by Meg Hennessy
“Aye, aye, Cap’n.” Loul gave him an exaggerated salute. “Ah…brother?”
Jordan turned and waited for Loul to speak his mind. “You’re one hell of a sailor.”
An exhausted chuckle escaped Jordan’s mouth. “Hold your celebrations, Loul. We’ll need a miracle to get us out of here.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Aurèlie tried to open her eyes, hearing Jordan’s voice and the feel of his gentle touch to her hand. “Aurèlie, can you hear me?”
Barely. He sounded so far away.
Aurèlie drew a deep breath and let her eyelids flutter open. Jordan was sitting next to her, looking relieved to see her coming around. “Had me worried. How ya feeling?”
“What happened?” She started to sit up, but the pounding in her head made her hesitate. Oh, how she hated ships.
“You fainted. Guess ships don’t agree with you.”
“I don’t like ships. Where are we?” She took in her surroundings. They were in what appeared to be a thatched hut of palmetto branches, similar to the ones built along the barrier island of the coast. At least it was dry land. She hadn’t felt dry in hours.
Jordan assisted her to sit up. The feel of his strong arms around her and gentle touch helped settle her nerves. She was surprised to find herself dressed in something all together different. “You dress me, I pray?”
He winked. “I would not delegate such a task.”
“What is this? The fabric so soft…the colors…”
“Native women gave it to me for my ah…woman.” He grinned as he pushed to his feet. “They thought you were a little boy when I first brought you up here. They wanted you dressed like a woman. I wanted you in something dry.”
Aurèlie marveled at the dress, having never seen anything like it. She stood up, shaky at first, but steadied herself. The dress, wrapped about her body, exposed every curve. The top wound around her breasts, leaving her shoulders bare.
“I hope it’s comfortable,” he said, “because it’s damned attractive.”
“It is, merci. Where are we, Jourdain?”
“About a half mile from the ship and a few miles from Haiti.”
“The British?”
He nodded toward the water. “Waiting.”
“Jourdain, I must tell you something.”
He settled back down on an old ladder chair with unfinished leather. Dressed in black breeches and dark cotton shirt, his clothes were still damp. Tied across his forehead he wore the folded black satin mask. “I know about the medallion. Loul told me.”
“I try to get to it.”
“I’m just thankful you saw it when you did.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. Aurèlie inhaled, enjoying the scent of lavender that seeped through the wet and salty air around him. “It does not matter for we can’t retrieve it. I’m going down to the ship. If you need anything, just ask the natives outside. They speak French not English. Otherwise, I’ll be back later.”
She flopped back on the makeshift bed, which was nothing more than a feather-stuffed pallet atop a wooden frame, but surprisingly comfortable. Exhaustion drained the small remnants of strength she had left and soon she drifted off to sleep. Her body still rocked with the movement of the ship, but she was peacefully floating in relaxation when she heard something. She propped herself up on her elbow and listened to the faint rhythmic cadence…boom.
She glanced around her, wishing Jordan had returned, but she was alone. Hearing the crackles of an open fire and inhaling the sweet smell of lifting smoke, she swung her legs over the side to sit on the edge. The sound drew her upward to her feet. Boom. Walking barefoot, she slowly eased her way out to the flickering glow.
The wavering light reflected off her face, momentarily blinding her, but the tempo of the drums drew her closer as if on a string, just like that night in the bayou, so long ago.
The dress given to her by the natives made her feel free, alive, and connected to the music. Her hair hung straight down her back and swayed against her hips as she danced in place, surrendering to the beat as it worked through each tired muscle and brought her body to life. She twirled around and around until—she saw him.
Jordan had returned.
Remembering her grandfather’s warning, she watched him.
He must hear the drums to lift the curse…
They were inside her. Were they now inside him?
The evening darkness shadowed his face. Firelight reflected off the well-defined muscles of his chest as his shirt hung open. From his leather sash hung a pistol and dirk. The black satin, once worn as a mask, was now folded and tied across his forehead.
