Chapter 14 Marquis de Montverre
Caleb lingered somewhere between sleep and wakefulness when he heard a lady’s whispers.
It took a moment to remember where he was, but only a second to recognize Miss Starr’s pleasing voice.
He opened one eye and found her standing at the window.
Morning sunlight formed a halo around her, glittering in her light hair and shimmering across her skin.
She looked ethereal, not from this place.
Like a heavenly being lost in a world not her own.
She fascinated him. Her words, her manner of speech, her independence and intelligence. It had taken much prayer last night and reliance on the Almighty not to go to her and offer to hold her, to reassure her of her safety, or to at least attempt a kiss.
Knowing she found him appealing made it more difficult. But he’d sworn to God that he would keep himself for marriage and to honor all women who crossed his path. He’d been doing just that when the last woman he cared for had stabbed him in the back.
And then twisted the blade.
Miss Starr continued her whispers, and he wondered to whom she spoke. Was she praying? Nay, she admitted to not believing in God. Struggling to rise, he stretched the ache from his back with a groan.
The woman spun around. Morning light still surrounded her as she stared at him. “You must be sore from sleeping on the floor.”
Caleb shook his head. “I’m used to it. Who were you talking to?” He walked toward her, but she pivoted to look out the window again.
“No one.”
“Praying, perhaps?” He slipped beside her, smiling at the disheveled hair fluttering about her neck, every strand pulled from her pins.
She offered him a smile. “Prayers never worked for me. I talk to the sea.”
“And does it respond?”
“Sometimes. It’s very wise, you know. It has never let me down.”
Caleb got the sense this lady had been let down, as she said, many times. “I know Someone much wiser than the sea. The One who created it.”
“Preaching already, so early in the morning?” she teased.
He smiled at her playfulness. “Beware, my lady, I shall wait until the afternoon.” He retreated to collect his cutlass and pistol, then gestured toward the door. “Shall we break our fast and then head to the Sentinel? I’m anxious to see the progress.”
An hour later, Caleb landed on the deck of his ship, Miss Starr behind him. The lady had insisted she needed no help climbing the ladder, and though she did succeed, ’twas not without moans and sighs, and the occasional curse cast upon her voluminous skirts.
He grinned, scanning the ship, expecting the sight of steady labor.
Instead, ragged edges of torn canvas still hung from the foremast, and the few of his crew who were on deck loitered about as if on holiday.
At the bow, Keg polished one of the swivel guns.
At the helm, Shorty studied something on the binnacle.
And Liam leaned against the rail, flashing Desi a grin that faltered the moment Caleb’s eyes found him.
Ayida rose from the galley hatch, crossed arms over her chest, and lifted her face to the rising sun.
Alden approached, his face lined with more than fatigue. “Morning, Captain. Did you have a good evening?” He raised an incriminating brow as his gaze landed on Miss Starr.
Caleb rubbed his stiff neck. “Not the kind you think.” He fisted hands at his waist. “Report.”
Alden frowned. “The tar pot tipped, poured into the bilge. Most of our caulking wasted, and the oakum’s disappeared. Oh, and the sail thread…” He hesitated, jaw tight. “Cut clean through in the bundle. We stitched the canvas with what remained, but we need more, or it won’t hold long under strain.”
An anchor settled in Caleb’s gut. The cheerful morning instantly soured. “Sabotage.” He ground out the word.
Desi drew a sharp breath behind him. “You mean… someone did this on purpose?”
“Looks that way, Miss.” Alden rubbed eyes puffy from lack of sleep.
But Caleb’s fury overcame his concern for his friend. “You were on watch!” His tone was accusatory.
Alden’s shoulders sank. “Aye. I was awake the entire night, taking turns up here on deck and then below to check on the men’s progress. I saw nothing. The night was dark and tired eyes grow careless.”
“No excuse!” Caleb barked. His hand settled on the hilt of his cutlass, not in threat but from habit, the gesture of a man who’d felt the sting of betrayal.
“I’ve not come this far to have the Sentinel sink by treachery’s hand!
” His words cracked across the deck like musket fire, drawing the gaze of all aboard.
Alden rubbed the scar on his cheek. “I doubt it’s one of the crew, Caleb. Your men are as loyal as they come. Besides, why would they sabotage a ship they’ve become a part of?”
’Twas a valid point. But Caleb had learned the hard way that loyalty was cheap.
“We’ll assign more men on watch from now on, Captain,” Alden said.
