Jennifer Wilde Page 15

  Ten

  Tremayne awakened and, seeing the ship and the approaching boats, roused the other pirates, suddenly taking on the authority he hadn't bothered to display earlier. He barked orders curtly, and even Quince hurried to obey. As early morning sunlight gleamed bright and drove away the pale pink of dawn, the youth with the stern brown eyes and broad shoulders took complete charge. The rest of the women were awakened. We were assembled in a ragged line. Bessie stared in front of her with empty eyes. Corrie trembled beside me, and I took her hand. Nadine fussed with her hair, primping for the new arrivals. The three boats bobbed on the water, drawing nearer.

  "It's going to be all right, Corrie," I said.

  "I'se afraid, Miz Marietta." Tears spilled down her cheeks.

  "We're all afraid."

  "My mistress, Miz Henrietta, she wudn't pleased with me. She didn't like the way I done her hair. She tole Mista Buck to sell me an' he sold me to the bad men. One uv 'em took my cherry. I bled somethin' awful. They'se goin' to put me in a bad place so's other men can stick their things in me."

  "Maybe not, Come. You—you must be brave."

  "I'll try, Miz Marietta, but I'se so scared."

  When the boats were a few yards from shore, the men leaped out, took hold of long ropes attached to the bows, and waded on to shore, pulling the boats behind them. There were six men, all dressed in motley pirate attire, bandanas around their heads, cutlasses at their sides, knives and pistols thrust into their belts. One of them, a sullen giant with coal black hair and a beak-like nose, approached Tremayne with a disgusted look in his fierce gray eyes.

  "Not a very promisin' lot, Mike," he grumbled.

  "A couple of 'em aren't so bad," Tremayne replied.

  "The wench in pink, the one with the teats half hangin' out, she oughta fetch a good sum."

  "She's not tor sale."

  "Keepin' her for yourself?"

  Tremayne nodded. The pirate with the beak-like nose strolled slowly down the line of women, examining each one of us with a disgruntled expression. He wore tall black boots, black trousers, and a loose-fitting green shirt with full sleeves. His bandana was green, too, and a gold hoop dangled from his left earlobe. He paused in front of Nadine, clutching her chin in his hand, jerking her head from left to right,

  "They like 'em skinny in Rio," he declared. "Once she's washed up and put in a new dress, this one'll do. She oughta bring a hundred pounds. How much you pay for her, Quince?"

  "Didn't pay nuthin'," Quince retorted. "Nabbed her when she was comin' outta her lover's room. Clamped a hand over her mouth, dragged her down the back stairs."

  "How 'bout the rest of 'em?"

  "Paid fifty pounds for the little nigger. Paid two hundred and fifty for that tall redhead. Hart wanted five hundred. Paid a hundred for that one in yellow, one of our agents nabbed her. The rest of 'em were snatched by our own men,"

  "Total outlay three hundred pounds. Too bloody much. We won't get more'n a coupla thousand for the whole lot, less'n that if Mike means to keep the one with the teats."

  "We did the best we could," Quince protested.

  "Your best ain't good enough, Quince. You come up with another lot like this, you and your men are gonna find yourselves manning the oars again. Red Nick's gonna be bloody unhappy when he sees these dogs."

  "It ain't as easy as it used to be, Draper. Hart and the rest of 'em ain't supplyin' like they was, and me 'n the boys, we have to be careful, have to keep outta sight. Nabbin' a wench ain't all that simple."

  Draper turned to Tremayne. "What do you think, Mike?"

  "Quince and his boys know the swamps like the backs of their hands. That ain't to be sneezed at, Draper. Quince uses his whip a mite too much, and his boys are a mite rough on the wenches, but they hadn't lost any this time. Red Nick ain't been happy, but I don't reckon he could do much better. We put new men on the job, they're likely to spend the rest of their lives wanderin' these swamps tryin' to find a way out."

  "That what you gonna tell Red Nick?"

  Tremayne nodded. Draper wasn't happy, but he didn't care to argue with Red Nick's second-in-command. Instead, he kicked the sand with the toe of his boot and moved back down the line for a closer look at us. When he stopped in front of me, I met his fierce gaze with cool composure.

  "Two hundred and fifty pounds for this one!" he snarled. "Quince musta been outta his mind! She looks like a bleedin' aristocrat, cold as ice. They ain't gonna line up for the likes of her."

