Chapter 20 Deceiving and Being Deceived
Desi leaned against the bulkhead of Caleb’s cabin, her arms full of Patches, and her gaze focused on the captain as he discussed recent bizarre happenings with his officers.
She had nothing to offer the conversation.
Mainly because she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t gone completely nuts and wasn’t already locked in an institution dreaming all this craziness up in her demented mind.
Thousands of birds that attacked only one ship?
A tornado without a storm that leveled a single building?
She smiled. She couldn’t believe those strange events, yet she had no problem believing she’d traveled back in time. Yup. Crazy as a loon.
“How fare the men, Brandt?” Caleb asked. “Did the birds do much harm?”
Brandt leaned back in the chair, hands folded over his portly belly, but his eyes were on Ayida, lingering in the shadows to his right. “Nay. Scratches, bites, nothing a smattering of salve won’t cure.”
“I told you, Captain.” Alden rubbed the scar on his cheek. “For every wonder the Ring works, it births a disaster. You’ll tear this ship, and yourself, apart.”
Liam crossed arms over his chest and grinned. “I knew there was something powerful about that Ring. Weel met, Cap’n. Ye kept yer secret well.”
“Not well enough.” Caleb turned from staring out the stern window, his gaze sweeping over Desi before focusing on his crew.
“What precisely is it?” Liam asked.
“It be de devil’s work.” Ayida slinked from the shadows.
“I agree!” Alden all but shouted. “Those were not real birds, but demons with feathers.”
Releasing a heavy sigh, Caleb twisted the Ring still on his finger. “It saved us. Twice that I know of. The rats and the birds.”
Alden snorted. “At what cost? You know a better way. Call upon the Lord!”
Brandt chuckled. “Cursed rings, invisible gods, the hot Caribbean sun has finally fried all your brains.”
Ignoring the doctor, Alden gripped his leather baldric. “The townsfolk believe the Sentinel is cursed, and I don’t blame them. They are angry at the loss of their lanterns and now their warehouse, along with all the valuable goods stored within.”
Clutching his lucky stone, Liam rubbed it between his fingers. “The town commandant denied yer invitation to discuss what happened, Cap’n. Said he won’t board the devil’s ship.”
Caleb frowned. “A superstitious lot.”
“This is madness.” Alden groaned. “Get rid of the Ring. It has caused us naught but tragedy.”
And possibly Desi’s journey through time. Sighing, she stroked the cat’s fur.
“Nay.” Caleb’s eyes shifted to the pink ribbon on his desk, and Desi knew he thought of his sister. “I promised my father I’d sink it to the depths at the precise location he gave me. And I intend to do just that.”
Alden took a step forward. “Then store it away somewhere safe. Place a guard on it, if you must, but by all that is holy, do not call upon its powers again.”
Ayida shuffled toward the desk, her dark eyes full of wonder and yet something else Desi couldn’t name.
“De sea knows. De sky knows. Nothin’ done wid dat Ring goes unpaid.
It be cursed an’ the source of all yer troubles.
Only de dark powers can tame it. Give it to me, Captain, an’ I’ll put it somewhere where it can do no harm. ” She held out her hand.
Caleb studied her for a moment before shifting his gaze to Desi. “What do you say, Miss Starr?”
All eyes snapped her way, and she swallowed down a burst of uncertainty.
Even though it touched her that Caleb would ask, who was she to offer a solution?
She slid an errant strand of hair behind her ear.
“I say if the Ring is as powerful as you think and as dangerous as Alden believes, it should be locked away and kept from anyone being able to use it.”
Ayida’s eyes grew cold as she withdrew her hand.
Caleb smiled.
Alden waved a hand through the air. “Finally, words of wisdom.”
Yet at that precise moment, a ray of sunlight angled through the window and landed on the Ring, setting the amber jewel aglow. A sign?
Lowering his hand, Caleb circled his desk. “One thing I do know for certain is that someone or something does not want me to complete my mission.”
“Perhaps ’tis Geneviève,” Alden said. “You spoke to her last night, did you not?”
“Ah, the princess has arrived back at her palace.” Liam teased.
Princess? Palace? Geneviève? So that was where Caleb had gone last night.
Yet he failed to mention the lady. Against her will, a surge of jealousy hammered through Desi, followed by anger, and she drew her lips tight.
Stupid, stupid girl. When would she learn that men like Caleb would never settle for one woman?
?
Caleb didn’t fail to notice that at the mention of Geneviève, Desi’s body stiffened and her eyes narrowed. He should have told her about the chance meeting, but in truth, the encounter had meant so little to him, he’d all but forgotten it.
