Caribbean Reign Ch. 21-22

Luckily, we reach our destination in full view of my father. He stands in the doorframe of the dining room with tears in his eyes.

"Ma chérie," he says.

"Papa."

He takes my face in his hands, unconcerned with the grime. For a moment, we bask in the sweetness of our reunion.

My mother's tall figure looms over us like a rain cloud. She snaps, and a mousy servant leaps to fetch me a chair.

"Merci," I say, sitting down. She nods happily and returns to her corner of the room.

How odd to reverse roles after such a long time. With each command uttered for my benefit, I am one step closer to the tyranny of the viscount. It is one way in which our families are very much the same. Our "servants" are not employed by wages. They cannot leave of their own free will. They are property, as evidenced by my mother, currently swatting at one with her cane. I shall have to convince her to adopt a more humane approach.

***

My family and Benjamin spend their dinner listening to the brilliantly invented story of my capture by pirates.

"I was just out on the shore, walking to clear my head from the illness, and before I could call for help, I was knocked out and thrown on a ship."

"We told you not to go out by yourself," my mother whines.

"Yes, Maman."

My trip to Port Royal has provided enough nautical knowledge to pepper this concoction with truth. As I speak, a full plate of food waits before me, daring me not to devour it in one go.

"What happened next, Catherine?" says my father.

"Those vagrants initially had plans to sell me abroad. However, once the slavers started making offers, the pirates started squabbling about the loot. I, in all my cleverness, took the opportunity to ignite their discontent, bidding my own value up with my many talents and charms - "

"How ever did you manage to escape?" my mother interjects.

I stuff a spoonful of beef in my mouth. Maman looks disturbed. I shall have to tell her later that I was starved by the pirates. Looking at my harshly trimmed figure, it's almost conceivable.

My father gestures at me to continue.

I swallow, "Just when I thought all hope was lost, my captors spotted a French navy ship, one of our many fine vessels. Rather than fight alongside a captain they almost mutinied, they cast me ashore. I only managed to barter my way home by pawning off my valuables."

My mother exclaims, "That explains your horrid state of dress!"

"Let the girl tell her story, Elise," her father chastises. "Darling, can you be certain that this was not a ploy of the Spaniards to abduct you?"

"That was our very first guess," my mother chimes in.

I hold the beating waves back.

"Non, Papa. Non, Maman. This was an outcome of my own carelessness. It's true. I shouldn't have been out without a chaperone."

If I shall be married off soon, this is a small point to concede.

Papa lowers his voice, "Were they dark men?"

An image of sweet Jean Portier flashes into my head. I cannot have my father gunning his motley ships down for the sins of the Navarro family.

"May we not speak of more pleasant things? I have had enough of all that to last a lifetime."

I put my hand to my forehead. Someone rushes to fan me.

"More than any young lady should have to carry, I'd say," my father remarks.

With his assent, that will be the final word on the matter. The story is far too wild to be taken seriously. Yet, it appeals to my parents' desire for details that can be used to solidify the family legend. The ladylike virtue of their daughter proving the key to her salvation.

How else would I have returned home? Why else would I be gone for so long?

Only Benjamin maintains a skeptical expression.

It pains me to recount these abuses without taking down the heir of the Navarro estate, but sacrifices must be made for the greater good. If I had been thinking about anyone besides myself before the wedding, none of this would have even happened. With Benjamin remaining, I suppose I'll have another chance at matrimony as well. The quiet scraping of silverware assures me that everything will soon return to its natural order.

How wonderfully exciting.

Chapter 22: Keeping Receipts - Rafael's Perspective

I examine the jagged edge. A page from my father's leather-bound journals.

Missing. How odd.

I've never before taken the time to go through my father's musings, but right now, I need to clear my head. His voice, I can now open and close as I please. Though I half-expected the pages to be filled with vitriolic hatred for our French rivals, they tend not to veer into the political. There is a lot of talk about a maddening woman who had stolen the heart of his brother, Sebastián's father, and himself as well. At first, I thought these passion-fueled descriptions were meant to chronicle my mother. However, the dates of the journal entries far predate their marriage.

Originally, I thought it was an accident, but the woman's name has been blotted out.

I can only assume that the jagged edge was intentional as well. Perhaps it represented something that needed to be forgotten. I know that my father loved his wife until the moment of her death and well beyond. He loved her to the point that it made him weak. No document could possibly allow me to question that. As I flip towards the book's end, Sebastián barrels through the doors of my study.

"Your sister -- took -- the girl," he announces between breaths.

I lean forward. The book slides off my lap and collapses, pages first, to the floor.

"Say that again."

Isabel was just foolish enough to attempt something like this.

