"Nothing much, really. . . . Just the Walrond plantation, up the coast,
inland a mile or so, about halfway between here and Oistins."
"Good Christ! I'm beginning to understand it all." He laughed
wistfully. "I'll wager you've probably come out here with that gallant
of yours." Then he looked at her, his eyes sardonic. "Didn't he get his
fancy silk breeches wet riding across the shallows?"
"Hugh, not another word. Try to understand." She turned and studied
him. These occasional flares of jealousy; did he mean them? She wasn't
sure. Maybe it was all just a game to him, playing at being in love.
But then, she asked herself, what was she doing? Perhaps wanting to
have everything, a lover and a husband. But why couldn't you? Besides,
Hugh would be gone soon. Better to enjoy being in love with him while
she could. "I mean that. And Anthony must never learn we came here."
He was silent for a moment, letting the metrical splash of the surf
mark the time. Somehow she'd managed to get away with her little game
so far. Anthony Walrond was too busy rallying his royalists to take
much notice of anything else. Or maybe he was willing just to turn his
blind eye to it all.
"Katy, tell me something. How, exactly, am I supposed to fit into all
this? You think you can have an amour with me and then wed a rich
royalist when I'm gone? I suppose you figure he'll be governor here
someday himself, so you won't even have to move out of the compound."
"Hugh, I'm in love with you. There, I said it. But I'm going to marry
Anthony. It's the sensible thing for me to do. Love needn't have
anything to do with that." She urged her horse forward as a white egret
swooped past, then turned back brightly. "Let's ride on over. The
island's truly a lovely spot, whether you decide to use it or not."
He stared after her in amazement. Maybe she was right. Maybe life was
just being sensible, taking whatever you could. But that was also a
game two could play. So back to business. The island.
Time was growing short, and he knew there was no longer any means to
finish lading the stores on the _Defiance_ without
everyone in Bridgetown suspecting something was afoot. The frigate was
aground directly in front of the main tobacco sheds, in full view of
every tavern around the harbor. But there was still a way to assemble
what was needed--using an old trick he had learned years ago. You pull
together your stores in some secluded haven, to be picked up the night
you make your break.
It had been a week since the invasion at Jamestown, and now what seemed
to be a battle of nerves was underway. What else could it be? A new set
of terms had been sent ashore by the commander of the fleet, terms the
Assembly had revised and sent back, only to have them rejected. After
that, there had been quiet. Was Barbados being left to starve quietly
in the sun?
Or, he'd begun to wonder, was something else afoot? Maybe even a
betrayal? Could it be some Puritan sympathizers in the Assembly were
trying to negotiate a surrender behind Bedford's back? Even Katherine
was worried; and the governor had taken the unprecedented step of
arming his servants. A turn for the worse seemed all too likely, given
the condition of the island's morale. But she'd insisted they not talk
about it today.
She touched Coral lightly across the rump with her crop, and the mare
stepped eagerly into the crystalline blue water of the shallows, happy
to escape the horseflies nipping at its shanks. Winston spurred his
mount and splashed after her. Ahead of them, Little Island stood like a
tropical mirage in the sea.
"You're right about one thing. I'm damned if this place isn't close to
paradise. There's not a lovelier spot in the Caribbees." The bottom was
mostly gravel, with only an occasional rivulet of sand. "See over
there? It looks to be a school of angelfish." He was pointing off to
the left, toward an iridescent mass of turquoise and yellow that
shimmered just beneath the surface. "I had no idea there was any place
like this along here. Tell me, are you sure there's enough draft on the
windward side for me to put in and lade?"
"When we reach those rocks up ahead, we can tie the horses and walk the
shore. Then I suppose you can decide for yourself, Captain."
She watched as the glimmer of fish darted forward. To be free like
that! Able to go anywhere, do anything. "I remember one place where the
bottom seems to drop almost straight down. You could probably anchor
there."
"Good thing we came early." He glanced up to the sky, then at her. She
detected a smile. "This may take a while."
What was he thinking? Did he feel the freedom of this place too? She
loved being here alone with him, just the two of them. What a proper
scandal it would make if anybody found out. "Maybe the real reason I
told you about this spot was to lure you out here. And then keep you
here all to myself."
