The pirate’s delays in obeying William’s command to stand down and prepare to be boarded stretched his patience to the breaking point. He stood on the starboard side of the poop deck, trying to discern meaning from the activity aboard Vengeance’s quarterdeck. The frigate still had her guns run out, but, unlike the marines lining the side of Alexandra, muskets raised and ready to fire, the upper decks of Vengeance were mostly empty.
“Commodore, signal from the other ship. It’s Audacious, sir. They—
William cut Lieutenant Eastwick off. “Signal Audacious to flank the enemy ship and prepare to fire on my signal.”
Eastwick hesitated rather than immediately obey William’s command. “Sir, the captain of Audacious requests permission to come aboard Alexandra.”
Rather than relay his message through the third lieutenant, William marched to the forecastle himself.
“Signal Audacious to flank the enemy ship.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The midshipman grabbed the appropriate flags and hoisted them.
Audacious changed tack and moved to take up position on the other side of Vengeance.
“Now signal permission for Captain Cochrane to come aboard.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The midshipman lowered the first message and raised the second. William returned to the poop deck to keep watch on the pirates.
Half an hour later, Ned approached him.
“Thank you for your assistance with the first ship, Captain Cochrane.” William turned to his friend and protégé. “With the second pirate ship coming astern, I do not know if I could have extricated Alexandra from this battle.”
“It is my honor, sir, to have arrived in time to help. I saw the mast fall. Your handiwork?” Ned tapped his fingers against his legs, a sign of agitation that belied his calm words.
“Aye. What is going on, Ned?”
Ned glanced at Vengeance and then back at William. “You cannot fire on her, sir.”
“I know I cannot. He has Charlotte, and I cannot put her life in such jeopardy.”
“No, sir. Captain Salvador does not have Charlotte.”
William pulled the note out of his pocket and thrust it toward Ned. “He does have her. I have proof. He will pay for his crime.”
Ned turned and motioned to someone behind him. William stepped to the side—and then closed his eyes in blessed relief. Charlotte wrapped her arms around him. He returned the embrace for a moment and then took hold of her upper arms and held her away from him for closer inspection.
“You are well? Not injured?”
Charlotte shrugged his hands away and stepped back toward Ned. “I am quite well, thank you, William.”
Her downcast eyes and timid stance, with hands folded demurely in front of her, indicated she was anything but well. “Are you certain? I want you to tell me what the pirate did to you, no matter how indelicate it seems.”
Her head snapped up. “He did nothing to harm me. In fact, Captain Salvador saved my life when I…fell overboard and might have drowned. He has been nothing but solicitous and courteous toward me. And all of his crew as well.”
William looked at Ned, who kept his gaze conspicuously turned away from Charlotte. Unusual, given their conversation about Ned’s wanting to marry her last they talked.
Then Ned began to speak, explaining how he came upon Vengeance—or, more precisely, how Vengeance had come upon him. William clasped his hands behind his back and let the motion of the ship sway him from side to side.
When he got to the part about taking Charlotte off the pirate’s ship, he hesitated.
Charlotte looked up at Ned, down at her hands, and then up at William. She took a deep, unsteady breath. “William, I convinced Ned to marry me to protect what remained of my reputation.” She raised her left hand in front of her chest; a thin gold band encircled a finger.
Ned stared over William’s shoulder, expression impassive.
“Mr. Cochrane?”
“Aye, sir. It is true. The sailing master aboard Vengeance is a minister. He performed the ceremony, before witnesses, and he wrote the certificate of marriage, which we both signed. But, sir, we haven’t…the marriage is in name only. I agreed to go through the marriage ceremony and introduce her to my crew as my wife to protect her reputation, but I made her agree that we would behave toward each other in such a manner that, if you disapprove, the marriage could be annulled.”
William considered shaking both of them, perhaps knocking their heads together. Such a total and wanton lack of good sense and propriety.
Something in the back of his mind interrupted his outrage. Julia, walking circles around a bench in a garden, explaining to him how she needed him to marry her to protect her inheritance. Her terms had been not only that it would be a marriage in name only, to be annulled after a year, but that William would receive Julia’s inheritance even after the annulment.
He turned and stalked to the back of the poop deck. The cliffs around which they had followed Sister Mary lay too far away to be seen.
The arrival of Julia’s cousin and aunt, who would have used whatever means necessary to get their hands on her fortune, convinced William to accept her proposition. Julia had turned to him and asked him to be the one to marry her because she trusted him, because she believed he would protect her, because she loved him. And he loved her. Otherwise, he would not have gone through with it.
Charlotte was the same age as Julia had been when William made the mistake of walking away from her instead of proposing to her twelve years ago. And though Ned was a few years older than William had been at the time, William saw much of himself in the young captain.
He returned to his sister and her husband. “You have my blessing. You do realize, of course, that Julia will insist upon a formal wedding ceremony when we return to Tierra Dulce.”
Strangely, his statement of approval did not bring the expressions of joy he expected to see on their faces.
“Thank you, Commodore. I will have my steward pack her belongings and deliver them to Dawling to put in your cabin.”
