The Rogue's Surrender (The Nelson's Tea Series Book 3) (4 page)

A nagging suspicion that there was more to Eddie’s assignment than met the eye tickled her brain.

She moved to the cabin door and pressed her ear against the creaking screen door. She’d learned early in life not to waste precious moments like these. Before Eddie came back, she would discover as much as she could about the ship and his orders.

She listened intently to the passageway for any sounds of activity.

Silence.

Momentarily satisfied, Mercy stepped away from the wood and returned to Eddie’s desk, rolling up her sleeves.

I will know what you are about, dear brother, if it’s the last thing I do.

Garrick inhaled the
salty tang of the sea as his crew hauled the
Priory
’s anchor in. Her seabed lines and moorings loosened from the jetty. Instantly freed, canvas sails fluttered and whipped into place, inflating like an invigorating breath, jockeying the vessel as tidal currents took hold of the hull, and the wind pulled them away from the docks.

Santa Clara Island, a formidable obstacle, loomed ahead. They closed the distance, making sure lanterns were doused, bypassing rocks sure to damage the hull if they ventured too close. This was a run he and his brothers had made countless times smuggling contraband in and out of San Sebastian. To manage their escape, all hands were needed to ease them out from under the sharp-eyed stronghold of
La Mota
Castillo
with nary a sound.

Lookouts in the cross trees and rigging were usually stationed to warn of impending attack or retaliation. Even though
Don
Vasquez had promised he’d secured their getaway, they took infinite care not to be discovered. The Bay of Biscay was damned near impossible to navigate, a fact that chilled sailors to the bone. Beyond the Spanish shoreline’s harbor, early spring fogbanks hid dangerous reefs and thunderous depressions certain to issue catastrophic ends to reckless journeys before they’d ever begun. Garrick didn’t want his successful repossession of the
Priory
to end as disastrously as the last time he’d been in port.

Better men have sunk ships in these waters.

The bitter truth filled him with regret. He’d almost died here under different circumstances. Though Delgado was long dead, his death just reward for the horrors he’d inflicted on innocents, true hazards remained. The
Gironde
tributary, where the Garonne River poured into the bay, would prove a hazardous obstacle calling for all hands. The swirling currents there generated unpredictable weather strong enough to sink a ship or force it inland — into France — enemy territory and certain death.

“All accounted for, Captain.”

Garrick studied Max for a moment. Of all of his brothers, Max resembled him most with their father’s dark hair and blue eyes. Both were over six feet tall. But where Max carried himself lean and lanky, Garrick’s broad shoulders distributed a heavier build. Fourteen months separated them. And as second son, Max was their brothers’ ambassador.

Garrick gripped the helm tighter. “You’ve collected all of the Spaniards?” He’d left nothing to chance, demanding his orders would be followed to the letter. Their safe return to London weighed in the balance and Lord Melville’s life depended on them. “Every last hand?”

Max nodded. “Aye. Bound, gagged, and lowered into a cutter, just as you ordered.”

“And
El Capitán
?”

Rigby and three other men, including his brother James, shuffled forward, half-dragging, half-carrying
La Mota’
s captain.

“Unhand me, you filthy pirates!” The blue and red uniformed man jerked against them comically.

James eyed Garrick quizzically.

“Give him what he wants.” Garrick nodded, his words deceptively calm.

Rigby, and the others grappling with the struggling man, instantly let go.

Capitán
Vasquez fell to the deck.
“Cómo se atreve usted!
” Humiliation and displeasure were written all over his face. He rose slowly, tugging his coat back into place. “You owe me courtesy as an officer and a gentleman.”

Garrick blew air between his teeth. “Keep your voice down before
La Mota
rains lead on this ship.”

“Nothing would please me more.”

“Killing you with us?” He inhaled a stabilizing breath. Vasquez’s damn hot-headed son was going to get them all killed.

He cupped his mouth and hollered up to his sentries. “Have they spotted us?”