He started to laugh, then stopped. "I'd probably be an easy captive,
betwixt your designs and the guns of the English navy."
"Oh, for God's sake don't be so dreary and melancholy. I'm sure you'll
be gone from Barbados soon enough, never fear. If that's what you
want." She sensed she had pressed him too hard. "But maybe you'll
remember me once in a while, after you've sailed off to get yourself
killed by the Spaniards."
"Well, I'm not done with Barbados yet, I can promise you that."
What did he mean? She wished he'd continue, but then his horse stumbled
against a rock and he glanced down, distracted. When he looked up
again, they were already nearing the shallows of the island.
"If I can get a good cart and a couple of draft horses, I'll wager I
can bring the other stores I'll need out here with no trouble at all.
It's mainly hogsheads of water we're short now, and maybe a few more
barrels of salt pork." His gelding emerged from the water, threw back
its head and snorted, then broke into a prance along the sandy beach.
"No more than two days' work, the way I figure it. I'll have a few of
the indentures give my boys a hand."
Her mare had already trotted ahead, into the shade of a tall palm whose
trunk emerged from behind a rocky embankment. She slipped from the
saddle and glanced back at Winston. He was still staring down the
shoreline in delight.
"If you'd care to tether your frolicking horse, Captain, we can walk
around to the other side."
"Why don't we swim it?" He pulled his mount alongside hers and dropped
onto the sand, his eyes suddenly sparkling. While the horse nuzzled
curiously at the salty wetness on its legs, he collected the reins and
kneeled down to begin hobbling it. "Can you make it that far?"
"Have you gone mad from the heat!" They were alone, miles from
anything. He was all hers now, no gunnery mates, no seamen. To swim!
What a sensible . . . no, romantic idea.
He laughed and began to tie a leather thong to her mare's forelegs.
"Katy, you should know better than to try being coy with me. I'll wager
you can swim like a fish. You probably learned for no other reason than
it's not ladylike." He finished with the mare and rose up, facing her.
His face was like fine leather against the blue of the sky. "Besides, I
think I'd like seeing you out of that bodice."
"Remember, you're not on your quarterdeck today, so I needn't harken to
your every wish." She slipped her hands beneath his jerkin and ran them
slowly across the muscles on his sides. The feel of him reminded her of
their first night together. As she ran her fingers upward, toward his
shoulders, his lips came down to hers.
"You might get used to it if you tried it once." His voice was almost a
whisper. As he kissed her he wrapped her in his arms and deftly pulled
the knot at the base of her bodice. "So get yourself out of this thing
and let's try the water." He wiggled the laces open and slipped it over
her head. She wore nothing beneath, and her breasts emerged milky-white
in the sunshine. He paused to examine her, then continued, "Why stand
about in this heat when there's a cool lagoon waiting?"
He stepped away, slipped off his jerkin, and tossed it across his
saddle. He was reaching down to unbuckle his boots when she stopped
him. She dropped to her knees, slipped her hands around his waist, and
nuzzled her face against his thighs. Then she released him and bent
down. "Let me unbuckle your boots."
"What?"
"I enjoy doing things for you sometimes."
He seemed startled; she'd suspected he wouldn't like it. But he didn't
pull away. "Come on then." He quickly stepped out of the boots. As she
laid them against the trunk of the palm, she noticed they were still
smeared with powder residue from that day at the Jamestown breastwork.
"We're going to see how far around this island we can swim. Pretend
that's an official order from the quarterdeck." He pulled his pistols
from his waist and secured them on his saddle. Then he unbuckled his
belt and glanced at her. "I don't know about you, but 1 don't plan to
try it in my breeches." He solemnly began slipping off his canvas
riding trousers.
She watched for a moment, then reached for the waist of her skirt.
She found herself half wishing he couldn't see her like this, plain and
in the sunlight. She liked her body, but would he? Would he notice that
her legs were a trifle too slim? Or that her stomach wasn't as round as
it should be?
