CHAPTER TWO
THE SILENT, BROODING Captain Gamponetti and his storm cloud eyes settled Jacqueline and Julian in the back of the cart, then handed Eva up to the bench. She tried not to flinch at his touch, and instead propped her sack of herbs and salves between her feet while he climbed up and gathered the reins, giving them a flick of his wrist to spur the old mule into motion.
She roused Sister Beatrice long enough to inform her of their planned trip to the caves. She shot a sideways glance at the man next to her, a mountain of muscle and bone with eyes like thunder. At least if she didn't return in a timely fashion, the sisters would know where to search for her body. While she had no true outward cause to be so wary other than his presence and Kalia's premonition, remaining cautious was more of a self-preservation type of instinct. Truly, the man merely delivered words and sentences in a crisp terse manner. Still...
Stop it.
Those ominous statements only added to this discomfiture. Allowing them to churn in her mind didn't help at all. Her duty was to treat and heal the girl. But even so, she should be on her guard every moment.
Eva pulled the hood lower over her head. Keeping her scarred face in the shadows came instinctively. Less to protect herself. If she kept her face hidden, it saved others from being affected by the sight. The reactions no longer surprised or mortified her like they once did. Just a numbing punch to the gut.
Children cried.
Ladies spoke in hushed whispers as they stared from behind their fans.
"What a horrible thing to happen to a young girl. I wonder how she was maimed."
"It's likely she's a whore. I've been told older women in a brothel will attack and scar the younger ones so they don't steal their customers."
"Oh, how do you know she's a...a..."
"No chaperone, no protector, what else would she be?"
Five summers ago, the young man who'd promised love and marriage, a life outside the convent, had recoiled in horror when she finally got the nerve to remove the veil. He soon disappeared from her life and left her with a shattered heart. The malicious, bloody shards still jabbed at her lungs when she allowed the memories to invade. Long ago she accepted the fact she was too damaged for any kind of romantic relationship.
At least now she was valued. Her friendship with Sister Beatrice was as close as she would ever get to love.
"Are you expecting the waters to heal the girl?" The captain's dubious tone broke the quiet, startling her.
Another quick glance revealed a grim set to his jaw. The healer in her, as well as self-preservation, required her to ease his worries. Keep him calm, by any and all means possible. The rest of her wanted to shake bells and shout warnings to the villagers.
Fighting the unease best she could, she kept her voice low and soothing. "The cave waters are cool and will reduce her fever, which I suspect comes from her bladder. She'll need to drink a medicinal tea, and a lot of it over the next fortnight, to dispel the sickness."
He shifted uncomfortably on the hard wooden seat, shoulders tight and coiled. "Have you healed someone with this type of infirmity before?"
"Of course--"
"Did the treatment work? Did they live?"
"Capitaine Gamponetti, I may be young for a healer, but I assure you--"
"She's such a little piece of fluff, but she's as stout-hearted as any of my men." He jiggled the reins, giving the mule the opportunity to keep up his pace without getting a crack on the rump for lagging. "I haven't been around many small girls, but I believe she's stronger than most." His voice bore a hint of pride; daring her to argue.
"I know you're worried about her, and I promise I'll do everything I can to help her."
"But what of the burns on her arms?" The steadiness of his words did nothing to hide his concern, nor the stern resolve in the angle of his frown.
"Your daughter probably played beneath a manchineel tree after the storm."
He released a long breath, glanced at her, then dipped his head trying to peer inside her hood. She swayed away from him. Couldn't stop herself. The expression after that first glance would be the hardest to control; it always was, for her as well.
He straightened. "They're not mine, although I am responsible for them at the moment," he finally said.
This fact gave her pause. He acted very anxiously for a man who wasn't even kin to the children. Some of the tightness eased from her shoulders. He had a good heart, then, surely. Now he was composed, but still, she sensed a hidden menace lurking beneath the surface, like an alligator submerged in the murky waters of the bayou. Waiting.
