"Away…" The butler tried to look brave but fell short.
"Ach, damn the luck," Colin boomed. "The scurvy hound's not here for the torturin'! Another day, then."
"What of the driver?" Dika held the tip of her gleaming cutlass to the man's throat.
"In his cottage." Pratt sounded as if he was choking.
"And your woman?"
"England," he answered in a whisper.
"You're alone?" Dika asked incredulously.
"God's truth."
"Tout seul!" She translated, glancing at Lacoste.
"Pillez tous le domaine!" the captain crowed, throwing his hands up. With a deafening roar most of them ran to join the others, who were already swilling rum, breaking windows, slashing curtains, cutting mattresses, and chopping furniture.
Colin turned to leave, thinking of Freddy.
"Regardez!" Lacoste suddenly shouted, pointing to a window. Outside, one of the buccaneers was trying to catch the estate's mulatto driver. "Saisissez le mulâtre!"
Without a thought Colin and three others threw the window open and leapt out. They quickly overtook Ben, tackling him in the mud. As he pinned the driver's arms, Colin thought he spotted something white moving behind a guava tree on the edge of the yard. He straightened, peered hard into the wet night, saw nothing, and shrugged. He and the others returned to the Big House, two holding Ben's upper body and two carrying his thrashing legs. They dumped the driver unceremoniously on a chair, where he sat frozen in place, eyeing the six pistols aimed directly at his head.
"First things bloody first, eh?" Dika muttered, walking over to Ben. She leaned down, grabbed a fistful of hair on the back of his head, and planted her mouth on his in the legendary death kiss of a woman pirate. He squirmed and groaned, his eyes wide with fright as she pressed her teeth into his lips, drawing blood. Still gripping his head, she held her face inches from his and glared at him. "Remember me?" she hissed, seizing the coiled whip from his waistband. She rose, roughly wiped her mouth, and tapped the whip handle on her hand, pacing like a panther before him in her dark trousers, ruffled white shirt, and purple velvet vest. The whites of Ben's eyes reflected the torch light.
"Colin, has revenge ever tasted so sweet?" Dika's gleaming black eyes were locked on the driver.
"Never!" he grunted in reply. Again the men hoisted the mulatto, this time carrying him to the whipping post in the slave compound. They tied him there as he had tied so many others, helpless, his toes barely touching the mud. In the flickering torchlight Dika turned Ben's own whip on him with all her might. The driver's moans were lost in the night wind as Colin took a turn.
One by one, the hut windows lit up. Some of the slaves opened their doors. Colin glanced at the circle of huts. Shadows moved in the doorways, but quickly vanished. "It's me, Colin Shea Brophy," he hollered in Irish. "This is a night for escape. Show yourselves. We mean ye no harm."
Now to find Freddy.
A dozen men emerged from the shacks. "Make yer way to the strand and quickly," he shouted over the wind. "Dika will see ye to the ship."
They left the driver tied to the post, his head hanging and his body swinging, the blowing rain running in black rivulets down the bloody whip marks on his back.
Colin dashed into the cookhouse and was surprised to find coals still glowing dark red in the fireplace. He lifted his torch and glanced around the room. The light caught a pair of gleaming eyes peering through the cellar hatch. Held open just a crack, the door quickly closed without a sound.
"Freddy O'Brennan, is that you?" Colin held his breath.
Freddy opened the hatch again, just enough to see out, her eyes wide with alarm. Realizing how altered his appearance was, with deeply tanned skin and buccaneer garb, he held the torch close to his face and pulled off the green bandana.
"Colin?" she finally whispered.
"At your service," he said with a courtly bow.
"What a sight you are!" Holding a candle lantern, she climbed the cellar stairs and closed the hatch firmly behind her. "I prayed you made it to Montserrat…" Wearing her white shift and tight bodice, Freddy stood in the middle of the kitchen facing him.
Colin moved to the hearth and propped his torch in a large kettle. Slowly he walked over to her, his eyes locked on those almond-shaped eyes of hers. "I told you I would see you again, Frederica," he said in a low voice, picking up her hands and kissing them. They embraced, and he could feel her trembling.
