The Pirate Prince (12 page)

“What is that supposed to mean?” Lazar paused at the door, turning around.

“Cristiana found out what I’d done—”

“Did you have her killed, too?”

“No! God, no,” he wrenched out. “She suspected all along, but somehow six years later she realized the truth. She sent Allegra to her sister in Paris, and one day when I came home, my too-beautiful, highborn wife had blown out her brains there, in our home, where she knew I would be the one to find her. And a note saying she had done it for shame of me.”

He hung his head in his hands and sobbed, shoulders shaking.

Lazar stared at him, realizing the man was already tortured beyond anything he could have devised.

“Please do not harm my daughter,” he whispered without looking up. “She is a good girl, and she has suffered enough.”

Lazar was silent for a moment. “You are a failure in every imaginable way. Do you know that, Monteverdi? Do you realize you promised your only daughter to a man who even tonight tried to rape her?”

He looked up, white. “What?”

“Your Lord Clemente—I redressed the situation,” he muttered with a wave of his hand.

“No, no.” He bent his head, weeping softly. “Allegra, my little one.”

“I am taking her under my protection,” he said, “for her sake and for Lady Cristiana’s, not for yours. Then only one survivor shall remain from both our families.”

Still prostrate on the floor, the governor looked up at him in sudden horror, apprehending at last the full scale of his vendetta, understanding now why Lazar had timed his revenge for this celebration, when all of Monteverdi’s kin were gathered under his roof.

“The House of Monteverdi, like the Fiori, shall be no more,” Lazar said softly. “Though I carry out this deed, the blood is on your hands.”

He walked out and slammed the door behind him as the governor’s wailing and pleading began.

Lazar found himself strangely moved as he walked down the sterile halls of the palazzo to retrieve his lovely prize from safekeeping in the tower.

Poor kitten, he thought sadly. How empty her young life must have been. A mother left devastated by the death of her friends. A lying coward for a father. He could just picture her as a lonely little girl in this big, marble palace devoid of love, pawned off on relatives in a city where she didn’t even speak the language. At least for the short time he had had his family, they had been close-knit and happy—Father and Mother, him, Phillip—otherwise known as Pip—and little Anna, who had been only four years old at the time of her murder.

Not for Monteverdi’s sake but for hers, he decided to let Allegra see her father one last time to say good-bye as he had not been allowed to do. In any case, then she could hear from Monteverdi’s own mouth that Lazar was indeed who he claimed to be, not a fraud.

In the white, breezy foyer, he called a few men over to update him, standing out of the way as the Brethren carried out treasure after treasure, looting the palace with the methodical efficiency he’d taught them.

Captain Bickerson, of
The Tempest
, reported the ships’ holds were near capacity. If they loaded up much more, they’d pay for it in speed. The lookouts still saw no sign of the navy.

“Excellent. And Clemente? Has he been taken?”

“Er, not yet, sir. We ain’t found him yet. He’s run off, hiding somewhere in the countryside, but we’ll get him,” replied Jeffers, the tough ex-convict he’d put in charge of the task, along with his equally hardened partner, Wilkes.

“Get more men on it. Time is short. I don’t want him getting away. I have faith in you, Jeff,” he added darkly.

“Right,” the hulking man answered with a nod.

“If for some reason you don’t catch him before we set sail,” Lazar added as an afterthought, “you and your men stay here until he’s taken care of, then follow us.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “I’ll make it plenty worth your while.”

“Aye, sir!” the man said, a sparkle of greed in his eyes as he went off to do his bidding.

“Now, then. What of the governor’s kin?” Lazar asked. “Are they all accounted for?”

“Aye, Cap,” answered Sullivan, captain of
The Hawk
. “Six-and-forty of ’em. They’re all in the magazine jail, just as you instructed.”

“Good. Take them to the ramparts of the eastern wall, where the cliffs drop down to the sea. Line them up there.”

“Aye, sir.”

Lazar paused for a moment, head bowed. “Sully,” he added, “get me twelve men with rifles up there, too.”

The Irishman started to laugh. “Aye, sure, ye’re not losing heart, are ye? Why, ye was all piss ’n’ vinegar a week ago to pop ’em each yourself—”

Lazar lifted his chin and met the man’s eyes with a frosty midnight gaze. Sully’s laughter stopped abruptly.

“It is merely a matter of convenience.”

The Irishman swallowed his joviality. “Aye, sir.”

Lazar threw his cheroot to the ground, crushing it under his boot heel on the white marble floor, grouchily admitting to himself that Sully was right. Last week he had vowed to put a bullet personally into each Monteverdi head. A mere three days ago he was as hungry for their blood as the ghosts in his memory.

He had a sinking feeling that his growing sense of unease, almost reluctance, sprang from the unbalancing effect the girl was having on him. He was about to render her as alone in the world as he was, but he could not afford to feel guilty for it.

No, the hell with her, he thought, irked. If she had any sense, she would thank her lucky stars he saw fit to spare her at all.

He stalked down the steps of the palazzo and had gone only a few yards into the busy piazza when he heard a shout. Suddenly he saw a man running toward him, waving his arms. Instinctively he reached for his pistol and took aim.

“Halt,” he said.

The man stopped and threw himself to the ground, hollering something into the cobblestones. Two of the mates came running a step behind and hauled the man up from the ground, each taking an arm. Lazar furrowed his brow, holstered his gun, and walked over to the fellow hanging limp in his men’s grasp.

“Who’s this?”

“Says he’s your servant, Cap.”

“I am! I must speak with you, sire. It is imperative!”