"Where are their parents?"
"Dead."
Eva nodded, understanding. Thankfully, the abbey had room, should the children need a home. The nuns never turn a child away; she was living proof. She froze. A question in her mind ripped her stomach open...dead by whose hand? His?
"Are you related," she asked, hoping with all her heart the answer would be "yes."
He shrugged. "No, but their family is very special to me. I'm an unofficial guardian of sorts. Their uncle, cousins, and brothers operate a hotel and gaming house in New Orleans, which was destroyed by a fire. I offered the twins a place to stay while it was being rebuilt." He cleared his throat. "To keep them out of the way."
"Are you with the British troops?"
He shook his head. "I have my own schooner."
"He's a privateer," Julian piped up from behind her.
Even as Eva sent up a brief prayer of thanks, a shiver ran up her spine. Privateers were nothing more than pirates with permission to plunder, some spurred by loyalty to their sovereign, others by greed. Worse, in times such as these, said permission wasn't always sought. Letters of Marque were not always obtained, nor were they often authentic. Privateers were thieves and marauders, the lot of them--a people and a lifestyle she avoided with determined vigor. She did so quite well up until tonight.
A wisp of hair tickled her chin and she tucked it away. She should have grabbed her long veil. It draped diagonally across her face and over her shoulder, covering the puckered, maimed skin on her cheek. She peered discreetly at the man next to her. He had a restless aura about him, loose limbs ready to snap into action. Charcoal eyes carried a hint of leashed violence. Which kind of privateer? A devious one might not concern himself with children, although it would take a true demon of a man to deny minor assistance to a child, like taking her to a healer.
Well, the man couldn't be completely black-hearted. Miss Kalia's strange insights might be helpful here. Her mind returned to his a schooner. There was indeed a reason he knocked on her door tonight, beyond the girl's sickness. Perhaps beyond the prediction.
Providence.
She'd prayed and prayed. God had answered her prayers and sent someone to help her and the Ursuline nuns. They were in dire need of a protector to save their relics. A responsibility that could cause an unambitious man to shirk away, but surely once properly presented, might not be so immense a quest. Especially for a privateer. Once she explained everything to the captain, he'd understand that, too. Taking advantage of this quiet moment offered her the opportunity.
"I believe, Capitaine Gamponetti, the divine hand of God has sent you to me."
Silver-hued eyes held a hint of humor. "Pardon my lack of conviction sister, but I doubt God's hand would send a man like me to someone like you."
Someone like him? Perhaps her observations had been correct, then. Not that it mattered, overmuch. The only thing concerning her now was that she could trust him to a reasonable degree.
A direct approach might be best. "Oh, but I honestly believe He has, capitaine. You will deliver the children back home to New Orleans soon, no? I am of the Ursuline order there, and I have a desire to return to the convent. When it is time for you to depart Jamaica, I would happily act as the children's chaperone." Surely he'd relish the opportunity to divert more of his attention to his ship, rather than split it with keeping a watchful eye on the young twins.
He repressed a snort and cut her a short storm cloud glance. "Had you been acquainted with the two of them when both were in good health, I doubt you'd make the same offer."
"Are you saying they're rascals?" His warning made her smile. Just the fact that he made an attempt at levity allowed her to relax somewhat. As much as a person could relax with a coiled panther seated four inches away.
The corner of his mouth tipped up. "They are rascals of the highest degree and much too smart for their own good. The two of them together... especially dangerous."
She laughed. "I shall endeavor to remain in their good graces. How long will the twins be with you?"
He twisted and cast a concerned stare over his shoulder.
Eva followed his gaze. Julian was sitting with his back against the box seat, his sister curled on her side, leaning against his chest. He had his arms around her tightly as the cart rolled and jolted over the bumpy trail. Still, she remained asleep, her head lolling on her brother's shoulder.