"Thank the Lord you're alive," she whispered. She pulled away too soon, full of questions as ever. "What happened?" She touched his black beard, leather baldric, and silver earrings, her creamy skin radiant in the glow of the wavering torch flame. But something was different about her, a certain awkwardness. Was it merely the passage of time since they had last seen each other? Or something more?
"We were intercepted by Captain Anton Lacoste of the Alizé. He saved our lives."
"And now you are a pirate?"
"A buccaneer, as is Dika."
Freddy covered her mouth with her hand.
"She is the captain's woman, too."
Freddy shook her head. "You, you look…robust, Colin. That life agrees with you then?"
"It does. There is much to tell, but we must make haste to the ship." Holding her hand, he started toward the door.
She stopped him. "The ship?" she asked faintly.
"This is the night for escape."
Her eyes filled with tears and she covered her face with her hands.
"What is it, Freddy?"
"I cannot…" she sobbed.
"What can you mean?"
"The babe." Her voice was muffled. He gently took her wrists and lowered her hands.
"Tell me."
"Laurie. My son. He is ill with yellow fever."
Biting his tongue to keep from asking who the father was, he gazed into Freddy's weeping, jade-colored eyes. A flash of possessiveness bolted through him like lightning. He swallowed hard. He had seen the way Whittingham looked at Freddy, and had feared for her. It was likely no fault of hers. Or was there another man?
She crossed the room and stirred something in the steaming pot that hung over the coals. "This is why I am still awake at this hour – preparing medicine for the babe. We cannot travel." She turned and gazed pleadingly into Colin's eyes, as if asking for forgiveness.
"You're sure?" He watched her closely. He knew how much she yearned to get off this island.
"It would be dangerous for him…" She threw her hands up in frustration, shaking her head. "The time is not right."
Colin made a swift decision and joined her at the hearth. "Freddy, I owe you my very life. I will return for you another day, if that is what you wish."
She nodded wordlessly.
He gently wiped her tears. "You have but to send a message to Silky's Tavern in Tortuga. It may take time, but I will write back. I will come for you…I would do anything for you."
"Silky's Tavern, Tortuga. I will write it down." She tried to smile.
"I abhor leaving you here."
Again she nodded, gulping.
"Now, you must go to the slave compound. That is the only safe place." He strode to the table, tossed three gold serving platters and a pewter plate into a burlap sack, and heaved the sack over his shoulder. He turned, came back to her, and covered one of her shoulders with his free hand. "Promise you will write," he said, his voice suddenly hoarse.
"I promise." In the flickering light she was luminous, beautiful. As he had that other night, he leaned in and pressed his cheek to hers. Lowering the sack to the floor, he pulled her into a tight embrace.
The men ransacked Whittingham's finery, guzzling rum and parading around his bedchamber in his plumed hats. From Millicent's bedroom they grabbed silver trays, crystal decanters, and jewelry. The rain blew in, the fierce wind sucking the shredded velvet curtains back and forth through the splintered, jagged window panes.
They forced Pratt to tell them where the money was stashed. In the libra
ry, hidden under a fake pedestal, they found the locked wooden chest. Pratt swore Whittingham alone knew where the key was. The captain ordered the chest carried to the ship, and went along to secure it in his own locked quarters.
Colin and the others pilfered weapons, artwork, a gold serving bowl, and silver utensils. They smashed some of the imported china, but seized other pieces. They hacked the mahogany furniture, untied Pratt, and set fire to the Big House, the sugar works, and the fields. Then they turned all the livestock loose.
Blustering sheets of heavy rain quickly doused the fires, leaving a smoky mess of smoldering soot.
CHAPTER 22
September 1654
Freddy hurried through the storm, clutching the urn she'd filled with Laurie's herbal syrup. Since the surprise encounter with Colin, her mind had spun in an internal tempest as fierce as this tropical storm. No, she told herself sternly, wait until later to think about that. Right now she must get this medicine to Laurie.
