CHAPTER NINE
DRAGO STRODE TOWARD the abbey; the heavy purse in his pocket pulled at his coat and his conscience. This new information changed things considerably. The knowledge he just contributed to the fall of New Orleans left a bitter taste in his mouth. If he’d known the British plan for the sugarcane, he’d have found a different buyer.
It was too late now.
He spent the last two days getting the Dragon ready to sail. New canvas would be delivered soon. The sheets would be repaired en-route. There was no time to do otherwise. Winesap had said Cochrane would wait for Lloyde’s fleet to arrive before departing, which could be a week from now or it could be tomorrow.
Dusk was descending and he was grateful for the cooler temperatures following sunset, although he might have a different opinion once he arrived in New Orleans in the early December chill.
A stout woman with a permanent pucker and an accusatory glare opened the door. By the wisp of gray hair poking out of the coif around her face, he’d guess she was in her late fifties.
“What can I do for you Captain Gamponetti?”
“I—” Drago hesitated. He never met this sister, how did she know his name? “I’m here to speak with Sister Eva,” he said carefully. “She’s been tending my ward, Jacqueline Sauvage.”
The nun narrowed her eyes and snorted.
Had he done something to offend? He almost reached up to straighten his collar before stopping himself. He cared nothing of her opinion of him. He was the captain of his own ship. He had a crew of men who either respected him or feared him. Regardless, it put him in control. When he was in control, things fell into place. When things fell into place, life was easier. Tasks were successfully completed. Outcomes were accurately predicted. Men were handsomely paid. He didn’t give a damn what they, or anyone else, thought of him, including this hag of a nun.
He mentally winced. What was it about this place that drove him to be his worst?
She continued to scowl as if she read his mind. Finally, she swung the door wide. “Follow me. I’ll take you to her. She and the children are in the garden.”
At his arched brow, she shrugged. “It’s cooler to work this time of day.”
Still baffled by the cold reception, he followed her awkward gait. She actually bounced when she walked. She almost hopped from one foot to the other, then rocked heel to toe and up and down before lurching forward. He quickened his pace before she disappeared around a cluster of tall shiny ferns.
The garden rioted with vines, flowers, and leafy greenery in the center of the courtyard, well-protected from hungry, four-legged herbivores. Which of those plants had been used to drug him?
“Sister Eva,” the nun called out. “The captain has returned.”
Sister Eva looked up from her work. “Thank you, Sister Beatrice.” She dropped her trowel in a small wheeled cart and stood, pausing to press her hands against the small of her back and stretch, reminding him of the curves revealed in the cave waters the other day.
Turning his attention to his young charges, he was much relieved to see Jacqueline working beside the nun.
There was a splash of color in her cheeks and a smile on her face. “How are you today, little skirt?” he teased.
“Much better this day, Captain Gampo. Did you offload your sugarcane with success?”
“That I did.” He couldn’t return her smile. The weight in his pocket prevented it. As he greeted Sister Eva, his stomach tightened. She wouldn’t take the news well. It wasn’t safe for her to make the journey. Besides, he needed her to care for the children.
Julian propped a pitchfork against the stable door and trotted over, all elbows and gangly legs. “Hoy, captain! Look at Jacqueline. She’s all better. Sister Eva’s tea cured her.”
Drago touched his hat and gave the sister a sincere bow of thanks. “I’m grateful for your administrations. It’s clear you have a divine healing touch.” Normally his deep baritone compliments made women blush.
Not this one.
“You’re welcome, captain.” She wiped her hands on an old rag. “I’m thankful for God’s gifts.” She cocked her head and peered at him past the edge of her veil. “Now you’ve returned, shall I prepare my things? When will we be departing?”
Instead of an answer, Drago pressed the pouch of coins into her palm.
“What’s this for?” She straightened and her brows converged.
He gestured to the twins and the structure surrounding them. “It’s for you and the children.” The nun’s shoulders stiffened, and although he rarely explained his actions or decisions to anyone, he had to fight the impulse to do so now. He clasped his hands behind his back and clenched them. The air became still and quiet. Even suffocating.