His lips flattened. "They were to stay with me until early spring. Until recently, I had been preparing to set sail south to Cartagena. I have a trade route to run and a timetable to keep."
Had been. Would they delay or leave earlier? "Have your plans changed?"
The captain shrugged once more. "I might bring the children to their uncle in New Orleans before I depart, depending on Jacqueline's health."
Eva caught her breath. Here was the opportunity she needed. "I should very much like to accompany them. As I have a need to return also, I would be happy to look after them during the journey." She repeated herself. She already offered herself as a chaperone. Now, she must sound desperate. Which of course she was, but she didn't want to raise his suspicions.
He paused. She raised his suspicions. Drat.
The hesitation sent a mixture of trepidation and relief to her chest. He might consider it, but was not yet convinced it was a good idea. She must think of a way to persuade him to take her along. Maybe appealing to his ego would help. "I talked with every merchant ship's captain in Port Royal, begging for passage back to New Orleans, but all were too cowardly to assist me."
One had looked at her like she had an octopus on her head. "I ain't sailing into them waters, sister. Not with them British bastards-pardon my language-not with the British and their war with the States. Too dangerous. Only a fool or a madman would even try."
He shifted. The angle of his head gave her a full view of both narrowed silver eyes. "Why are you so eager to return?"
Before she could answer, the captain's shoulders tensed and his attention whipped around to focus to the right of the trail ahead. Broad leafy shadows crossed the moonlit path. Nothing moved, no sounds.
No noises at all.
No beetles buzzing, no night creatures rustling in the underbrush, no chirping tree frogs. Her lungs tightened. Jamaica wasn't without its dangerous beasts, both human and animal.
"What is it?" she whispered, gripping the edge of the cart seat, staring wildly into the dense flora.
"We're being watched." Easing a pistol from his belt with one hand, he pulled the reins with the other. The mule's ears twitched; he stopped abruptly, attention forward, listening. The captain spoke in a low voice. "Easy."
A lone figure stood on the trail a few yards ahead of them. "Why you be travelin' dis time o' night, Sistah Eva? You gots troubles?"
She slumped with relief. Miss Kalia. Next to her, the captain froze, his hands gripping the reins as if they kept him from falling into a burning pit of lava.
"I'm taking a sick child to the caves."
"Girl-child then. Who wit you?"
She swallowed. The premonition. "Capitaine Gamponetti."
Kalia grinned then cackled a short laugh. "Ah, yes, yes. Last time him saw I, him come from da red house. Long night wit da rum. Bad day next, eh Drago?"
The captain turned to granite beside her, likely embarrassed (as well he should be) that Miss Kalia had seen him leaving a brothel. Eva chewed her lip. Maybe she misread the man. Allowed desperation to dictate her impressions.
The old woman approached the wagon, swaying like seaweed with the tide, perhaps due to aching joints, but on a night like this, it was bewitching and unnerving, like an adder mesmerizing prey. The moonlight subdued her brightly patched skirt into shades of grayish-reds, greens, blues, and yellows. Colorful feathers poked out in every direction from the silver hair piled high on her head. A streak of white paint trailed from one ear, ran along her jawline, across her chin, ending at her other ear like a gruesome grin. Eva fought the strong desire to squirm closer to the pirate for protection. That would give her as much reassurance as jumping from an alligator's jaws to a lion's mouth.
Kalia hummed as she peered over the side at Jacqueline. "T'ought so. Eva, see I in a vision just now. Surrounded by thunder and frost, perched next to a jaguar black as night. Woke I wide up." Before she could respond, the woman scampered up into the wagon bed bringing with her a strong tang of wood smoke.
Julian didn't take his eyes from her but still leaned away as she bent over his sister. She placed her palm against the girl's cheek, her brown hand contrasting sharply with the pale skin, even though it was still flushed with fever. She tilted Jacqueline's head back, pressed her chin down to open her mouth. Sniffed her breath.
