Journey of the Wind

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  like the other,” he said enigmatically. He pushed away from the post and came over to

  her, hunkering down before her, one hand to the swing seat and the other on the chain.

  “Toni told you the truth, Rylee. You’ll never be allowed to leave the Cay whether I’m

  alive or dead.”

  Rylee wasn’t so much concerned with whether or not she would be forced to stay

  on the Cay or not. Truth be told, she loved it there and the house to which Andre had

  taken her was everything she could ever want in a home. It was Alsandair who worried

  her.

  “If you’re wondering what might happen to you if something ill befalls me,” he

  said, “don’t. I’ve made provisions for you and as my legal wife L’endroit Sûr will come

  to you. You’ll never want for anything.”

  “But won’t Louis—?”

  161

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Louis has nothing to do with this,” he interrupted her. “That is Brotherhood law. If

  you want to sell L’endroit Sûr—”

  “Never!” she said.

  He nodded. “I’m glad to hear it, but you’d probably want to sell my ship and in

  that case, Louis would have first bidding rights for it. That’s not to say you have to sell

  it to him but I would suggest you do.”

  “Nothing is going to happen to you,” she said.

  “Then there’s something else for you to consider,” he told her.

  “I don’t want anything to happen to either of you!” she said, tears forming in her

  eyes.

  “I wasn’t talking about him,” Andre said, a muscle working in his jaw. “Have you

  considered the fact you might be carrying my child?”

  Rylee’s mouth dropped open. She had not considered that. With everything that

  had happened in the last week she hadn’t even thought of her monthly. Mentally

  calculating, she realized it would be another two weeks before she’d know if she were

  expecting but even then…

  “It could be yours or Al—” At his growl, she corrected what she’d been about to

  say. “His.”

  “True,” he agreed. “And you might never know whose child it is.”

  She tucked her lower lip between her teeth. That was true. Both men were of the

  same height and build. They both had dark hair and eyes and dark complexions.

  “He’ll show up here sooner or later, precious,” Andre said. “And you are right in

  saying neither of us would tolerate the other in your life. There will be a fight and one

  of us will meet the Gatherer. That’s a given.”

  Tears slide down her ashen cheeks. “I don’t want it to be you,” she whispered.

  “And you don’t want it to be him either,” he said softly.

  “No!” Rylee put her hands over her face and moaned.

  Andre stood up and moved so he could pick her up in his arms. He lifted her from

  the swing, smiling as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “There’ll be time to hash

  this out later,” he said. “Right now, it’s late and I’m sleepy.”

  He carried her up the stairs and to their bed, laying her gently on fresh sheets he

  had spread on the bed himself. For the first time she realized he had bathed before

  coming downstairs to get her for his skin smelled like lemons. She did not take her arms

  from him when he started to straighten up but instead pulled him down atop her, her

  lips going eagerly to his.

  * * * * *

  Louis sealed the missive with wax and his personal seal. He’d spent the better part

  of an hour writing the note, painstakingly forming the letters that were such a chore for

  162

  Journey of the Wind

  him. He was only partially literate but—thanks to Andre—had a rudimentary

  knowledge of how to fashion letters of the alphabet although his spelling left a lot to be

  desired. Getting up from his desk, he handed the note to one of his men who had been

  waiting out on the veranda.

  “Make sure Renaud gets this as quickly as possible,” Louis said. “Go yourself on

  our fastest sloop and see to it personally. I don’t want no hitches.”

  Knowing his captain as he did, the man asked Louis to tell him what the note said

  in case Renaud could not understand the writing.

  Louis wasn’t offended. He knew how bad his spelling was but it was his signature

  and seal Renaud needed to see to know the orders came directly from Louis. He trusted

  his man and gave him the gist of the missive. “Now be off with you!”

  When his man had left, Louis went upstairs, stripping off his voluminous shirt as he

  went. Being a large man, he perspired heavily and the shirt stuck to his hairy chest as he

  peeled it off. He was eager for the bath Antoinette had ordered for him.

  Bending over the tub as she swirled bath oils into the water, Antoinette’s naked,

  white ass invited Louis’ palm to slap it and he obliged, chuckling as his lady let out a

  string of curses that should have turned the air blue.

  “Bastard!” Antoinette snarled.

  “Bitch,” he returned good-naturedly as he began unbuckling his pants.

  “Sit yer arse down and let me pull off ye boots,” Antoinette ordered.

  Louis did as she commanded, watching her pendulous breasts sway invitingly as

  she knelt down to tug off his boots. The sight of her lush bosom made his mouth water

  and his tongue tingle to taste the long nipples that awaited him.

  “Did ye get yer business seen to?” she asked as she set his boots aside then turned

  her attention to his stockings.

  “Aye, Boyer is on his way.”

  “Don’t know that yer doing the right thing, Louis,” she said as she stood up,

  grunting with the effort.

  “Ain’t nothing gonna happen what ain’t supposed to, bébé,” he said, standing up

  and shucking off his pants.

