My Seaswept Heart (36 page)

Luckily d’Porteau’s aim was no better than
his character. He’d pockmarked the sand and shattered a section of
wharf, but luckily no one was hurt. At least not on Jamie’s side.
He wished he could run across to the other side of the trap and see
for himself how those men fared.

But that might give away the surprise. He had
to content himself with yelling a brief inquiry, to which Mort
Tatum responded in a high-pitched, nervous voice that all was
well.

So they waited. Waited beneath the
unforgiving tropical sun. Waited with hearts pounding and sweat
pouring down their backs for the pirates to reach the island.

Jamie swallowed, listening as the boats grew
closer. He could hear the pirates calling back and forth, hear the
swish of oars.

Come on, ye bastard, Jamie prayed. Step right
into our trap.

The man beside him, a printer by trade,
jerked, and Jamie lay a steadying hand upon his shoulder. “Not much
longer, now,” he whispered. “’Twill be over soon.”

But how would it end? The nervous
anticipation of waiting sent his mind hurtling back in time to
another battle. Culloden. A world, a lifetime away, and yet it
seemed so close he could still taste the wild expectancy of youth,
the bitterness of defeat.

The slide of wood over sand as they pulled
the longboats onto the beach reverberated through the air. First
one, then another. For better or worse the Frenchman seemed unaware
of the welcoming committee.

“Are they all gone?”

Jamie wasn’t sure who asked the question but
it was d’Porteau who answered. He’d recognize that nasal-toned
voice from here to hell.

“Perhaps they’ve all scurried away like a
litter of scared rabbits. Is that the case,
mon ami
?” The
last he bellowed so that anyone on this end of the island could
hear him.

“I think they all did run away, Cap’n.”

The voices grew nearer. The pirates were far
enough up the beach to be between the two camouflaged blinds. Jamie
pulled his pistols from the holders crossing his chest, then lifted
one hand high above his head.

“So what we gonna do now, Cap’n
d’Porteau?”

The Frenchman’s laugh was sinister. “We’ll
steal what they didn’t take with them, of course.”

Jamie’s hand whipped down through the air.
Gunshots exploded, and were answered by the islanders across the
beach.

For an instant the pirates, as if caught in a
painting, stood still, their mouths gaping open.

Then as one they sprang to life, scampering,
barely taking the time to shoot, back toward the boats. Some didn’t
make it. The screams of those hit in the cross fire rent the
air.

With a roared command Jamie leaped over the
palm logs. Saber in hand he led the attack against the retreating
pirates.

D’Porteau.

Jamie saw him farther down the beach, pushing
aside a swarthy-looking pirate to jump into the first boat.
Ignoring the carnage around him, Jamie rushed toward the shore. His
boots sank in the wet sand, then splashed in the surf as he grabbed
hold of the boat.

But d’Porteau wasn’t the only one trying to
get back to the
French Whore
.

“Damn.” Jamie sucked in his breath as a
cutlass ripped down across his shoulder. Crimson swelled up,
staining his shirt, mixing with the sweat and splashed salt water.
Fighting had erupted all around him as the islanders caught up with
the fleeing pirates.

Turning, Jamie faced Stymie.

“Well, if it ain’t Cap’n MacQuaid, back from
the dead.” The giant of a man lunged, forcing Jamie back against
the side of the boat. “But ye ain’t gonna escape this time,
Cap’n.”

He thrust again but this time Jamie feinted
to the right, then sliced his own cutlass down across his nemesis’s
arm. Blood spattered. With an angry roar, Stymie leaped toward
Jamie, knocking them both off balance and into the surf.

Arms and legs went flying as they both tried
to gain a foothold in the swirling eddy of water. Jamie rolled to
his knees, sputtering water. He grabbed Stymie’s shirtfront and
brought his fist down hard onto his jaw. Again and again, he
slammed his knuckles into the pirate’s face, while holding him
under the surf with the other hand. When Jamie finally yanked
Stymie up, the former crew member was coughing and hacking for
breath.

By this time Israel and the other islanders
had either killed or subdued the remaining pirates. Except
for...

When Jamie jerked his head around he saw that
one of the longboats was gone. D’Porteau and several others were
rowing frantically toward the
French Whore
.