Unsure what to say or do, Eva dragged her gaze from the old woman to the captain. How long had those two known each other? His storm gray eyes followed the crone's every move.
Miss Kalia hopped down and slipped to Eva's side. The old woman grasped her hand and pressed a cluster of herbs against her clammy palm. "Her need dis. It make best tea for dee girl. Him," she nodded toward Captain Gamponetti and lowered her voice until it was barely there. "Him must to drink dis." She caught her gaze and held it, as she slid a small flask under the herbs. "Den dat what you want by him, you get."
Eva shoved them into her bag, afraid to refuse them, and unsure of what else to do or say.
The old Jamaican woman stepped back from the wagon and lifted both hands in farewell. Or some sort of blessing?
Maybe a curse?
A white witch. A "good" witch, if there was such a thing. Sister Beatrice would say there was not. But Eva had seen too many things to denounce anything outright. There was no telling what spell Kalia incanted or bestowed upon them. The pirate slapped the reins and clucked the mule forward, none too soon.
As they passed, Kalia spoke again, but this time to him, her voice both smoky and chiseled, eyes black and white. "Change in de wind, Drago. Time come near for you to make a choice. Choose wrong way and die. Before de tree flowers bloom, you betray an ally and aide a foe...break a vow. Light beckons you, but de dark always a seductress." Her wild stare locked with Eva's. "Which voice will him follow? Him heart or him head?"
Tension radiated from the captain in waves of heat. Kalia had managed to slither past his, steely, rugged aura to poke the tiniest gap between courage and unease. The muscles in his jaw tightened, but he did not look at the old woman as they passed.
"I...I don't know how to answer her question." Eva looked over her shoulder, but the witch had disappeared. An awkward silence followed. The jungle remained paralyzed for several minutes.
He could have taken Jacqueline to Kalia, but he didn't. Most island people would have sought the Obeah healer first. She peered at him again, understanding now why he hadn't. A rigidity thrummed through his broad shoulders; he had a flare in his nostrils, a fierce glint in his eyes.
Then it hit her; she terrified him. Her curiosity flared. "Have you been acquainted with her long?"
The captain released a long breath. "Everyone knows Kalia. And Kalia knows everyone." A wry smile seeped up to his eyes. The edges crinkled and a dimple settled in his cheek, giving him a roguish, but more pleasing look. Much like an unapologetic child holding a stolen cake. "In truth, I found there's no way to avoid her even when it's your intense desire."
She learned much the same. A strange sense of balance lodged between them. Kalia unnerved him as much as he unnerved her. The vulnerability the old woman raked out of him made him less threatening. "The people here have great respect for Miss Kalia. It would be foolish to dismiss her or her methods. To do so would also betray the islander's trust."
The captain slapped the reins again and muttered, "Kalia's black medicine attracts too much attention, especially from the white man. They do not understand it. White men fear what they don't understand."
"It's not black medicine." She corrected him. "Obeah is a very ancient healing practice." Trying to ignore the twinge of foreboding they sent through her chest, she shifted the tea and the tonic to the bottom of her sack.
"Call it what you will, the white settlers and plantation owners fear it," he rumbled.
How should she approach the last premonition? He had to be familiar with the old woman's visions if indeed he knew who she was. How would he react? Surprise? Disbelief? She plunged ahead anyway.
"Miss Kalia stopped me at the market two days ago and told me a man would come to the abbey with a sick girl-child," she blurted it out before she could stop herself. He would think her a ninny. Talking about an old woman's premonitions as if they were gospel, which they were not.
Yet, a flicker of surprise shot across the captain's face. "She did?"
So he was familiar with Kalia's visions. "Yes, and here you are."
"Indeed." His brows dropped in thought, or perhaps concern.
She couldn't, wouldn't confide what Miss Kalia had said next. That was something she dared not repeat.
"Him not what him seem to be," the old woman had whispered. "But den, so not are you."