Now he was leading the way down the incline toward the lagoon. The
white sand was a warm, textured cushion against their bare feet as they
waded into the placid waters. Around the island, on the windward side,
the waves crashed against the shore, but here the lagoon remained
serene. As she noticed the brisk wind against her skin, she suddenly
didn't care what he thought. She felt like the most beautiful woman
alive.
When she was younger, she could ride and shoot as well as any lad on
the island; then one day she awoke to find herself cloaked in a prison
of curves and bulges, with a litany in her ears about all the things
she wasn't supposed to be seen doing anymore. It infuriated her. Why
did men have things so much easier?
Like Winston. He moved the same way he handled his flintlock pistols,
with a thoughtless poise. As he walked now, his shoulders were slightly
forward and his broad back seemed to balance his stride. But, even
more, she loved the hard rhythm of his haunches, trim and rippled with
muscles. She stopped to watch as he splashed into the shallows.
God forgive me, she thought, how I do adore him. What I'd most like
right now is just to enfold him, to capture him in my arms. And never
let . . .
Good God, what am I saying?
The water was deliciously cool, and it deepened quickly. Before she
knew, she felt the rhythm of the waves against her thighs.
"Katy, the time has come." He turned back and admired her for a second,
then thumped a spray of water across her breasts. "Let's see if you
really can swim." Abruptly he leaned forward, dipped one shoulder, and
stroked powerfully. The curves of his body blended with the ripples as
he effortlessly glided across the surface. A startled triggerfish
darted past, orange in the sun. He stroked again, then yelled over his
shoulder, "I'm still not sure I can always believe everything you say."
"Nor I you, Hugh. Though truly you say little enough." She leaned into
the water, fresh and clean against her face. She gave a kick and
another stroke and she was beside him. The sea around them seemed a
world apart from the bondage of convention. He was right for wanting to
swim. "So today, to repay me for showing you this spot, I want you to
tell me everything, all the things you've been holding back."
"Unlike you, who's held nothing back? Like this island and what it
means to you?"
She just ignored him, the best way to handle Hugh when he was like
this, and stroked again, staying even, the taste of salt on her lips.
The white sands of the shoreline were gliding past now, and behind them
the palms nodded lazily in the sun. Then she rolled over and kicked,
drifting through the blue. He rolled over too and reached to take her
hand. They slid across the surface together as one body.
She was lost in the quiet and calm, almost dreaming, when she saw his
face rise up. "How far can you see from those rocks up there?" He was
pointing toward the craggy rise in the center of the island. "I'd like
to go up after a while and have a look."
"You want to know everything about this place. All at once. Is that the
only thing you care about?"
"Not quite." He pulled next to her. "I'll grant you've proved you can
swim. And damned well." He smiled wryly. "It's doubtless a good thing
to know how to do. We may all be needing to swim out of here soon, God
help us."
"Not a word, remember your promise." Her eyes flashed as she flung a
handful of water. Then she looked past him, at the white sand and the
line of green palms. "Let's go ashore for a while. That spot up there,
at the trees--it's too beautiful to pass."
The afternoon sun had begun to slant from the west as they waded out
onto the sparkling sand, his arm circled around her waist. The breeze
urged a sprightly nip against their skin. "Hugh, I love you. Truly."
She leaned against him to feel his warmth. "I don't know what I should
do."
He was subdued and quiet as they stepped around a gleaming pile of
shells. Then he stopped and quietly enfolded her in his arms. "It's
only fair to tell you I've never before felt about a woman the way I
feel about you." He kissed her softly. "The troubling part is, I ought
to know better."
He turned and led her on in silence, till they reached the shade of a
low palm. She dropped down onto the grass and watched him settle beside
her. A large conch shell lay nearby, like a petrified flower. She
picked it up and held it toward the sun, admiring its iridescent
colors, then tossed it back onto the grass and looked at him. "I meant
it when I said I wanted you to tell me everything."
He glanced up and traced his fingertips across the gentle curve at the
tops of her white breasts. "Are you sure you want to hear it?"
"Yes, I do." She thought she detected a softness in his eyes, almost a
yielding.
