by Mary Martin
His familiar voice reached her ears and it was then, feeling totally alone and betrayed much like the time when her parents had died, the first sharp stabbing pain pierced her head, made her stagger tediously on the bluffs edge. The entire incident stirred dark things in her mind that had been long buried. She did not wish to recall them, for then she would have to confront those awful feelings of loneliness and despair. The door was threatening to open and the horrible emotions escape.
"No . .. no," she gasped, terribly frightened. "I will not remember ... I refuse to."
Reeling from the knowledge that Rayne had been using her to obtain knowledge of her family and to get the ring, Starlin fell back from the cliff and staggered back over the path that led to the cottage. She thought if she could lie down she could reason out what she must do next. She knew beyond any doubt that she had to escape and somehow warn Benton. His very life, and perhaps even hers, depended on it.
Starlin hurried through the darkened cottage straight to the bedchamber. She began gathering up some of the things that she would need and tossed them into a carpetbag. After placing her shirt, trousers, and boots together where she could easily slip into them, she sat on the edge of the bed and habitually removed her clothes. She kept one ear trained on the front door, listening for Rayne's footsteps. After donning a satin nightshift, she blew out the candle and lay down upon the bed. Her heart was beating so terribly fast that she could hardly draw an even breath. Forcing herself to concentrate on the task at hand, she gradually became calm and was able to devise a plan of action—one that would see her safely off the island and to the Keys.
It was very late when Rayne came to bed, but Starlin was still wide awake. He slipped in quietly beside her, and as he did every night, drew her close to him.
Starlin did not protest, but she could not help the slight tensing of her body as he kissed the back of her neck and caressed the curve of her hip. She knew by the way his fingers hesitated for a moment before slipping beneath her gown that he had felt the motion. Yet even as she cried inwardly, her senses surrendered to his sweet touch, the tender urgency of his lips when they sought hers. She tried not to give him all of her, to hold back just a tiny part of her soul, but it was useless. Between Rayne and herself there would always be complete surrender in their lovemaking. She arched upward to meet his first thrust and was immediately lost to the magic of his possession. He made love to her as if somehow he knew it was their last time.
And when it was over, Starlin could not help burying her face in her pillow and crying softly.
Rayne heard her tears, felt her pain, and even though he did not know the true reason for them, began to seriously wonder for the first time whether any of it was truly worth so much. One part of him didn't want to hurt her. But his pride wouldn't let him spare her completely. He was going to abandon her, even knowing that he was losing the most precious thing in his life.
Just before Starlin fell into a restless sleep, she thought she heard him murmur quietly, "At first I wanted to hurt you ... now all I want to do is make love to you." Then he swore softly, as if in disbelief, "Christ, can you figure that?'
When she awoke, Rayne's side of the bed was empty. It was still dark in the room. She rose bleary-eyed and lit a candle. He was gone. Lying on his pillow was a velvet pouch. It was painfully familiar. She knew it contained her stolen jewels.
A note lay beside it—simple, unsigned, and devoid of any sentiment. It read:
One of these days I will explain, and you'll understand that my leaving was for the best.
The sun was just rising as the Tempesfs sails were unfurled and she set sail for the Americas. On the shore there were shouts of farewell and groups of misty-eyed women. It was the usual scene, yet somehow, this time was different.
Starlin was nowhere to be seen.
Bettina and Jamie were at their usual place: the bluff overlooking the sea. They watched the ship sail away. Jamie was sad, but remained optimistic that Ely would come back to her soon. Bettina's heart was heavy, however. She did not know if Scorpio would ever return.
"You're very worried about something, aren't you?' Jamie asked her sister.
"Yes, I was disturbed by dreams last night. They were filled with violence and death."
Jamie grew frightened, for she knew Bettina had a strange ability to know of events before they had taken place. "Was Scorpio in your dreams?"
"Yes."
"And ... Ely ... was he?'
Bettina nodded. "But each in a different way. I saw them both clearly. Scorpio, bound in shackles, and Ely, sailing alone . . . master of the ship."