“It be all right, Cap’n.” Israel came up
behind Jamie. “The
Lost Cause
be out there ready to do
battle.”

Israel was right. As Jamie scanned the
dancing waves he saw his ship bearing down hard on the French
pirate’s vessel. But Jamie had wanted to capture d’Porteau himself.
To know the satisfaction of grinding his flesh beneath his boot. Of
revenging his treatment upon the
French Whore
.

Shoving Stymie toward shore, Jamie followed,
pleased to see that the few pirates left onshore had surrendered
and were now being tied together, their hands behind their backs.
Stymie was pushed into the group, and Jamie turned back to watch
the progress of his vessel.

He wished now that he’d stayed aboard the
Lost Cause
. It would seem strange watching a sea battle from
this perspective. His skin itched to be on the quarterdeck shouting
commands.

“They aren’t going to get away, are
they?”

Jamie twisted his head. “What in the hell are
ye doing here?” Wrapping his arm around her, Jamie hustled Anne
away from the cursing group of pirates. “Didn’t I tell ye to stay
back with the other women in the cabins?”

Anne’s lips thinned. She’d been through too
much to sit on her hands now. “I heard the shooting,” she
began.

“Which should have been enough to tell ye how
dangerous ’twas here.”

For the first time since she came up behind
him Anne really looked at the captain. What she saw made her skin
grow pale. “You’re wounded.”

Jamie twisted his head to see the cut on his
upper arm, then grimaced. “’Tis nothing but a scratch.”

“But it’s bleeding.” Bending over Anne
flipped up her skirts and proceeded to tear a wide strip off her
petticoat. Before she could tie the bandage around his arm a loud
boom sounded, pulling both their attentions back to the two vessels
in the harbor. Clouds of puffy smoke hung above the facing gunwales
of each ship.

“The
Lost Cause
is going to win, isn’t
she?”

~ ~ ~

Jamie had answered Anne’s question with a
resounding “aye,” a mere half hour before. But he wasn’t so
confident now. From what he could tell the battle raging between
the
French Whore
and his ship was pretty nearly a
standoff.

And what was worse, if he didn’t miss his
guess, the Frenchman had decided enough was enough.

“Damn, I wish I had my glass.” Jamie shaded
his eyes, then shook his head. With long strides he paced back and
forth along the beach, not slowing his stride until Anne grabbed at
his arm. Then he winced and cursed again.

“I’m sorry, but can you please tell me what
is happening?”

“I can’t be sure, but it looks as if
d’Porteau is sailing away.”

“Sailing away! But he can’t. Wait, where are
you going?”

But Jamie didn’t take the time to answer. He
ran toward the remaining longboat, signaling to several of the men
guarding the pirates to follow. He had shoved the hull into the
water by the time they reached his side. They all splashed through
the surf; then leaped over the side and started rowing.

Anne, hands planted firmly on hips, watched
from shore wondering what the captain thought he would accomplish
by his actions.

~ ~ ~

As it turned out, nothing.

By the time he reached the spot where the two
vessels had been they were sailing out into the Caribbean, the
French Whore
trying to distance itself, the
Lost
Cause
close behind.

Anne met the longboat when it rowed back to
shore. She waited, saying nothing while Jamie climbed out and
helped pull the boat onto the sand. “It wasn’t your fault, you
know.” She fell into step beside him as he headed toward the
village.

He only glanced down at her, not saying
anything.

“You did your best.”

“Damnation, Annie. I had the Frenchman in me
grasp, and I let him go.”

“Perhaps the
Lost Cause
will catch
him.”

“Not with Deacon at the helm. He’s a fine
quartermaster but he’s not a sailor like d’Porteau.” Jamie turned
his head away in disgust. “I should have stayed onboard.”

“You couldn’t be in two places at once. And
the islanders needed you here.”

“For God’s sake, Annie, will ye stop making
excuses for me. I can recognize another failure. I’ve had enough
practice with it.”

“Jamie....” Anne reached for his hand. She
expected him to pull away, but he didn’t. Instead he stopped and
turned toward her. His fingers were gentle as they curved around
her cheek.

“Don’t concern yourself, Annie. ’Tis but
fatigue and frustration talking.”

“And pain?” Anne nodded toward the cut on his
arm that was bleeding through the bandage she wrapped about it.

