Authors: Kerry Newcomb
Mad Morgan (14 page)
“And be discovered by that one-eyed witch who guards you? She'd
cast an evil spell and rot my manhood. I'd hate to lose my staff now when I've finally found such a proper use for it.”
cast an evil spell and rot my manhood. I'd hate to lose my staff now when I've finally found such a proper use for it.”
“I agree,” Elena Maria giggled as he leaned down and kissed her hip.
“Then I must return to Purselley's jail.”
“And there you will remain.”
“Until tomorrow night. I shall not wait for Sir Richard to act. I'll plead my case before the court when I reach England, on my oath. I shall see Purselley removed no matter what the cost. And I'll buy me a proper title. Then I'll go no more a'roaming, but return to live a quiet life here.”
“And plague my people no longer?”
“Only every chance I get. After all, your Don Alonso will not rest until he has avenged himself.”
“You hardly know him.”
“Vengeance is a subject I am well versed in.” Morgan stood and walked to the window. She disturbed him. Up until now, the Dons had been a faceless lot, each of them guilty for what had befallen young Henry Morgan long ago. But Elena Maria was different. She was the enemy, or at least she was supposed to be. But this woman had awakened a fire in his blood. Being with her made him see beyond his days of raids and plunder and the careless life of a freebooter. A man ought to aspire to more.
“Meet me aboard the
Santa Rita
tomorrow night. I will take you away with me. You have no love for Don Alonso.”
Santa Rita
tomorrow night. I will take you away with me. You have no love for Don Alonso.”
“No ⦔ she agreed. “Still I have my duty.”
“Duty is nothing but a set of shackles. Come and be free.”
“You don't know what you ask, Señor.”
“Be with me.”
“I cannot.”
“Your eyes say yes.” He kissed her again and then walked to the window. “Tomorrow night,” he said, and disappeared over the balcony. He landed catlike in a bed of hibiscus blossoms. He heard the sound of approaching horsemen and crouched in the shadows and waited, biding his time.
The minutes crept past, then, out of the gloom, Sir Richard Purselley arrived, walking his mount along the drive and across the front of the house, and then vanished behind the estate, no doubt on his way to the stable. He was followed by a pair of soldiers who rode slumped in the saddle, half asleep and blindly following the governor's lead.
Morgan wondered what Sir Richard was up to and decided it had
to be nothing good. He waited for the drive to clear, then scrambled out from cover and trotted across the driveway and worked his way into the trees below the terrace where he had ground-tethered the mount he had stolen from a pen in town. Before dropping out of sight he turned to look back at the front of the governor's estate and the dark opening that was the doorway out onto the balcony.
to be nothing good. He waited for the drive to clear, then scrambled out from cover and trotted across the driveway and worked his way into the trees below the terrace where he had ground-tethered the mount he had stolen from a pen in town. Before dropping out of sight he turned to look back at the front of the governor's estate and the dark opening that was the doorway out onto the balcony.
Was she watching him?
“Henry Morgan,” he said beneath his breath, “she's turned you into Jack-pudding. Ah well ⦠I suppose someone had to prick the chart and set me on my way.”
Being with Elena Maria was like sailing through a storm and emerging unscathed only to find oneself on an entirely different course and longing to dare the elements again.
Where would it lead?
For now, back to jail.
E
xcept for the half dozen Royal Marines loitering about the perimeter of the blockhouse beneath the noonday sun, Morgan had the place to himself.
El Tigre
was caged, but at least he had room to prowl. Sir William and the other members of his crew who had made the climb to the blockhouse marveled at their captain's continued good spirits.
xcept for the half dozen Royal Marines loitering about the perimeter of the blockhouse beneath the noonday sun, Morgan had the place to himself.
El Tigre
was caged, but at least he had room to prowl. Sir William and the other members of his crew who had made the climb to the blockhouse marveled at their captain's continued good spirits.
“I've rarely seen such long faces,” Morgan chuckled. He looked well fed and rested and somewhat bemused by his situation.
“And I think you've gone and taken leave of your senses. Best I brew you up some medicinals. I dare say a pot of soursop tea will bring you back,” Sir William said. He began searching in his leather pouch for the proper ingredients, an oilskin packet of dried leaves.