  As soon as her man’s thick member sprang into view, Antoinette smiled. “Poor lil

  thing,” she said, reaching out to wrap her meaty fist around Louis’ cock. “He looks like

  he needs a good tongue-lashing.”

  Her words going straight to his shaft, Louis felt himself harden like steel. “Wanna

  taste, luvie?” he inquired.

  Antoinette massaged his shaft. “I’m thinkin’ maybe I do,” she said, and once more

  squatted down on the floor, this time bringing his erection expertly between her lips.

  With his hands buried in Antoinette’s snow-white hair, Louis closed his eyes and

  let her wondrous mouth drain away his troubles.

  163

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  * * * * *

  Delbert Rouyce and two of his friends were throwing dice in a seedy tavern on the

  waterfront. All three men were shit-faced drunk and barely able to cast the carved bone

  cubes. They’d been swilling down ale since the sun set and showed no inclination to

  stop as the hours dragged on.

  “Has a pretty mouth on her, she does,” Rouyce said. “Damn me if’n I don’t want

  them lips wrapped ‘round my pecker.”

  “I’m of a mind to sink my tallywhacker in her pussy,” Clive Prescott spoke up. He

  took a swig from the bottle and ale dripped down the sides of his mouth and into the

  scruffy beard hanging almost to his bellybutton.

  “I’m a backdoor man, myself,” Ethan Mock said to no one in particular. “Gimme a

  sweet, puckered little hole to ram into and I
’m in heaven!”

  His companions grimaced at Mock’s statement but made no comment. They knew

  Mock swung both ways on occasion and wasn’t particular which sex he buggered when

  he had the chance.

  The men had more than their crude meanderings in common. Each had been cast

  off one of Andre’s ships at one time or another and had taken to getting billets only

  wherever there was a dire need for sailors and never again on a Corsair ship. Having

  earned their unsavory reputations as unreliable and untrustworthy and cowardly, the

  men rarely found billets unless a captain was truly desperate and even then,

  employment was given with reluctance and with the threat of losing their lives if they

  screwed up.

  A fourth man squatting beside them looked from one to the other and merely

  grinned toothlessly. He was Mock’s retarded brother Nealon who had the double

  handicap of being mute. Ethan’s only saving grace was that he looked after his older

  brother with some degree of affection.

  “Never thought I’d see Le Livreur de Glace dancing attendance on some skirt,”

  Rouyce observed. He tossed the die so hard one hit the wall and bounced out of sight.

  “Le Livreur de Glace is melting,” Prescott giggled. He scrubbed a filthy hand over his

  acne-pitted face.

  “Melting right into that tight little pussy,” Rouyce growled. He was searching the

  floor on his hands and knees for the missing die.

  “Barkeep, another round!” Mock called out, wiping the back of his hand across his

  mouth.

  “Ye’ve had more’n enough,” the tavern owner stated. “I’m for closing. Get yer

  pricks out of me establishment so’s I can go home to bed.”

  Grumbling, the three men struggled to their feet, Nealon following suit. Rouyce had

  not found his die and fanned it away with a wave of his hand. “Damned thing was

  loaded anyway,” he declared. Staggering, the men made their way out into the night.

  164

  Journey of the Wind

  “We could have her, you know,” Mock said as he stood there weaving, drooling on

  himself.

  “How you figure that?” Prescott questioned. He scratched the front of his stained

  trousers, rubbing his cock for good measure as he did.

  “We would take her right out from under The Iceman’s nose,” Mock said.

  “And then what?” Rouyce asked.

  Mock straightened up, his shoulders thrown back. “Fuck her, of course!” He

  grinned, showing a mouth of rotted and pitted teeth. “Fuck her ‘til she’s as loose as a

  goose and then some!” He looked at Nealon. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Neal?”

  The retarded man bobbed his head up and down enthusiastically and put a grimy

  hand to his pants to rub his cock like Prescott had.

  “I’d like that,” Prescott said, and had to reach out to grab the hitching post to keep

  from pitching facedown on the ground.

  “I’d like that too,” Rouyce said. “But don’t want The Iceman coming after me.” He

  shook his head, stumbling as he did. “No, sirree. Don’t want that.”

  “He won’t ever find her,” Mock said. “And who’d suspect us, eh?”

  His two inebriated companions considered that for a moment. “Don’t reckon no

  one would,” Prescott said.

  “When will we do it?” Rouyce asked. “My cock is as hard as flint just

  contemplating that sweet little pussy.”

  “Gotta find a place to take her first. Someplace nobody will come looking for her ‘til

  we’re done with her,” Mock said. He put one finger to his nose, bent over and blew snot

  from the other nostril.

  “I may know a place,” Rouyce said. He swung his arms around the shoulders of his

  two friends. “Let me think on it overnight.”

  Together, the drunks wove their way down the street and to the lean-to they’d

  haphazardly slung together as their home.

  165

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  Chapter Sixteen

  Captain Noel Renaud tried to decipher the note he’d been given first thing that

  morning with his meal. He recognized Louis Corsair’s seal and the man’s childlike

  signature, but for the life of him, he could not read the scribbling that passed for

  writing. He looked up at his butler. “Is the messenger still here?”

