For Her Love (26 page)

They should have left a note, Giles thought, feeling a little irritated and more than a little uneasy. Port Royal was not exactly a city suited to pleasant strolls. Restless, he walked swiftly down the street to the inn where he and Grace often supped, but the proprietress said she’d not seen Grace since the day before. Shopping, he wondered, taking a meal elsewhere? Suddenly this city that boasted but two main streets seemed impossibly large. How was Renault with a weapon? Could he defend Grace if called upon to do so?

He headed back to the docks on the off chance they might have thought to go looking for him. Mayhap he had merely passed them on the street. He arrived at the harbor and spotted Geoff just leaving
Destiny
.

“Geoff!” he called.

“Giles! I’d have thought you’d be back home with your bride.”

“‘Twas my intent, but I seem to have lost her.” He tried to smile and make the comment lightly, but his throat was tight and his voice sounded unnatural, even to his own ear.

“Y’ought to be more careful with your wenches,” Geoff chided. Then he grew serious as well. “I’d have stopped by, but after talking to Faith last night, I thought to leave you two alone awhile. Are you sure Grace knows you’re back?”

“Aye, I’m sure. She was there when I sent for my man, and he returned with a message that she awaited me.”

“Aye, Faith said Grace was staying, but also that there was much between you.”

“She has the right of that. You don’t know what it meant to me, having Faith to help me out. It seems that between her and Grace’s uncle, we might have a fighting chance. ‘Course, I’ll have to find her yet.”

Geoff frowned. “Her uncle?”

“Aye,” Giles replied. “‘Twas a stoke of luck, that. I picked up a passenger in Tortuga, and who should it be but Mistress Welbourne’s brother?”

Geoff took hold of Giles’s shoulder in a crushing grip. “Iolanthe’s brother?”

At the look on Geoff’s face, alarm surged through Giles’s blood, and his scalp began to tingle as it often had just before a battle. “Aye, him. He told me everything that happened to her. It was terrible, and she was but a child.”

“He told you everything? Did he tell you that the terrible thing that happened, happened at his hands?”

Now Giles was cold, ice cold. The man had looked so damned much like Iolanthe. But Giles had shaken that off. He had ignored his instincts. He told himself that physical resemblance didn’t mean that the similarities went any deeper. But there had been something in the eyes, the same coldness.

“He said a slave…” he protested.

Geoff uttered a sharp expletive under his breath. “Grace told Faith. She said that her uncle had hurt her, done terrible things. Where is he now, Giles?”

“He went ahead of me to see her.” It was, indeed, very like sailing into battle. There were those moments of doubt, the edge of panic, the icy touch of fear, but when the fight was upon them, all of that vanished. Hot anger poured through his veins, banishing the cold. The usual noise and confusion of the docks began to sort itself out into neat pieces. “Ask about the taverns,” Giles said, his tone the same clipped voice of command he used on board his ship. “See if anyone remembers seeing either of them. I’ll check here.”

His gray eyes scanned the harbor and he searched through his memory for every ship he had passed or sighted during the day. Which had since sailed? He never spared a thought for the fact that he had just given an order to a man he had ever considered his captain.

By the time Geoff met up with Giles on board
Reliance
, they had both heard the same story. A beautiful woman fitting Grace’s description had been seen walking down High Street with what appeared to be two pirates and a dark-haired Frenchman, given his style of dress. They had been headed toward the docks. From what Giles could glean, she had last been seen somewhere around
La Dame de la Mer
, a French pirate vessel that had set sail an hour or two earlier. No one seemed to know where it was bound. Pirate ships seldom had a specific destination.

“I’ve twelve men of my own,” Giles told Geoff. “I need more to chase the likes of D’Olivier and his cutthroat crew. How many on your ship right now?”

“Not many more.”

“Two dozen should do it.”

“Not if we have to engage D’Olivier on the high seas.”

Giles smirked. “You’ve not taken the measure of his ship lately. Bloody miracle
La Dame de la Mer
hasn’t sunk of her own accord. Get your men. We leave tonight.”

“Wait a minute, Giles. You’re the level-headed one, remember? ‘Twill be well past dark ere we can take on supplies and set sail, and we’ve no idea where to go. The Caribbean Sea is a big place, y’know.”

