The Pirate and the Puritan (34 page)

He should hate Felicity. He
should see her for the conniving women she was. Even Samantha Linley would be
impressed. Unfortunately, his heart still beat faster at the thought of
Felicity Kendall. And with each throb, the knife there twisted.

Solomon staggered up beside Drew
and shouted something that was lost in the roar of the waves. Drew shook his
head. Solomon raised his voice to the pitch of a kettledrum. “The navigator
wants to know where in the hell you’re going.”

“Just hell in general. Care to
join me?”

Solomon shook his head and
pointed to the small cabin used for navigation. Drew signaled to one of the men
on deck to take the helm, before following Solomon into the shelter.

Pulling off his hat and canvas
jacket left Solomon relatively dry, while Drew stood dripping water onto the
floor. “I’ve been to hell. It was a sugar plantation on Barbados and, as I
remember, it was your idea to leave.”

Drew peeled off his shirt, and
Solomon tossed him a dry piece of cloth. He squeezed excess water from his hair
and dried off his upper body. When he felt relatively dry, he approached the
large desk covered with maps. The navigator stepped away.

“Go below and get some rest.”
Drew took the compass from the tired man.

He waited for the navigator to
leave before he spoke. “That plantation wasn’t really hell, just one of her
many settlements, my friend. The real place exists only in the darkest parts of
one’s own heart.”

Drew lifted the top map, glancing
beneath it. When he didn’t find what he searched for, he bent down and rifled
through a chest below the table.

He stood and unfurled a map on
top of the others. “This is the place.”

Solomon glanced over his
shoulder. “The Orient. That’s on the other side of the world.”

“Exactly.”

“What about Felicity?”

Drew picked up a divider. He
swung the points of the instrument across the map. “It’s been my experience
that when your loved one points a gun at your heart, it’s a signal her
affection has waned.”

Solomon ignored the map,
scrutinizing Drew instead. “The British could have coerced her.”

Drew studied the map in hopes of
diverting Solomon’s interest away from himself. He felt like an open wound and
he feared it showed.

“They could have, and she could
have aimed for my knees.”

Solomon folded his arms over his
chest. “Your bruised manhood is no reason to leave her in danger.”

Drew put down the instrument and
faced Solomon. “You weren’t there. The little witch fired a pistol at my heart
at two paces. Thank God I neglected to teach her to aim.”

Solomon finally glanced at the
map. “Maybe she missed you on purpose.”

“Don’t worry about Felicity.
They’re likely to make her governor of Barbados by the time this is over.”

“What of Ben? You’re abandoning
him too?”

“I feel for Benjamin, but
Felicity is his flesh and blood. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

“Miss Kendall’s rejection must
have wounded you deeply to make you turn your back on Ben. I don’t think I’ve
ever seen you like this.” Solomon pointed to a spot on the map. “I’ve always
wanted to visit China. I think it would be good for Hugh to see the world.”

Drew glared at Solomon’s downcast
face. He picked up the weights holding down the map, letting it curl up on
Solomon’s nose. “Ben’s in much better care with Felicity as his protector.
She’ll secure his release in a week with stories about me that will make
Blackbeard look like a suckling babe.”

The portal leading from the deck
tentatively creaked open. Drew expected to see Hugh, who’d been ordered below
deck, but instead a white-faced Avery Sneed stumbled into the room. “Heard we
were engaging the British. I’m ready for duty, Captain.”

“Sorry, Avery, but we’ve outrun
them.” Drew stepped toward the man with the intention of helping him back to
his hammock.

The second mate clutched his side
and wavered on his feet but straightened at Drew’s approach. “No need for your
assistance, Captain. I’m as strong as I ever was.”

“Back to your quarters, Mr.
Sneed.” Solomon barked the order. He motioned Avery through the door with a
wave of his hand, making no move to help him. “You’ll have the helm tonight,
and with the impending British threat, we don’t have room for mistakes.”

Avery nodded. He limped from the
room with his head held high and his back straight. Drew stood in the open
portal, watching him go. The rain had stopped, but the strong winds shoved at
the wounded man’s thin form. When he disappeared below deck without falling
flat on his face, Drew closed the door.