“Aye.” His grin flashed white in his
grime-smeared face. “’Tis that, too.” He draped his good arm around
her shoulders. “Come, help a poor wounded pirate to his bed.”

But when they entered the small settlement it
was obvious Jamie wouldn’t get any rest. The Libertians were
jubilant. Anne had never seen them in such a mood.

Most every man had escaped from the battle
unharmed. Mort Tatum did twist his ankle and now hobbled around
with a crudely fashioned crutch propped under his arm. And of
course, Captain MacQuaid suffered a minor wound, but compared to
the last time d’Porteau visited Libertia, it was nothing.

And they’d driven him away.

“He’s learned his lesson good.”

“True enough. We won’t be seeing him in these
waters again.”

“Huzzahs for Captain MacQuaid!”

The villagers celebrated long into the night.
It was like a holiday. Despite Anne’s initial reluctance, knowing
Jamie’s state of mind, she was caught up in the excitement as
well.

Lester Perdue tuned up his violin for the
first time since d’Porteau’s initial raid. The women who could only
sit nervously wringing their hands during the battle now came to
life, cooking a feast of thanksgiving.

By unspoken agreement everyone ate together,
pulling tables and chairs into the palm-shaded common area. A pit
was dug and one of the wild pigs that roamed the island was
roasted, filling the air with mouthwatering aromas.

While the plates were heaped with pork Jamie
was called upon to speak. Anne, knowing his mood, feared he would
dampen the villagers enthusiasm. But he had nothing but praise for
the Libertians accomplishments.

Lifting a mug kept routinely topped off by a
bevy of adoring women, he toasted the island’s bravery. “Ye should
all be proud of yourselves.”

“We showed the cowardly pirate what to expect
if he ever shows his face in these parts again,” one of the equally
inebriated warriors yelled, and Jamie nodded his agreement.

“Aye. Ye showed yourselves proud. Every Jack
man of ye.” This was followed by a cheer as Jamie downed the rum,
coming up for air only when the last drop was drained.

Even Richard Cornwall joined in the mood of
the day, his mind seemingly clear. He sat beside Anne exalting the
great victory. But he never mentioned the other time d’Porteau
visited the island. And he never mentioned his son.

Anne was certainly glad for her uncle’s
rational mind, be it only temporary, but she was more concerned
about Jamie at the moment. He drank too much , more than he had
since the first time she met him. And though he said nothing of his
wound, brushing any comment aside with a wave of his strong,
long-fingered hand, she could see the white lines of pain etched
around his mouth.

But any suggestion she made that he seek out
his bed or simply rest were met with a negative shake of his head.
“Come now, Annie, don’t ye wish to have a good time?” He draped an
arm around her shoulders, leaning his face down close to hers. “Ye
heard them, Annie mine, I’m the hero of the moment. The savior of
Libertia.” He pulled her closer. “No longer the prince of lost
causes.”

When everyone had eaten their fill, the
tables were pulled aside and the dancing began. Lester Perdue’s
violin flowed from one tune to another as the villagers tapped
their toes and swung their partners about.

Anne was sitting with her uncle, Israel, and
Jamie when Matthew Baxter asked her to dance. “It’s the Cheshire
Rounds,” he said as if that would somehow make her more willing to
join him. It didn’t, of course. She wanted to stay as close to
Jamie as she could.

He worried her.

Ever since the
Lost Cause
disappeared
on the horizon he and Israel had downed mug after mug of rum. She
glanced his way, hoping he’d say something about needing her to
stay by his side... needing her at all.

But he simply lifted his mug in silent toast,
then turned back to Israel and downed his drink. Anne felt heat
sweep over her cheeks, and she pushed to her feet, taking Matthew’s
proffered hand. She didn’t look back as he led her to the center of
the common area.

“She ain’t a lass to hide her feelings be
they good or bad.” Israel leaned back on his stool and crossed his
ankles.

“What are ye rambling on about, old man?”

“Mistress Anne, as if ye didn’t know.”

Jamie knew. He knew every move she made. He
narrowed his eyes and watched as the thick-necked young man took
her hands and circled her back to the right. He was taller than her
by a head, not hard to look at, if you cared for thick necks, and
just the type of man she should be with.