Page 71 of A Prince Among Pirates
I am too stunned to speak. How on earth?
But then a familiar face appears from behind the officer, grinning dangerously at me. “Oui, that is him,” says Captain LaBarre. “The viscount’s son I told you about.”
Oh God. What have I done? I let my gaze flicker to Sharpe, who is staring at me with real fear in his eyes. Nothing could have prepared me for that expression on his face. I want to cry, but I feel frozen in time.
“I guess ye owe me that reward after all,” says a gruff voice from behind me. Without consciously deciding to do so, I spin around to stare at Renard. He’s standing with a roll of paper inone hand. I realize, with growing horror, that it’s the wanted poster from the tavern at Cap-Français.
“Renard?” I ask, my voice too quiet.
“You’re the man who met with Captain LaBarre?” the English officer asks.
“Aye, I am.”
“You claimed to have something worth more than the reward for his lordship’s son.”
“Aye… I do.”
I can’t imagine Renard has anything of the sort, but I also can’t think of anything to say. I am stunned silent.
“Renard, you slimy bilge rat!” Captain Sharpe snarls. “I should have pegged you as a turncoat and weighted your pockets!”
“Aye,” Renard says to him. “Ye shoulda.”
“I am Lieutenant Jonathan Elmsworth,” the English officer says, ignoring Sharpe’s outburst.
“Renard Campbell, nae fancy title,” Renard says as he pulls something from his pocket and holds it out to Lieutenant Elmsworth.
It can’t be. Every muscle in my body goes rigid at the remembered weight of that envelope in my pocket. The envelope withChristopher-Henryscrawled across it and the seal I never dared to break.
How is it in Renard’s possession now? How did he even know about its existence? I try as hard as I can to remember ever mentioning it, but the only thing that comes to mind is the nightI returned to Captain Sharpe’s cabin to find my trunk open and the key in the lock.
The night after Renard tried to bed me. The night after he took “money” from my purse to pay for a whore.
I would be sick were there anything more than two bites of apple in my belly. As it is, those two bites are firmly lodged in my throat, instead of in my belly where they belong. As Renard hands over the envelope, I can see that the seal on it has finally been broken. A wave of nausea and disgust passes over me at the utter violation of Renard looking inside that envelope, while I never worked up the courage to.
Something inside that envelope is important enough that it brought the FrenchandEnglish navies here, and I have no idea what it is.
“Master Davenport,” Lieutenant Elmsworth says as he takes me by the arm. “Your father has been searching for you for months.”
“My father?” I ask in disbelief. I can’t imagine my father going to such effort and expense on my behalf—not even to punish me. Nor did I realize he had quite so much pull as to involve the Royal Navy! Is this because of his friendship with Prince—no,KingHenry?
I twist to catch a glimpse of Captain Sharpe one last time as I am dragged towards the rail of theDeliverance. “Is there any danger of your father chasing after you?” he had asked me.
The look in his eyes now utterly destroys me. All at once my vision is blurred by the wet heat of tears as they spill down my cheeks.
I brought this upon them. This ismyfault.
“Leave the crew be!” I cry out as a second officer takes my other arm in hand and ushers me forward. “They didn’t know who I was. I lied to them to board the ship!”
My pleas go unanswered as I am lifted bodily onto the rail, then the world around me drops as I focus on the shifting water below. I am certain the ocean will swoop up and swallow me whole if these men don’t keep a firm grip on me. My fear paralyzes me, and I can’t even tell them that I don’t know how to swim.
I don’t remember climbing down the rope ladder to the waiting skiff below, nor do I recall the process of boarding the English frigate thePrince Henry. All I remember is panic—in the knowledge that I would never see Captain Sharpe or Trevor or Tristan again, and that their blood was on my hands.
Renard’s smug face stares back at me as we stand on the deck of thePrince Henry. It’s begun to rain, and I am more downtrodden than ever as my fine silk jacket is slowly soaked through.
“Youknew,” I snap at him. “You knew that wanted poster had nothing to do with Jeff Reuter.”
“Aye, ye took long ’nough ta figure that out. Ye dinnae have the bollocks ta slit someone’s throat.”