Blinded by tendrils of her hair whipping around in the wind, she stumbled on the muddy path but caught herself. She pushed her wet hair off her face and spotted Mr. Pratt silhouetted by a burning section of the Big House. He stood completely still, musket in hand and still in his nightshirt. The slave compound was a spot of darkness surrounded by glowing fires that hissed and belched swirling smoke. The estate's chickens, usually penned for the night, squawked and scurried through the bushes. Further down the hill, four horses galloped full speed next to the flickering sparks of a smoldering cane field. The buccaneers' column of torch lights snaked down toward the silver beach.
The acrid smoke stung her nostrils. She held her sleeve to her nose, her eyes watering as she reached the compound. A light wavered next to the flogging post. Freddy recognized Paulina's high-collared white dress in the glow of the torch the house slave held high. The skirt of her dress whipped around her legs as Paulina stood on a crate trying to untie Ben. Freddy shielded her eyes and squinted into the driving rain. The driver still appeared insensible. Freddy shrugged and hurried on her way.
She burst into the hut. Kofi was huddled in one candlelit corner, his eyes wide, the sleeping babe in his big arms. Freddy grabbed a spoon from the table and squatted to hug them both to her. Tears of relief spilled down her face as she searched her son's face and felt his forehead. His color was better and he felt less feverish. Freddy slipped a spoonful of syrup between Laurie's lips. The babe stirred and protested sleepily, but settled down again. She caressed Kofi's wiry hair, kissed him all over his face, and rubbed her cheek against his. He pulled her onto his lap, crooning to her in his language.
"Thank the Lord you are both well," she murmured back, snuggling against his wide shoulder. Cradled in his strong arms next to her sleeping babe, she sighed with a deep shudder. She smoothed back her dripping hair and nuzzled Kofi's neck. In spite of the warm night, she was trembling.
Kofi put the babe down. He pulled Freddy to her feet, led her to the dry nightgown hanging on one wall, and peeled her wet clothes off. As he rubbed her arms to warm her, they heard a shout outside. Freddy quickly tossed the nightgown over her head and pulled it down.
Kofi opened the door. Through the slanted rain they watched Mr. Pratt and Paulina cut Ben down from the post. The driver collapsed in the mud and the butler helped him up. They shuffled to Kazoola's hut, with Paulina on their heels. Over time Birdie had become the one the entire estate turned to when they needed doctoring. As Kofi and Freddy watched the sheets of rain gusting by the doorway, he stood behind her and resumed rubbing her arms to stop her trembling.
"You there!" They heard Pratt holler as he emerged from the hut with Kazoola. The butler held his musket on a group of African men walking across the compound. "There is much to be done this night." He prodded Kazoola and the others with the gun, then whipped around and pointed it at Kofi. Freddy gasped.
"You! Come," Pratt ordered. Kofi joined the others being marched toward the smoldering Big House. She folded her arms, tried to calm her shivering, and wondered if any of them would be allowed to rest before the day's relentless chores began once more.
In the light of a peach-colored dawn, the babe appeared much improved. Freddy held him close as she sat in a dim corner watching the sunrise through the hut's open door. Kofi and Kazoola, just back from working on the fires, sat across the room drinking tea and talking excitedly. Their voices rose. They pointed toward the open door, their animated eyes wide under scowling brows.
Freddy had picked up a few Akan words but wished she knew more. There was never enough time for such things. She spooned medicine into Laurie's tiny mouth, then sipped from a pewter cup of mobby. It was unusual to drink it at dawn, but this had been an unusual night. Still reeling from the raid and from seeing Colin, she needed to sort her rattled thoughts. Freddy leaned against the wall, rested her head, and took a deep breath. She watched Kofi's animated gestures and noticed how carefully Kazoola was listening to his words. Through half-closed eyes, Freddy gazed at Kofi and suddenly wanted him to herself. She silently pleaded with Kazoola to leave, blushing at her own thoughts. Too soon it would be time to go to the kitchen.
She lay Laurie down on the floor, and the image of Colin's tanned face beneath his green bandana popped unexpectedly into her mind. How could she think of him while desiring Kofi so? In the kitchen last night she had melted when Colin turned his blue eyes on her. Freddy took another deep, ragged breath. He had said he would return for her, do anything for her. His words thrilled her. She raised the cup of mobby to her mouth, this time gulping greedily.
