Moontide Embrace (Historical Romance) (27 page)

Hearing a rustle of silk, Liberty turned to find her sister at her side. "Once again you have drawn attention
to yourself, Liberty. I will not have this kind of behavior
from you, especially on my wedding day."

Liberty suddenly felt pity for her sister. The death of
their mother had been hard on her, because Bandera no
longer had a close confidante. "I am truly sorry, Bandera.
I just do not feel well tonight."

"Come back inside, and at least pretend that you are
happy for me. Lord knows what kind of impression you
made when you bolted out the way you did."

"You are right, Bandera," Liberty said, drying her eyes
on a lace handkerchief. "It was unforgivable of me."

"From your behavior tonight, one would think that you had designs on Sebastian yourself. Have you not enough
men paying court to you that you would covet my hus
band? I believe you only pretend to despise Sebastian to
cover up your true feelings. Why else would you allow him to move in with us?"

Liberty sighed heavily, knowing it would do no good to
tell her sister she had only agreed to have Sebastian and his mother at Briar Oaks for her sake. "Believe me,
Bandera, Sebastian is safe from me. I would not take him
if he were the last man on earth."

For a moment, Bandera looked as if she might cry, but
then she straightened her shoulders. "You may not like
Sebastian, but he is my key to wealth and power. Do you
think I would have married him had I not known he would one day be master of Bend of the River?"

Liberty watched Bandera whirl away and storm into the
house. She could not see how Sebastian had convinced
her sister that he would one day be master of Bend of the River. Monsieur Montesquieu has forbid Sebastian to ever
step foot onto his land. Liberty dreaded the thought of
having Sebastian in her house. Sometimes the obligations
she felt for her sister weighed very heavily on her.

When Liberty reentered the room, she saw that Sebas
tian and Bandera were dancing. She could tell that her
sister was angry, and she knew Sebastian would not have
an untroubled wedding night. Poor Bandera—she did not
want Sebastian, but she wanted his undivided attention.

Liberty doubted that her sister would have his attention
or his faithfulness for many days. She almost found it in
her heart to feel sorry for Bandera . . . almost, but not quite.

The square rigging of the
Winged Victory
filled the sky as she smoothly rode the choppy waves with a grace and
dignity that proclaimed her to be a lady of the sea. No
longer did seawater have to be pumped from below her
leaky decks to keep her afloat in a storm, and no longer did her sails bear the signs of numerous patchings. She was clean and sleek. Having been modified to her captain's exact specifications, she was reputed to be the
fastest vessel in the Atlantic. She was now a privateer. Her
captain was famous for his quick strikes and his ability to
disappear without a trace. The men that sailed on the
Winged Victory
had made their fortunes by capturing
English and Spanish ships, nevertheless, it was said that
their favorite targets were the Barbary pirates!

The
Winged Victory's
sun-bleached canvas was un
furled and playing with the stiff breeze. Majestically, her
bow caught a wave, and lurched upward, seeming to reach for a piece of the heavens.

Her captain stood on deck his eyes trained on the
distant pyramid of sail on the eastern horizon. His atten
tion shifted for the moment, to his left, and he saw a second ship appear on the horizon.

The brisk north wind ruffled Captain Judah Slaughter's
golden hair, but not his poise. There was a coldness in the
captain's turquoise eyes, and maturity and confidence etched on his handsome face. No longer was he the confused and bitter young man who had fled New Orleans. His wits were sharpened, and he captained the
Winged Victory
and her crew with a firm hand and an
easy confidence. The adoration of numerous females had
added a certain arrogance to his stance, even though they
had all left him feeling unsatisfied and unfilled. Many
things had changed about Judah, but the passage of time
had not lessened his need for revenge on his cousin and
Bandera.

Philippe Cease stood at Judah's right, a telescope aiding him to gauge the distance to the two oncoming ships. "They are British, Captain. It looks as if one of them is flying the Blue Ensign, so there must be an admiral on board."

Judah reached for the telescope and gazed at the
approaching vessel. "There's a third ship," he said, adjust
ing the lens to his eyes. "It's an American Naval vessel. I
make her out to be a twelve-gunner."

"She's in trouble, Captain! They're closing on her fast,
and will soon catch her. She's outnumbered and outgunned!" Philippe observed.

Judah had not set foot on American soil since that night he had fled to New Orleans. He knew returning would mean immediate arrest. However, he was very
aware that his country was fighting a war with the British.
Although he had thus far not been drawn into the conflict, he had felt particular satisfaction, each time he
had taken an English ship as prize. Now, seeing the small American vessel in danger from the enemy, he was out
raged. Closing the telescope with a snap, he narrowed his
eyes.

"Suppose we even the odds, Philippe? How do you feel
about helping a sister ship in trouble?"

A smile spread over the Frenchman's face. "I'd like that
fine, Captain."

"I have but to win the approval of the crew and
convince them to take on a fight that will net them more
trouble than booty."

"They like a good scrap, Captain. I believe they could be easily persuaded,” Philippe responded.  "Put it to them, Captain, and see if they are willing to go along."

"Assemble the men on deck, and I'll do that." Judah's
eyes brightened. "Meanwhile, heave to, Philippe, and allow the ships to gain on us. We do not want to outrun the fight before it begins."

