Journey of the Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

“I always knew you’d hang because of a skirt,” Louis had scoffed, taking a deep gulp of

  his rum. “Best keep it in your pants and away from the whores, boy, else you’ll be dancing the

  hempen jig.”

  “I said nothing about him hanging,” the Romney had stated with a sniff . “There be other

  ways for a man to meet his fate than by dying.”

  For the last ten years since having his fortune read, Andre had been expecting to

  encounter the woman the gypsy had prophesied. He believed in the powers of the

  supernatural—like most of his men—even if Louis thought him a fool for doing so.

  “A man makes his own destiny, you little bastard,” Louis had told him over and over

  again. “Best you stay clear of women in general though!”

  Gazing down at the tender morsel sleeping on his loveseat, Andre knew in a way

  Louis had been right. He had taken his future into his hands the moment he had stolen

  the lovely creature from her husband. For good or bad, she was his now and he would

  move heaven and earth to keep her—no matter the consequences.

  He bent over her and shook her gently. “Se réveiller, madame,” he said, bidding her

  wake.

  Rylee’s eyes flew open and she gasped, seeing the pirate hovering over her. She

  shrank back against the loveseat.

  “Dinner is ready for us, precious,” he told her, straightening up.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she wasn’t hungry but she’d had no

  breakfast and her stomach was rumbling, her head aching from lack for nourishment.

  She slowly swung her legs from the loveseat and sat up, swiping back a tress of hair

  that had come loose from her chignon.

  Andre held out his hand to help her up but she ignored it, getting to her feet on her

  own. Once standing, she smoothed the skirt of her dress.

  “Are you going to fight me every step of the way, bébé?” he asked.

  There was in his eyes something evil stirring and Rylee knew her husband’s fate

  was at stake and what she said, how she behaved from now on, might affect Alsandair.

  “No,” she said, meeting his gaze. “You have given me no choice, Captain. There is

  something far more important to me than humiliation and degradation at your hands.”

  The pirate’s eyes narrowed. “Something or someone, milady?”

  “You and I know the true way of it,” she said. “There is no reason to discuss this

  between us again. I will do whatever it takes to keep my husband safe.” She raised her

  chin. “He will come after me if it takes a lifetime. Never doubt that.”

  Andre nodded. “And I will be waiting for him,” he said.

  She moved around him and to the door, waiting for him to open it for her. When he

  did, she swept regally out into the corridor and waited for him to close the portal and

  show her the way to the common room.

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  After a satisfying meal, her captor allowed her to go up on deck with him. The crew

  frowned at her but made no comments amongst themselves as they worked. She asked

  Andre why they appeared to resent her.

  “Pirates are a superstitious lot,” he said as he walked beside her. He had extended

  his arm but she had refused to touch him. “There are some things they feel strongly

  about.”

  “Such as women onboard their ships,” she said.

  He nodded. “And people with red hair are always considered bad luck.”

  “So I am doubly damned in their eyes,” Rylee stated.

  “Aye, but if I kept you naked the entire trip, you would be considered good luck,”

  he said with a laugh.

  She made no comment to his bawdy statement. Her gaze wandered to the ship

  following behind them and she quickly looked away, unable to bear the sight of the

  Mary Constance. The jolly boats were gone from the ship and she was glad she had not

  been there to see Alsandair and the others abandoned. She did not think she could have

  borne the pain of it.

  Andre’s mouth tightened. He knew where her thoughts had gone and decided if it

  were the last thing he ever did, he would wipe the memory of Alsandair Farrell from

  her mind.

  “We are two hours from Wicklaw Cay,” he said. “We’ll be there before sunset.”

  She shrugged as if to say it made little difference to her when they would arrive.

  She had feared she would be forced to share with him the large bunk in his cabin but

  hopefully that would not happen.

  “My home is the largest on the Cay,” he said. “I venture to say it has all the

  amenities to which you are accustomed.”

  “Will I have my own room?” she asked.

  “You will share mine,” he answered. He reached down and took her hand,

  seemingly unaware she had tensed and tried to pull away, but he threaded his fingers

  through hers and held them firmly.

  “I wish you wouldn’t—”

  His hand tightened on hers and he turned so he faced her, put a crooked index

  finger under her chin and lifted her face so she was forced to look into his eyes. “I’ll say

  this just this once, Rylee, and never again. It would be best you heed the warning now

  and never say I didn’t give it to you.”

  She could feel her heart pounding. “What warning?” she asked.

  “Deny me at his peril,” he said in a low, growling voice. “It is but a five-hour

  journey from my home to Clare Island. I can make that journey at any time you forget

  my warning.”

  “Captain, I—”

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  “No more denials, Rylee,” he said. “None.”

  She nodded, knowing she had been treading over thin ice up to this point but

  neither her freedom nor Alsandair’s safety were up for discussion. The pirate would

  have his way, and if she pushed him too far, there was no telling what he might do. He

  was not Alsandair—though they were more alike than she felt comfortable

  acknowledging. He was not to be budged from his plan and she would have to bide her

  time until rescue came. That it would, she had no doubt.