"Such a dream is too frightening to even imagine!" Jamie cried. She looked away. "I do not wish to hear any more."
"There is nothing more to say really. What shall come to pass will be—and nothing we do will alter the course." She glanced over at Jamie. "Have no fear, little one. Ely will return to you."
"And Scorpio .. . what of him?'
"I can't seem to foresee Scorpio's return" was the heavy reply.
Jamie's startled cry as she looked down at the cove below drew Bettina's attention to the schooner Ice Princess, moving out of the bay toward the open sea.
"Who is that at the helm?' Jamie asked her sister, astounded.
Bettina's answer was quick. "It is the Englishwoman."
Jamie whirled away from the bluff, with every intention, Bettina was certain, of somehow stopping Starlin. She grabbed the young girl by the arm.
"No! Let it be. You must not try and alter what must transpire between them, Jamie."
"But... but she is all alone," Jamie protested. "And how will she survive the Triangle not knowing the way in and out?"
"Look closely," Bettina said. "You'll see how she is careful to follow far out of sight of his ship, yet along the same course. She must know of the route they're taking. She is confident of her abilities. And if you wish to see Scorpio live, then we must let her go. She is the only one who can save him."
On board the Tempest the mood was light despite the serious nature of the journey. The sails creaked aloft and a furrow of white foam curled around the hull as the vessel gained speed and sailed free of the island cove. As was the custom when leaving Antare, the Tempest fired a farewell salute.
The crew members worked swiftly at their tasks and those not so engaged promptly took up a game of dice in a quieter corner of the maindeck. Sailing safely away from the reefs surrounding Antare and through the Triangle took a skilled navigator. The crew had every faith in their captain, but if not involved in some task it helped to have one's mind occupied on this dangerous and eerie first leg of the journey.
The morning passed swiftly and uneventfully. Scorpio sailed the ship and crew safely through the sinister area and into the open sea. At noon, the intense sun raked the decks and the main sails were reefed as the wind increased. The men smiled, knowing it would be good sailing weather for the next several days. All hands not occupied went below for the midday meal.
Ely climbed up to the quarterdeck and approached the helm.
"Why don't you go below and get something to eat. I'll take over for you," he offered to his brother.
"I'm not hungry."
Ely saw that Rayne's eyes were riveted on a point of concentration far ahead in the distant sea. He was certain it was not the clear blue of the water, or the groups of cumulus clouds so low one felt they might reach out to them, that had captured his brother's attention. Quite likely, it was the memory of shining violet eyes and a cloud of ebony hair that kept him deep in brooding silence.
"What are you going to tell her when you get backT' Ely posed.
There was silence for several minutes, and then Rayne replied, "I don't know that 111 be going back. Fredrick is there to take her back home. He said it's safe for her now."
Ely frowned, then nudged Rayne. "Go on' and get something to eat. You'll feel better for it." He took his place at the helm and heard Rayne walk away.
The sun was
hot, and Starlin was terribly thirsty, but she did not want to lash the wheel. Later, maybe. But for now it gave her a measure of comfort to view the Tempest's tall masts in the far distance. Starlin licked her dry lips, inwardly cursing her stupidity. She had thought of just about everything, but she had neglected to bring any water top deck. Dressed in shirt, trousers, and knee-high boots, she was protected from the sun's burning rays, but there was little wind to cool her.
Just a little while longer she told herself. Another hour or two and then I'll lash the wheel on a straightforward course. She tried to keep her mind off of her discomfort by recalling the many things that Rayne had taught her about the handling of a ship. She had always listened very carefully. She remembered his pointing out the various cloud formations, and explaining how she should learn to read the signals they gave forth.
"Study them carefully throughout the day. You'll know well in advance when a storm is likely brewing by their appearance and size."
She'd quickly learned everything there was to know about sailing the Ice Princess, but she'd never dreamed that she would one day be piloting it all alone.