Voisin and Israel Goodenough, with his already morose features, nodded sagely. The two men concurred with the physician. They were still puzzled by Morgan's behavior. Oddly enough, as far as Morgan was concerned, Nell Jolly seemed the most distraught. This was the first time she had accompanied the others. The woman acted embarrassed to be here, and seemed ill-at-ease.
“This is a bad thing. I like none of it,” said Rafiki Kogi where he stood at the windows, peering through a crack in the shutters. When he was certain the two guards were otherwise disposed, he turned back and removed a brace of pistols from under his shirt. “C'mon, Captain,
mnataka niwasaidie
âlet us help you.”
mnataka niwasaidie
âlet us help you.”
“Put those away, my friend. I am not going anywhere, at least not until tonight.” Morgan propped his feet on the edge of the long oaken table that dominated the center of the room, and sagged in his chair. The rest of the furnishings consisted of eight cots, several sea chests whose contents were unknown, a barrel of salt fish and another of water, and a scattering of chairs and stools. A couple of basins had been left on a long table at one end of the room, iron pots hung above a hearth for preparing the meals. Pots and pans and wooden bowls and plates lined a nearby shelf. The front door opened and a rotund, red-haired Scot entered the room. “Besides,” said Morgan. “I've grown fond of Sergeant McCready's cooking. I'd hate to miss dinner.”
Robert McCready glanced up on hearing his name and, stepping out of the sunlight, paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the interior. McCready carried a basket under one arm, a musket was slung across the other. He looked over at Morgan, touched a knuckle to his forehead as a salute and then paused by the door, taking note of Rafiki's pistols. He frowned and then continued over to the table where he set the basket down in front of Morgan. “Here now, you wouldn't be plotting mischief, Captain Morgan? You gave your word about escaping.”
“Not in the slightest,” Morgan grinned. “Mister Kogi is just showing off this fine set of pistols he took off one of the Dons in Maracaibo.” He leaned forward in his chair, lifted the cloth that covered the contents of McCready's basket. The marvelous aroma of spices and fresh-baked bread wafted into the air.
Morgan sighed in satisfaction. “Never fear, I'll not run off unless I take you with me. I dare say I've grown accustomed to a hot pasty with my tea.” He removed a pocket-shaped loaf of bread the size of his fist. The pasty was stuffed with roast pork, squash, plantain, and sugary yams. Golden-brown juices seeped from a pinprick in the crust.
Morgan took a bite, closed his eyes, and savored the experience, the meat and its juices, the peppery sauce, and vegetables blended together in a most delicious marriage of flavors. He nodded approval to the sergeant, who beamed with pride, then the buccaneer slid the basket over toward his companions.
Voisin hurried forward, his stomach growling, and helped himself to one of the delicacies. The Frenchman hesitated halfway through a mouthful and saw Sir William and the others glowering at him.
“What is it?” Voisin asked.
“Little thief. We came to free Captain Morgan, not dine with him!” Nell blurted out.
So far, no one knew who had betrayed Henry Morgan although some suspected the Black Cleric might have had a hand in it; Sir William's daughter encouraged such gossip all she could. “And if none of you will join me in this, then I shall face the English on my own.” She glowered at the sergeant. McCready squirmed beneath her cutting glare and shifted his stance.
Guilt fueled her indignation. Curse her foolish heart. How could this have happened? She knew her actions were beyond forgiveness. She had only intended to alert Sir Richard so that he would bring Elena Maria de Saucedo across the bay to Kingston, removing her from the proximity of Port Royal and Captain Henry Morgan. Purselley's actions had caught Nell completely by surprise. Morgan's imprisonment left her shaken. She parted her coat and dropped a hand to the knife and pistol tucked in her belt. “Henry Morgan shall not hang.”
“I don't intend to,” Morgan said. He stood and clapped McCready on the shoulder and led the sergeant to the front door before things got out of control. “Now, âMother' McCready, on your next visit, a few more bananas and some mangoes would be nice.” Morgan clapped the sergeant on the shoulder and placed a gold doubloon in the palm of his hand. “I'll have another supply of spirits for you and the lads tonight.” The soldier's objections died aborning as his hand closed around what was enough to keep him running whores for a month.
“As you wish, Captain Morgan,” McCready said, and slipped through the open door into the sunlit yard. Morgan waved to the other guards then closed and secured the door with a makeshift barricade consisting of a length of strong rope and an oaken bench. With the final knot tied, he continued on over to one of the windows overlooking the sea and leaned his elbows on the sill, allowing the sunlight and sea breeze to wash over his sun-bronzed features. Below him, a straight drop of a couple of hundred feet to the rocky coast prevented a man from crawling out and making good his escape.