Jacqueline dropped her eyebrows. She was a smart little chit, already reading words unspoken. “What children? Surely not us.” She met Julian’s narrowed stare with an incredulous one of her own.
Drago directed his attention to Sister Eva. He would not converse with a twelve-year-old petticoat. Hard enough to have this discussion with this particular nun. “I must leave the children in your care for a few weeks. The coins should provide both for their welfare and the abbey for an extended time.”
Julian tensed his jaw. “I want to come with you.”
Drago shot him a piercing glare. “You are to look after your sister. She needs your protection.”
“From what?” Jacqueline asked, sweeping her arms out wide and looking around. “Mosquitoes?”
“Captain Gamponetti.” Sister Eva’s voice, although flat and soft, cut through the air like a gunshot, her sapphire eyes turned stormy. “You gave your word.”
Drago pressed his lips in a frustrated line.
For one, he wasn’t intentionally breaking his vow to her. He had new information which demanded plans be adjusted. He may have done a lot of heinous things in his past, but he wasn’t about to deliver women and children directly into an area about to become a battlefield. Even he had a conscience. It might be run down and threadbare but still there.
He had other problems gathering strength like an approaching storm. He’d be damned if the cane he sold to the Brits ended up in fascines used for British foot soldiers. And he could give a mangy cur’s tail about the rest of the people there, but the twin’s family had become trusted friends over the past few years. He would retrieve them and bring them to safety after obtaining the relics.
He caught the sister’s heated glare and held it calmly. “The British amassed an armada of over sixty ships in Negril Bay. They will soon set sail for New Orleans. Their plan is to take the city as well as control of the Mississippi River. I cannot, in good conscience deliver you and the children to imminent danger.”
Sister Beatrice made the sign of the cross. “Dear Lord, protect us!”
Jacqueline paled. “What about Uncle Bernard and Adrian and Tristan? We must warn them!”
Julian crossed his arms. “I want to go with you,” he stated again, “I’m twelve, and of age to be a powder boy.”
Drago scowled. “I’m not the Royal Navy. I employ men, not boys.”
Julian’s cobalt eyes sparked with defiance. “My family is in danger. I can’t stay and hide in the abbey with the women.”
The boy was treading on dangerous ground. It’s likely he’s unaware his sister was reaching an age where men were starting to notice her developing figure. She was already beautiful in the face. Ebony hair, long, thick lashes, sparkling blue or thundercloud gray eyes, depending on her mood. This the safest place for her. For both of them.
“You won’t be hiding in an abbey, you’ll be protecting your sister,” he virtually snarled.
Jacqueline’s voice cut through the evening air. “I’m going with you, too. I want to be with my family.”
“Dammit, you’re not listening,” Drago snapped.
Sister Beatrice gasped. “Watch your language, captain!”
He forgot she was still there. Christ. He clenched his hands and shoved them into his coat pockets, striving for calm. He spun toward the children and did his best to keep his voice low and even.
“You all must understand the British intend to bring a bloody battle to New Orleans. They’ll have four times the number of soldiers than the entire population of the city and surrounding farms.” He paused a moment while they digested this information and knew the second realization struck when the little skirt’s eyes filled.
Jacqueline twisted her fingers in her pinafore. Her voice dropped to a terrified whisper, “Uncle Bernard will defend our family and property. Our brother and cousins will stand with him.”
Julian paled. His hands hung limply at his sides. “The British will take over the hotel and loot the gaming house, then they’ll kill them, won’t they?”
Drago shook his head, although it was indeed likely. “I will get to them before the British arrive. And yes, the army will probably commandeer the hotel as well as Tristan’s gaming house. It’s probable, however, if your uncle grants permission for them to use his property, they’ll relinquish it as soon as the battle is over. They’ll be less likely to sack the city if the people cooperate.”
