The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (2 page)

“Stick to the plan.” Keane’s insistence warned his brother was troubled. Was it because the last time Garrick had stepped on Spanish soil, he’d risked his life chasing folly? “You’ve put the
Priory
at risk once before. I won’t allow you to do it again. Look at her.”

Nothing would please him more right now than to land a jab to his brother’s nose. But now wasn’t the time. He needed Keane, and he’d been sent to rescue a woman in desperate need of their help.

Esmeralda’s lovely face. Her soft lips murmuring, “I regret nothing.” Gunfire. Sticky residue on his skin. A kick to his face, terminating the image of sightless eyes.

Steady.
Garrick fought for control.

He grounded himself by thinking of his ship, his one true love, a significant part of his father’s fleet, an unfailing mistress. Did Keane doubt his vow to do everything he could to get the
Priory
back? A low growl erupted in his throat. The horrible eyesore painted on her stern, a new name —
La Mota —
flaunted his failure in the twilight like signal flags snapping from a fleet of ships.
La Mota
meant the
Speck
. Aye, Delgado’s devotees could pretend the
Priory
, pirates, and England, were a speck of dirt in their eyes, but his ship, and what was aboard her, meant more and then some to him.

Señorita
Mercedes Catalina Vasquez Claremont, the woman they were after, far out valued any prize.

He spat in disgust. A Spaniard had taken his eye. Spaniards had killed Nelson at Trafalgar. A Spaniard now captained
his
ship, and God knew how many other Spaniards were after the
señorita
who was also a Spaniard. Well, half Spanish.

It was time all things Spanish came to an end.

There was no bloody way he’d allow the
Priory
to sail under a Spanish flag to France, though he didn’t know why… yet. The
señorita
knew, or would know, if her father’s plea to save her life was any indication.

He motioned for several of his men to join him and his brothers behind bundles of tightly sealed tobacco, crates of silk, and French brandy situated near the Vasquez warehouse, across from the
Priory’s
berth. The bloody Spaniards had taken necessary preparations for a nighttime launch — perfectly suiting Garrick’s plan of attack. Now that their precious cargo had boarded, their liberation could be implemented without delay.

Don
Vasquez had cleverly predicted that his daughter would visit her brother before traveling to the twelfth century castle at
Castro Urdiales
and St. Mary of the Assumption. During Percy, Duke of Blendingham’s interrogation of Holt, the reverend had confessed under pressure that he’d ordered men to capture her then murder her there.

Darkness descended like a veil. Garrick embraced the shadows with welcoming arms as lanterns were struck at various intervals and guards milled about the wharf. Men had been positioned on either side of the gang plank. Sailors aboard
La Mota
carried out their normal duties. Dock workers finished supplying the ship. Several ventured to one of Vasquez’s warehouses where the voices of boisterous men imbibing liquor, fortuitously provided by their host, could be heard.

Laughter crescendoed. Several mischievous men raising bottles of rum shouted invitations to lurkers-on. The activity slowly cleared the docks, indicating Vasquez’s ploy to buy Garrick more time had succeeded.

Garrick maneuvered his men into position with hand signals.

Smuggling had advantages. With the embargo against England, the Spanish
don
stood to profit from the significant purse Garrick’s piracy provided.

He smiled at no one particular in the darkness. The journey back to Talland Bay would be a welcome respite, given the edible delicacies the Spanish captain, the
Don’s
own son, Eduardo Philippe Vasquez, had ordered loaded into the hold. Smuggling was not only a surprisingly profitable business, it often provided delight to those who least expected it.

Smuggling also incurred the oddest allies.

Capitán
Vasquez had no clue he was about to be outfoxed by an Englishman and his own father. Garrick had taken no chances they’d be discovered before
La Mota
set sail. His body and mind fought for clemency over one singular fear — failure. There was more at stake this time than his own hide. The lives of his brothers and a very valuable woman, soon to be under his protection, were at risk. He might be the lowest of men, a man haunted by specters from the past, but he would never be able to stomach the willful torture, disfigurement, or death of his comrades.