Having overheard the men discussing the planned route to the Keys, Starlin had felt completely confident that she could plot the exact course. Utterly fearless, she'd boarded the ship just before daybreak and waited until she'd heard the farewell shot sound from the Tempest. Then she'd sent the little schooner skimming over the water following far behind the larger ship's wake.
Malcolm Wells sat in his private office on the second floor of the Cambridge warehouse near Mallory Square and leafed through the papers that his hired man had just turned over to him. The day was hot and sultry, typical of the climate in Key West. The windows were open wide to invite moist breezes into the room, the only sound that of the auctioneer's bell clanging loudly, proclaiming it nine o'clock and time for the city's daily auction of the latest haul.
The man Malcolm had hired to do his dirty work for him had only just arrived from an arduous trek that saw him in London during and after the period that the attorney had been there. As soon as it became known that the Morgans had left London, he searched everywhere, at last discovering that Rayne Morgan had sailed for the Keys.
Malcolm was livid. "Foster, you sorely disappoint me. Why in the hell it took you this long to find out the man was on my very doorstep I don't know," he fumed. "And I never did receive that letter you claim you sent informing me of the girl's marriage." He flung down the papers, sending them flying about the room. "Damn! If Morgan brings Starlin to the estate and she discovers Benton's condition, she'll insist on poking her nose into the salvaging firm's business affairs."
"Perhaps she won't," Foster said with a sly smile.
He was a slick-looking bully of a man, with greasy hair and a well-oiled mustache. Malcolm detested him, but he needed someone with his smooth speech and various contacts to ensure his plans.
"You don't know that chit like I do. She was the talk of London, if you'll recall. Flitting about the earl's posh offices, issuing orders, overseeing business transactions."
Foster snorted. "I hardly think Morgan's the sort to allow his wife to make a spectacle of him."
"Did you say something earlier about Mayor Quincy having acquisitioned Morgan to chase down the pirates plaguing the wreckers and salvors in nearby waters?'
"Yes. The mayor knows Mdrgan well."
"Did you obtain this information from a reliable source?'
"Very dependable I would say," Foster chuckled. "The mayor himself."
Malcolm sat back in his chair, his eyes glinting with dangerous humor. "Quincy always did run off at the mouth too freely."
"My posing as a buyer from New York interested in bidding on those Pharmaceuticals that Cambridge wrecker discovered rather helped our cause considerably, I'd say. Quincy was eager to talk about such a find." Foster laughed to himself.
Malcolm took his time in lighting a cigar before offering one to the other man. As Foster reached forward, Malcolm yanked the case back just a bit.
"Don't ever take too much for granted, sir. Least of all, Mayor Quincy's abilities. He's a shrewd hustler, even if he does talk too much at times. How do you think he got to be mayor of this money-grubbing town?"
Foster scowled darkly. "I can handle myself just fine, Wells. I don't need no instructions from you."
"You need to remember who is financing your charade, my good man," Malcolm stated authoritatively. "You're playing a role that is purely fictitious, remember that. There is no rich buyer from New York." He pointed a stubby finger directly at the silent man. "And don't forget it."
"Whatever you say, Mr. Wells," Foster was forced to relent quietly. "After all, you're the boss."
"Yes, I am. And it's time for us to round up the men and make ready for another strike immediately. And I don't have to tell you upon whom."
"You are worried about this Morgan fellow, aren't you?"
"He can be a deadly adversary. But then, so can I when someone has something that I want." Malcolm's eyes glittered. "And his lovely wife definitely has something that I want—and will get."
Twenty miles from the settlement of Key West, one of the crewman of the Tempest spotted a wrecker that had apparently laid claim to a bilged vessel. Rayne stood beside Ely on the quarterdeck, a spy glass trained at an angle across the vivid, turquoise water.
"It's one of Benton's wreckers all right. I can see that man of his, Cocoa, milling around on deck."
"Those red suspenders he wears are like waving a flag before a bull." Ely grinned. "He has no idea how often you watch for them."