The music continued, the beat penetrating Aurèlie’s body so mercilessly, she couldn’t stop herself from moving. Her gaze locked to Jordan, she swayed, ever so slightly, running her hands along the side of her hips. Enjoying the freedom within her own body, she swept her hair up behind her and let it slowly break free and sift through her fingers.
Through the dark shadows that surrounded Jordan’s face, she knew he watched her, wanted her. She twirled a step closer to him. He grabbed her hips and roughly pulled her up flush against his body. He spoke in a heavily French accented voice, adding prose to the mesmerizing music. “I don’t know what I hear, but I like what I see, n’est pas?”
“You hear the drums.” Aurèlie spread her fingers over his naked chest, traveling over his damp skin, dipping low to barely brush below the leather sash. “I like what I feel.”
“Feel me, mon chérie.” He leaned into her, bending slightly at the knees, he lifted her from her feet and they moved as one.
Her breathing became shallow as she traced her fingers along the rippling muscles of his thick arms, ripened with the strength in which he held her. He had yielded completely, carrying her into the cadence with him, moving to the mystical music.
“Jourdain,” she spoke with a breathless whisper, “it is time to cross over.”
“To crossover what?” Jordan kept the two of them moving with the beat.
“Ask Papa Legba,” Aurèlie whispered into his ear. “Papa Legba ouvrir bayé-a pou mwen.”
Jordan’s brow pulled together in question, but he continued to move within the beat around the small fire. “What am I saying?”
“You ask him to open the gates for you, to learn of your sister.”
He smiled with a shrug as if to humor her. “All right…”
He closed his eyes and repeated a word, then the next, and with prompting, finished what he needed to say. Aurèlie held her breath, watching his expression, stirring in her own little prayer. Suddenly the sound of the drums stopped. He halted, his eyes opened as he lowered her to her feet.
She held her breath, waiting in the silence of the night. A cool breeze rushed over the plateau, catching her hair and rippling through his shirt.
“I don’t know what you did to me.” He looked around them, somewhat dazed, before landing his gaze back on her. She could feel him thinking. “I don’t know what I heard but you heard it, too. Didn’t you?”
“What did you hear, Jourdain?”
“Drums, rhythmic, constant.”
“The drums, oui.” She nodded. “I also hear.”
“Yes, the drums…” he said softly as he lifted her into his arms and carried her into the small palmetto hut, illuminated only by the ghostly shadows from the fire, gently placing her on the mattress. He straddled his knees to each side of her as he slowly lowered his body over hers. His mouth a fraction from her lips, he painted the seam of her mouth with his tongue, warm, and moist. She inhaled the rugged scent of him and ran her fingers up the firm, flexed muscles of his arms.
“Do you know, Jourdain? Did Papa Legba answer you? Does your sister live?”
…
Having checked on Le Vengeur’s repairs, Jordan stood on the edge of the cliff, in the early morning sun, and raised his spyglass, scanning the ocean waters. Off in the distance, the British warship had taken sail before them, rounding to the i
nland waters in search of Le Vengeur, though it was well hidden behind the rock talus and protected by whirlpools. The British must have worked the night. Her gun decks were in order, new sails fluttered in the breeze, and her starboard repaired.
He couldn’t understand their pursuit of him. Why or when had he become of strategic importance to the British?
Le Vengeur finally had the bilge pumped and all decks were at least dry. The water had been rising steadily for the past few hours and with the help of the twisting winds of the rocks, would soon be high enough to make headway and coast Le Vengeur into the open waters.
“The Brits wait for us, brother.” Loul climbed the hill and joined Jordan. “We are at three fathoms and the tide rises. Wind is two points to our stern.”
“Supplies?”
“The hull’s full. Ammunition, food, riggings, and water.”
“Why in the hell do they send a warship after me? Could this really have something to do with the medallion?”
“I don’t know the history of the medallions.” Loul shrugged.
“No longer matters. Colette’s medallion is lost, but she’s alive.”
“And you know this how?”
