Twilight of a Queen (6 page)

Jane stared at the girl, both surprised and touched. She had felt so lost, so discarded, so useless this past year. To discover that there was someone who needed her made her cousin’s rejection seem of less importance.

“I’ll be here, Meg,” she said with a tremulous smile. “I believe I can safely promise you that.”

Meg beamed and gave Jane a swift hug. But as she pulled back, the lines of the girl’s face set into Meg’s familiar somber expression.

“Can you promise me something else? That you will never ever wander off alone again as you did tonight?”

“I don’t make a habit of it, but Belle Haven is such a
peaceful place and even the paths through the woods are well worn and safe—”

“For others, maybe, but I don’t think they are for you.”

When Jane regarded her in puzzlement, Meg shifted her feet, looking uncomfortable. “I have been consulting my scrying ball again.”

Jane’s breath hitched. “Oh, Meg, you shouldn’t have. Even Ariane does not approve of you meddling with such disturbing magic. I thought you were going to get rid of your crystal.”

“I have been meaning to. I use it very infrequently because some of my visions—” Meg broke off, that unsettling expression passing through her eyes again. She appeared to give herself a mental shake. “But the last time I consulted my glass, my vision was all about you.”

“Me?” Jane took an uneasy step back from her.

“The vision was not as clear as some others I have had, but you were lost in a jungle and being preyed upon by a large ferocious black cat.”

Jane found Meg’s conjuring with her crystal every bit as alarming as the girl’s ability to force her way into Jane’s mind. But Meg looked so worried, Jane attempted to smile and make light of it.

“There is no jungle on Faire Isle and the only black cat I have seen is the kitten in the barn, although it is rather a feisty little thing. When I attempted to pick it up, it hissed and scratched. But I thought we had made our peace when I offered it a saucer of milk.”

Her words evoked no answering smile from Meg. “My visions don’t always make a great deal of sense. Just tell me you will be careful.
Promise me!”

“Very well, I—I promise.”

Meg appeared relieved, the tense set of her shoulders relaxing as she headed toward the house. As Jane followed her, her own mind was far less quiet. She could not help noting that Meg had avoided any pledge to dispose of her scrying ball.

But even more disturbing was the thought: No matter how inexplicable Meg’s visions, they had a strange way of coming true.

Spring, 1588

T
HE SHIP CUT THROUGH THE MORNING MIST, APPEARING AS
suddenly as though it had sprung from the depths of the sea itself. The sails billowed ghostlike against the pearly gray sky as the
Miribelle
bore down upon the Spanish merchant vessel.

No alarm was raised upon the
San Felipe
at first sight of the
Miribelle
. The holy cross of Spain fluttered from the mast. Only when the pennant disappeared and the
Miribelle
sailed under no flag at all, did fear spread through the Spaniards.

One seaman, more sharp-eyed than the rest, spied the carved figure adorning the prow, a snarling jungle cat ready to pounce.

“Aiee! Corsairs! The Jaguar!” the seaman shrieked.
Fear escalated into panic, the crew of the
San Felipe
diving for weapons and scrambling to load the cannons.

Aboard the
Miribelle
, Xavier swore at the freckle-faced lad who in his eagerness had lowered the pennant too soon. The
Miribelle
was not yet in range to discharge the culverins to any effect.

Dominique shrank from the captain’s fierce bellow, but there was more exasperation than anger in Xavier’s voice. Despite the frantic activity aboard the
San Felipe
, there was no way the vessel would escape. The
Miribelle
might be older and less seaworthy, but she was lighter and faster than the Spanish ship, which rode low in the water, pregnant with the promise of a rich cargo.

Fists planted on his hips, Xavier regarded the narrowing distance with grim satisfaction. All around him, the
Miribelle
was a hive of activity. His crew might be a collection of strays gathered from the gaols, alehouses, and wharves of a dozen different ports, but Xavier knew he could count on his men to pull together with the precision of the best trained naval ship.

Sea dogs readied grappling hooks, loaded muskets, and prepared the cannons, grizzled faces flushed with anticipation of the fight to come. Only Xavier did not stir, waiting … waiting for just the right moment to open fire. He was annoyed when his concentration was broken by a tug at his sleeve.