"He's a dead giveaway for sure. But we won't be the ones to tell the old boy that, now will we?"
"How long they been there, you imagine?"
Rayne peered closely. "They're just now sending out their divers. And there appear to be no other ships around, so it's my guess our boy Cocoa is master of the wrecking operation. Otherwise you'd see ships all over these waters in hopes of staking their claim."
"Do you want to attack?" Ely asked the inevitable question.
The spy glass clicked briskly shut. "It's a Cambridge ship, isn't it?"
Dressed in the role of the brigand, with the gleaming hilt of the broadsword sheathed at his side, Rayne looked as fierce as any cutthroat to have sailed the seas of the Caribbean. He called to Riley, "Show them our colors! And issue the usual orders."
Riley nodded crisply before yelling to the crew, "There are to be no casualties if you can prevent it, men! But they must give quarter!"
The fearless crew began loading the smooth-bored j
long guns with cast-iron solid shot, the six pounders
laid ready in case they were needed to cripple the ship.
Even though the Tempest only had twelve guns, she
boasted acurate gunners and a nimble cannon crew
that could throw enough iron to easily capture any foe.
The prospective boarding party quickly strapped on
cutlasses and grabbed up pistols. If it necessitated a
battle to take their prize they would stand ready. The
black flag was hoisted up the mast. The crew looked
sharp and chillingly dangerous. I
The swift, twelve-gun brigantine hoisted additional
canvas: square sails on the bowsprit rigging and
studding sails to give her extra driving power. She
bore down on the bulky wrecker before they had I
opportunity to fire off even one of their guns. *
"Fire a shot across their starboard!" Rayne ordered.
The deafening roar of the cannon shook the brigantine, and the deck trembled in response. Thick black smoke lingered in the air, leaving a trail across the length of space between the two ships. The sound of men shouting frantically told Rayne that this crew would give up without a fight.
The Tempest glided smoothly next to the wrecker's hull. Cocoa was waving his arms back and forth, his expression fearf
ul. He had heard of this rogue Scorpio and his fearsome crew. They had earned quite a reputation in these waters. He did not wish to become one of their victims.
"We give quarter! Don't shoot!"
"The grappling hooks, Mr. Riley!" Rayne called out with a wide grin. "And prepare the men to board."
Screaming like banshees and armed with weapons of every make and size, the crew of the Tempest swarmed over the fallen ship. Only Rayne stayed behind, and for good reason. It was important that his identity not be known.
Ely boarded the wrecker and faced the Bahamian captain.
"I mean you no harm," he told Cocoa. "I only want the wrecker. You and your men are free to leave."
"You are called Scorpio, aren't you?" Ely only smiled mysteriously.
"Why you do this thing to Mr. Cambridge?" Cocoa asked, shaking his head, puzzled. "He a good man."
"Let's just say it is for a debt owed. You can tell Benton Cambridge that it is retributive justice."
"Then my men and I are to be let go?'
"You and your crew are guilty of nothing," Ely said firmly. He saw Chevaz motioning for him to join him. "Now, if you will excuse me, Captain, one of my crew wishes to speak with me. I suggest you join your men at the longboats."
"What is it, Chevaz?' Ely inquired of the big man upon confronting him.
"Off the starboard, sir. A schooner is approaching fast."
Ely raced to the rail. The schooner was bearing down fast. He knew Rayne did not wish a confrontation which might result in unnecessary bloodshed.
"Damn," he swore softly, hitting the top of the rail with his closed fist. "How did she sneak up on us without our being aware?'
A pistol shot resounded from the deck of the Tempest. It was Rayne, firing off a warning. Whirling about, Ely raced back toward his men who stood with their guns trained upon the crew of the wrecker, awaiting further orders.
Rayne had stayed well out of view Of the wrecker, confident that Ely could handle matters. And then he saw the tall masts in the distance making straight for them, and even though he knew his men could never make it back on board the Tempest before the other ship was upon them, had fired off a shot.