“Aye. See to it.” Caleb hardened his voice as he raised it for all to hear. “Any man caught tampering with this ship shall forthwith be left to rot in this godforsaken town. Now back to your tasks.”
A ripple of unease swept through the crew. Caleb watched them scatter, Keg muttering, Shorty slinking, Liam smirking, and Ayida, her lips curling in the faintest suggestion of a smile.
Alden raised accusatory brows. “Get up on the wrong side of the cot, Captain?”
He’d only allow such impertinence from his friend.
And only because the man was right. Raking back his hair, Caleb glanced at Desi still standing behind him, a glimmer of fear in her eyes.
“Perhaps I was a bit too harsh. Rot and Ruin, ’tis this town.
” He glanced at the tiled roofs gleaming in the sun, the merchants and servants hurrying about, and the sailors unloading goods from a ship that had drifted in overnight.
“I need to leave this infernal place as soon as possible.”
Alden gripped his shoulder. “And we will. God’s timing is perfect.”
Caleb blew out a sigh. “God has naught to do with this cursed island. Go,”—he gestured to the companionway—“get a few hours of sleep. I’ll send one of the crew to get more supplies.”
“Bonjour, mon amis!” The French voice knifed down Caleb’s back. Nay! He closed his eyes, praying he was hearing things.
“Bonjour, anyone on board?”
Against everything within him, Caleb approached the railing and glanced down.
And there he stood. Louise-étienne de Montverre, the Marquis de Montverre, in all his silk and lace finery, complete with curled wig atop his head, despite the heat. Three servants stood behind him, fawning over his every word.
“Ah, there you are, mon ami!” he shouted up. “I heard you were in town.” His French accent had grown stronger.
“And so you find me, Monsieur.” Caleb crossed arms over his chest. “What may I do for you?”
“Do for me, my old friend?” He chuckled. “It is what I can do for you. I’ve come to extend an invitation for you and your officers to dine with me tonight at Montverre House.”
Caleb would rather boil in oil. Besides, why would the man take on the menial task of delivering an invitation that any servant could perform? “You honor me with your presence, Monsieur. Though seems beneath you.”
“Ah. You do me a great discredit, Capitaine Hyde. For I am a man of the people. En fait, I didn’t want to give you the opportunity to reject my kind offer.”
Alden appeared beside him. “We should go.”
“Why?” Caleb spat out as Desi appeared on his other side.
“Ah, a lovely mademoiselle. Do bring her along,” Montverre shouted.
“To find out what he wants,” Alden answered. “To put this nightmare to rest. Perhaps ’tis why God brought us here.”
Caleb clenched his jaw. If God brought him here, ’twas naught but a cruel joke.
The marquis waved a jeweled hand through the air, the lace at his cuffs fluttering in the breeze.
“Shall we say seven? I’ll see you then.” And without awaiting an answer, he strode down the docks as if he owned them—perhaps he did—and leapt into his gilded carriage.
His servants jumped onto the sides and clung to the bars as the vehicle took off down the street, drawing the attention of all.
“Who was that man?” Desi asked.
“The Marquis de Montverre,” Caleb said, his gut tightening. “By all accounts, he runs this island.”
“I’d be careful o’ the man,” Ayida’s creole accent startled Caleb. He’d not seen her approach.
“I quite agree.”
“Ders someden dark ‘bout him, someden cursed.”
“He’s the governor, then?” Desi asked.
“Nay, but he controls the governor, the militia, and the council.”
Alden snorted. “With wealth comes power, and he has plenty of both.”
A breeze tossed Desi’s hair behind her as she gazed at him curiously. “How does he know you?”
Caleb ground his teeth. “A long story. But for now, I do believe we will accept his invitation.” Though it pained him to say so. Yet he did have unfinished business with the marquis. Unpleasant business.
He only hoped and prayed that Geneviève would not be present.
?
The road curved upward through fields of cane and coffee, the sweet scent of crushed stalks clinging to the humid air.
Looking through the carriage window, Desi shaded her eyes against the setting sun and nearly gasped as the plantation house came into view.
It rose above the fields like a sentinel of power, massive, symmetrical, and beautiful in its own way.
White plastered walls gleamed in the fading light, broken by shuttered windows painted a forest green.
A broad veranda wrapped around the front, its balustrades lined with carved posts.
Above, a red-tiled roof sloped high, crowned by two dormer windows glinting in the setting sun like watchful eyes.
The whole structure perched upon a stone foundation, sitting loftily above the ground as if to separate itself from the sweat and soil that fed it.