  “Aye, Your Grace,” the butler replied with a smirk. “He said he believed you would

  need him to translate the missive.”

  “Where is he?”

  Clovis, Renaud’s butler, drew himself up to his full six feet height. “I would not

  allow him to enter your home, milord. He is waiting at the door.”

  Renaud grimaced. “That bad, is he?”

  “He positively reeks,” Clovis declared, sniffing with disdain.

  Such a pronouncement was perhaps the worst insult Clovis could bestow upon a

  visitor. Renaud grinned and took up his napkin to blot his lips. “I’ll go out to meet with

  him then.”

  Clovis bowed elegantly. “That would be best, milord.”

  Vue de Mer, Renaud’s palatial estate on the northwestern shore of Wicklaw Cay,

  lived up to its beautiful name. It did indeed have a spectacular view of the sea. Situated

  on a high bluff overlooking the sweep of turquoise waters, it boasted a crescent-shaped

  bay where three of Renaud’s brigantines as well as a score of smaller vessels were

  docked. Among the oldest of the pirate mansions, it had once belonged to the infamous

  Jack Hawkins when that man still plied the trade. When Hawkins retired, he handed

  the estate over to his best friend, an up-and-coming privateer. Along with the estate,

  Renaud had inherited Clovis as well.

  Scattered about the bay was a well-kept village where Renaud’s men lived and

  several warehouses for the pirate’s spoils. There were however no taverns or bawdy

  houses. For such entertainments, his men needed to take themselves to the main harbor

  of Wicklaw Cay where such places were in abundance. The men who sailed under Noel

  Renaud understood he had no sympathy for drunkards or tolerance for those who

  might disrupt the tranquility of his village. While a bachelor himself, the captain held

  family values of the highest importance so therefore the wives and children of his men

  were shown care and respect. He had even set up a school for the children. Any man

  foolish enough to run afoul of Renaud’s personal brand of morals soon felt either a

  diligently applied lash or the tightening of a noose around his neck.

  Walking from the dining room to the front door across the highly polished teak

  floor of his home, Renaud paused to greet a brace of maids who were cleaning the

  166

  Journey of the Wind

  parlor. He was always unfailingly polite to the help and with his friendliness invited

  them to tell him if they were in need of supplies or had any complaints. His home ran

  like a well-oiled clock and he meant to keep it that way.

  “I need a new broom,” Mazie, the younger of the maids, said. “I’ve nigh worn this

  one out.”

  “I’ll see to it, sweeting,” Renaud replied. He winked at the pretty girl then

  continued on his way, opening the screen door and going out on the veranda where

  Louis’ man was waiting. “Good morning, Fletch.”

  Fletch snatched off his watch cap. “Good morning t
o you, Cap’n,” he said, turning

  the brim of the cap around and around. “Right fine day it is.”

  Renaud nodded. “As beautiful as they come.” He tilted his head to one side. “May I

  ask what Louis was attempting to impart to me?”

  Louis’ sailor grinned and scratched the bridge of his hawklike nose. “You know

  him all too well, Cap’n,” Fletch laughed.

  Listening to the translation of the message Louis had sent, Renaud’s green eyes

  narrowed. He folded his arms over his chest and stared at Fletch. “Are you sure that’s

  what he said?”

  “Aye, Cap’n,” Fletch replied. “Sure as my bunion is throbbing something fierce.”

  Renaud lowered his gaze to the sailor’s scuffed boots. “My healer can see to that if

  you’re of a mind to have him take a look,” he said. “Wilkins was plagued horribly with

  the same ailment but now he’s as spry as his youngest.”

  Fletch bobbed his head. “I’d appreciate that, Cap’n. I surely would.”

  “It comes from wearing boots too little for you, you know,” Renaud suggested.

  “I figured as much, Sir.” Fletch looked down at the pilfered red leather boots he’d

  taken off a Diabolusian merchant. “But they were such pretty boots.”

  Renaud laughed. “We pay for our follies, don’t we, Fletch? Just go down to Healer

  Draga’s hut. You know where it is?”

  “Aye, Cap’n, I do.”

  “Tell him there will be no charge to you. I’ll handle the payment with him later.”

  “Much obliged, Captain Renaud. Much obliged!” Fletch said.

  “And tell Louis I’ll take care of his situation but that he’ll owe me for this one.”

  Fletch grinned. “I believe he already knows that, Cap’n, but I’ll be sure to tell him.”

  He took a few steps back, saluted Renaud then turned and ambled off, limping.

  Renaud looked out across the sprawling acreage that fanned out from his front

  door. It took a team of men to keep the jungle from encroaching on the pristine gardens

  and pathways Clovis’ twin brother Vallis maintained. Not a single shoot of grass was

  allowed to overhang the oyster-shell drive and pathways. Every flowerbed was

  precisely aligned and molded to perfection by Vallis and his helpers. It was a lovely,

  reassuring sight, and it always soothed Renaud to observe it.

  167

  Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  But today, even the sight of his immaculately maintained gardens could not dispel