"Your Excellency, they came through the kitchen nearly an hour ago. Why no one stopped them is beyond me. I will set up an inquiry right away, and all responsible parties will be punished."

"Where are they now?"

"If those loyal to me can be trusted, they are headed straight for the Guînes plantation. I believe that we can still catch them."

"Has my sister retrieved her things?" I ask.

I understand my soft-hearted sister sympathizing with the prisoner, but releasing the hounds upon our family?

Sebastián rubs the sweat from his forehead. "I don't believe so, señor. You don't presume that Doña Navarro expects to return here - after such a betrayal?"

I tighten my lips. "I'm sure that she does."

Isabel would always do what she believed was right. No matter the cost. Such foolish hope is second to her nature. And yet, believing in something is enough to keep one warm inside. It is firewood for the eternal flame. I believe in our eventual triumph over the French. A piece of me wants to believe in what I once shared with the girl, but that flame has long been snuffed out.

Sebastián interrupts my private thoughts.

"Do you wish me to send out a search envoy? My men are ready. I assure you that they won't rest until the traitors are found." He holds a fist to his chest. "We will raze the Guînes plantation to the ground if we must."

I envision the girl brought back here once again, lain at my feet, begging for my mercy. With her home destroyed, these lands would be the only place for her to turn. And yet, despite the plan's many merits, bringing war to our enemy's doorstep would affect my subjects and the security of their families. Great responsibility rests upon the shoulders of my station. This honor-bound peerage stands for a great deal more than my personal reputation.

With the superior French naval position, we stand to lose many good men. It would also be a poor strategic decision, as our enterprises are already slated to surpass theirs in a matter of months. A battle is one thing. A massacre is another.

"Let her go," I say, turning toward the long glass panes.

Sebastián is aghast.

"Let her go? Your Excellency, you can't be serious. The greatest threat to your family's empire drives a stake into your chest, and you're going to choke on your broken heart?"

"I understand your frustration, but some things are bigger than us."

No matter how upset he is, that sort of language cannot be tolerated. "I advise you to remember who you're speaking to."

He grabs the brass letter opener, knuckles losing color.

"Oh, how could I forget, the great Viscount of San Miguel, brought to his knees by a little French girl." He keeps digging, "You are just like your father and your uncle. And that girl - the spitting image of Valentine de Guînes from the moment I saw her. Nothing but trouble."

I stand up from my desk. The chair squeals along the wood floor. "Watch how you speak of my father."

"My apologies, Your Excellency." He bows his head but something in his insults reminds me of my father's words of a fiery, troublesome woman. Not so different than Mademoiselle Catherine.

"Speak more of this Valentine de Guînes," I command.

At my utterance of the woman's name, Sebastián shrinks down into his black silk three-piece, his face a ghastly white.

"O-only that Valentine de Guînes was an equally deceitful seductress. Hell-bent on bringing misery to everyone so unfortunate to make her acquaintance!" He holds for effect, "Have you not heard the stories, Your Excellency?"

There were stories. There were always stories. But there were also my father's words, exasperated, but dearly in love. Was the woman in question Catherine's aunt? Every whisper I've ever heard about my uncle's proposed marriage to Valentine de Guînes pointed to a political arrangement ending in his murder. A peace offering turned detonation. It disturbed Father so much that he refused to talk about it.

"Return to the part about you recognizing Catherine's lineage from the moment you saw her. She was brought to us as a commoner accused of petty theft. None of us had any inkling of her origins."

My old friend is silent. The pieces begin to fall into place.

"Sebastián, tell me that you didn't know." My voice nearly bottoms out.

"Rafael, how could I have - "

"Sebastián."

He nurses the letter opener. "Even if I had deduced her true nature, the stupid whore had you wrapped around her finger. I couldn't have you acting emotionally and jeopardizing all of our hard work. Excellency, the Guînes family is barking at our heels. I had to act."

"As if they won't be at our heels now for branding and enslaving their daughter."

The fury of deceit pours through me. Yet, I cannot completely discount the man's reasoning.

Could I have been trusted with the knowledge that the Guînes girl was in my possession the whole time? Even worse, had I too sensed this and yet, rejected it for an affair of the heart?

Regardless, the crime of lying to oneself pales in comparison to the crime of lying to one's betters. A man devoid of loyalty is a man devoid of loyalty. I glance toward the enormous stack of papers on my desk and recall the missing ledgers.

"I suppose anyone could make such a mistake. For as long as I can remember, you and your family have served with dignity and honor."

"Thank you, Your Excellency," says Sebastián. His posture relaxes.