Frustration set his nerves on edge. Lives weighted his shoulders. Nothing could be left to chance.

Moore took Keane’s place at his side. “Cap’n, what be your orders?”

Garrick didn’t hesitate. “Pick them off one by one. Make no mistakes. I don’t want anyone, especially our enemies, to sound an alarm if we’re to slip out of San Sebastian and maneuver the bay without a confrontation.”

“And the woman?”

“Vasquez assured me,
El Capitán
will lock her in his cabin to keep her safe. Leave her to me.”

“Aye.” Moore nodded then retreated to an area secluded from view. Moments later, he returned with ten men. “It will be as you say, Cap’n. The crew is ready.”

Garrick squinted to better gauge the
Priory’s
darkening silhouette, the sanctuary of her taut lines.

His brothers quietly waited for him to turn to his right. All but one had sailed with him to San Sebastian. William, younger than Max and Rigby, older than Keane and James, remained at Abbydon Cove to ensure security measures were in place until their return. Once Garrick had the
Priory
under control,
and was under way, his brothers would follow, sailing their ship, the
Vesper
back to Cornwall.

He spoke to anyone who would hear. “I intend to get my ship back without bloodshed.”

Rigby preened. “Clever. No better way to offend a Spaniard, I’m thinking.”

“Especially,” Max added, “right out from under
Castillo de La Mota’s
nose.”

“I don’t care how you do it, just get the
Priory
back.” Keane’s tone bristled with intensity.

Moore cackled softly and glanced toward the fortress protecting San Sebastian. “You’ve a cruel heart. All o’ ye. And I couldn’t be prouder.”

“Cruel?” Garrick tried to purge the hatred infiltrating his thoughts. He smiled ruthlessly. “Let’s humiliate the enemy, shall we?”

“Aye.” Moore gave him a mock salute. “Say the word, and it will be done.”

Sentries stood near planks balanced across the pier and the
Priory’s
rail. A naval whistle shrilled into the night, alerting the Spanish crew it was time to board. One by one, sailors staggered across the bridge onto the
Priory’s
deck, their actions slowed by the drug Vasquez had fed them.

Horses harnessed to a carriage nearby perked their noses and whinnied.

“Max, tell Randall and his men to prepare to board.” Damien Randall was his first mate and a man Garrick had entrusted with his life.

Max trotted silently to the opposite end of the building. Within moments, Randall responded, hailing Garrick with a wave. Randall and his men then sank to their knees at the edge of the warehouse and waited for the “All clear.”

Damn those horses! They’re going to give us away.

Garrick motioned to Rigby. “Control the horses.”

Rigby snuck up quietly on the vehicle, maneuvering around the rear axle toward the front of the conveyance. Throaty snorts and whinnies drifted intermittently on the air as the team, sensing Rigby’s presence, tilted nervous ears backward and shuffled restless hooves, impatiently blowing air out of their nostrils. Rigby reached the first animal and smacked its hindquarters.

The team sprinted at a run, startling the bored driver, who labored in vain to regain control as the wagon rounded a bend in the road.

Garrick raised his sword and motioned to Max and Randall, who then motioned to their men. One by one, the group moved toward the pier’s edge, sinking soundlessly into the water to scale the ship on the starboard side.

Time passed slowly as Garrick, Rigby, Moore, and twenty of his men waited until they were confident his water bound crew had climbed the hull and were in position.

Keane sounded off the seconds. “Four — three — two — one.”

Now.

Garrick waved his palm across his chest. As one, they crept forward, stealth-footed and sure, easily dispatching sentries on the port side of the gangplank. One by one,
La Mota’s
ill-fated and sluggish crew was dispatched, bound, and gagged before being shuffled off the deck and to a port-of-call building in
Don
Vasquez’s surplus of warehouses.

When all aboard had been accounted for, Moore and his men wasted no time removing the wooden gangplank and plunking it overboard. The wooden beam plummeted with a quiet splash as the crew unfurled the sails and others hacked the moorings clean away.