Scowling, he glanced down at the fresh-faced young man at his side. Another of his strays, but one Xavier could have done without, especially at a moment like this. Father Bernard was one of those missionaries who had ventured
to Brazil with grand notions of saving the souls of the natives.

Xavier had been obliged to rescue the priest from a tribe of Indians who were less than enthusiastic about being baptized into the Catholic faith. But the earnest priest had proved such a nuisance, there were times Xavier wished he had let the Tupi have him.

“Captain, I must protest,” Father Bernard said. “I thought you meant to forsake these—these military engagements and pursue a different course, one of exploration and enlightenment.”

“So I did until the French queen
enlightened
me by the paltry size of her purse. Besides, I don’t consider this a military engagement, merely a commercial transaction.”

“It is an act of war, my son, and France is at peace with Spain.”

“Perhaps back in the civilized courts of Europe. But you have sailed with me long enough to know that beyond the latitude that marks the borders of the New World, there is only one law.
No peace beyond the line
. Now you will oblige me by returning below.”

Xavier added in an irritated afterthought, “And I am not your son.”

He strode away, roaring out the command to fire. The
Miribelle
shook as the cannons discharged the first salvo. The
San Felipe
issued a thunderous response, neither ship causing any damage, all smoke and noise. Cannons were not as effective on the open sea as they would have been if Xavier had been able to corner the Spanish vessel in a cove.

Clapping his hands over his ears, Father Bernard trailed after Xavier. “Your men are such fierce fighters and you outnumber those Spanish merchants. This will be murder.”

“Not if they can be persuaded to be reasonable.”

“And will all your crew remain likewise?”

The priest gestured anxiously in the direction of Pietro. Stripped to the waist, his dark cheeks streaked with paint, the tall Cimmarone armed himself with both a pistol and a cutlass. The fierce expression on Pietro’s usually gentle face gave even Xavier pause.

He stalked closer, placing a cautioning hand on Pietro’s arm. “Just remember, we are not out to settle old scores. If these men surrender, I don’t intend for this to be a bloodbath. So keep your temper in check, my friend. We don’t want to horrify the good father here by behaving like—”

“Pirates?” Pietro cut in.

“I was going to say Spaniards.”

Pietro bared his teeth in a grin. “I will answer for my temper, Captain. You just look to your own.”

Something whistled through the air, a pistol ball splintering the wood of the mizzen mast. The
San Felipe
must possess at least one marksman or else someone had got off a lucky shot, coming close to putting a bullet through Father Bernard. The fool blinked, slow to comprehend his narrow escape.

Xavier gave the priest a rough shove. “Damn it! Get below. Now.”

The two ships were close enough for the grappling hooks to find purchase. The shouts, smoke, and chaos of battle intensified as Xavier drew his sword and led his men in a charge, scrambling over the side of the
San Felipe
.

The Spanish crew was easily overwhelmed between their terror of Xavier’s reputation and the ferocity of his men. Even young Dominique gave a good account of himself. The boy held his own against a much larger opponent when the captain of the Spanish ship came up behind him. Before Xavier could roar out a warning, the captain discharged his weapon straight into the boy’s back. Dominique’s eyes flew wide, crimson blossoming on his white shirt as the boy crumpled to the deck.

Bellowing with rage, Xavier cut down Dominique’s opponent and then rounded upon the Spanish captain. Their swords came together in a clatter and spark of steel. The Spaniard was a small dapper man, deft with his weapon, but Xavier beat him back with the sheer fury of his rage.

The sounds of battle, the scent of blood, the Spanish accents triggered in Xavier hot flashes of memory. The smoking ruins of the French settlement, the charred remains of the bodies, men, women, and children. The chains chafing Xavier’s wrists raw. Arms aching from being bound to the bench of the galley, the stifling sense of being buried alive, the sting of the lash against his skin.

He barely noticed the Spanish captain’s sword flying from his hand and sliding across the deck. The man’s bearded features were a blur as he sank to his knees. Xavier raised his sword to deliver the death blow, but was prevented by strong rough hands seizing his arm.