He leaned back in the grass. "I guess you think there's a lot to tell,
yet somehow it all adds up to nothing. To lying here under a palm, on
an empty island, with a price on my head in England and little to show
for all the years." He looked out to sea and shaded his eyes as he
studied a sail at the horizon. "It seems I'm something different to
everybody. So which story do you want to hear?"
"Why not try the real one?" She pushed him onto his back and raised on
her elbow to study his face. It was certainly older than its years.
"Why won't you ever tell me about what happened when you first came out
here? What was it about that time that troubles you so much?"
"It's not a pretty tale. Before I came, I never even thought much about
the New World." He smiled at the irony of it now. "It all started when
I was apprenticed and shipped out to the Caribbean for not being
royalist enough."
"Where to?"
"Well . . ." He paused automatically, then decided to continue. "In
truth it was Tortuga. Back when the Providence Company had a settlement
on the island."
"But wasn't that burned out by the Spaniards? We all heard about it. I
thought everybody there was killed. How did you survive?"
"As it happens, I'd been sort of banished by then. Since I didn't get
along too well with the Puritans there, they'd sent
me over to the north side of Hispaniola, to hunt. Probably saved my
life. That's where I was when the Spaniards came."
"On Hispaniola?" She stared at him. "Do you mean to say you were once
one of . . ."
"The Cow-Killers." It was said slowly and casually. He waited to see
how she would respond, but there was only a brief glimmer of surprise
in her eyes.
"Then what some people say is true. I'd never believed it till now."
She laughed. "I suppose I should be shocked, but I'm not."
He smiled guardedly. "Well, in those days they only hunted cattle.
Until toward the last." He paused a moment, then looked at her sharply.
"But, yes, that's who I was with. However, Katy, don't credit quite
everything you may hear about me from the Walronds."
"But you left them. At least that tells me something about you." She
held his hand lightly against her lips. The calluses along the palm
were still soft from the water. "Why did you finally decide to go?"
He pulled her next to him and kissed her on the mouth, twice. Then he
ran his fingers down her body, across her smooth waist, till he reached
the mound of light chestnut hair at her thighs. "I've never told
anyone, Katy. I'm not even sure I want to tell you now." He continued
with his fingertips, on down her skin.
"Why won't you tell me?" She passed her hand across his chest. Beneath
the bronze she could feel the faint pumping of his heart. "I want to
know all about you, to have all that to think about when you're gone.
We're so much alike, in so many ways. I feel I have a right to know
even the smallest little things about you."
"I tried to shoot one of them. One of the Cow-Killers." He turned and
ripped off a blade of grass, then crumpled it in his hand and looked
away.
"Well, I'm sure that's not the first time such a thing has happened. I
expect you had good reason. After all . . ."
"The difference was who I tried to kill." He rolled over and stared up
at the vacant sky. It was deep blue, flawless.
"What do you mean? Who was it?"
"You probably wouldn't know." He glanced at her. "Ever hear of a man
who goes by the name of Jacques le Basque?"
"Good God." She glanced at him in astonishment. "Isn't he the one who's
been pillaging and killing Spaniards in the Windward Passage for years
now? In Bridgetown they say the Spaniards call him the most
bloodthirsty man in the Caribbean. I'm surprised he let you get away
with it."
"I didn't escape entirely unscathed." Winston laughed. "You see, he was
leader of the Cow-Killers back then. I suppose he still is."
"So what happened?"
"One foggy morning we had a small falling out and I tried a pistol on
him. It misfired." He pushed back her hair and kissed her on the cheek.
"Did you know, Katy, that the sun somehow changes the color of your
eyes? Makes them bluer?"
She grabbed his hand and pushed him back up. "You're trying to shift
the topic. I know your tricks. Don't do that with me. Tell me the
rest."
"What do you suppose? After I made free to kill him, he naturally
returned the favor." Winston stroked the scar on his cheek. "His pistol
ball came this close to taking off my head. That's when I thought it
healthy to part company with him and his lads." He traced his tongue
down her body and lightly probed a nipple. It blushed pink, then began
to harden under his touch.