By the time every crewmember had gathered to hear
what the captain had to say, the three ships were less than
half an hour away. The smaller American ship was trying without success to escape her powerful enemies. Soon the three vessels would play out their life-and-death struggle
within distance of the
Winged Victory.
Every eye was
trained on the captain to see what his plans were concern
ing the impending battle.

Judah was a dashing figure as he stood on the quarter
deck, one booted foot resting on the railing. He wore black leather britches and a white ruffled shirt. A knife and a pistol were pushed into the folds of the red sash
wound about his waist, and a rapier dangled from a black
leather strap.

Judah's eyes moved over his thirty-man crew, all of
whom he had come to know very well over the years they
had sailed together. The
Winged Victory
was renowned for her battles with the Barbary pirates, as well as her
attacks on French and English merchantmen. Each man
present had made his fortune under the command of
Captain Judah Slaughter—each man trusted and admired
him —but Judah did not yet know how far their loyalty
went. Many of his crew were fugitives from American justice; some were of foreign birth and had no interest in
the war with England.

"Men," Judah began, fingering the hilt of his rapier.
"As you are all aware, there is a battle about to take place
just off our starboard. Like you, I know this battle is none of our affair." Judah paused for effect. "Why should we care that the small American ship hasn't a chance against two larger British ships? It is no concern of ours that the British are at war with the United States.
It does not effect us that the British have been firing on
American ships and impressing their crews into her serv
ice. No, I say we turn tail and run. We have more
important things to do. In a week or less, we will be in Martinique where we can celebrate our last three victories
and count our booty."

Judah saw a troubled look appear on many of the
men's faces as their eyes moved to the American ship that
was losing in the sea chase. Her enemies were bearing down on her.

Crossing his arms, Judah took the few steps that
brought him down to the lower deck. Climbing up on the hatch so he would be above the crew, thus focusing them
to look up at him, he played the men as an actor would play his audience. "Let the American Navy look after their own. We certainly have no reason to fight her battles."

To Judah's surprise it was a Spanish sailor, known only
as Rojo, who spoke up first. "It does not seem fair to let
the two bigger ships attack the smaller one, Captain. We
have never before run from a fight." A murmur of
agreement arose from many of the others. "We take pride
in serving aboard the
Winged Victory,
and we do not
want word to get around Martinique that we are cowards.

"Perhaps you have a point," Judah speculated. "We have never run from a fight . . . neither have we inter
fered in one that didn't directly concern us. What do you
think we should do, men?" He acted as if the decision rested with his crew.

"Begging your pardon, Captain," a man called Gordon
said, respectfully removing his cap and tucking it under his arm. "It kind of gets my ears to burning, knowing
them English are about to fire on my own countrymen. It
don’t hardly seem right to turn our backs when we could
help. Hell, sir, there could be some men from my home state of Virginia on board. I vote that we teach the English dogs a lesson they won't soon forget!"

"Aye, sir," the others agreed in chorus.

"Let's give them what for!" Gordon rallied the men. "Let's blow them clear out of the water!"

Judah took a deep breath and laughed heartily. "All right, men, you've won your point. If it's a fight you want, then it's a fight you'll get."

A chorus of voices rose in deafening approval. In one
lithe stride, Judah moved up the quarterdeck and began
to issue orders. "Hoist sail, Philippe. Gunners, make your cannons ready to fire. Look lively men —prepare to do
battle."

Philippe caught Judah's eye, and he almost laughed
aloud at how easily Judah had maneuvered the crew to do
his bidding. Judah knows a lot about human nature, he
thought. "Man your stations," Philippe yelled across deck. "Like the captain says, prepare to do battle."

In the distance, several volleys were fired, and the
American Naval vessel sustained two direct hits. Her bow
splintered, and one of her masts toppled onto the deck.

It did not take long for the
Winged Victory
to be drawn
into battle. One of the crew, Philippe suspected it was
Gordon, raised an American flag above the mast. That drew almost immediate fire from one of the English frigates, but the shot was clean and wide, sailing harmlessly across the bow of the
Winged Victory.

By now the American Naval craft had spotted her only
salvation, and was swinging wide so the
Winged Victory
could stand between her and harm. Judah saw that the larger of the two British ships, a fifty-two gun ship-of-war, named
Freemont,
had turned and was heading straight for him. Judah knew he was outgunned and he
had to get closer so it would be harder for the enemy to
deliver a heavy broadside. A quick glance told him the small American craft had turned to take on the other
British ship. Damaged as she was, he knew she couldn't
last long.

With the wind at his back, Judah brought the
Winged
Victory
so near the
Freemont
that Philippe shouted across
the deck.

"Do you want us in their laps, Captain?"

"Aye," came the smiling reply, "that I do."

The
Winged Victory
caught a wave, and her hull
reached toward the heavens. As Judah brought her about,
she raked the stern of the
Freemont
with a broadside.
Now it was impossible for the English ship to fire her
cannons, not so the
Winged Victory.
Simultaneously, her
guns flashed fire. She couldn't miss her target at this close
range. Each shot resulted in an explosion on board the
English vessel, and in no time at all the enemy ship was
crippled and taking on water.