“Do you see? She can even raise
the dead—and they call me
El Diablo
.”

“Felicity means well, despite her
tactics. She’s not a killer. You’re mistaken about what happened.”

Drew stepped around Solomon to
return to the navigation desk. Solomon hadn’t experienced the sensation caused
by having the woman you love aim a pistol at your heart. Drew had almost been
disappointed when she missed. Maybe then he could have hated her and not felt
as if he’d left a vital organ behind.

For his own sake, he changed the
subject. “You’re not going to let Avery return to duty tonight. That’s an order
if it has to be.”

“I traded some of your brandy for
laudanum in New Providence. I’ll slip some in his grog,” Solomon said.

“You’re getting crafty, Solomon.
Learning tricks from me?”

Solomon laced his hands behind
his back. “No. Felicity gave me the idea. After treating Avery, she thought
having a sedative on board would be useful.”

“All of those uses no doubt had
something to do with my demise.” Drew rolled up the map of the Orient and
tossed it back into the trunk.

Solomon’s eyes widened in
exaggerated surprise. “We’re not going to China after all?”

Drew pulled a map from the bottom
of the stack and placed it on top. “We’ll skirt the islands close to Barbados
to make sure I’m right about Ben’s safety. At least I’ll have a clear
conscience when I retreat in disgrace.”

“We can also make sure Felicity
stays out of trouble.”

Drew laughed, surprised he still
could. “Solomon, Felicity doesn’t find trouble. She creates it.”

***

Admiral Meldrick looked down his
hooked nose at Felicity. “Miss Kendall, do you have any idea of the trouble
you’re in?”

She lifted her tired gaze. “But I
don’t know where he would go.”

The British admiral slapped his
riding crop across his gloved palm. “He didn’t take you to an island where he
might have a home or to anyplace where he feels safe?”

“I’ve already answered that.”

“Answer it again.” He brought the
riding crop across the table in a loud whack.

She had stopped jumping at the
sound two hours earlier. Her elbow propped on the table kept her head from
drooping. “I’m tired. I don’t know anything else to tell you.”

He picked up a lantern and held
it close to her face. “You’ve told us nothing. You know we can have your father
tortured before he hangs.”

She glared at him in spite of the
light hurting her weary eyes. “I’ve had an awful day, and I would like to rest
now.” Behind her, a soldier shifted his feet in the powdery sand accumulated on
the planked floor. She could feel the other soldiers’ unease as well. Admiral
Meldrick must have sensed it too because he returned the lantern to the table
and paced away from her.

She’d not been allowed to leave
the tavern since the skirmish that morning. Meldrick had been furious at the
debacle. Many British were wounded, but only two had died—the man who had been
skewered with the dagger and the marksman Felicity had shot. The young man
lingered for an hour before he finally succumbed to his wounds. It was an hour
she would relive in her nightmares.

Admiral Meldrick paced back to
her, the pleasant smile curving his lips an indication that he’d calmed down,
or that he was going to eat her whole.

“Excuse my temper, Miss Kendall.
The Duke of Foxmoor chose me for this mission and you’ve made me look a fool.
The duke is a powerful man. He’s promised me his favor for bringing him
El
Diablo’s
head. He could help you too and, more importantly, your father.”

She stared through him without
answering or acknowledging she’d heard. He’d said nothing new. He asked the
same questions and made the same threats repeatedly. Anything else she might do
or say in her near delirious condition would only cause her father and herself
more harm.

Admiral Meldrick strained to
maintain his grin. The lines on his face grew frightening. “I want you to
think. Did Andrew Crawford mention a home or friends in the area?”

She’d considered telling them of
Drew’s island, since she didn’t have any idea of its location. Even if she
wanted to, she couldn’t tell the British how to get there, but the secluded
inlet was Hugh and Solomon’s hiding place as well. She couldn’t risk
inadvertently condemning them to a life of slavery. Bringing herself to think
of the well-mannered Solomon as a pirate proved as difficult as convincing
herself Drew was a killer.

She rocked her head back and
forth in the cradle of her hand. “No. I don’t know who his friends are,” she
whispered.