"No, you don't. Not yet. You'll make me lose track of things." She
almost didn't want him to know how much she delighted in the feel of
his lips. It would give him too much power over her. Could she, she
wondered, ever have the same power over him? She had never yet kissed
him all over, the way she wanted, but she was gathering courage for it.
What would he do when she did?
She reached up and cradled his face in her hands. The tongue that had
been circling her nipple drew away and slowly licked one of her
fingers. She felt herself surrendering again, and quickly drew her hand
back. "Talk to me some more. Tell me why you tried to kill him."
"Who?"
"The man you just said." She frowned, knowing well his way of teasing.
Yes, Hugh Winston was quite a tease. In everything. "Just now. This
Jacques le Basque."
"Him? Why did I try to kill him?" He pecked at her nose, and she sensed
a tenseness in his mouth. "I scarcely remember. It's as though the fog
that moming never really cleared from my mind. As best I recall, it had
something to do with a frigate." He smiled, the lines in his face
softening. Then he slipped an arm beneath her and drew her next to him.
Her skin was warm from the sun. "Still, days like this make up for a
lot in life. Just being here. With you. Trouble is, I worry I'm
beginning to trust you. More than I probably ought."
"I think I trust you too." She turned and kissed him on the lips,
testing their feel. The tenseness had vanished, as mysteriously as it
had come. She kissed him again, now with his lips meeting hers, and she
wanted to crush them against her own. Gone now, all the talk. He had
won. He had made her forget herself once again. "I also love you, and I
know you well enough by now to know for sure that's unwise."
She moved across him, her breasts against his chest. Would he continue
to hold back, to keep something to himself, something he never seemed
willing--or able--to give? Only recently had she become aware of it. As
she learned to surrender to him more and more fully, she had slowly
come to realize that only a part of him was there for her.
Then the quiet of the lagoon settled around them as their bodies molded
together, a perfect knowing.
He pulled her against his chest, hard, as he knew she liked to be held.
And she moved against him, instinctively. She felt herself wanting him,
ready for that most exquisite moment of all. She slipped slowly
downward, while he moved carefully to meet her. Her soft breasts were
still pillowed against his chest.
She gasped lightly, a barely discernible intake of breath, and closed
her eyes as she slowly received him. Her eyes flooded with delight and
she rose up, till her breasts swung above him like twin bells. "This is
how I want to stay. Forever." She bent back down and kissed him full on
the mouth. "Say you'll never move."
"Not even like this . . .?"
Now the feel of her and the scent of her, as she enclosed him and
worked her thighs against him, fully awoke his own desire. It had
begun, that need both to give and to take, and he sensed in her an
intensity matching his own. So alien, yet so alike.
Gradually he became aware of a quickening of her motions against him,
and he knew that, at this instant, he had momentarily ceased to exist
for her; he had lost her to something deeper. She leaned closer, not to
clasp him but to thrust her breasts against him, wordlessly telling him
to touch the hard buds of her nipples. Then the rhythms that rippled
her belly shifted downward, strong and driven. With small sounds of
anticipation she again rose above him, then suddenly cried aloud and
grasped his body with her hands, to draw him into her totally.
This was the moment when together they knew that nothing else mattered.
As he felt himself giving way to her, he felt her gasp and again thrust
against him, as though to seize and hold the ecstasy that had already
begun to drift beyond them.
But it had been fleeting, ephemeral, and now they were once more merely
man and woman, in each other's arms, amidst the sand,and gently waving
palms. Finally she reached up and took his hands from her soft breasts,
her eyes resigned and bewildered. He drew her to him and kissed her
gently, to comfort her for that moment now lost to time.
Then he lifted her in his arms and lay her against the soft grass, her
body open to him. He wanted this woman, more than anything.
The afternoon sky was azure now, the hue of purest lapis lazuli, and
its scattering of soft white clouds was mirrored in the placid waters
of the lagoon. He held her cradled in his arms, half dozing, her face
warm against his chest.
"Time." His voice sounded lightly against her ear.
"What, darling?"
"It's time we had a look around." He sat up and kissed her. "We've got
to go back where we left the horses, and get our clothes and boots." He
turned and gazed toward the dark outcrop of rocks that rose up from the
center of the island. "Then I'd like to go up there, to try and get
some idea what the shoreline looks like on the windward side."