Perhaps she had finally been rendered insane.
She was utterly in love with Kofi. Their unspoken bond reached beyond any language barrier. Freddy knew she should have told Colin about her African man. But there had been no time. She began trembling again, remembering how her heart had pounded when she'd realized it was Colin in the cookhouse. She had to honestly confess that she still hungered for his humor, his handsome Irish face, his ways that pleased her so. Colin was a link to her homeland, her own ways. As a wee girl, when she and her sisters had imagined their future husbands, they had dreamed of strapping men such as Colin Shea Brophy.
Kofi's deep voice brought her back. Some might call her passion for this African man like that of an animal, but she knew theirs was a spiritual union as well. Was it possible to love two men equally, at the same time? Two men from completely different worlds. Two men who tugged at her very core, their contrasting worlds bumping together like the crushing ironwood rollers of the sugar mill. Lifting her wide eyes to the streaked crimson sky framed by the open door, Freddy finished her mobby and wondered what Mam would think of all this.
Today she would seek Father Sean's counsel. His soothing words would be the next best thing to Mam's insights.
Freddy sank to the chair and held her head in her sooty hands, the piece of ragged parchment fluttering down onto Father Sean's table. The empty cottage was serene in the midst of the day's bustling chaos. It was only midday and already her back hurt from hours of scrubbing at the smoky mess in the Big House. Laurie was with Birdie, who had gone to the kitchen. Freddy wearily lifted her head and gazed at the note. Sunlight poured through the open window and onto the dirt floor. The storm had broken up into a brilliant blue sky punctuated by puffy clouds.
"Hell's everlasting fire," Freddy muttered, picking up the piece of parchment. She reread Father Sean's loopy script, this time aloud: "Fare thee well, friends. I must make haste. Trust that all will be well. Yours in faith, Sean Gwynn." He'd gone last night on the buccaneer ship, then. Many a time he had spoken of Montserrat, where the Irish openly practiced their Catholic faith and a priest could help his people. She imagined him saying Mass there, surrounded by an adoring, devout throng.
"God's fresh blessings be upon him," she whispered with a sigh. "Trust that all will be well," he'd written. She wondered what he meant. She would try her best to follow those cryptic words. "Alas, but we'll miss him, that's no lie," Freddy mumbled. Anot
her wave of homesickness washed over her. She leaned back in the chair and wondered if this heartrending melancholy would ever ease. Today was September 8, 1654 – a year and four months since she had seen Mam and her sisters – since the morning she had made her terrible mistake on that strand on Galway Bay. It had been even longer since she'd laid eyes on Da. Freddy's eyes filled with tears, the sharp sting of longing consuming her. Oh, to have them back! To feel the cool wind on her cheeks as she rode Firewind over the hills and home again. To see Mam in her usual spot by the farmhouse door, watching her boisterous daughter and smiling with a resigned shake of her head.
Freddy's heart leaped into her throat when she heard voices from the path. She quickly ducked down to the floor and listened as the voices faded. Now, back to the cookhouse before she was caught! For months Freddy had not seen the paddle, and she didn't want to now. Grabbing Father Sean's note from the table, she folded it and tucked it inside her bodice.
"They made off with Judith's jewelry?" Master's voice shrilled through the back of the Big House. "You led them right to the chest, Pratt?"
"They were set to kill me, Sir," the butler answered in a low tone, setting a plate of food on the table in front of the planter.
Freddy nudged Birdie as they worked on their hands and knees, scrubbing the blackened hall floor just off the dining room. Rain water had dripped down from a ragged burn in the roof, and left brown stains on the sooty wall and floor. The field slaves had patched the roof the day before. Freddy rolled her eyes toward the sound of Master's fury and made a face. Birdie smiled silently.
"God's blood, man, you will suffer for this treachery!" Whittingham yelled, pounding the table with both fists. "How stupid of me, to put my faith in such as you." He shoved the plate aside and pounded the table again, harder. "I cannot eat this swill! Fetch something edible – bread and cold meat, and more rum! The whole blasted place stinks. It makes my head sore."
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