  "She's got something," Tremayne said flatly.

  "Nothin' I can see," Draper retorted. "Let's get 'em on the boats and out to the ship. He don't want to tarry too long in these waters."

  We were herded onto the boats. Corrie sat on one side of me, Em on the other, Bessie and two other women facing us. A husky pirate climbed in after he had pulled the boat into the water. He took up the oars, and we were on our way to the ship. Corrie sobbed. I slipped my arm around her, and she rested her head on my shoulder, trembling. The boat tipped precariously, riding the waves, the pirate rowing vigorously, muscles rolling beneath his jersey. Bessie stared at the water and gathered bunches of her blue skirt between her fingers, tugging at it, pulling, unaware of what she was doing.

  "Are you all right, luv?" Em asked me.

  "I'm fine, Em. It's the others I'm worried about, I wish we could do something for them."

  "I know the feeling, luv. We're tough. We can handle it. That poor child beside you—she's utterly defenseless."

  "We've got to help her, Em. At least we can help Corrie."

  "I don't know how, luv. We'll be doing good to save our own skins."

  "We can't let her be shipped to South America."

  "We'll think of something, luv."

  I tightened my arm around the trembling girl and stroked the short black curls that covered her head like a crisp cap. I remembered Cassie, the lovely Negro slave I had helped escape to freedom along with her husband Adam. I had no way of knowing what had ultimately happened to them, but they hadn't been recaptured, and I liked to think they were safely up north, living a good lite with the child Cassie had been carrying when they fled the plantation. I had no idea how I was going to do it, but I was going to help this girl, too. As the boat drew nearer the ship, I resolved to protect her.

  "Stop crying, Corrie," I said quietly. "Sit up. Wipe your eyes."

  Corrie obeyed, making a valiant effort to stem her tears. The sun was a brilliant white ball now, climbing the pale blue sky and casting dazzling reflections on the surging blue-gray water. One of the boats ahead of us had already reached the ship. The women were climbing up a rope ladder and being pulled onto the deck by brawny pirates. Em nudged my side, pointing. To our left, perhaps a hundred and fifty yards away, two large gray fins were visible on the surface of the water, circling slowly.

  "Sharks," she said. "I told you these waters are full of 'em."

  "They must be enormous, judging from the size of those fins."

  "I'm paralyzed, luv. I'll never be able to climb that ladder. One little slip and—splash. Jesus! Look at 'em! They're coming closer."

  Em was quite pale, her greenish-brown eyes wide with fear. She closed them and moved her lips in a silent prayer.

  The last woman in the boat ahead was hauled over the railing and onto the deck, the boat itself raised on ropes and lifted over, disappearing from sight. The pirate rowing our boat loosened his hold on the oars and let the boat drift. It clattered against the side of the ship with a mighty bang that jolted all of us.

  "Jesus Christ!" Em roared. "Take it easy, you bastard! Do you want to dump us all in the water!"

  "Up the ladder, wench!" he ordered.

  "You must be joking, luv. If you think I'm going to shimmy up that flimsy hunk of rope, you're out of your mind."

  The pirate smiled. He caught hold of her arm, jerked her to her feet and heaved her up in the air, tossing her toward the side of the ship. Em climbed up the ladder with remarkable agility, her skirts fluttering wi
ldly up over her legs, ragged, ruffled petticoats soaring. As she reached the top, muscular arms reached out, caught hold of her, dragging her over the railing. I whispered encouraging words to Corrie, who had started trembling again. The pirate pulled Bessie to her feet and ordered her to climb. She merely stared at him. He slapped her across the face and shoved her toward the ladder, and she climbed slowly, heavily.

  The other two women went up next, and then the pirate nodded to Corrie. She hesitated, terrified, and I squeezed her hand. Her frail body trembling visibly, she caught hold of the ropes and began to climb, pausing midway and clinging as the ship swayed. I caught my breath, afraid she was going to let go of the ropes. The pirates leaning over the railing yelled loudly, ordering her to keep climbing. She shook her head, her eyes closed tightly.

  "Go on, Corrie!" I called. "You can make it. I'm right behind you."

