Mariah's Prize (32 page)

“I didn’t find Mariah, Father. She found me instead.”

“No matter, boy, no matter.” Jonathan cleared his throat self-consciously, frowning at the deck.

“You’re here and so’s your lass, and let that be an end to it. We’ve other trials before us now.”

“He wasn’t in the house, was he?” There wasn’t any need to say the Frenchman’s name; they both knew.

“He wasn’t in the house, and he’s still alive.”

“You couldn’t have known that, so don’t go blaming yourself,” said Jonathan sharply.

“Burning out the bastard’s nest was a good thing, a fine thing. Should have been done long ago, if anyone had had the courage to do it.”

With the boat hauled aboard, the sloop immediately sprung back on course. For the first time Gabriel noticed that his father wore a sword at his waist and that the deck was already cleared for action.

“Do you know where he’s gone now? St. Pierre or” — “I’ll warrant about four points off the lee bar, where he’s been all this week.” Jonathan squinted off toward the horizon, shading his eyes first with his hand before pulling out his spyglass.

“This little sloop of yours is a pretty sailer, Gabriel. She’s led Deveaux’s brig on a dance that’s likely left him damning you for eternity.

“Course we didn’t let him know you weren’t at the helm. Didn’t want him guessing you were still on the island. Walker there did the honors.”

Nearly as tall as Gabriel, Walker stepped forward, looking uncomfortable in Gabriel’s that and coat.

“I didn’t mean no disrespect, Cap’n,” he said sheepishly, “but since ye told us yer father was cap’n whilst ye was gone, an’ he ordered me” “You’ve done well. Walker, thank you.” But beyond the man Gabriel could just make out a speck of white, the topsails of the Chasseur, exactly where his father had said Deveaux would be.

Jonathan followed his gaze, handing Gabriel his spyglass.

“We’ve outrun him so far, but with this wind and all the press of sail he can set, I don’t know whether we’ll make it back to Carlisle Bay or not.”

As Gabriel studied the ship that followed them with the glass, he understood the tension that was so palpable among the men who even now were straining to eavesdrop as unobtrusively as they could, hungry for a clue to their fate. For years he’d wanted the chance to fight Deveaux at sea, and now at last he had it. Exhausted though he was, Gabriel felt the exhilaration sweep through him. It was nearly done, their rivalry, nearly over, and he meant to be the winner.

He lowered the glassy-meeting the expectant faces turned toward him.

Now that he was back among them, on his own quarterdeck again, he felt the tension in their ranks vanish, replaced by eager enthusiasm.

They knew their captain’s reputation. Gabriel Sparhawk was the best privateering captain in the Caribbean, and the luckiest. To a man, they’d follow him anywhere.

And he wouldn’t disappoint them. Bolstered by their faith, he began to plan rapidly, considering every way to even the odds or tip them in favor of the Revenge. With her twenty-four guns and Deveaux’s crack crew, the Chasseur could outfight most frigates.

Though the Revenge was swift and agile, with guns enough to intimidate merchant ships, she depended on speed to outrun or outmaneuver any larger, more heavily armed privateers or navy ships, ships like the Chasseur. The wind as it was now didn’t favor the smaller sloop, and if the storm came as Gabriel expected, then they’d be doubly disadvantaged, without the weight and breadth to ride out a really heavy blow. But somehow he’d make it work, even if he had to keep running until the weather turned for them. He hadn’t lasted this long without taking his share of chances. He would fight Deveaux, and he would win.

Jonathan rested his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder.

“Aye, son, I knew you’d be up to the task,” he said with gruff pride that stunned Gabriel.

“I’ve heard you’re the best there is in a fight, and God willing, I mean to be there to see it.”

Never before had his father been proud of what he’d done. Never had his father called him anything but a thieving pirate, a shameful wastrel, a sorrow to his mother. Never before had he spoken as if he loved him.

But as Gabriel turned to answer his father, he saw Ma-riah. She was standing in the shadow of the mainmast, beyond the pressing crowd of men, her arms around a slighter, younger blond woman as blandly fair to him as a porcelain shepherdess. Jenny West, he decided, the sister their parents had preferred, and at once he dismissed her. How could Jenny ever compare to his Mariah?

The sloop’s deck canted, and the sunlight fell full on Mariah’s face.

She knew what was happening as well as any of the men, maybe more so.