Admiral Meldrick’s riding crop
smashed across the table. “Have you forgotten, at least five witnesses saw you
murder one of His Majesty’s men?”

“I was aiming at
El Diablo
.
I missed. I told you that already.”

The lie stuck in her throat every
time she told it. Admitting to her crime would not bring the marksman back.
Lying might keep her father and herself alive. Obviously, Admiral Meldrick
didn’t believe her. He shook his wigged head and paced in the other direction.

Running into the British soldiers
had not been a blessing after all. Everything Drew had said about the treatment
she would receive from King George’s representatives had turned out to be true.
With each passing moment, she dug herself deeper into a hole that would bury
her father, and it appeared she would be going under with him.

Her choice to save Drew had been
a reaction, not a thought-out plan. Knowing the consequences of what she’d done
and having to live with the man’s death on her conscience didn’t make her
regret saving Drew’s life. He thought she’d betrayed him. Even that was as it
should be. Yet despite her resolve and the redemption of her soul, she’d wanted
to take Drew’s hand when he’d offered it to her.

A commotion outside the tavern
warranted only a slight lifting of her head. She’d not eaten since before she’d
found Drew’s flag and had slept only for a few short hours. The weight of her
head seemed immense. Holding it up with her tired neck represented a colossal
task.

She glanced toward the door.
Captain McCulla entered the room, propelled by two soldiers. Felicity found the
strength to sit straight. A headache started at the top of her neck and wrapped
around to her eyes. Her resolve to remain quiet didn’t stop things from getting
worse. Surely she was being punished.

“This man claims he was
El
Diablo’s
prisoner.” The soldier holding up McCulla’s right side adjusted
his grip. The red-faced captain had turned crimson and his head wobbled on his
neck. He was falling-down drunk.

Admiral Meldrick sauntered
regally toward McCulla. He stopped short and waved his riding crop in the air.
“Good heavens, but this man’s foul. This had better not be a waste of my time,
because it certainly is an affront to my senses.”

“Aye, sir. I got information for
you. That bloody bastard
El Diablo
is right in this very harbor waiting
to be plucked,” slurred McCulla. “I can take you to him.”

Admiral Meldrick covered his
mouth and nose with a lace-trimmed handkerchief. The gold fringe on his
immaculate white uniform shimmered with his movement. “Your information appears
to be at least a day old. A vessel in my fleet gave the ruffians in question a
merry chase only to return empty-handed less than an hour ago. If you can tell
me where
El Diablo
can be found—and I assure you it’s nowhere near New
Providence—I’ll be glad to entertain further discussion on the matter. If not,
be gone.”

McCulla wiped the back of his
hand across his mouth. “If you provide a bottle of rum, milord, I can tell you
everything about the thievin’ bastard, including his real name.”

Disgust appeared undisguised on
Meldrick’s face. “Remove this drunkard from my sight.” The admiral pivoted on
his heel, dismissing McCulla.

“Wait. I can tell you about his
ship, about his crew—” When he spotted Felicity, McCulla swallowed his
sentence. He lifted his arm and pointed at her. “That’s his whore, right there.
She helped him with everything. She’s probably spying for him so he can come
back and slit your throats in the night.”

“Indeed.” Meldrick’s gaze swung
to Felicity, then back to McCulla. “Lovers, you say?”

Felicity knew better than to
speak.

McCulla licked his dry lips. “She
had the run of the bleedin’ ship. They planned to let her da take their
punishment while they rutted like animals. You should ’ave seen the way he had
her dressed, not all prim and proper like she is now.”

Meldrick smiled. “Get Mr. McCulla
a bottle of the libation of his choice.”

All traces of Felicity’s
exhaustion were swept away by fear.

Meldrick dropped his handkerchief
to the floor, carefully placing his knee on the cloth so as not to soil his
crisp white breeches. He knelt beside Felicity and gently took her hand. “You
failed to mention you were Andrew Crawford’s lover. Is that why you ventured
from Boston to Barbados in the first place?”

She started to speak, but the
admiral held up his other hand. “Don’t bother to deny it, Miss Kendall. Your
cheeks have turned a most delightful shade of red.”