
Yo no comprendo. ¿Qué le pasa?
” Tomás asked the guard.

“
No sé.
”

Geoff gave Tomás a quizzical look, and Tomás replied, “He says he doesn’t know what this is about.”

*

Geoff and Father Tomás were ushered into a small, tidy office with simple furnishings, where a distinguished looking gentleman awaited them. He was dressed in velvet and fine muslin and spoke like a man who was seldom opposed. He introduced himself as Juan Gallegos Lucero y Esquibel de Aguilar, and Father Tomás explained to Geoff that he was an influential member of the government, well known and highly respected.

Geoff bowed slightly but was unimpressed. Another official, another Spaniard to lecture to him on the evils of England and her privateers. Sarcasm laced his voice when he replied, “Forgive me for not dressing for the occasion. My wardrobe is limited, and there seemed little need to buy anything new. I wouldn’t get much use from it.”

Though Don Juan spoke in Spanish, leaving Father Tomás to translate, he looked at Geoff. “I do not need to tell you that there is very little time left. What I would like to know is how you feel about it all, now that it is nearly over.”

“Feel about it?” Geoff asked. “About dying?”

“About living—” Juan explained, “your life, as you have lived it.”

“As you have observed, my time is limited. Father Tomás’s counsel has been sufficient. What purpose does this conversation serve?”

Juan Gallegos shrugged carelessly. “I have not been a part of the proceedings. I wish to know you better. I would know what manner of man dies at the will of our justice. As a member of our government, it concerns me.”

Aware of his ragged appearance and the fate that awaited him, Geoff lifted his chin a notch. He’d be damned if he would be judged yet again and found wanting. “I have done what seemed necessary to survive. And I’ll tell you this: I have no love of the Spanish. Your atrocities have left a bad taste in the mouths of much of Europe. As for your place in the New World, England has as much right to profit by it as Spain. What I have done has served my king and my country, as well as myself.”

“Then you have no regrets?”

“I make no apologies.”

Gallegos pinned him with an all-too-perceptive gaze. “Regrets and apologies are not always the same thing.”

It was on the tip of Geoff’s tongue to say that it was none of his damned business, but he only sighed, his shoulders dropping a fraction of an inch. “Who can die with no regrets? Will you, when your time comes? What I find utterly ironic is the fact that this should have come just when I had begun to see another path for my life.”

The Spanish official raised his eyebrows. “You are reformed? Is this how you will plead your case in these last hours?” he asked, his voice laden with contempt.

“I plead for nothing. I only give you an honest answer to your question. Call it a conversion, of sorts,” said Geoff. He smiled at Gallegos. “I met a woman.” The other man returned a half smile of his own. “I would have left privateering for her.”

“Would you? Why?”

“She would have insisted on it. ‘Thou shalt not steal’ and all that. She told me I should think of the people I stole from, not just the country.”

“And this simple argument moved you? Forgive me, it is somewhat difficult to believe that such an obvious observation would sway a hardened pirate.”

“Privateer,” Geoff corrected. Then he looked away, trying to put his thoughts into words. “I know it sounds strange, but I rather liked the captain who brought me here. He’s a good man. There was a time I would have laughed in your face if you told me that I would trust the only thing that has ever mattered to me to a Spaniard, but I am. And Father Tomás, here.” He gestured to the man who had become a lifeline in the weeks that had passed and who smiled as he translated. “He is not only a Spaniard, but a Catholic priest. He is also my friend, and that is another fact I would have once found implausible.”

“So you are telling me that you
are
reformed? If we would let you go free, you would ‘go forth and sin no more’? Do I understand your words?”

“I am not so pathetic that I would fall to that hackneyed plea. ‘Please spare me. I’ve come to Jesus. I’ll ne’er do evil again.’ I doubt me that would move you to mercy.”

“Your fate is already decided. I only thought to learn what manner of man you are before your sentence is carried out.”

“I am an honest one. If I had yet many years before me, I would be no threat to you, though I realize, of course, that matters little now.”

Don Juan rose and scrutinized Geoff carefully. “As I had been led to expect, there is much to admire in you, pirate, and life is infinitely more complicated when one has to face one’s enemies as human beings.”

“You speak like a man inclined to grant clemency,” Father Tomás said, a telltale tremble of hope in his voice.

“I have no doubt that, were it in my power to grant, a second chance would not be wasted on this man, but I yet doubt it would be fully deserved. Tell me truly, Captain, why this change of heart? Would you have me believe you would change your whole way of life for a mere woman?”

“She is no mere woman.”

“I have thought that myself, more than once, about more than one woman. These feelings often fade.”

“Because of her, I have come to see the world and how I live in it differently.”

“But you say that you have not found God?”

“Nay, I found faith.”

“The woman?”

“Nay. Oh, I found her, but more than that, I found faith in others, faith in myself, faith in the general rightness of things.” He stopped and regarded the Spanish official more carefully. “How did you know the woman’s name was Faith?”

Gallegos ignored the question. “Then it would not be your intent to resume your former occupation. What would you do?”

Uneasiness crept up upon Geoff, raising the hair on the nape of his neck, and he wondered anew at the purpose of this inquiry. Nonetheless, he answered honestly. “I have a substantial fortune available to me, provided my crew has not already seen fit to dispose of it. I would buy
Destiny
from the crew and set up an honest business. I would spend my life with the woman I love. Aye, I suppose I would ‘go forth and sin no more.’”

“This fortune, would there be enough in it to compensate Diego Montoya’s employer for the cargo he lost to you and your crew?”

His patience at an end, Geoff nearly shouted, “What is this about?”