Holding her hair back with one hand, she glanced over her shoulder to the French ship,

then turned toward Gabriel, her blue eyes in the bright sun clouded with a sorrow so deep it cut straight to his heart. How could he convince her that with the gift of her love to protect him he wouldn’t die?

“Carry on then, Gabriel,” his father was saying, “you’re master here again.”

“Nay, Father,” he said slowly, his eyes not leaving Ma-riah.

“I ask that you stay captain a little longer in my stead.”

“You’re in pain then, lad?” asked Jonathan with concern.

“You seem well enough, but let’s have Macauly look you over” -Gabriel shook his head, raising his voice so he was certain she’d overhear.

“I want you to stay captain long enough to marry Mariah and me.”

“Sweet Jesus, Gabriel, can’t you wait until Bridgetown for your mother’s sake?” Jonathan frowned, thumping the deck with his stick.

“Marry you! I wouldn’t know how to do such a thing.”

“Just read the words from Common Prayer, same as Reverend Thatcher would have.” Over the heads of the others, across the decks, he watched her and waited. Her expression hadn’t changed, and he wasn’t sure she’d accept again. If she’d take him, he’d give her and their child his name now, and afterward, he’d give her Deveaux’s flag as a wedding present. But, why didn’t she say something, do something, beyond staring at him with those blue eyes?

“Please, Father.”

Helplessly Jonathan looked from Gabriel to Mariah to the French ship on the horizon and back again.

“Oh, aye, very well, but let’s be sharp about it. There’s little time to lose. Come along, lass. Deveaux won’t wait, and neither will I.”

Slowly Gabriel stretched his hand out to Mariah, offering her his heart, his love, everything he was.

Mariah found she couldn’t move, staring in silence at his outstretched hand. Long ago, at Crescent Hill, he’d offered her his hand like this, and though she’d hesitated then as she did now, she’d finally accepted, and felt for the first time the thrill that only his touch could bring her. How could either of them have guessed how far that touch would lead? Since she’d first taken his hand, she’d known joy and happiness, sorrow and pain, beyond any she’d ever dreamed possible. No matter what she did now, he’d forever be an inextricable part of her. Even if she turned away from him, he would already have made her life infinitely richer with his love. But was the joy worth the sorrow, did the happiness surpass the pain? Was loving Gabriel worth the risk of losing him?

“Lud, ” Riah, go to him,” said Jenny, giving her an impatient little shove of encouragement.

“Go on! If you don’t marry Gabriel, you know Mama will never, ever let me wed Elisha

Slowly Mariah raised her gaze from Gabriel’s hand to his face, and found her answer in his eyes. For his love she’d risk anything, and give him her heart in the bargain. At last she smiled, and when Gabriel came and kissed her, every man on the deck cheered.

In the captain’s cabin, they solemnly stood side by side as Jonathan read the marriage service over them. Jenny and Elisha and Tom Farr stood by as witnesses, while Ethan hovered in the companionway, lamenting that he hadn’t time to make a proper wedding feast. But with the Chasseur’s topsails now clear of the horizon, there was little time for anything. No silk gowns or pearl bracelets, no velvet suits.

Gabriel had barely pulled a shirt over his head and was still stuffing the tails into his breeches when his father began to read, and Mariah’s wedding finery consisted of the tattered calico she’d worn to the island. Yet this time she knew he loved her, and nothing was worth more than that.

The Revenge swung over to another tack, and Mariah lurched to one side, thrown off-balance by the shift that the men compensated for without thought. Automatically Gabriel steadied her with both hands on her shoulders and left them there, his hands warm and sure on her skin. She listened to the old-fashioned words Jonathan was reading, hearing all the promises for the future the service contained, and she tried not to think of how her future with Gabriel might not last beyond this day. She let herself lean against him. He wouldn’t leave her, not Gabriel, not her only love. And yet, happy as she was in her love, she couldn’t quite forget the depth and power of Deveaux’s hatred.

“I’m sorry, poppet, I’ve no ring for you on board,” Gabriel was saying.

“But once we’re at Bridgetown” — “Nay, son, your bride needs a ring.” Jonathan tucked the prayer book beneath his arm and tugged the heavy gold signet from his little finger.

“Likely this isn’t the bauble she’d prefer, but she’s a Sparhawk now, and it won’t hurt for her to be reminded of it. Ethan can rig a rag about the band for now to make it fit.”