He faced Alden. “Aye, and she only confirmed my suspicion of her father. I must go see him again. Confront him.”
“Are you sure that is wise?” Alden asked. “What good can come from it?”
A poignant question and one Caleb didn’t wish to answer. Yet he had to know the truth. He was desperate to understand what had happened that night. In order to put the sordid event to rest, blame must be placed where it belonged. Lord knew, he had already owned his part in the tragedy.
Gripping his cane, Brandt struggled to rise. “I must speak with you, Captain.”
“Then by all means.” Caleb waved a hand in his direction.
“Alone.”
What could the doctor possibly wish to discuss that the others couldn’t hear?
Nevertheless, Caleb gestured for everyone to leave.
“Ayida, the men will soon be famished. Liam, Alden, get the ashy mess cleaned up posthaste and the men back to their repairs. I want this ship ready to set sail on the morrow.”
Mumbling, Liam and Alden left. Aydia cast a dark glance toward Brandt before following them.
Brandt nodded toward Desi.
“She stays. Now out with it.”
Brandt closed the door, then adjusted his spectacles. “I overheard a conversation at the Montverre estate. You see, I was quite enthralled by the man’s collection of plants and herbs in his orangerie. One in particular was an herb I’d not run across before, which has been discovered to aid in the—”
“To the point, if you please.” Caleb interrupted, his patience thinning.
“Yes, yes.” Brandt shook his head and glanced once more at the closed door. “I believe ’twas the marquis himself speaking with a woman bearing a creole accent.”
Caleb raised a brow, longing to speed the man up.
“It was about your Ring, Captain. At least I heard a ring mentioned. Along with some of the disasters we’ve thus encountered on our journey. The rice, the galleon, the rats. And I heard the words vodou, delay, and ruin.”
“They spoke of me, the Sentinel?”
“I believe so.”
“Hmm.” Caleb sorted through this new information, trying to make sense of it. Yet, it only confirmed what Geneviève had said. Montverre was Caleb’s enemy. But to what purpose? The Ring? How could he know of its existence? Or even that it was in Caleb’s possession?
Rot and Ruin! Did everyone in the Caribbean know about the Ring? “That’s all you heard?”
“Aye, they were at a distance, and the sounds of the night and revelry from inside muffled their words.”
“And the woman? You didn’t recognize her voice?”
Brandt leaned on his cane. “Nay, but her accent was creole like Ayida’s. Though, I suppose, it could have been any of his servants or slaves.”
Caleb cast a glance at Desi, who shared his look of confusion.
If the conversation was about the Ring, why would Montverre discuss it with a slave?
Still, he refused to believe Ayida had anything to do with Montverre.
How would an ex-slave Caleb had rescued from Jamaica be acquainted with a wealthy and powerful nobleman like the marquis?
Nay. She’d have no reason to betray Caleb.
Yet…hadn’t he once believed that of Geneviève?
?
Liam kissed his lucky stone and grinned at the five French sailors sitting around the table.
An off-key violin joined laughter, shouts, and the clank of mugs at the L’étoile du Nord tavern in town.
The scantily dressed wench on his lap nibbled on his ear, her attentions growing more salacious the more coins he won.
A knot of sailors and planters leaned in close as Liam flicked a card onto the table, flashing a look of confidence. “Here’s a queen to answer yer knave.” He tossed back a shot of rum, tasting victory in the sharp liquor.
A Frenchman as thin as a pole with eyes like polished ink, set his own card on the table with a devious grin. Another queen.
Liam’s heart seized.
Groans and laughter rippled through the mob.
“A crown says the Irishman folds first!” one man shouted.
“I’ll wager a ration o’ rum he wins this hand!” another added.
Sweat forming on his brow, Liam drew the next card and laid it down slowly. But as the Three of Clubs came into view, he felt his stomach shrivel into a cold, hard stone.
Frowning, the busty wench leapt from his lap and sashayed away.
Chuckling, the dealer slapped his next card onto the table, but his eyes were already focused on the pile of coins. Most of them Liam’s.
The sailors erupted with shouts, curses, and laughter.
“Luck’s a fickle mistress, mon ami,” the Frenchman purred, sweeping the winnings into his pile. “Now where are those ten fine pieces of eight you said you were good for?”
Swallowing a burst of dread, Liam slowly rose, stretching his fingers over the hilt of his blade.
The men at the table also stood, their rum-hazed eyes daring him to make a move.
Skilled as he was, he could not fight them all.
More gazes shot his way as a hush of anticipation settled over the raucous crowd.