“You’re a lunatic, you are,” said the other pirate as he gave his arm a rough tug. “He ain’t your bloody sire.”

When the squat, tattered fellow peered worshipfully up at him, Lazar found it was the same fat, greasy musician from the previous night’s bonfire.

“Oh, you again.” He sighed. “What is it?”

The man seemed to be trying to keep his eyes fixed humbly down, but at the question, he looked up at Lazar with a quick, imploring gaze.

Understanding dawned. The guitarist wanted to join them. They picked up strays everywhere they stopped, brave, wayward lads who longed for adventure, dreamers chasing gold, and desperadoes running from the law. This one looked like the last category. In a heartbeat, however, Lazar realized just how far from the mark his assessment was.

“We are gathering outside the walls even now, my liege,” he told him, a zealous light in his beady eyes. “Your people are coming from all over Ascencion to hail you!”

“
What?
”

Abruptly the man fell to his knees, shoving his face down to the cobbles. The two pirates looked down at him in bewilderment, then at Lazar.

“Praised be God for this day, Your Majesty!” he cried. “May the sun shine on your reign forever!”

Lazar snapped out of his utter astonishment when the two pirates started to laugh. The blood drained from his face.

“He’s loony!” the first cried.

“Your
Majesty
?” roared the other. “He’s foxed! Conversin’ with Pharaoh, him!”

Swift as a panther, Lazar crouched down by the Ascencion man. “Get up,” he said in a low, deadly voice. “Who are you? Who sent you?”

The man looked up. “No one sent me, sire! I am Bernardo of St. Eilion, on the south coast. I am a musician. I’ve kept their hope alive for you with the stories and legends, sire.” He bowed his head. “My father fought with Alphonse on St. Teresa’s Day. I know we will see such glories again, sire, and even greater triumphs to come, now that Your Majesty has returned. You have crushed the Genovese foe!”

Lazar knew only that he was numb. Beyond that lay something akin to terror. How the hell did they know who he was?

Was this some kind of joke?

It might have been funny had it not had the potential to explode in his face like a faulty cannon. His men had no idea—would never believe—that he’d been born a prince, while the mule-headed Ascencioners refused to see the obvious fact that he had become a pirate. There was no prince left in him.

His men continued to guffaw and poke gibes at the poor, pathetic bard, who in turn shot them indignant glances.

“Forgive me, great sire, but these knaves do not show Your Majesty proper homage. If I may be so bold, I would serve you with far greater respect—”

“Er, Bernardo,” Lazar began. He propped an elbow on his knee and scratched his jaw, at a loss.

“Yes, my liege?”

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake. Whoever it is you’ve taken me to be, I can assure you I’m not he.” He shook his head, hating himself with every cruel, casual word. “We’re pirates, you see, and we’re looting this place. We’ll be leaving shortly.”

His countryman stared up at him. “My liege?”

He shook his head. “Merely ‘Captain.’ I’m sorry. I can see this meant a great deal to you.”

Shock, horror, and betrayal made the bard’s fat face even uglier. His look cut to Lazar’s heart. Bernardo shook his meaty head in staunch refusal. “No, sire, no!”

“I’m afraid your wish has clouded your vision, my friend,” he said softly. “Surely you can see that I’m no king.”

“No, you are Alphonse’s son! You are his very image! The legend is true!”

“Legend!” He laughed, amiable as ever, as if these words were not a dagger in his heart. “The only legends of me are the ones that nannies in the West Indies tell misbehaving children to get them to mind.” He shook his head. “Ach, you people were always daft.”

“Sire, why you deny the truth of who you are, I cannot say, but I know what I know. You are Alphonse’s son, the rightful heir of Ascencion’s throne, and our king!”

The two pirates laughed uproariously. Lazar smiled stiffly at them. “Aye,” he said, “I’m king. Aren’t I, lads?”

“King o’ the sea!” the first hiccupped.

“King o’ thieves!” the other said with a grin.

“Nay, Prince o’ Darkness—”

“And we’re his loyal subjects, ain’t we, William?” the first howled.

Lazar regarded Bernardo with a cold smile amid the lads’ antics.

“You see?” he said quietly. “That’s the way of it.” He nodded to his men. “Get him out of my sight.” He walked away even before they had picked the squat man up off the ground.

An inconvenience merely, he told himself. The Ascencioners would survive as they always had.

Like rats.

“
Vendetta
,” he assured the shades of the slain Fiori, but just now they were silent.

He strode across the square toward the eastern tower and the open city gates. Yards away, however, he froze.

The door he’d left secured was hanging open.

He knew even before he ran inside and tore up the steps to the garret that Allegra was gone. Moments later, he crashed back out into the square, stalked to the center, and leaped up onto the stone rim of the fountain. He fired his pistol into the air, getting his men’s attention. All motion in the piazza came to a halt.

Sweat streaming down his face, he roared at them, “God damn it, where is she? Which of you scurvy bastards took
my woman
?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Allegra had found a place on a low shelf between two sacks of grain. The shelf above her gave her a roof, and, in this little hole in the wall, she curled up and sincerely willed herself to die. After carrying her onto the ship, Goliath had been so thoughtful as to leave her a lantern with the assurance that there were no rats in
this
storeroom. He had locked the door and left then, for she was a sure thing while the lure of more booty still called.

He had said he was going to marry her. She knew that wasn’t what he meant. He was the foulest, most uncouth creature she had ever seen, and she hoped she was dead by the time he returned. She tried not to ponder the thought of his hamlike hands on her, for to think of what he was going to do to her filled her with such unstoppable horror, she felt the edges of her sanity fraying in earnest.