  “All right, Captain,” she said.

  “Andre,” he corrected.

  If it took her body—unwilling and hating every moment of it—to keep Sandair

  alive, she would do whatever it took. There would be a payday for Andre Corsair.

  “Andre,” she said so softly her words but a mere breath of sound.

  * * * * *

  The Vengeance des Raven had docked just as the sun began to sink beneath the

  horizon. The waterfront was bustling with people, other pirate boats tied up along the

  long wooden pier. Torches were lit and they cast a rippling glow in the dark water

  lapping at the shore.

  The house to which Andre took her was spectacularly beautiful with a nine feet

  deep veranda running around the entire perimeter of the large white two-story

  structure. By the time the wagon took them the short distance inland to the pirate’s

  home a bright crimson light was flowing over the structure, bathing it in a beautiful,

  soft pink hue.

  “L’endroit Sûr,” Andre replied when she asked if his home had a name. “The safe

  place.”

  “It is lovely,” she said begrudgingly.

  “I am glad you like it.”

  Placed well back from the pristine white sand beachfront with its
sparkling, clear

  waters, the house sat amidst a lush variety of greenery. An oyster-shell-lined driveway

  led up to the steps upon which stood a stately black woman with a gaily colored turban

  wrapped around her head. She was smiling and the stark whiteness of her teeth against

  the darkness of her skin stood out like a welcoming beacon.

  “I’ve brought us home a chatelaine, Suzette,” Andre called out to the woman.

  “‘Tis about time, Le Capitaine,” Suzette replied. Her ebony eyes met Rylee’s,

  flickered for a moment as she caught the pain in the white woman’s gaze then cleared.

  “We will make her feel at home.”

  Andre hopped down from the wagon and held his arms out to Rylee. She had no

  choice but to allow him to lift her down from the seat. She marveled at the hardness of

  the muscles in his arms as she braced her palms on his biceps. When he set her down on

  the ground, he reached to capture her hand in his and draw her toward the steps.

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  “Suzette is Gaston’s daughter by Marie Teresa, our cook,” Andre said, leaning over

  to speak softly to Rylee. “She is the apple of his eye.”

  Rylee nodded politely. She liked Gaston with his funny little walk. “Hello, Suzette,”

  she said softly.

  “Milady,” Suzette said, curtseying prettily.

  “Will you take milady to our room and have Raoul draw up a bath for the both of

  us before supper?” Andre asked.

  “Where is her luggage?” Suzette asked, looking around him to the wagon that was

  turning around in the driveway.

  “We’ll have Madame Pinchot prepare a new wardrobe,” the pirate captain replied.

  “Send someone into town and ask her to come out first thing tomorrow.”

  “I have gowns on the Mary Constance,” Rylee protested. “I don’t need any new—”

  “Let me spoil you,” Andre said. “The men will bring your things from the ship but I

  imagine the gowns are of a heavier material than you will need here in this tropical

  climate.” He smiled. “Am I wrong?”

  “No,” Rylee had to admit. The gowns she’d worn in Midworld had been much too

  hot for they had been made for a cooler clime, the rainy, windy shores of Anlusia.

  “You will need lightweight cotton here,” he stated. His dark eyes slid over her.

  “Something to bare those lovely shoulders to the kiss of the sun and the breath of the

  wind. He lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the underside of her wrist. The fine hairs

  on his goatee tickled her flesh. She flinched.

  “Does that bother you?” he asked. “If so I will shave it off.” He caressed her hand.

  “I would do most anything for you, precious.”

  Rylee blushed and lowered her head. She tugged her hand free of his grip and lifted

  her skirts to climb the steps. She wanted nothing more than to be rid of that

  devastatingly handsome face and sensuous voice for they were affecting her in ways

  she found very disturbing.

  Suzette walked ahead of her and opened a type of door Rylee had never seen

  before. It was covered in a thin wire mesh that Suzette explained was called screen.

  “It allows a fresh breeze in and keeps the pesky insects out,” Suzette said.

  Intrigued by the strange material, Suzette ran her fingertips along the mesh. “I can

  see the advantages of such a door,” she said.

  “The windows also have screen on them,” Suzette stated.

  The interior of L’endroit Sûr was painted entirely white with high, vaulted ceilings

  and numerous floor-to-ceiling windows—all opened to the early evening breeze. An

  older black man went about lighting oil lamps and the rooms through which Rylee

  passed came alive with a faint amber glow. A pleasant scent of flowers drifted through

  the screen and combined with the delicious smells coming from the kitchen.

  “Maman is making shrimp bisque,” Suzette said. “You will love it. She is a

  wonderful cook.”