Snarling, Xavier fought to shrug free of the grip. Pietro’s face swam before him, the Cimmarone’s cool accents penetrating the haze of his anger.

“Captain! The ship is ours and that man has surrendered.”

Blinking, Xavier saw the Spanish captain cowering at his feet, his trembling hand upraised in a gesture that was part protective, part plea. Xavier flushed, feeling suddenly sick and ashamed, but he saw nothing but understanding in Pietro’s dark eyes.

Catching his breath, Xavier staggered to the deck rail until he managed to regain control.

Gazing around, he saw the truth of Pietro’s words. The ship was indeed theirs. The Spanish crew had tossed down their weapons, their posture as abject as their captain’s.

As Xavier regained his icy control, he took stock of his own men. He had lost but two. One was already dead and the life was swiftly ebbing from Dominique.

That idiot priest had disobeyed Xavier’s orders and come over to the Spanish ship. Father Bernard knelt over Dominique, attempting to take the boy’s final confession and administer the last rites. But the boy had nothing to confess except those sins he had been led into by sailing with Xavier.

Hunkering down, Xavier thrust the priest aside. Dominique clutched at Xavier’s hand, the boy’s pale face contorted with pain.

“S-sorry about the flag, Captain.”

“No matter, lad. We won. Your share of the cargo will make you a wealthy man.”

“Gold? There—there was gold?”

Xavier had no idea what was in the hold of the ship, but he nodded.

Dominique tried to smile, ended up coughing blood. His grip on Xavier’s hand slackened, but he sought Xavier’s eyes with anxious desperation.

“M-mother … sister.”

The boy could scarce get out the words, but Xavier understood the reassurance Dominique sought. He pressed the boy’s hand.

“You need not worry. I shall travel to St. Malo myself and see that they are looked after. I swear they shall not want for anything while I—”

Xavier faltered, doubting that Dominique had heard his promise. The boy’s hand went limp, his eyes empty. Xavier felt for a pulse and realized Dominique was gone.

Xavier knelt by him for a moment. How old had the boy been? Twelve? Thirteen? Xavier was hard-pressed to recall that he had been even younger than that when he had first followed his father to sea.

As Dominique’s captain, Xavier supposed he ought to murmur some words over the boy. If he had been a praying man, he would have done so, but it had been a long time since he had any faith in a god. So long he couldn’t even remember.

Releasing Dominique’s hand, he stood up, leaving Father Bernard to close the boy’s eyes and make the sign of the cross over him.

As Xavier stalked toward the Spanish captain, the defeated man had regained his feet and was trying to recover his dignity. He flinched as Xavier bore down upon him, but managed to announce in a shaky voice, “I am Capitan Miguel Antonio Sebastian de Lopez.”

Xavier sneered. “What a great deal of name for such a
little
man.”

“I must protest your unwarranted attack upon my ship, señor. This is an outrage.”

“Yes, it is.” Xavier gestured toward Dominique. “Is this your notion of honor, to shoot a boy in the back?”

“No honor is required when dealing with pirates.”

“How convenient. I am always astonished at how many codicils there are to the Spanish code of honor.”

The little man bristled. “Am I to be criticized by a French brigand with no honor at all? I suppose besides robbing me, you mean to slaughter all of my crew.”

“You and your men are my prisoners. Everyone shall be treated well enough. Except you, perhaps; I ought to hang you from the yardarm for murder.”

Captain Lopez blanched at the threat. Overhearing it, Father Bernard emitted a faint cry of protest. Ignoring them both, Xavier strode away, snapping out orders for the transferral of the prisoners and the cargo to the
Miribelle
.

The cargo proved to be a modest cache of silver and a load of brazilwood, not the treasure trove of gold that his crew always hoped for, but the wood would fetch a decent price back in the markets of Europe. Xavier ransacked the captain’s cabin for the kind of treasure that mattered most to him.

With so much vast unknown territory opening up, maps were frequently inadequate. Xavier had an unquenchable thirst for knowledge of seas he had never sailed, lands he had never seen. As he gathered up what charts, journals and letters he could find, he heard the stump of Jambe’s wooden leg as his first mate came to report.