Chance the Winds of Fortune (28 page)

“Thank you, Captain Mackay, although I doubt you came calling merely to compliment me on my ship,” Dante said, deciding to put an end to the informalities and bring Captain Cuthbert Mackay's real reason for visiting him out into the open.

Bertie Mackay's grin widened in appreciation. “Aye, right you are, Captain. But please, call me Bertie. I insist all of my friends do,” he said to the man who'd been a less-than-friendly rival for many years. “Now I'm a man for plain speaking, and I've never thought of myself as being a fool. And,” he added, a warning glint in his eyes, which wiped all geniality from his somewhat florid features, “I don't like to be thought one by others.”

“I am sure no one in their right mind would assume such a thing, Captain,” Dante murmured softly, his fingers never stopping their soothing motions through Jamaica's fur.

“Glad to hear you say that. Yes, sir, that I am, for it seems to me that we could become very good friends,” Mackay suggested with a sly twinkle in his eyes.

Dante Leighton stared across the warmly lit space between them, his pale gray eyes narrowed while he studied this disturbingly affable Bertie Mackay. He knew when the captain of the
Annie Jeanne
was smiling widest that he was usually up to no good. It had come as a great shock to many an unsuspecting person, lulled into a false sense of security by an ingratiating grin and infectious laugh, to discover that the fatherly Bertie Mackay could just as easily cut your heart out as shake your hand. His appearance was completely misleading, since no one would suspect such a jolly and apple-cheeked individual of acts bordering on piracy, and, if the truth be known, of murder most foul. But most good townspeople, especially those receiving contraband from the genial smuggler, refused to believe that Bertie Mackay, loving husband and fond father of five little Mackays, could be a murderer. They believed that if the captain of the
Annie Jeanne
had put a man in the grave, then it had surely been in self-defense.

While in Charles Town, Captain Cuthbert Mackay was a pillar of the community, a fine example of hardworking, middle-class values. He escorted his family to church on the Sabbath, was known to give generously to the poor, and had never been caught carousing in any of the numerous taverns about town. It was a well-known fact that he was devoted and ever-faithful to his Annie Jeanne, his Scottish wife. The two of them had been young sweethearts setting out to make their fortune in the new colonies in the wilderness. He was often heard to say that there were none like his Annie Jeanne, and if the listener chanced a glance at this paragon of virtue and recipient of such undying devotion, he might well have agreed, for Annie Jeanne Mackay was fair of face and figure, with a bonny disposition and Scottish burr that made her instantly beloved.

If there were any vice that Cuthbert “Bertie” Mackay was guilty of, then it would have to be his inordinate fondness for fine clothes. His coats and breeches were made in London by the best tailors, and twice a year he visited London to get fitted out in the latest styles. The coat he was wearing now had been cut by a master hand, the cuff appropriately wide and revealing the proper amount of lace. His silk waistcoat was trimmed with gold, and complemented the gold buttons adorning his coat. His black velvet breeches were perhaps a bit out of place, but Mackay had a fondness for velvet. His linen neckcloth, however, could not be faulted, nor could his neatly gartered stockings or his shoes with the baroque buckles.

“Now what could possibly occur that might instigate such an alliance between two so dedicated rivals, Captain?” Dante inquired lazily.

“Aye, you're quick, Captain, that you are,” wheezed Mackay with approval, for there was nothing better to put you on your mettle than a quick-witted opponent. “Well now, seeing how we are past rivals, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones and forget any grievances I might have held against you, Captain Leighton,” Mackay offered generously. “I'm a God-fearing, forgiving man, and I'm not one to be holding unnecessary grudges, Captain. You remember that.”

Dante smiled slightly. “Yes, I shall, and I had no idea I was so fortunate to find myself in your good graces, Captain Mackay. But I am curious,” Dante added, his lips twisting cynically, “about exactly what it is that I must forfeit in return.”

Mackay threw up his hands, his expression showing that his sensibilities had been abused. “Ah, Captain Leighton, you struck me down unfairly then, that you did. To think you'd have such a low opinion of my genuine offer of friendship and be so suspicious of my motives, well,” he said, shaking his bewigged head, “you hurt me, sir, yes indeed.”