Giles turned to his friend, his mind well set. “I can sail out of this bloody harbor in my sleep, and I know just where we’re headed. Welbourne Plantation.”

“Welbourne? From what Faith told me, Welbourne would kill Renault. He’ll know nothing.”

Giles shook his head. “God, I’m an idiot. Two urgent missives directing me, specifically, to come to the aid of a
French
privateer I barely know, one who can’t even write. And then, by pure chance, I happen upon Jacques Renault.”

“Your engagement was less than three weeks long. Renault couldn’t have learned about the wedding and then sent for you so fast.”

“Nay, but someone else could. Someone who learned of our engagement immediately. Someone who could summon Renault and me simultaneously. Someone who hates Grace and would stop at nothing to see her unhappy.”

“Iolanthe Welbourne,” Geoff confirmed.

“Mayhap no one here knows where D’Olivier is sailing
La Dame de la Mer
, but I’d wager my ship that Iolanthe knows where Renault is taking Grace.”

Aside from architecture that was decidedly more Spanish, the buildings covered in pale adobe, Havana was not unlike Port Royal. Spanish was the predominate language, but the din in streets and taverns was heavily laced with Portuguese, Italian, Dutch, even a good deal of English and French, for Havana knew no enemies. Spain and its rivals were an ocean away. Here, anyone with gold in his pockets was counted a friend. In fact, Havana was even more permissive than Port Royal, and so it was not only popular with pirates and the like, but it was the capitol city for European spies. Aye, one could buy anything in Havana, whores, slaves, traitorous secrets, along with goods from the world over.

The glistening buildings made the street seem sunnier in contrast to Port Royal’s Tudor-style structures, but the brightness did nothing to soothe Grace’s horror. It seemed impossible that she was about to be auctioned off at a block right in the middle of a sun-drenched square in the center of town. Such an unconscionable act was best suited to dark alleys or decrepit buildings in the dark of night. Her hands were bound so tightly behind her back that she could feel the hemp biting into her flesh. Jacques led the way while one of the pirates from on board the ship shoved her along from behind. He wore a sheathed cutlass hanging at his side by a sash, and she could hear it rattle softly and dangerously with each step.

The auction block was surrounded by pens of Africans, each one rented by an individual slaver. She scrutinized all of them, trying to ascertain whether or not the Whites in charge might speak English. Most of them spoke in rapid Spanish among themselves, so it seemed useless to try to enlist their aid.

Toward the rear of the auction block, Jacques stopped and beckoned another man over with his hand. Grace’s captor stopped her several feet away and whispered in her ear, “Listen wench, ‘old still and don’t say nothin’.”

While Jacques and the slaver spoke, Grace perused the enclosure next to her. To her complete repugnance, it was filled with women. There were a number of dark Africans, as Grace would have expected, but there were also lighter ones, some appeared Arabian, others East Indian and Oriental. There were even white women in tattered garments. Some wept, some stared blankly, some simply looked bored until a particularly handsome or well-dressed man strolled by. Then their faces lit with hard smiles and they beckoned to the men in languages Grace didn’t understand.

It would have been easy to allow the sight to overwhelm her. Easy to become one of the women who wept or whose faces were masks of hollow-eyed shock. She gave her head a shake and strained to catch Jacques’s conversation. It was in French, a language she could speak, thanks to her father. His commerce with Saint-Domingue had left him quite fluent, and he had insisted that she learn it, as well.

Jacques and the slaver walked casually over to her, and the pirate, seeming to know the custom, forced her to turn for inspection. The slaver, a squat man whose sun-dried face defied any guess at his age, actually pulled back her lips to peer at her teeth. Grace jerked her head away and exclaimed, “
Mon pêre est trés riche! Il payera le rançon pour moi
.”

Both men laughed, and Jacques replied, “He knows that your father is rich. Of course, I have also explained that your mother was his mulatto slave. It is unlikely that he believes your offer of ransom.”

“
Vous avez dit elle parle Anglais
,” said the slaver.

“
Oui. Elle parle Français et Anglais. Je n’ai su pas.
”

The slaver smiled and Jacques turned to Grace. “I did not know that you spoke French. It makes you more valuable, to be able to understand men’s commands in two languages. I suppose Spanish is too much to hope for?”