Now, Sister Eva was looking at him. Her cobalt eyes sharpened beneath long, inky lashes. “Cooperate? We are a free nation, capitaine. We will not stand idly and allow foreign soldiers to take our home without a fight.”
Drago did his best to soften his tone further as he settled his hand on the young boy’s shoulder. “I’m leaving at first light. I shall warn the governor and the city, then get your family. Once I have them on my ship, I’ll bring them back here where they’ll be safe.”
He didn’t vocalize the next thought. By then the relics will be on their way back to France. My service to the king ended.
Sister Eva gasped and brought a hand to her mouth. “That will be how the French agents will get into the cathedral then...with the British army.” Her fingers gripped the coin pouch until they grew white. “The sacred relics must be moved. Hidden. The nuns will need protection, as well.” She pressed her hands and his purse to her stomach. “The British have little sympathy or respect for the Catholic Church.”
Drago straightened; he would develop his own plan of action. “Sister Eva, I gave you my word I would help. As soon as I speak with the governor and Bernard Sauvage, I will alert Father Dubourg about the planned theft.”
“What if you’re too late?” Sister Eva’s crystalline gaze tripped his heart and if his life wasn’t at risk, he might have considered abandoning the French king’s mission.
“You placed the church last on your list. What if you aren’t in time to save the sacred bones of Saint Louis?”
Drago sighed. “I have sixty men on my crew. I will send one of them to warn the Ursuline nuns.”
“Only one?” The veil hid most of her face but her tone contained a barely restrained thread of anger. Which in turn ignited his. On his vessel, his men would never question his decisions in this way. On his ship...he closed his eyes and clenched his teeth together. Of course, he wasn’t on his ship at the moment. The nuns had a completely different view of authority and who really wielded it. He’d compromise.
“Fine then, I’ll send ten. In fact, we’ll go to the cathedral first.”
Naturally.
His primary objective was to find and take the relics.
She placed her hands on her hips and studied him, the tension in her shoulders almost visible. “I should go with you.”
Absolutely not.
Now that he had a grand excuse to leave her behind, he’d rather bring a hornet’s nest aboard. She already complicated his mission for the king. At least if he posted several men at the abbey, he’d be seeing to his obligation to “protect” the relics. Besides, how would he sleep knowing she was near, knowing there was a distinct possibility he could awaken tied to his own bed?
Or worse?
A better course of action would be to play the part of an honorable gentleman concerned with the welfare of both his charges. It would place him in a natural position of strength, where little debate should arise.
Sister Eva stepped forward. “I could accompany your men and alert the abbey while you raise the alarm. The children can stay here, with Sister Beatrice.”
“I will not allow it.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but he slashed the air with his hand. “No argument. This isn’t a minor campaign. Sixty British warships, filled with thousands of seasoned soldiers cannot be defeated by a meager American army and undisciplined militias, who may or may not attempt to defend the city. The American militia has a tendency to run, so I hear.” He tried to ignore the frightened expressions on the children’s faces.
Sister Eva crossed her arms. “I’m a healer, Capitaine Gamponetti. Battlefields are where I’m needed most.”
Logical reasoning.
He would argue no more, chances were if he didn’t leave now, she’d find a way to extort another oath from him. He was still trying to determine how he could sidestep the last one.
In addition, there were a number of things to do before he could set sail. This conversation was delaying him. The quicker she understood his decision was firm, the better. He plied logic of his own.
“You are not the only healer in this hemisphere, sister. Your duty is here. I’m holding you personally responsible for the health and welfare of these two children until I return. I’ve left you a handsome sum to assist in that endeavor.”
Her voice trembled with barely leashed fury. “You cannot buy your way out of a promise. Especially one to God.”
He whirled back to face her. “I gave you my oath.” The words were out before he had time to think, and harsher than he intended. Her eyes widened and she stepped back. He followed, intending to drive his point home. “God can bloody well strike me down if I break it,” he grated out.
A sharp silence fell over the courtyard.
Christ. What had he just done?