“Nell's right,” Sir William said, acknowledging his daughter as he addressed Morgan. “I never thought you'd let Purselley have his way. For the past few days me and the lads here have been climbing this bloody hill, checking on you, waiting for your orders to storm the place and bring you back to Port Royal. All we need is a word from you. But you never give it.” The physician scratched his jaw. “What's
your plan, Captain? Surely you don't aim for the likes of Sir Richard Purselley to keep you here till you rot.”
your plan, Captain? Surely you don't aim for the likes of Sir Richard Purselley to keep you here till you rot.”
“Not hardly,” Morgan soberly replied. “And if he starts building a gallows before nightfall, then you beauties come a'running.” He lingered at the window to watch the rolling tides, the azure sky dotted with gulls and terns, and off to the north, the pristine arrangement of streets and houses, shops and gardens, the port Jamaica's landed gentry called home.
Kingston, look at her
, he thought,
she sits astride the hill, genteel and gracious as a lady and across the bay, her wanton sisterâdisreputable, aye, and dangerous, but far more fun
. But of late, the reckless existence he had known and freely followed was not enough. His encounter with Doña Elena Maria had disturbed all his plans. For the first time in his life he had begun to think of something beyond the next raid against the Spanish, beyond a future defined by a freebooter's unholy trinity: a warm bed, a willing lass, and rum aplenty. He wanted something more.
Kingston, look at her
, he thought,
she sits astride the hill, genteel and gracious as a lady and across the bay, her wanton sisterâdisreputable, aye, and dangerous, but far more fun
. But of late, the reckless existence he had known and freely followed was not enough. His encounter with Doña Elena Maria had disturbed all his plans. For the first time in his life he had begun to think of something beyond the next raid against the Spanish, beyond a future defined by a freebooter's unholy trinity: a warm bed, a willing lass, and rum aplenty. He wanted something more.
“Tell us, then, what would you have us do?” Nell said, biting her lower lip. She wanted to confess her treachery, to bare her soul before them all, but could not bring herself to do it.
“Keep the lads in check,” Morgan told them. “Port Royal is our home. Ours. We must not jeopardize this by an attack on the English troops. I will not see us hounded from one cay to another throughout the Caribbean.” Morgan turned his back to the blue horizon and faced them. “Sir Richard cannot afford to free me. And now I suspect he may have second thoughts about taking me to England. So I shall go without him. Will Jolly, get me twenty good men. Meet me aboard the
Santa Rita.
We'll steal her tonight and take her around the point to the mouth of the Black River. We'll provision her there then set sail for England. I shall stand before the court of King Charles and answer these charges of piracy.”
Santa Rita.
We'll steal her tonight and take her around the point to the mouth of the Black River. We'll provision her there then set sail for England. I shall stand before the court of King Charles and answer these charges of piracy.”
“I am told it's a bleak ride across the Thames from Newgate Prison to Execution Dock,” Sir William muttered. “The way is salted with many a brave man's tears.”
“They say you can hear the poor blokes wailing for mercy all the way to Hampton Court,” Israel glumly added. He did not relish placing himself within a rope's reach of an English noose.
“I'll not share their fate.” Morgan folded his arms across his chest. His gaze was sure and steady, his voice filled with conviction. “But I say Sir Richard has outsmarted himself this time. Blood is thicker than water, but gold is thicker still. I am not without influence. I filled the
pouches of the English lords and helped them drape their wives with jewels. Peace or no peace, they know I can make them even richer. No. There will be no gallows for me. Indeed, I plan to petition to have Sir Richard Purselley recalled from his posting and replaced with a governor who will unite this island and secure it from the Spaniards forevermore.”
pouches of the English lords and helped them drape their wives with jewels. Peace or no peace, they know I can make them even richer. No. There will be no gallows for me. Indeed, I plan to petition to have Sir Richard Purselley recalled from his posting and replaced with a governor who will unite this island and secure it from the Spaniards forevermore.”
“A tall order. And since you have the ear of the King, just who did you have in mind for the governor's post?” Sir William asked, somewhat astounded by the scope of the privateer's ambition.