William crossed his arms. More than just an illicit marriage plagued these two. And William would not allow himself to be dragged into the middle of it. “Belay that, Mr. Cochrane. She is your wife. Thus she is your responsibility.”
“Sir, I cannot have her aboard Audacious. She will be…has been…recognized. She—”
Charlotte made an exasperated sound. “What he means, William, is that he doesn’t want me on his ship because during the action this morning I dressed in my old uniform and joined in the fight.” She moved to stand in front of Ned. “Your ship is shorthanded. A thirteen-year-old boy was trying to command five gun crews by himself.”
Ned finally looked at her—right before he grabbed her shoulders and shook her. “That thirteen-year-old boy has more experience serving aboard a ship of the line in battle than you do. Your life was at greater risk than his. Your life is of more value than his.”
The tension ebbed from Charlotte’s shoulders. “No, Ned, it is not.”
“It is to me.” He pulled her into his arms. “You could have been killed.”
“So could you.” Charlotte’s words were muffled by Ned’s uniform coat.
William cleared his throat. “If I might interrupt, we do have a pirate ship off starboard to which we should be attending.”
Ned and Charlotte broke apart. Ned straightened his jacket with a swift tug. “Sir, if I might signal Vengeance from here?”
William stepped aside and motioned Ned toward the stern, where a midshipman and lieutenant stood waiting for orders.
Charlotte, her cheeks pink, followed Ned across the poop deck. Moments later, a colorful array of flags raised. C-H-A-R-L-E-S-L-O-T-T. The name his sister had taken in her identity as a midshipman on Audacious.
Not only had Ned formed an alliance with the pirate, Charlotte had created such a bond that she felt comfortable sharing secrets with him. William prayed it would not lead to disaster.
Salvador climbed the accommodation ladder with trepidation weighing his every step. Forming an alliance with Ned Cochrane had seemed logical, rational. Forming an alliance with William Ransome…Salvador hoped he wasn’t about to meet his doom.
The two marines standing sentry on either side of the entry port kept their muskets trained on him, while the several others lining the side kept theirs aimed at his men in the gig below.
He stopped to adjust the lace cuffs of his shirt—Serena’s idea and handiwork—and touched the fore point of his hat in return salute to the lieutenant who faced him.
“Commodore Ransome is waiting for you.” An Irishman, just like Picaro, save this one had dark hair and a wicked scar running across the right side of his face, from the top of his ear to his chin. It looked like a saber slash, its puckered, rough edges indicating it had been hastily and not neatly stitched back together, probably while the battle continued. Salvador imagined he would enjoy the telling of how the young man received such a badge of honor. For the most part, he found the Irish to be good storytellers.
The eyes of the crew speared him with their distaste for his kind and their displeasure at his presence on their ship. Although a few…he followed their gazes upward to the poop deck.
Charlotte raised her hand in greeting with a tentative smile.
He mustered a smile in return but gave no other outward sign he’d noticed her. Until he knew his own destiny, no need to give the crew any further reason to distrust having a woman aboard.
The officers of the watch in the wheelhouse saluted the Irish lieutenant as they passed by. Only once before had Salvador spent any time on a vessel larger than a frigate with a poop deck that shielded the sailing master and his mates at the wheel from the elements and a big cabin that opened onto the quarterdeck instead of being squirreled-away below it like an afterthought.
He had to give credit to the British shipbuilders. They knew how to design a craft that would create a sense of intimidation.
At the lieutenant’s knock, a burly sailor with pockmarked skin opened the door to the dining cabin and motioned him to enter.
The lieutenant stepped aside, and Salvador took that as his cue to go in alone. A long, highly polished mahogany table stretched the width of the room, ten chairs surrounding it. Ned Cochrane stood behind the chair in the center of the table directly opposite the door. Though concerned about his own future, Salvador wondered how the conversation about Charlotte between Ned and Commodore Ransome had gone.
Girding up his courage, Salvador turned to his left, removing his hat.
The man who stood at the head of the table exemplified everything a Royal Navy captain—or in this case, commodore—should be: of good height, but not overly tall, trim of build, and with piercing eyes that announced he would brook no opposition.
Ned made the introduction. “Commodore William Ransome, this is El Salvador de los Esclavos, captain of the frigate Vengeance.”
“Please have a seat, Captain Salvador.”
As soon as all three were seated, Commodore Ransome leaned forward and clasped his hands atop the table. “Captain Cochrane informs me that he has come to an agreement with you. That in exchange for leniency in the charge of abducting Miss”—William closed his eyes a moment and then seemed to regain his composure—“Mrs. Cochrane, you have agreed to assist in hunting down the pirate Shaw to rescue Mrs. Ransome.”
“Aye, Commodore. As surety, I sent my first mate aboard Audacious.”
“Yes, Mr. Cochrane informed me of this as well. And while the explanation that Mr. Declan is your future brother-in-law might be enough to make Captain Cochrane trust you, that is not good enough for me.” Commodore Ransome touched the pile of papers near the corner of the table. “I have report here of your misdeeds going back about ten years. So why should I believe you would turn your back on your unscrupulous ways once this alliance ends?”