"Want to swim back?" She stared up at him, then rubbed her face against
his chest. As she rose she was holding his hand and almost dancing
around him.
"You swim back if you like. For myself, I think I'm getting a bit old
for such. What if I just walked the shore?"
"Oh, you're old, to be sure. You're ancient. But mostly in your head."
She grabbed his hand. "Come on."
"Well, just part way." He rose abruptly, then reached over and hoisted
her into his arms. He bounced her lightly, as though she were no more
weighty than a bundle of cane, and laughed at her gasp of surprise.
"What do you know! Maybe I'm not as decrepit as I thought." He turned
and strode toward the shoreline, still cradling her against his chest.
"Put me down. You're just showing off."
"That's right." They were waist deep when he balanced her momentarily
high above the water and gave a shove. She landed with a splash and
disappeared, only to resurface sputtering. "Careful, Katy, or you'll
frighten the angelfish." He ducked the handful of water she flung at
him and dived head first into the sea. A moment later he emerged,
stroking. "Come on then, you wanted to swim. Shall we race?"
"You'll regret it." She dived after him like a dolphin and when she
finally surfaced she was already ahead. She yelled back, "Don't think
I'll let you win in the name of pride."
He roared with laughter and moved alongside her. "Whose pride are we
talking about, mine or yours?"
And they swam. He was always half a length behind her, yelling that he
would soon pass her, but when they reached the point along the shore
even with their clothes, she was still ahead.
"Now shall I carry you ashore. Captain?" She let her feet touch the
sandy bottom and turned to watch him draw next to her. "You're most
likely exhausted."
"Damn you." He stood up beside her, breathing heavily. "No seaman ever
lets himself get caught in the water. Now I know why." He seized her
hand and glanced at the sun. It was already halfway toward evening.
"Come on, we're wasting time. I want to reconnoiter this damned island
of yours before it's too dark."
She pulled him back and kissed him one last time, the waters of the
lagoon still caressing them. "Hugh, this has been the loveliest day of
my life. I'll remember it always." She kissed him again, and now he
yielded, enfolding her in his arms. "Can we come back? Soon?"
"Maybe. If you can find time amidst all your marriage negotiations." He
ran his hand over her smooth buttocks, then gave her a kiss that had
the firmness of finality. "But now we go to work, Katy. Come on."
The horses watched them expectantly, snorting and pawing with
impatience, while they dressed again. She finished drawing the laces of
her bodice, then walked over and whispered to her mare.
"We can take the horses if you think they could use a stretch." He
gazed up toward the outcrop. "I suppose they can make it."
"Coral can go anywhere you can."
"Then let her prove it." He reached down and untied the hobble on his
gelding's forefeet. Then he grabbed the reins and vaulted into the
saddle. "Let's ride."
The route up the island's center spine was dense with scrub foliage,
but the horses pushed their way through. The afternoon was silent save
for the occasional grunts of wild hogs in the underbrush. Before long
they emerged into the clear sunshine again, the horses trotting eagerly
up a grassy rise, with only a few large boulders to impede their climb.
When they reached the base of the rocky outcropping that marked the
edge of the plateau, he slipped from the saddle and tied his mount to a
small green tree. "No horse can make that." He held Coral's reins as
she dismounted. "Let's walk."
Behind them now the long shore of Barbados stretched into the western
horizon. The south side, toward Oistins Bay, was shielded by the hill.
"This could be a good lookout post." He took her arm and helped her
over the first jagged extrusion of rock. Now the path would be winding,
but the way was clear, merely a steep route upward. "I'll wager you can
see for ten leagues out to sea from up there at the top."
"I've always wondered what Oistins looked like from here. I never got
up this far before." She ran a hand fondly down the back of his jerkin.
It was old and brown and sweat-encrusted. She knew now that he had
fancy clothes secreted away, but he seemed to prefer things as worn and
weathered as he could find. "The harbor must be beautiful this time of
the afternoon."
"If you know where to look upland, you might just see your Walrond
gallant's plantation." He gestured off to the left. "Didn't you say
it's over in that direction somewhere?"