"My only complaint is that I find my ledgers to be rather peculiar. Every time I seem to find an amount that doesn't add up, it conveniently disappears. I think myself a man of order, not prone to this type of forgetfulness. The maids know better than to disrupt the papers in my office which leaves me with only a single explanation."

I track my advisor's facial expressions carefully. A single wet bead slides down his forehead.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. However, I can open an inquiry."

"Is it not your duty to know of these things in advance?"

The trap draws closer and closer around him. If I spring it, I must be absolutely sure. My supply of friends whittles shorter every day, while my list of enemies grows without ceasing.

I continue, "For example, how can it be that Isabel and Catherine made it through a fully-staffed kitchen and rode a carriage off the estate without my spymaster learning of it immediately? You are many things, Sebastián. Incompetent is not one of them."

He abandons his pretense of ignorance. "Vizconde, I had to make sure the necessary pieces were in place to deal with the repercussions. I wanted you to have all options at your disposal, and I assure you that we are still holding all the cards."

Sebastián is an excellent liar. Relentless and obsequious. This was a precisely engineered gambit with himself the only true player. This house and I have been executing our moves at his whims.

Catherine wasn't the one to betray me. She was merely an innocent caught in Sebastián's web of lies. She was only unwilling to gnaw off her own leg, a choice for which she cannot be blamed. Without Sebastián's interference, I would have set her free. If some tenuous peace could have been brokered between our two houses, I could have freely pursued her in courtship, knowing that I was the only man to have touched her. We could have laughed at our misunderstandings on a naked picnic by the shore. Instead, I locked her in my cellar and whipped her perfect flesh.

"Sebastián, I no longer require your services."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Effective immediately, you and your descendants are relieved of this post. I shall install a replacement, post-haste."

I turn my back on my closest friend, expecting the sound of a defeated man leaving my presence, heavy footsteps, a respectfully closed door.

Instead, the woosh of a knife catches my ear. Before I can react, Sebastián is atop the mahogany desk, wielding my letter opener like a madman. I dive out of the blade's path before it can make contact.

The man chases after me.

"My father lost his life delivering the news of Valentine's 'accident,'" he cries, wildly slashing. "I worked liked a dog for years, and even now you betray me. A family of cowards and traitors, that's all this house stands for, and I simply won't tolerate it anymore!"

The papers of my desk flutter down to the floor. My afternoon of reading did not prepare me for a knife brawl. He feints for my knee. I successfully block, but he topples me to the ground.

I hold his arm precariously above my forehead. "Sebastián, calm down!"

I shout to try and reach him, but all reason has been replaced with an inhuman rage.

"Do you seriously believe that you can run this empire without me?" He laughs with a cold, mirthless chill. "I show you one letter -- it was a real letter, but it could have been forged, honestly - and you throw the love of your life in a dungeon. You are a coward. That's even worse than a traitor."

He makes another attempt for my neck. I roll quickly to the left.

The blade is narrowly jammed into the floorboards. As he struggles to pry it out, I feel for the dagger stowed under the desk. Nothing but smooth wood. Sebastián must have removed it from its hiding place in advance. Trickles of blood drip down my sleeve. A couple of Sebastián's blows cut much deeper than I realized. I must act to end this.

Sebastián continues his monologue. "It is true that I take a little off the top. So what? Your uncle killed his beloved when he found her in the arms of another. You would do the same to Catherine. I have no shame. Your father spilled your uncle's blood to take his birthright. You are monsters, the lot of you - "

I slam him across the face with a desk drawer.

He collapses.

I scramble to my feet and kick the weapon away from my former advisor.

***

My men dispose of the traitor, dragging his body to the cage in the cellar.

His words are not as easily discounted. My father had faults. And yet, I never would have imagined cold-blooded murder among them. I would chalk it all up to the ravings of a madman if I had not so recently felt the blinding rage of betrayal myself.

Monsters, Sebastián called us.

The sound of Catherine's sobs will haunt me for the rest of my life, her perfect face, downcast and quivering. The girl gave me her trust, her maidenhead willingly, and I cast her aside for her parentage. The wounds on my arm throb. If men like myself and my father were monsters, men like Sebastián were only our teeth.

My stomach clenches as I pass near the cellar door. I don't think I have it in me to interrogate another friend.

Sebastián's eyes will grow used to the darkness long before he may speak another word in his defense. Let him rot in his chains. My poor Catherine didn't belong in a place like that.

When Isabel returns, we can begin to strategize on an apology. To hell with the trade embargo. I'll send her trunks of dresses, jewels -- any of the slaves that were cruel to her. I'll send her Sebastián's head on a spike. I must exhaust every possible effort, even if in the end, she will not have me. Anything to cleanse me of this iron clamp around my chest.