Chapter 20 Deceiving and Being Deceived #2
“I told ye, mon ami, ’tis back on the ship.” He gestured toward the door. “I’ll have the rest on the morrow. A sailor’s word is as good as gold.” He started away, but the hiss of blades being drawn scraped over his ears as the points of at least ten swords leveled at his chest.
The Frenchman stood, a calculating grin on his lips. “A sailor’s word feeds not my purse. Non. You have played beyond your means, and here,”—he waved a hand over the tavern—“such folly is paid in coin or blood.”
“What do ye want?” Liam asked, sensing a deadly trap.
The French toad gestured for the men to lower their blades. “I am a merciful man.” His voice was velvet, edged with steel. He drew Liam aside where no one could hear.
“There is a trinket in your captain’s keeping. A Ring. You have seen it, n’est-ce pas?” He leaned close, reeking of sweat, wine, and cloves.
Liam stiffened.
“Bring it to me, and your debt vanishes. Refuse? I will bury you on this island in an unmarked grave, and the world will forget you were ever born.”
?
Ayida crouched over a small bowl. Lanternlight flickered over the seawater within it as it swayed with the rocking of the ship. The creak and groan of timbers joined the patter of tiny feet, the ever-present chorus of the hold.
Ayida clenched her fists, nails biting her palms. Eh bon Dieu!
She nearly had de Ring in her hand! If dat foolish gal had not opened her mouth, if de capitaine had not called upon its power to break every charm she laid!
Oui, it be a mighty relic, strong as de spirits of de deep.
One she longed to claim for herself. With it, she could raise de chains off her people, make de white slavers lick de blood from dey own boots.
A slow smile curved her lips. “Maybe dis one last work of darkness,” she said, “dis one last grand curse, go make him beg me for mercy. Den we see who truly hold de power.”
Reaching into a pouch, she sprinkled crushed herbs onto the water, followed by a fish bone and a twist of scarlet thread. Moving her hands over the concoction, she chanted words older than the island itself.
Reaching for a knife, she pricked her finger, allowing a drop of her blood to splash into the water, then stirred it with a chicken feather until it grew black and thick.
“Let their bellies twist,” she murmured. “Let fever take dem one by one, till de ship moans wid their misery.”
A faint wind rustled through the timbers, though no hatch was open. Smiling, Ayida blew out the lantern, and somewhere above, a sailor coughed.
?
Once again, Caleb found himself entering the Montverre estate.
Only this time he knew without a doubt ’twas not a nest of doves, but a den of lions.
Ever since Geneviève had exposed her father’s duplicity, Caleb had sought an audience with the French fiend.
Hence, imagine his surprise when he received an invitation for afternoon refreshments, written in Montverre’s hand.
Bring as many of your men as you like, and Miss Starr as well. I found her quite charming. 2:00 pm?
Alden warned him not to go, that ’twas most likely a trap. And while Caleb agreed that the marquis was up to no good, he also knew the Frenchman’s honor would not allow him to harm them in public.
Liam, more agitated than usual, fidgety and devoid of his typical sarcasm, seemed eager to sample whatever delicacies the marquis might offer.
And Miss Starr? She’d hardly spoken a word to him in over a day.
True, he’d been busy managing ship repairs—which thankfully would be completed today—but no matter how often he tried to speak with her, she avoided him.
He could not imagine why, other than she thought he might stop her from returning to her time.
As if he had the power or knowledge to do so. Women!
Still, when he’d asked her to accompany them, she’d agreed. Though she’d neither spoken a word in the carriage nor looked his way.
He’d be lying if he said her dismissal didn’t prick his heart.
But he had more important matters at hand as he followed the servant into Montverre’s parlor with the lady on his arm. Liam and Alden followed close behind.
A breeze, ripe with the scent of hibiscus and the sea, flowed through tall open windows.
Several exquisitely carved chairs sat between small tables that surrounded a plush upholstered settee.
Imported tapestries lined the wall beside paintings of what looked like the French countryside.
A fireplace sat on one end, a harpsichord at the other, while rays of sunlight cast gleams across the marble floor.
Montverre sat in a high-backed chair, his hand in the air, his chin lifted, and his grin predatory. Two liveried servants entered, silver trays in hand, setting cups of steaming chocolate, thick and spiced with cinnamon, onto the side table.
“Bienvenue, mes amis.” Montverre rose and ushered them in, gesturing toward the refreshments. “Do help yourselves. You will find that here, even the simplest refreshment is…elevated.”
Plates of candied pineapple, sugared orange peel and golden brioches graced the buffet table beside ornate bowls overflowing with fresh mangoes and plantains. Quite the impressive display.
Caleb’s stomach soured. Before he could inquire as to the purpose of this meeting, Geneviève entered, silk skirts whispering over the floor. Leaning, she kissed her father’s cheek. But her hopeful eyes were on Caleb.
Desi snapped her hand from his arm and retreated to a seat near the door. Liam made his way to the sideboard of delights, while Alden stood by Desi, arms crossed over his chest.
“We are here at your invitation, Monsieur le Marquis. For what purpose?”
“Ah, you English are so grossier…boorish… or is it the sailor’s life that has caused you to lose the manners of your class?”
Caleb fisted his hands, longing to punch the supercilious grin off the man’s face. “This may not be the proper time, but I wish to speak with you about the night the Spanish militia attacked our mission.”
“Non. This is not the time, Capitaine.” Montverre waved away the thought, the lace at his cuffs fluttering, and resumed his seat.
Geneviève cast a furtive glance at Caleb before sitting on the settee beside her father. “Perhaps you should hear him out, Papa. I so long for you and Captain Hyde to become friends again.” Drawing her lips into a pout, she cocked her head in that captivating way Caleb had once loved.
Apparently, it had the same effect on Montverre, for he smiled, his gaze adoring. “Very well, mon trésor.” Then looking up at Caleb, he rose and gestured to the door. “Shall we retreat to my study where we can discuss this in private?”
Alden took a step forward, shaking his head. “I would advise against that, Captain.”
Montverre laughed. “I am a gentleman. You have my word no harm will come to him.”
“’Tis not him I’m worried about,” Alden replied, one brow arched.
Chuckling, Liam set down his cup of hot chocolate.
Montverre frowned.
Miss Starr’s eyes were on Geneviève, who perched like a regal princess, hands folded in her lap, head held high.
“Lead the way, Monsieur.” Caleb gestured toward the door. He loathed being alone with the man, but if ’twas the only way to drag the truth out of him, so be it.
The marquis gave a forced grin before facing his daughter. “Entertain our guests in my absence, ma chère.”
“Of course, Papa.”
Montverre brushed past Caleb, drowning him in the scent of amber and musk.
“Liam, Alden,” Caleb addressed his men. “Keep watch over Miss Starr.”
Both men nodded as the lady’s eyes finally met his. Fear skittered across them, fear and an affection he’d longed to see of late. So, she did harbor feelings for him, after all.
She reached for him, and he took her hand, bent, and placed a kiss upon it.
“Be careful.” Her whisper, so full of love and care, burrowed into his heart.