“Why, myself, of course,” said Morgan. He turned and looked out across the bay. Was that a sail on the horizon or a white cloud lifting like a dream over the edge of the world? A butterfly landed on the sill, slowly fanned its wings, bright yellow, black, and radiant orange, before taking flight again.
Henry Morgan breathed in the warm sweet fragrance of blue-and-white plumbago flowers, purple periwinkles, and the bold sea air. He checked the horizon yet again. Yes, they were sails; a ship was making good time as it approached the Jamaican coastline.
Nell Jolly stepped forward, her pert, pretty features unable to mask her worried state. She was clearly more distraught than any of the men. She struggled to find the words to make him change his mind, knowing all along she would not succeed. “Henry Morgan ⦠will you gamble with your life?”
It was an honest question, one he had asked himself many times over the past couple of weeks, and one for which Morgan had an honest answer.
“But Toto, I've done nothing else since first we met.”
Â
Â
Thomas LeBishop had already bloodied his sword. Two men faced him on the sea strand near the alarm bell. One of the men, a grizzled cutthroat named Barnabas Sims, nursed a gash across his right biceps. Blood seeped down his arm and threatened to cause him to lose his grip on his cutlass. His companion, Square John Pettibone, was half the man and twice as fearful of the Black Cleric. Square John was only eighteen and wished he could take back the offhand remark that LeBishop was never supposed to have heard.
“Say it again,” the Black Cleric purred as he sawed the air with his blade. Overhead the gulls were wheeling, spinning like angels in a whirlwind. Below, the blue tide encroached upon the shore, spilling
seaweed, starfish, and bits of broken coral. A crab, dislodged from one lair, scuttled out of harm's way and hid beneath a length of driftwood, anxious to avoid contact with humankind.
seaweed, starfish, and bits of broken coral. A crab, dislodged from one lair, scuttled out of harm's way and hid beneath a length of driftwood, anxious to avoid contact with humankind.
“Go to hell,” said Barnabas Sims.
“We never said you was afraid of Morgan,” Pettibone exclaimed, “I swear.”
“Don't beg,” Sims growled. “Show your backbone.”
“It was Barnabas claimed you'd met your match in Henry Morgan. I was just saying that it sure looked like you backed down. But I didn't know for sure. And 'twas no fault of your own. I warrant it was a smart play. Your pistol could have been empty.”
“âFor God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power,'” said the Black Cleric. He stepped in and aimed a strike at the younger man. Pettibone yelped as the blade sawed a chunk of flesh from his thigh. He screeched and backed into the surf. Sims lunged forward. LeBishop whirled about and caught the man's blade on his own, disarmed him with a twist of his wrist and sent his cutlass spinning across the sand. Sims darted out of harm's way and broke for his sword with LeBishop hot on his heels.
“âFor day and night thy hand was heavy upon me,'” LeBishop proclaimed, and with an overhand blow opened up the man's back from the base of his neck to his waist. Barnabas Sims arched his spine and outstretched his arms. His mouth drew back in a silent scream and he sank to his knees in the sand. The muscles along his neck stood out in stark relief. And still no sound escaped his throat. His eyes rolled back in his head and he sank backward onto his bootheels.
“Oh, sweet mercy!” Pettibone moaned. LeBishop turned to face him. “Well then, if you must have me, then by heaven you shall.” The fear in his throat made him sound shrill. But at the last he summoned a kind of courage born of desperationâthe will to fight because there is no place to run. He charged out of the sea. LeBishop waited, his cutlass poised, the blade gently swinging back and forth; then up it swept to flash in the sunlight. Steel rang upon steel.
“As for you, you were dead in your transgressions and sins,” said LeBishop. He stuck out a leg and tripped the younger man as he blundered past. Square John fell forward onto the mud and sand, rolled over on his back and tried to stand, but the Black Cleric held him back with a well-placed boot to the chest. He stood over his vanquished foe, arm raised, the steel blade inches from his chest.
Other books
Adulation by Lorello, Elisa
A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara
Requiem (The Penny Dreadfuls Book 1) by Knizley, Skye
On The Origin Of Species by Charles Darwin
Doctor Who: The Enemy of the World by Ian Marter
The Marriage Test by Betina Krahn
Elliot and the Goblin War by Jennifer A. Nielsen
Ginny Hartman by To Guard Her Heart
Forest Mage by Robin Hobb
An Exaltation of Soups by Patricia Solley