Listing slightly, the
Priory
bobbed, groaning as the turbulent bay currents pulled it free of the pier. No one spoke. Silence reigned. No general alarm sounded to mar their escape. In the distance, Santa Clara Island and the guns of
La Mota
Castle gleamed impotently down on them in the moonlight.

Garrick stood at the helm, the
Priory
’s wheel justly back in his hands. He held his breath, feet planted securely beneath him, happy to put as much distance between him and San Sebastian as possible. If he ever dealt with anything or anyone remotely Spanish again, it would be too soon.

“You should not
be here.”

Señorita
Mercedes Catalina Vasquez Claremont blinked her eyelashes like over-exaggerated butterfly’s wings. She inhaled deeply, refusing to take offense to her brother’s callous greeting. As usual, whenever she boarded his ship, he immediately wanted her to turn on her heels and step back on shore. She wouldn’t — couldn’t — do it. Not this time. Not when so much was at stake. Not when she might never see her younger brother again.

She feigned a hearty laugh. What good did it do for Eddie to witness the pain his indifference inflicted? She’d come to see him off before he sailed. Nothing could convince her otherwise. With Napoleon in charge of waging war against “a nation of shopkeepers” as he called the English, heaven knew when she’d see Eddie again. Though major sea battles with the English navy had ended at Trafalgar, Napoleon’s brother, Joseph, had just been crowned King of Naples, and Napoleon now set his sights on Prussia, leaving Spain floundering on unstable ground.

In light of her dangerous decision to venture aboard Eddie’s ship in the dead of night, was it any wonder her brother didn’t greet her more affectionately? Just the same, she fretted he would never accept her stronger-willed nature.

“You mustn’t scold me for coming to see you off, Eddie.”

“Eduardo.” He frowned and straightened his spine. “You know how much I abhor the name Eddie.”

Capitán
Eduardo Philippe Vasquez had been Eddie to Mercy and their English-born mother, formerly Lady Lydia Claremont, since infancy. Was she to stop loving him as well? Or was it her stubborn nature, her womanhood, he objected to. He rarely credited her intelligence. For the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why. Weren’t women just as proficient as men?

“I prefer to be called Mercy. And yet you insist on calling me Mercedes. What does that say about us, eh?”

He stared at her, adorably one of the most handsome Spaniards she’d ever seen, their father’s twin in many ways but one. “Why are you here?”

Why else? Did he expect that she’d allow him to deploy his ship without a fond fare-thee-well?
Heartless scoundrel.

Mercy’s chest tightened. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears and she smiled to cover the misery her quivering stomach inflicted. God help her, who knew if this was the last time she’d ever see Eddie again.

“How far must a devoted sister go to show her brother how much she adores him?”
As far as it takes.

“I don’t have time for sentimentalities.”

Neither did she, actually. And yet here she was, with her brother now, risking life and limb to embrace him one last time. It was a Vasquez tradition to be committed to causes beyond imagining. San Sebastian had been ravaged enough by war and despair, and bridges to aged bloodlines had been sacrificed by design.

She smiled sweetly, acknowledging Eddie’s reticence with a wink, bestowing a sisterly kiss on both of his cheeks to heighten his admiration of her, and to soften his mood. He was young, uncomplicated, and not nearly as difficult to understand as their father. Eddie’s moods had always been won over with a feminine touch. And thankfully, in her line of work, she’d mastered a modicum of skill in that regard.

Satisfied with his silence, she fussed. “Do not frown so.
Mamá
wasn’t sure how long you’d be gone to Calais. Surely you don’t begrudge me the chance to say goodbye to my favorite brother, eh?”

He cocked an ambivalent brow. “I am your only brother,
hermanita
.”

“All the reason not to chastise me, no?”

The fact that Eddie was her only brother made it extraordinarily hard to watch him sail off to heaven knew where, especially when his fate rested in enemy hands.
There is no greater evil than serving the wrong master.