A head popped out. “No, Cap’n.”

He released his pent-up breath and returned his attention to his captive. “I owe
Capitán
Vasquez nothing. An Englishman… well now, that’s another story.”

“Pfft.” Vasquez raised his gaze to
La Mota
’s mighty guns and snarled.

“Are you an Englishman?” Garrick wanted to give the boy a fighting chance.

Vasquez’s cold, dead stare locked onto him. “
I
. Am. Not.”

So Don Vasquez’s son prefers to die rather than acknowledge his birthright.

Loyalty put Vasquez in a difficult position. He either claimed his Spanish ancestry or faced ridicule for acknowledging his English mother. Garrick, on the other hand, had no qualms about setting Vasquez straight.

“Then you shall receive no mercy from me,” he said.

Vasquez’s jaw slackened. “Rules for handling officers on a captured ship are clear,
señor
. I expect you to honor them.”

“One, I’m a pirate.” Garrick fixed his stare on the misguided man. With a vicious sneer, he pointed to the
Priory’s
distorted lines then back to his face, allowing no vestige of sympathy to cloud his voice. “Two,
this
is what your code of honor did to me.”

Vasquez paled instantly then swallowed, his throat bobbing like a buoy in heavy seas. “My sincerest apologies, Lord Seaton, but I must—”

“—get off
my
ship.”

The officer frowned. “
Your
ship?”

“Aye. You’ve done enough damage already.”

“I have done nothing but keep this vessel afloat,
señor
.”

“Nothing?” Garrick extended his arms and whirled around in a circle. “You’ve desecrated my ship.”

“Again… not my doing.”

“You are
Capitán
of this ship, are you not?”

“
Sí
, but—”

“Do your men take orders from you?”

“
Sí
, but if you’ll allow me to—

“Enough. You are as much to blame as anyone else.” He pointed to Max. “He’s yours.”

Capitán
Vasquez took on a more humble nature and bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself—”

“I know who you are.” Garrick grumbled.

The Spaniard frowned, straightened his uniform, and rallied himself defiantly. “This is an outrage! If you’d allow me to finish—”

“Come.” Max tugged on Vasquez’s arm. “You,
señor
, are in need of a drink.”

“Drink?” The captain’s eyes widened. “We are in negotiations. I do not need to parch my thirst, I need—”

Max raised his hand, palm out, stopping the man from going any further. He extended his index finger and pointed to ship’s rail.

“You cannot mean…” Vasquez took a step backward.

“Aye.” Max grabbed Vasquez’s upper arm and shoved him toward the rail. “That be where you’re bound.”

“This is an outrage!” He fought desperately, tearing away from Max to boldly run for the companionway.

Garrick fisted his hands. Enough was enough. “Get that Spaniard under control and off this ship before I do something we’ll all regret.”

Their amusement cut short, his brothers jumped into the fray.

Vasquez threw several well-aimed punches, knocking Keane off balance.

James tossed Max a rope and together, they surrounded the Spaniard and trussed his arms and legs like a wild boar.

Rigby
oinked
like a pig.

Vasquez struggled against his bonds. “I am an officer, not a pig!”

“Steady, swine,” James warned him.

“Give me a chance to explain.” The captain’s eyes searched for Santa Clara Island. “Mercy… I beg you.”

“Mercy?” Randall smacked Moore in the chest. “Who had mercy on our Cap’n while he was withering away on Delgado’s ship?”

Vasquez shook his head. “I had nothing to do with
El Aguila
.”

Garrick didn’t believe him. Other than
Don
Vasquez, because his father vouched for the smuggler, he’d never believe anyone with Spanish blood in their veins. “Know this. I’ve been on the receiving end of Spanish liberality.” He lifted his eye patch, displaying his gross disfigurement for Vasquez to see.

“Mercy did not have anything to do with your regrettable loss.”

A truer statement had never been spoken. No one had shown him mercy aboard
El Aguila
. Laughter scratched out of Garrick’s throat like rats fleeing bilge water. “And it won’t have anything to do with you.”