Dante's gray eyes narrowed as he continued to sit silently, waiting for what would surely be more dramatics, with, perhaps, a few revelations.

“Actually, Captain, 'tis more of a service that
I
can render for you, than the other way around,” Mackay told him smugly, a pleased look replacing the calculating expression that usually lurked within the seemingly gentle blue depths of his eyes.

“You have me intrigued, Captain,” Dante remarked, showing little curiosity about the means now being offered by Mackay to end their hostilities.

“Did you never hear the fable of the dog and the bone? No? Well, Captain, there is a lesson to be learned in its telling,” Mackay advised, settling his bulk into a more comfortable position on the creaking chair. Then he took a tongue-loosening swallow of his brandy.

“You see, there was this dog. Fair to starvin' he was. Indeed, 'twas a pitiable sight to see him skulking along the lane, his tail between his legs as he dodged booted feet aimed at his backside. Reckon he thought he'd come close to his last days of breathing; then the fates smiled on him and he hears about a butcher who's going to be getting rid of scraps. And among these scraps is a bone that could feed him for the rest of his days. Never have to go hungry again, no, sir. Ah, excited he was, that be for sure. But, as only too often happens, a rumor got started about this magic bone, and before the poor dog knew it, every flea-bitten mongrel in town was after that bone. Ah, the poor wee dog had not a moment's peace, Captain. Can you imagine how the wretched dog was hounded? Why, he couldn't even lift his leg without some growling cur snapping at his heels. Well, the day was drawing close, and this dog knew, for he wasn't without brains, that he'd never be able to steal his bone with that pack of mad dogs on his scent. The only thing in our dog's favor was that he was the only one who knew
which
butcher 'twas that was throwing out the scraps. Well, with a cunning seldom seen, he leads all of the other dogs on a wild goose chase as he noses about the offscourings of all of the butcher shops in town. Then, when most of the dogs had tired of the chase, for naught was found of a magic bone, he trots along home, quite pleased with himself, I might say. However,” Mackay continued, the light tone in his voice disappearing, “there was this
other
dog.”

Dante raised an interested eyebrow, a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Another dog, Captain? No doubt a Highland terrier?”

Mackay grinned widely with appreciation. “Ah, Captain, you're one of the brightest lads I've had the pleasure of dealing with in a long time. Never disappoint me, no, sir! You're quick-witted, that you are, Captain Leighton,” he chuckled, slapping his knee with his palm. “You see, this
other
dog was suspicious and figured that the first dog was not to be trusted, because the thought of misleading this pack of dogs had crossed his own mind several times. And so he decides to follow this dog, and what do you think he finds?” he asked innocently.

“He sees this other dog,” he continued, not waiting for an answer, “waiting patiently outside a butcher shop, which had been beneath the pack's notice earlier in the day. Now I wonder what it was this dog was waiting for. Could it be the bone? But every dog in town thought that there was no bone, for they'd followed this dog around and come away with empty stomachs, as well as the idea that this dog was a bit of a fool for wasting his time on so foolhardy an adventure.

“Now this other dog has two options, Captain, and which one he decides to use, well, 'tis up to the first dog to decide.” Mackay grinned at his longtime rival.

“Is it really?” Dante commented politely. “How do you figure that, Captain Mackay?”

“Well, the way this other dog sees it, the first dog can either join with him in purloining this bone, or”—he paused, his words holding a wealth of meaning—“he can expect to lose possession of it. Because this other dog will call down the pack of wild dogs on him, and then he will be left with nothing. Maybe not even his life,” Mackay said in conclusion, leaving an expectant silence in the air between the two adventurers.

Dante Leighton smiled, but there was a dangerous glint in his eye. “And what did this cur do?” he asked.

Bertie Mackay was all smiles. “Why, he joined with the other dog in retrieving the bone. I told you he was a smart dog, didn't I? Better to share the bone than to have naught of it. Right, Captain?”

“Perhaps,” Dante replied noncommittally. “But then,” he added with a smile calculated to puzzle, “it all depends on the prize, doesn't it, Captain?”

Mackay's genial expression faded like the stars at dawn. “Aye, Captain, that it does.”