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  Each room through which they passed was spacious and airy and filled with

  beautiful furniture that complimented the openness. Splashes of color were in the

  cotton fabric covering the loveseats and chairs, on the rugs scattered about and in

  breathtaking seascapes that hung on the wall.

  “Oh my!” Rylee said as she spied one painting that drew her like a magnet.

  “Le Capitaine painted that,” Suzette said.

  Rylee stood looking up at a stunning canvas representing a school of multi-colored

  fish in every hue of the rainbow. “Do such creatures really exist?” she asked.

  Suzette nodded. “They are called parrot fish. Le Capitaine swims every morning

  when he is home.” She smiled. “He enjoys diving as deep beneath the sea as he can

  safely go and it was there he saw these pretty ones. He said he had to paint them.”

  Marveling at the man’s talent, Rylee reluctantly looked away from the jewel-colored

  fish to look about at the other paintings. “Did he do all of these?”

  “Aye, milady. Le Capitaine is a very talented man, no?”

  Indeed he was, Rylee thought. She had always envied people who could paint.

  Suzette led her up the curving stairs to the second floor and to a huge room that

  was Andre’s bedchamber. It took up nearly half the upper story and had windows on

  three sides with the screened windows open to billowing pale blue curtains into the

  room.

  It was not what Rylee would have imagined a pirate’s personal space to be. The

  entire room was done in tasteful shades of blue and yellow. Although the bed that set in

  the middle of one wall of windows was huge, the wood of its carved headboard and

  footboard was a pale yellow hue that Suzette explained had been bleached. The coverlet

  spread across the mattress was a dark midnight blue material and the mosquito netting

  that draped from each bedpost had been done in the same pale blue color that hung at

  the windows. To either side of the bed were inlaid tables holding gleaming brass lamps

  with tall, etched-glass chimneys.

  There were plush chairs done in gold corduroy sitting before a marble fireplace.

  “It does get cool occasionally,” Suzette said. “But that is very rare.”

  Twin loveseats covered in a brilliant floral design faced one another at the foot of

  the bed with a beautifully crafted brass-topped round table in between. An enormous

  armoire stood off to one side of the room and was flanked by two smaller chests over

  which hung two absolutely gorgeous seascapes. Along the windowless wall was a door

  Suzette said led to the bathing chamber and it was on this wall an ornate desk and

  carved chair was situated with bookcases to either side.

  “Le Capitaine loves to read,” Suzette explained as Rylee went to take a look at the

  titles of the novels lining the shelves. She was amazed to find he had nothing but

  classical literature in his collection and that many were in foreign languages.

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  On the occasional tables set about the room were seashells and starfish, coral and

  sea glass. It was a soothing, calm place, and the more she viewed it, the more Rylee

  liked it.

  “How often is Captain Corsair home?” she asked.

  “Not as often as he would like,” Suzette said. “He and hi
s brother take turns going

  out, but this time they were both out at the same time. That is unusual.”

  At the mention of the pirate’s brother, Rylee frowned. “Does his brother live here

  too?”

  “Oh no, milady,” Suzette said. “Captain Louis has his own estate on the other side

  of the Cay.” She smiled. “They get along best when apart much of the time.”

  There was a soft knock at the door and when Suzette bid the visitor enter, the black

  man Rylee had seen lighting the lamps on the ground floor came in, directing several

  young boys who brought buckets of warm water for the bath.

  “This is Raoul,” Suzette said, indicating the older man. “He is my uncle, my

  mother’s brother.”

  Rylee greeted the man and thanked him for attending to her bath.

  “I will bring up your things from the ship while you are at your bath, milady,”

  Raoul told her. “Suzette will unpack them for you.”

  After the tub had been filled and everyone had left her to her bath, Rylee sat in the

  warm water and stared out the lone window that overlooked the jungle. In a break

  between the lush foliage, a thin slice of the pale beach could be seen as the moon lit the

  sparkling water beyond and the sound of the waves crashing to shore was a soothing

  sound. Two brass lamps had been lit to illuminate the room and moths struck now and

  again at the screen as they sought to reach the light. Strange sounds of tropical insects

  chirped from the jungle.

  In the other room, Rylee could hear Suzette moving around as she laid out a gown

  for Rylee to wear for the evening meal. The sounds made the young woman’s heart

  ache for there was finality in the quiet noise.

  Lethargically moving the soft washcloth up and down her arms, she inhaled the

  sweet scent of lemon in the soap she was using. She was in no hurry to complete her

  ablutions and dreaded having to meet the pirate downstairs for supper. When she had

  finished bathing, she just sat there in the cooling water, thinking of the bath she had

  shared with Alsandair in Midworld. She wasn’t even aware the door to the bathing

  chamber had opened.

  Andre stood leaning against the jamb, his gaze locked on the luscious beauty sitting

  in the deep copper tub. Fresh from his own bath in the guest room, he wore a crisp,

  white shirt left untucked from a pair of white cotton britches and unbuttoned halfway