The time had come. Salvador straightened his coat and rolled his neck. “Commodore Ransome, perhaps I should tell you about myself. At twelve years old, I entered the Royal Navy as a midshipman. My father had great expectations for me and constantly compared my actions, my feats, my successes to someone else, a young man who had become like a son to him. My father seemed to delight in pointing out my failures and explaining how this other young man had done better. So I worked harder. I finally gained promotion to a larger vessel under the command of a captain with a legendary reputation. Once I arrived on his ship, I discovered him to be a cruel taskmaster who played favorites and set his officers against each other.”
Salvador shuddered, remembering the beatings and the ridicule he’d received for not being strong enough or fast enough or smart enough. “The captain sent spurious reports of me to my father, who believed him over his own son. My father wrote to me, berating me, and told me to study longer and work harder. He also shared the successes of the young man I know he wished had been born to him rather than me.”
He locked his eyes on Commodore Ransome’s to judge his reaction to the story. So far, he showed none. “The autumn after I turned fifteen, my ship was tasked with hunting down a notorious pirate. We scoured the coast of Jamaica, Antigua, and Barbuda. In Montserrat, we were told where we could find the pirate, so we set off to find him. I suggested to the first lieutenant that the informant had misrepresented himself and was sending us into a trap. But because the captain did not like me, none of the officers heeded me. A day out from Montserrat, we were set upon by the pirate. Most of the officers were killed in the attack. The sailors were left on the hulled ship as it sank. The rest of us were taken aboard the pirate ship and told our families would be contacted for ransom. If the family could not or would not pay, we would have a choice put before us: death or joining the crew.”
William Ransome’s expression grew stony. Salvador did not have to guess which choice he would have made. “In the meantime, they put us to work. The captain took a liking to me. For the first time in my life, a man in a position of authority over me encouraged me and showed pride in my accomplishments. When six months had passed and no ransom came from my family, the captain put the choice to me. I do not believe I have to tell you what choice I made.”
“That is all very well, but I fail to see how this tale is supposed to convince me to trust you now.”
“Though I appreciated the captain’s belief in me, I did not agree with his methods. I had to stay with that crew until I had enough money of my own and could gather a crew of like-minded men. I showed the captain how he could ply his trade without all of the killing and mayhem. He took some of my suggestions. But still, I wanted to follow my own path. One day, when I was twenty, we came upon a ship coming out of port. It had just delivered its cargo—hundreds of slaves. I had no problem taking the ship, setting the crew adrift. When my captain began to divide the spoils and talked of burning the ship, I asked him if I could have the ship rather than payment.”
Salvador closed his eyes, remembering the dark hulk of a vessel. “It wasn’t much to look at, but it had good lines and was sound. A few men went with me and I recruited more. Men who would agree to abide by a strict code of conduct. Who were not after violence and notoriety, but who wanted to be at sea, who wanted to make a little gold, and who wanted to see justice done.”
He rolled his head from side to side again, the tension of reliving the past knotting his shoulders. “In the past ten years, we have liberated more than two hundred slave ships—saving thousands of souls from the degradation of human bondage. The slave ships we cannot get to before they deliver their cargo, we take as they come out of port. After all, my crew must be paid and my ship must be kept in repair.” And he occasionally liked to buy a new ship when one came on the market, as the current Vengeance had two years ago.
“And attacking ships from Tierra Dulce, a plantation that does not hold slaves? How do you justify that?” William Ransome raised a dark brow and pierced Salvador with his icy blue eyes.
“We prefer liberating slave ships before their cargo is delivered. We turn the ship over to the men and women aboard to sail back to Africa or to South America or wherever they wish to go. But they need money for food and to hire a crew if necessary. I give them the money and help them with what they need. This takes a more regular source of gold than raiding ships after they have completed their delivery.”
Salvador pulled a small journal—one that he did not keep hidden at the bottom of the trunk he’d bought for Serena—out of his pocket and handed it to the commodore.
William opened the book and slowly turned the pages. After several long minutes, he looked up. “This is a record of Tierra Dulce’s annual profits for each year since Sir Edward purchased the plantation, with an estimated net worth figured as well. Who gave you this?”
Salvador would go to his grave before admitting Jeremiah Goodland knew everything and had been passing him information for years. “That is not important. What is important is that I have kept an accounting of every farthing I have taken from the plantation. It equates to the annual income a son might expect from such a legacy.”
William snapped the book closed and slid it back down the table toward Salvador. “And why do you believe you are entitled to that? Simply because Sir Edward does not have a son does not mean that money is available for whoever wants to take it.”
Salvador rose and, pressing his fists against the tabletop, leaned over it. “Even though you tried to steal his affections away, Commodore Ransome, to ingratiate yourself to such a point he would turn his back on his own offspring, I regret to inform you that Admiral Sir Edward Witherington does have a son.”
He straightened and pushed his chair out of the way. “I am Michael Witherington.”