“A very interesting little fable, Captain,” Dante said with a slightly bored sigh. “But I do not see its purpose, nor its relevance to a lessening of hostilities between us. Ah,” he added then, as if he'd just remembered something important, “you have not told me the moral to the tale, have you, Captain? And I am quite certain there is a moral to be told, is there not?” Dante invited the captain of the
Annie Jeanne
. His smile, however, was anything but encouraging.

“Aye, Captain Leighton, a moral there is,” Mackay responded, his lips quivering tightly. “'Tis far better to share with a friend, who can become an ally, than to make a pack of enemies and risk losing all.”

The firelight glowed softly on Dante Leighton's chestnut curls as he gazed in absorbed contemplation at the fire consuming the logs in the grate. “An admirable philosophy, Captain. But, unfortunately, I am not a man who cares to share, nor do I know of many men I can call friend, or men whom I can trust implicitly. Granted,” said Dante, so softly that Mackay had to lean forward to catch his words, “a pack of wolves can bring down a larger prey than a single wolf, but a lone wolf can move undetected where a pack would only draw attention. The lone wolf can move swiftly and silently, Captain. He strikes at will; then he is gone, with almost no one the wiser, except perhaps the victim,” Dante said. His voice had slipped into such a conversational tone that Mackay was hardly aware of the threat in his rival's words, but one glance into Dante's icy gray eyes convinced him.

“Of course, this is mere speculation,” Dante continued, “for I have nothing of value that you might wish to share with me. I do not share my women, but then you are happily married, aren't you, Captain? It can't be my stallion or other horseflesh, for you do not ride, do you, Captain?” Dante gazed speculatively at the other man. “And although you have professed a wish to own the
Sea Dragon
, we both know that there can be only one captain on board, and I happen to be her master, so…” Dante allowed his words to fall into the heavy silence.

Bertie Mackay's deep roar of laughter was unexpected, startling Jamaica from his captain's lap. With a spitting protest, the cat skidded across the waxed floor, his claws making a scratching noise as he shot between Houston Kirby's legs and upended the startled little steward with his tray and its decanter of brandy. Although Kirby managed to catch the crystal decanter, its contents spilled onto his clean breeches and shirt front.

“Reckon I won't be sharin' any more brandy with you, Captain,” said Mackay, with a hearty laugh for the steward's comical predicament.

With a baleful glare aimed at the captain of the
Annie Jeanne
, a fuming Kirby picked himself up from the floor, his sparkling blue eyes searching out the miserable creature that had precipitated his humiliation before so despised a rival. But hard as he searched, he could not locate one vulnerable inch of orange fur; the dark shadows beneath the escritoire against the wall effectively obscured Jamaica's hiding place. So, with a muttering beneath his breath, Kirby, his dignity riding low, stomped from the room.

“Ah, Captain Leighton, once again you haven't disappointed me, for I suspected you might be of a stubborn frame of mind. Aye, 'tis a pity though, for I've enjoyed our little rivalries in the past, that I have.”

“You sound as though I've already departed this earth, Captain,” Dante remarked, his expression revealing nothing to Mackay of what was going on in his mind.

“Not at all, not at all,” Mackay protested. “Of course, one can never be quite certain if one will return from a voyage or not. 'Tis a wide ocean out there. Many things can happen—unexpected things. A man's got to be mighty careful how he sets his sails. Could sail into a galeful of trouble, yes, sir, that he could. I'd be real careful if I was you, Captain Leighton, especially now that the
Sea Dragon
's sailing by her lonesome. She's got no friends here in Charles Town. At least none she can trust,” advised Mackay. “Well, I must be off. I'm meeting with several captains here in port. We thought we might get together, form a company whereby we pool our resources. We are all ambitious men, but growing tired of smuggling. To be quite frank, the risk is becoming too great,” he confided. “We thought we'd work together this one time—we could fill our purses for years to come. Kind of reminds one of that fable, don't it, Captain? Well, I must take my leave. Look forward to seeing the
Sea Dragon
's sails unfurled again and rapping full. Good afternoon to you, then.” Thus did Bertie Mackay, grinning captain of the
Annie Jeanne
, bid farewell to the sardonically amused captain of the
Sea Dragon
.