She glared at him through narrow eyes. “
Cochon!
” It seemed an insult to pigs, but she didn’t know any of the words she would have rather called him.

“
Quel marmot!
” the slaver said with a chuckle.

“Did he just call me a woodchuck?” Grace demanded.

“Brat,” Jacques corrected with a sneer.

“
Une
vierge avec beaucoup d’esprit
,” the slaver said. “
C’est bon. Les bordels payeront beaucoup d’argent pour la.
”

Perfect, Grace thought wryly. Apparently insulting her uncle and showing some spirit had also only increased her value, along with the fact that Jacques had apparently told this man about her virginity.

The slaver looked her over one last time and barked, “
Viens
.” Come. He opened a gate and shoved her into the wooden pen with the other women before moving on to talk to someone else. She and Jacques both looked quickly around them. The gate and perimeter of the pen were guarded by three enormous African men with gleaming ebony skin. They possessed neither firearms nor swords, but each held a whip coiled loosely in his hand, as though poised to unfurl it upon the back of anyone who dared to cross him.

Jacques looked back at Grace, triumph in his eyes. “I think that I can leave you in their capable hands.
Monsieur
LaMonte will handle your sale. Even after he has taken his generous commission, I am quite sure that I will have a sizable purse to ensure my enjoyment of this little excursion.”

“And when my father finds out?”

“He will be furious with me, but he will not touch me. My father tolerates yours only for Iolanthe’s sake. He will not allow Edmund Welbourne anywhere near me.”

“Iolanthe,” Grace gasped. She hadn’t even thought of it before, but now, she was certain of the answer even as she demanded, “Is she behind all of this? She told you of my marriage and where to find me, didn’t she?”

“Not that Edmund can prove.”

Grace leaned against the wooden side of the enclosure, only to be shoved back by a large, black hand. She looked over at the guard who gazed impassively back at her.

“You see, Grace,” Jacques crooned, “your kind turn so easily upon each other. All those years you wasted feeling sorry for these Africans, and now, they will deliver you into bondage.”

She ignored the taunt. “My father may not be able to get to you, but Giles can. And you had better have a care for your sister. The moment Giles tells Father what became of me, her life will take a turn for the worse.”

“She despises your provincial father. With just cause, she can leave him, come home where she belongs. He is the one who had better have a care. If she leaves, she will take our father’s slaves with her. Are you so certain you mean that much to Welbourne, or will he endure the loss of his African brat in exchange for his plantation’s labor force?”

She had no answer for that, and he seemed to read it on her face, for as she faltered, he laughed. “Accustom yourself to being scrutinized and purchased,
ma chère
, for it is to be your lot in life.”

He backed away to be swallowed by the throngs of people who passed, and his cruel face was quickly replaced by scores of men ogling the occupants of the corral. Grace was not to be undone. She knew that Giles was partly responsible for the fearsome reputation that
Destiny
had obtained in the Spanish Caribbean in her privateer days, but his name would not inspire the same fear as that of the captain of that vessel.

In a loud, ringing voice, she proclaimed, “
Mon frère est Capitaine Geoffrey Hampton. Il se battra pour moi. Si vous m’achetez, il vous touera!
Captain Geoffrey Hampton is my brother. He will fight for me. If you buy me, he will kill you. Do you hear me? I must be released, or the man who buys me will incur the wrath of my brother!
Combien des Espagnols ont se batté avec Capitaine Hampton? Combien des les Espagnols ont survivu? Il payera le rançon pour moi!
He will pay my ransom! How many Spaniards have fought against my brother and lived? Very few, I assure you!”

Most of the men passing by the enclosure gave her curious looks. A few simply laughed. A guard, the same one who had pushed her away from the side of the pen earlier, snapped his whip at her, tearing her sleeve and biting into the flesh on her arm. Burning pain shot through, silencing her. Then he went back to staring apathetically into the crowd.

Grace’s head sank to her chest, even as her heart sank into her stomach. She had expected her threats to create a stir of fear, but either no one understood her or no one cared. She jerked her head back up again when a soft voice with a slight Spanish accent cut through the din.