  The girl sobbed and moved up a few more rungs. Hands reached down, and she was pulled the rest of the way up. I caught hold of one of the rungs and put my foot in another, pulling myself up. The rope was coarse and scratched my palms. The ladder swung outward, swung back, slapping against the side, almost causing me to lose my grip. No wonder Corrie had been so frightened, I thought, moving up another rung. The wind blew heavy, copper-red waves across my cheeks and tore at my skirts. Out of the corner of my eye I could see the sharks circling, their bodies visible from this angle, long, sleek, moving in a lethargic ballet just beneath the surface. That didn't help at all. I clung to the ropes and willed myself to move up another rung, another, finally reaching the top. Two pirates caught hold of my wrists and heaved me over the railing, almost pulling my arms out of their sockets.

  "Over there with the rest of "em!" one of them barked.

  The other women were clustered together near a stack of barrels containing gunpowder. Nadine was primping again, straightening her skirts, shoving pale blonde curls away from her sharp, thin face. Bessie stood to one side, staring at the water, and Em had her arm around Corrie's waist. Corrie's lovely brown eyes filled with relief when she saw me approach.

  "I see you made it," Em said. "I wouldn't care to go through that again, I can tell you for sure."

  "I kept thinking about the sharks."

  "So did I. Here come the rest of the women. We'll be pulling up anchor as soon as they're all aboard. Michael told me. He's below deck now with the captain. Red Nick'll be coming up to inspect us in a little while."

  "You think you know everything, don't you?" Nadine snapped. "Just because you're screwing that young pirate you think you've got inside information. You little whore! I could have had him if I'd wanted him."

  "I didn't notice him paying much attention to you, luv. He was probably afraid you'd give him a dose of clap."

  "The captain's going to set me ashore as soon as he finds out who I am. He's going to set me ashore with one of the men who'll take me back to New Orleans and collect the reward. Daddy'll give him a huge reward."

  "I wouldn't count on it, luv."

  One by one, the other women joined us. Overhead, the strong canvas sails cracked, snapping in the wind, causing the ship to rock slowly from side to side, the deck tilting. Ropes hung down from the masts like a tangle of heavy vines, and a pirate without shirt stood in the crow's nest, peering across the horizon, on the lookout for other ships. The Sea Lyon was enormous, heavily armed with twenty cannon, ten on either side. It was an elegant vessel, gleaming with brass and polished mahogany and showing few signs of combat. I couldn't help but compare it to the squalid prison ship on which I had crossed the Atlantic. It was like comparing a palace to a hovel, I thought, noticing the elegantly carved banisters leading down to the officers' quarters.

  "It's something, isn't it?" Em said. "It was one of the finest ships in the Spanish fleet before Red Nick took it. One of the fastest, too. I don't know how many knots an hour —I think Michael said knots, I suppose that means miles. I'm not too good at nautical terms."

  "We all know what you are good at," Nadine remarked.

  "You know, luv, I could really grow to dislike you if I tried hard enough. I wish he would put you ashore—on a desert island. They're bound to be some around here somewhere."

  Nadine made a face and continued to fuss with her hair. The shore seemed very far away, our campsite barely visible across the water. Quince and his men had already started back through the swamps. The men on The Sea Lyon were just as fierce and sullen-looking as the others had been, but they seemed much cleaner, their clothes less ragged and soiled. Draper marched over to us and stood with hands on hips, the sleeves of his green shirt whipping in the wind.

  "What's wrong with the nigger?" he snapped.

  "She's all right," Em said. "She's just upset."

  "Red Nick don't like snivelin'. He don't like lip, either. Any of you sluts open your mouths when he's inspectin' you, he's likely to knock you down. Keep that in mind!"

  "Hush up, luv," Em told Corrie. "Lord, I've never seen such tears. Here, wipe them away. That's better. Marietta and I are going to take care of you, luv, but you've gotta hold up your end,"

  "I—I'se just so scared. I won't cry no more, Miz Em. I promise."

  "Line up, sluts!" Draper ordered. "Here comes the captain!"