“
Capitán
.” This Spaniard was the cornered rat now. “There are…
affairs
on this ship that you cannot possibly understand. I beg you to listen — for Mercy’s sake.”

“Did you hear that?” Randall looked to Moore.

“For mercy’s sake, eh?” Moore waved his arms, rallying the crew as Santa Clara’s lights dimmed in the distance.

Garrick let the scene play out. His crew thought the junior Vasquez behaved like a coward begging for his life. The truth couldn’t have been any stranger. Garrick knew Vasquez begged for his sister, Mercy’s life. What he didn’t know was whether the younger Vasquez knew about the Seatons’s connection to
Don
Vasquez’s warehouses.

Without revealing too much of what he knew, he decided to ease the tension. “Give
Capitán
Vasquez breathing room.”

“I do not need breathing room. I require Mercy!”

Randall rallied behind him. “You will
not
get it, I tell ya.”

Garrick took no comfort in the misunderstanding as it continued. He wanted to throttle Vasquez for what he and his kind had done to the
Priory
. But he’d been given clear orders not to kill
Don
Vasquez’s son and made a vow to abide by his oath, no matter what it cost him. Nothing, however, prevented him from allowing Vasquez to believe that
death
had found
him
.

He’d come for the girl, not her brother, and he wouldn’t reveal his trump card until he fully understood the captain’s allegiances. Nothing mattered more to Garrick than loyalty. Was the younger Vasquez loyal to Spain or was he — like his sister — secretly in league with England?

“Sharpen your wits, Max.” He decided to stir the pot. “I sense this one will do or say anything to stay alive.”

Vasquez huffed. “I am a man of honor!”

Rigby laughed but the boisterous sentiment didn’t reach his eyes. “You have an odd way of showing it,
Capitán
.”

Don
Vasquez had spoken little of his son during their forays into the bay. Time usually disallowed for discussion of personal matters. The
don
preferred this, as did Garrick. It was what Nelson’s Tea had engrained in his blood.

Nelson’s Tea.

Simon depended on him returning to England with his spy. He had only one chance to get this right and by damned, he would. Too many of his friends had suffered because of Holt’s treasonous activities.

No more.

Dressed in Spanish colors, he judged
Capitán
Vasquez guilty by association. Spain had allied with France. He wore the enemy’s uniform, commandeered
his
ship, and no doubt had orders to commit abominable acts of violence against Garrick’s kinsmen.

Garrick turned to his men. “
Capitán
Vasquez begs for mercy. Am I not giving him mercy, men?”

“Aye.” His men shouted again. “Aye.”

He gave James a nod. “Gag him so we don’t have to listen to his cowardice.”

Vasquez struggled as James bent to force a gag into his mouth.

“Mer-cy! My si─”

Randall reacted quickly, hitting the captain over the back of the head with his blunderbuss. Vasquez’s eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed.

“Spaniards,” Randall complained, “are a cowardly lot.”

Cowardly? That wasn’t a term Garrick would use. Cold-hearted, deceitful, manipulative, arrogant, these words described the men who’d served with Delgado.

“Do you suppose the poor fellow fears what Boney will do to him now that we’ve confiscated his ship.”

“
Our
ship.” Garrick gladly corrected him.

From his experience,
Capitán
Vasquez feared reprimand more than losing his ship, or his sister. Whatever the man’s purpose, his stringent fight to argue for his sister’s safety lifted him higher in Garrick’s regard.

Other than the name of the woman he’d come to save, the word ‘mercy’ held no meaning for Garrick now. Under Delgado’s jurisdiction, he’d been urged to beg and plead for his life. He’d
politely
declined. Even after weeks of continuous torture, he’d refused to divulge information that would have put more than his own life in peril, an act that made giving clemency to a Spaniard undesirable now. And yet that was what he was doing for
Don
Vasquez, whether this young upstart knew it or not.