“A million more pardons!” Beauvallet responded. “Behold the commander, Nicholas Beauvallet, at your service!”
The lady exclaimed at that. “I knew it! You are El Beauvallet!”
Beauvallet turned to her, the eyebrow was raised again, and the eyes themselves were twinkling. “Himself, señora. Wholly at your feet.”
“I,” said Don Manuel stiffly, “am Don Manuel de Rada y Sylva. You address my daughter, Doña Dominica. I demand to know the meaning of this outrage.”
“Outrage?” said Beauvallet, honestly puzzled. “What outrage, señor?”
Don Manuel flushed, and pointed a shaking finger to the shambles forward. “You need ask, señor?”
“The fight! Why, to say truth, noble señor, I had thought that this ship opened fire upon me,” said Beauvallet pleasantly. “And I was never one to refuse a challenge.”
“Where,” demanded Doña Dominica, “is Don Juan de Narvaez?”
“Under guard, señora, until he goes aboard his own long boat.”
“You beat him! You, with that little ship!”
Beauvallet laughed out at that. “I, with that little ship,” he bowed.
“What of us?” Don Manuel interrupted.
Sir Nicholas looked rueful, ran a hand through his crisp hair. “You have me there, señor,” he confessed. “What a-plague are you doing aboard this vessel?”
“I conceive that to be none of your business, señor. If you must know I am on my way home from Santiago to Spain.”
“Why, an evil chance,” said Beauvallet sympathetically. “What folly possessed that numskull of a commander of yours to open fire on me?”
“Don Juan did his duty, señor,” said Don Manuel haughtily.
“Alack then, that virtue has not been better rewarded,” said Sir Nicholas lightly. “And what am I to do with you?” He bit his finger, pondering the question. “There is of course the long boat. She puts off as soon as may be for the island of Dominica. It lies some three miles to the north of us. Do you choose to go aboard her?”
Doña Dominica took a quick step forward. Since her fears were lulled her temper rose. This careless manner was not to be borne. She broke into impassioned speech, shooting her words at Beauvallet. “Is that all you can say? Sea-robber! Hateful pirate! Is it nothing to you that we must put back to the Indies and wait perhaps months for another ship? Oh nothing, nothing! You see where my father stands, a sick man, and you care nothing that you expose him to such rough usage. Base, wicked robber! What do you care! Nothing! I could spit on you for a vile English freebooter!” She ended on a sob of rage, and stamped her foot at him.
“Good lack!” said Beauvallet, staring down into that exquisite face of fury. A smile of amusement and of admiration crept into his eyes. It caused Doña Dominica to lose the last shreds of her temper. What would you? She was a maid all fire and spirit. She struck at him, and he caught her hand and held it, pulled her closer, and looked down into her face with eyes a-twinkle. “I cry pardon, señora. We will amend all.” He turned his head and sent a shout ringing for his lieutenant.
“Loose me!” Dominica said, and tried to pull her hand away. “Loose me!”
“Why, you would scratch me if I did,” Beauvallet said, teasing.
It was not to be borne. The lady’s eyes fell, and encountered the hilt of a dagger in Beauvallet’s belt. She raised them again, held his in a defiant stare, and stole her hand to the dagger’s hilt.
Sir Nicholas looked quickly down, saw what she would be at, and laughed. “Brave lass!” He let her go, let her draw out his dagger, and flung wide his arms. “Come then! Have at me!”
She stepped back, uncertain and bewildered, wondering what manner of man was this who could mock at death itself. “If you touch me I will kill you,” she said through her teeth.
Still he came on, twinkling, daring her. She drew back until the bulwarks stayed her.
“Now strike!” invited Beauvallet. “I’ll swear you have the stomach for it!”
“My daughter!” Don Manuel was aghast. “Give back that knife! I command you! Señor, be good enough to stand back.”
Beauvallet turned away from the lady. It seemed he gave no second thought to the dangerous weapon she held. He waited for Dangerfield to come up, standing with his hands tucked negligently into his belt.
“Sir, you called me?”
Beauvallet indicated Don Manuel and his daughter with a comprehensive sweep of his hand. “Convey Don Manuel de Rada y Sylva and his daughter aboard the Venture,” he said, in Spanish.
Don Manuel started; Dominica gave a gasp. “Is it a jest, señor?” Don Manuel demanded.
“I’ God’s Name, why should I jest?”
“You make us prisoners?”
“Nay, I bid you be my guests, señor. I said I would amend all.”
The lady broke out again. “You mock us! You shall not take us aboard your ship. We will not go!”
Beauvallet set his hands on his hips. The mobile eyebrow went up again. “How now? First you will and then you will not. You tell me I am a dog to hinder your return to Spain, and curse me roundly for a rogue. Well, I have said I will amend the fault: I will convey you to Spain with all speed. What ails you then?”
“Take us to Spain?” said Don Manuel uncomprehendingly.
“You cannot!” cried Dominica, incredulous. “You dare not!”
“Dare not? God’s Son, I am Nick Beauvallet!” said Sir Nicholas, amazed. “Dared I sail into Vigo a year back, and lay all waste? What should stop me?”
She flung up her hands, and the dagger flashed in the sunlight. “Oh, now I know that they named you well who named you Mad Beauvallet!”
“You have it wrong,” Beauvallet said, jesting. “Mad Nicholas is the name they call me. I make you free of it, señora.”
Don Manuel interposed. “Señor, I do not understand you. I cannot believe you speak in good faith.”
“The best in the world, señor. Is an Englishman’s word good enough?”
Don Manuel knew not how to answer. It was left for his daughter