She began the lengthy process of removing her gloves, one finger at a time.

“Is that necessary?” He snarled.

Yes. It
was
imperative that she stalled long enough to gain more information on Eddie’s destination.

She wrinkled her nose. “Do you not find your cabin stuffy and confining?”

“No.”

Of course, he wouldn’t. He was captain of this vessel, a man accustomed to voyages to distant lands with minimal comforts. She dabbed her neck with cool fingers to make him believe she didn’t have a concern in the world as she moved about the cabin to the bookcase.

Her cares were paramount, thrumming violently against her ribs. Emotions unlike any she’d ever experienced waged war inside her as she grabbed one of his nautical books and began to slowly flip through the pages.

Casually dismissing her, he leaned down to peruse one of his maps.

Napoleon’s revolution had filtered across the twelve-mile stretch between San Sebastian and the border of France. The would-be emperor’s acumen for taking on soldiers and sailors for his doomed-to-fail scheme of world dominion included sending men of San Sebastian off to die revolting deaths. Was she a fool to believe Eddie would be spared?

She closed her eyes, despairing at the thought she might lose him.

El Almirante
Pierre Charles Jean Baptiste Silvestre de Villeneuve had been put in charge of organizing a fleet of forty ships to attack the English coast under Napoleon’s maniacal directive. Confusion and disorganization had been key elements preventing his success. Admiral Nelson’s uncanny knack for hunting down Villeneuve like an eagle hunting prey, led to Nelson’s success against Napoleon’s bottle-necked fleet at Trafalgar. Maligned by Napoleon, taken prisoner to England, and then freed, Villeneuve now traveled to Rennes for vindication, hoping Nelson’s death would ensure him a welcome audience. That foolhardy decision made her tense.

Villeneuve had left the rest of the Spanish fleet, and her brother, under nefarious control.

Eddie’s reassignment to
La Mota
, a ship previously owned by an English lord and called the
Priory,
had been an answer to Mercy’s prayers. The command hindered her brother from participating in the battle of Trafalgar. This directly linked him to Villeneuve’s restrained power at a time when men had been wounded or worse, killed in action, committing acts of unspeakable horror against their own countrymen.

I spit on Napoleon for initiating this offense!

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing,” she lied then quickly scrutinized his tense posture as he primed his maps. She held up the book for him to see and replaced her frown with a smile. “I can never make sense of these books. That is all.”

“That is why they are not published for women,” he said, turning his attention back to the surface of his desk. “Women do not belong on board ships.”

Mercy heaved an exasperated sigh as she placed the book back in the case. Eddie’s view of womanhood strangely differed from her father’s. For as long as she could remember, she’d been bound and determined to stop insurgency from reaching those she loved with whatever contributions she could muster. But the work involved dangerous extremes and half of an English pedigree prompted suspicion, closing doors to her. Not so for her brother, who’d sworn allegiance to military expansion. Eddie fought for Spain, under Napoleon’s jurisdiction. She feared how that fidelity would alter his future.

What choices would her brother be forced to make? Would Eddie be asked to sacrifice himself to prove his manhood and commitment to the revolution in an extreme way?

San Sebastian’s streets were rife with objection to a continued alliance with France. A reign of terror had been ongoing for nigh onto all of her two and twenty years of life. Gruesome tales of
la guillotine
and the
Place de la Révolution
fueled her nightmares.

What other unspeakable acts would come home to roost in
España
?

Mercy perused the comforts of Eddie’s cabin, running her fingers over the mahogany paneling, the exquisitely crafted sideboard, and the carved bunk draped in red. Was this captain’s cabin exactly as Lord Garrick Seaton had kept it when he was captain of the
Priory
?

The question startled her as she glided over to Eddie’s desk. Why was she thinking of that poor man now? She lowered her gloves into her reticule and quietly observed her brother’s meticulous inspection of the maps spread across his desk.

He stood and cleared his throat, apparently distressed by her presence. “If you came to see me off, you’ve done so. Now…” He clasped his hands behind his back. “If you have nothing more to say, I think it might be best if you leave before all of my men are back on board.”