  Tremayne came up the stairs from the officers' quarters, young, muscular, looking terribly stern now. He was followed by a very tall, very lean man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. Nicholas Lyon wore a pair of black leather knee boots polished to a high sheen, the heels clicking as he moved across the deck. His black breeches were snug, hugging his calves and thighs, while his maroon shirt fit loosely, bagging slightly over the waistband. It was made of pure silk, heavy and shiny, open at the throat, the full bell sleeves gathered at the wrists. The maroon was a rich, dark shade, the color of wine. He wore no cutlass, carried neither knife nor pistol, and his face was expressionless, yet he nevertheless seemed far more formidable than any of his men. He exuded an aura of savage ruthlessness that made my blood run cold.

  "Here they are," Tremayne said. "Seventeen of 'em."

  A tiny frown of displeasure creased Red Nick's brow. He hadn't bothered to look at us yet.

  "So few?" he inquired.

  "Quince and his boys aren't findin' it as easy as it used to be, and their agents aren't supplyin' as many wenches as they used to. These ain't too bad, and there's one in particular, a redhead—''

  "I'll make my own judgment, Tremayne."

  His voice was perfectly level, but it had a harsh, metallic quality that reminded one of steel. He sauntered over to inspect us, maroon silk fluttering at waistband and wrists. He moved with the assurance and lazy grace of a panther, lithe and arrogant, and one sensed a tightly coiled strength in that Sean body. As he moved slowly down the line, examining each of us without the slightest sign of interest, I studied his face, It was not handsome, no, much too lean and taut for that, but there was something undeniably fascinating about those sharp, cruel features.

  His lips were thin, his nose a trifle long, flaring at the nostrils, and the skin was stretched tightly across his broad, sharp cheekbones. His eyes were light blue, piercing eyes, eyes that knew no mercy, his heavy lids half-shrouding them. Dark, copper-brown brows arched sharply above, satanic brows that flared at the corners. His skin was deeply tanned, making his thin lips seem a paler pink, and his hair was a dark reddish-brown, the color of tarnished copper, A heavy V-shaped wave slanted across his forehead, the point an inch or so above his right eyebrow.

  He paused briefly in front of each of us, those piercing eyes moving up and down, taking in everything, betraying nothing. His thin lips lifted at one comer in a faint curl of disapproval as he examined Bessie, and then he continued his inspection, examining Corrie, examining Em, finally pausing in front of me. I stood perfectly still, gazing straight ahead with a composure I was far from feeling. My heart was pounding. I knew instinctively that it would be a grave error to try and stir his interest in any of the usual ways. Nicholas Lyon was no
t the kind of man who would respond to an inviting smile or melting looks.

  I was filthy, my hair in tangled disarray, my face probably streaked with dirt. My gown was soiled and torn. Could he see beyond the dirt, the dishevelment? Perhaps he would find me too regal and aloof. He might prefer a different type altogether. Was it my imagination, or did he hesitate just a moment before moving on down the line? Did those eyes linger a few seconds as he examined my face, my body? Was there a slight flicker of interest in their icy blue depths? I couldn't be certain. I didn't dare hope. He moved on and finished his inspection with Nadine, who stood at the end of the line, and as he turned she reached out to pluck his arm.

  "Just a minute, Captain," she said, "there's something you need to know. There's been a mistake, you see. I'm not like these others. I—my name is Nadine Dujardin. My father is Raoul Dujardin, I'm sure you've heard of him. He's a very important man, very wealthy, too, and he'll pay an enormous reward for my safe return. I'm sure your men didn't mean to make such an error, and I know Daddy'll understand—he won't make any trouble. You can just put me ashore with one of the men and he can take me back to New Orleans and Daddy'll give him the money."

  "Sweet Jesus," Em whispered.

  Nicholas Lyon stood very still, his eyes moving down to rest on the hand that restrained him. Nadine smiled and batted her lashes, playing the coquette now, all playful and flirtatious.

  "You're obviously an intelligent man," she continued, "obviously a gentleman, too, not like the rest of this riffraff, I know you'll be reasonable about this. Just pick out a man and send me back and all will be forgiven, I promise."

  He raised his eyes to look at her face a moment, taking in the simpering smile, the playful eyes, and then he pulled his arm free and stepped back. Nadine continued to smile, even as he curled his fist and drew it back. He hit her across the jaw with a shattering impact that sent her flying backward at least ten feet before she fell crashing to the deck, totally unconscious even before her head banged on the hard wood. Several of the women screamed, and Em went rushing over to fall to her knees and gather the girl in her arms.