She nodded silently, relieved he hadn't said anything more. They were
approaching the top now, a rocky plateau atop the rough outcrop in
front of them.
"Up we go, Katy." He seized a sharp protrusion and pulled himself even.
Then he reached down and took her hand. She held to his grip as he
hoisted her up over the last jagged rocks.
"It's just like . . ." Her voice trailed off.
"What?" He glanced back at her.
"Oh God, Hugh! I don't believe it!" She was pointing toward the
southeast, and the color had drained from her face.
He whirled and squinted into the afternoon haze.
At sea, under full sail with a heading of north by northeast, were
eight English warships, tawny-brown against the blue Caribbean. Their
guns were not run out. Instead their decks were crowded with steel-
helmeted infantry. They were making directly for Oistins Bay.
"The breastwork! Why aren't they firing!" He instinctively reached for
the handle of the pistol in the left-hand side of his belt. "I've not
heard a shot. Where's Walrond's Windward Regiment? They're just letting
them land!"
"Oh Hugh, how could the Windwards do this to the island? They're the
staunchest royalists here. Why would they betray the rest of us?"
"We've got to get back to Bridgetown, as hard as we can ride. To pull
all the militia together and try to get the men down from Jamestown."
"But I've heard no warnings." She watched the English frigates begin to
shorten sail as they entered the bay. Suddenly she glanced down at his
pistols. "What's the signal for Oistins?"
"You're right." He slipped the flintlock from the left side of his belt
and handed it to her. "It's four shots--two together, followed by two
apart. Though I doubt there's anybody around close enough to hear."
"Let's do it anyway. There's a plantation about half a mile west down
the coast. Ralph Warner. He's in the Assembly."
He pulled the other pistol from his belt. "Now, after you fire the
first barrel, pull that little trigger there, below the lock, and the
second one revolves into place. But first check the prime."
"That's the first thing I did." She frowned in exasperation. "I'll
wager I can shoot almost as well as you can. Isn't it time now you
learned to trust me?"
"Katy, after what's just happened, you're about the only person on
Barbados I trust at all. Get ready."
He raised the gun above his head and there was the sharp crack of two
pistol shots in rapid succession. Then she quickly squeezed off the
rest of the signal. She passed back the gun, then pointed toward the
settlement at Oistins. "Look, do you see them? That must be some of the
Windward Regiment, down by the breastwork. That's their regimental
flag. They've probably come down to welcome the fleet."
"Your handsome fiance seems to have sold his soul, and his honor. The
royalist bastard . . ."
He paused and caught her arm. From the west came two faint cracks of
musket fire, then again. The signal.
"Let's get back to Bridgetown as fast as these horses will take us. I'm
taking command of this militia, and I'm going to have Anthony Walrond's
balls for breakfast." He was almost dragging her down the incline.
"Come on. It's one thing to lose a fair fight. It's something else to
be cozened and betrayed. Nobody does that to me. By Christ I swear it."
She looked apprehensively at his eyes and saw an anger unlike any she
had ever seen before. It welled up out of his very soul.
That was what really moved him. Honor. You kept your word. Finally she
knew.
She grasped for the saddle horn as he fairly threw her atop her horse.
The mare snorted in alarm at the sudden electricity in the air. A
moment later Winston was in his saddle and plunging down the brushy
incline.
"Hugh, let's . . . ride together. Don't . . ." She ducked a swinging
limb and then spurred Coral alongside. "Why would Anthony do it? And
what about Jeremy? He'll be mortified."
"You'd better be worrying about the Assembly. That's your father's
little creation. Would they betray him?"
"Some of them were arguing for surrender. They're worried about their
plantations being ruined if there's more fighting, more war."
"Well, you can tell them this. There's going to be war, all right. If I
have to fight with nobody helping me but my own lads." He spurred his
horse onto the grassy slope that led down to the sand. Moments later
the frightened horses were splashing through the shallows. Ahead was
the green shore of Barbados. "By Christ, there'll be war like they've
never seen. Mark it, by sunrise tomorrow this God damned island is
going to be in flames."