“Ah!” she said raising her bejeweled finger. “Do not attempt to lecture me about propriety.”

His brows knit together. “Propriety? Safety is the issue between us. How many times have I told you a ship is no place for a woman?”

“Humph. And you cannot resist constantly reminding me.” She would fight for independence and the right to do as she pleased until her dying day. “I disagree.”

“But of course,
you
would.”

He’d played right into her hands. “I recall a certain proficient female who sailed into this very bay no more than a year ago.” She tapped her chin. “Yes, a very strong-willed woman, if memory serves.”

His face reddened. “You dare mention
her
? I rest my case. That rebel was not a woman. She was a
pirata
!”

“A very skilled one.”

He shot her a harsh squint. His brow crooked at an odd angle and he offered a distinctive snort. “How would you know such a thing?”

If only he knew. She nodded. “People talk.”

“And of course, you listen.” An ugly twist distorted his mouth.

She smiled triumphantly. “I am a woman. Isn’t that what all women do… gossip? In that case, it is only fitting that I listen.”

Eddie looked entirely too highbrow and barely tolerant of her in his chokingly high-collared white cravat, blue long-skirted coat with red lapels and gold accents, braid, buttons, and captain’s rank embroidered at his cuffs. What a dashing figure he cut standing before her.

Mercy fought hard to keep from losing her composure. Her brother knew how to bait her fiery temper, but he’d learned long ago she wouldn’t divulge her sources. “Besides, you would be surprised what people say when a woman is about.”

“Gossip is a wicked temptation,
hermanita
.”

Didn’t she know it. The Spanish navy had woven a biased tale about Lord Seaton’s rescue,
Capitán
Delgado’s death, and the capture of
El Aguila
, Delgado’s ship. Facts Eddie had probably been ordered to declare.

“But even you must admit that if it wasn’t for this woman… what did they call her… ah,
Capitán
Belle? Delgado would have murdered an innocent man.”

“Innocent?”

“But of course,” she insisted, unwilling to share more. An ache twinged under her ribcage for the poor souls tortured at Delgado’s hands.

Eddie’s stare penetrated hers. He regarded her for several moments. “Do not concern yourself with matters of state. Delgado’s death, the loss of
El Aguila
,
his
ship, and piracy are no concern of yours.”

He was wrong. Government critics had labeled Seaton a murderer, even though he’d had nothing to do with Esmeralda Vega’s death. Due to Mercy’s own clandestine activities, she had intimate knowledge that Lord Seaton’s only crime had been falling for Esmeralda’s charms and deviating from his true purpose for being in San Sebastian… meeting with Mercy. But whom could she tell? Eddie? Good heavens, no! San Sebastian’s navy faced ridicule for failing to protect a senior officer and losing a ship to His Royal Majesty’s
Capitán
Henry Guffald’s
pirata
.

No. She was on her own. England wouldn’t send another emissary into the Bay of Biscay now. Not when San Sebastian was prepared to ward off such an occurrence, which made it imperative she proceed to St. Mary’s without delay.

“I did not come here to fight you,
mi hermano
.”

“That is hard for me to believe.” Eddie hooked his fingers behind his back and leaned over his massive carved desk. The very same desk covered with maps that she’d survey while Eddie was unaware. “I trust nothing good can come from piracy or the women it corrupts.”

Eddie’s bias against pirates cut her deeply. The Seatons were an enterprising smuggling family that had done business with their father,
Don
Vasquez, for years. And she admired
Capitán
Belle. In her estimation, any woman masterminding a
coup d’état
from under a nation’s nose deserved high praise. Of course, Eddie would quash such beliefs. For that very reason, it was too dangerous to reveal how she’d arrived at that opinion without giving herself away. He was safer not knowing the truth… that she was a spy.

“Do be careful, Eddie. Your bias toward the female pirate expresses bitterness towards my sex, not brotherly regard for a
dear sister’s
safety.”