A wondering look crossed Gabriel’s face as his father placed it into his palm. At once Mariah realized the ring’s significance and she began to wonder herself. Had the two men really discovered the love that bound them together?

“On with it, Gabriel,” said Jonathan gruffly.

“The wind’s freshening, and we can’t be at this all day. With this ring…”

“With this ring, I thee wed.” Gabriel slipped the heavy ring with the hawk intaglio on to her finger and closed her hand upon it so the oversize ring wouldn’t slide off.

“Ah, Mariah, how much I love you!”

Swiftly he caught her by the waist and pulled her close to kiss her, striving to swear again with his body the words he’d just spoken. With a sigh of contentment, Mariah melted against him, savoring the rightness of being in his arms.

Self-consciously Jonathan cleared his throat and snapped the prayer book shut.

“Well, then, I say you’re man and wife, and that’s that.

Come along now, Gabriel,” he said as he edged past them to the door, ” your wife can wait, but the wind and that French bastard cannot. “

Reluctantly Gabriel lifted his mouth from Mariah’s and sighed.

“For once, Mrs. Sparhawk, the old man’s right,” he said, smiling sadly as he cradled her jaw in his hands, stroking little circles on her cheek with one thumb.

“And as he said, you’re family now, and must learn that he’s accustomed to being obeyed.”

Mariah blushed and smiled shyly, liking the sound of that Mrs.

Sparhawk.

“Doesn’t he know,” she asked, her voice low and husky for him alone, “how very bad we are at waiting?”

“Don’t tempt me, love.” He tapped his finger across her lips with mock disapproval.

“But I must go, and I want you to stay here, where I know you’ll be safe, and rest.”

“I should rest? Gabriel, you’re the one who” — “Nay, don’t argue with me, Mariah. I want you to stop fussing over everyone else and begin taking more care with yourself, mind? If it looks like they’re going to fire on us, I’ll have Ethan take you down to the hold.”

He quickly kissed her again and then eased himself free of her embrace to rummage in the bulkhead cabinet for his pistols. Already the carpenter and his mate had squeezed into the cabin at Jonathan’s

beckoning, and with their male lets were thumping the dead lights into place over the stem windows in preparation for both a battle and the storm, whichever struck first.

Ethan was busily directing two other seamen who’d come to carry the carved armchairs and the sea chests below into the hold for safekeeping, and overhead Mariah could hear shouts and feet rushing to obey Jonathan’s orders.

She remembered it all from the time they’d nearly lost the Marie-Claire, just as she remembered the horror of being alone in the hold, huddled in the semidarkness as she’d heard the sounds of the fighting overhead and imagined every shot, every blow, striking Gabriel.

And now, when there was so much more at stake, she wouldn’t do it again.

“I’m coming with you, Gabriel,” she said, her hands fists at her side.

“I’m not going to be stuffed away again like some wretched piece of furniture.”

He turned and frowned at her, buckling the belt with his pistols and a knife around his waist.

“Mariah, I can’t have you risking both your life and our child’s.”

“What if I hadn’t been willing to take that risk when Deveaux had captured you on the island? Where would you be now?” She rested her hands lightly on his chest, her left hand curled to keep the heavy ring from sliding off her finger. She swallowed hard, knowing that if she let her voice quaver with the fear she felt or shed one tear, he’d never agree. “Gabriel, I love you too much to leave you now, when I should be at your side. I always thought that’s where a wife belonged.”

“I remember promising to love and cherish, but I must have missed the part about the long guns,” he said dryly. He sighed and shook his head.

“Come along then, wife, for I know I won’t be able to stop you.

You’ve earned your place. But if they so much as open their gun ports, down you go, mind? “

“Mind.” She looked at him through her eyelashes and tried to smile.

“And if you get yourself killed, Gabriel Sparhawk, I’ll never forgive you.”

But once on deck, perched on a coiled line near Gabriel at the helm, Marian quickly realized that no one at all was going to die soon, except perhaps from the strain of peering at the French ship. By nightfall Gabriel had managed to stop the Chasseur’s advance and keep the distance between the two ships even, but from Jonathan down to the powder boys, they all knew it wouldn’t be enough. Their only chance was to keep running until the wind lightened in the sloop’s favor.