“I couldn’t tell you.” Jordan again glanced around, baffled as to what he had heard last night by the fire, with Aurèlie. But for some reason, he knew Colette lived. “You told me to have faith, and I am certain.”
“We go after her?”
“We do but we need to take that ship out of action.” Jordan collapsed his spyglass. “I have a plan.”
“A good one?”
“It’s the only one at the moment.” Jordan chuckled, though he didn’t feel too humorous. “Load the tender.”
“With what?” Loul glanced off in the distance, gauging the position of the British warship. “You slow us down?”
“I do.” Jordan nodded. “Just enough to be captured.”
…
Aurèlie was already onboard when Jordan and Loul had finished the illusion of a fully loaded tender. Dressed in Jordan’s clothes, she held her shoulders square when Jordan boarded. He had to admire her strength. Caught up in a world completely foreign to her, not to mention dangerous, and she’d held up with remarkable poise. This was exactly what he had tried to protect her from.
“Aurèlie, if you’d rather wait on the island.”
“Something happen to you, I would be there a very long time, non?”
“Ships go back and forth to Haiti. I would leave you with more than enough coin to buy passage. You would get home eventually, but I’d rather you go with me.” Jordan pulled the black satin mask from his neck, tied it across his eyes, then knotted it to the back of his head, adjusting it to see. “But I have to warn you of the danger.”
“I stay with you.”
“Then go below.” He kissed her lightly on her forehead.
“Crack those sails! Helm up!”
A sudden flurry of activity covered the main deck as the crew raced to follow his orders. The large sails billowed out, capturing the wind. Le Vengeur’s masts groaned as she started to ease past the same dangerous reefs she had negotiated aft ward.
They broke into open waters in minutes and set a boxhauling course to Isla De luna.
With the wind at her stern, Le Vengeur plowed the waters with full sails, diving deep into the sendings and rising with a spray across the main deck. The tender bobbed behind them.
After an hour heading due south, the British warship popped over the horizon. There she was, in pursuit and with Le Vengeur towing an overloaded tender, they’d gain fast enough.
Loul had manned the tiller and awaited the next order. Jordan climbed the bridge and watched through his spyglass. “A quarter aft!”
Loul focused on the compass and pushed the tiller.
As the British ship gained on them, the island of Jordan’s destination rose over the horizon. The home of Donato de la Roche. The infamous pirate seemed to have one thing that did not belong to him. Jordan’s sister, and he was coming to take her home.
Soon the great British warship, bearing down on them, raced to move broadside of Le Vengeur. Her guns out. The island was less than three knots from the impending fight. The men visible along the main deck were showing signs of nerves.
“Hold steady, men.” Jordan took to the helm and gave the tiller a hefty turn to make headway. The riggings popped as the wind grabbed each sail and rotated the ship nearly ninety degrees. Running dead into the wind, Le Vengeur heaved to, rounding the warship starboard.
Jordan ran his spyglass beyond the warship, to graze the shoreline of Half Moon Island. The tender, weighted with false treasures, bobbed above the water behind the ship. The bait had been set. If the trap failed, it meant certain capture.
“Strike your colors, Master of Le Vengeur. Or I give the order,” the British officer called out. His gunners were at the ready and a hit broadside was imminent.
“Strike colors!” Jordan ordered.
Two men ready for the order, lowered the black flag that flew atop the mainmast.
Loul leaned over to Jordan. “This is too risky.”
With silent crews, the two ships rode the waves.
Jordan allowed Le Vengeur leeward. “It is, but for now, we surrender.”
“Ahoy, Captain,” the British officer bellowed.
“What is this? Great resources to stop a lowly privateer like me. On what legal authority do you stop me? Do you wish to see my letter of marque? I hunt only Spanish ships.”
“I do not care. We shall board.”
“Our hull is empty, transfer of what?”
“We will take men and ship, Captain.”
“You’re taking my crew?” That wasn’t an odd question, considering how many American men had found themselves impressed as forced labor aboard English warships.
Jordan watched as the sailors prepared to board. They threw out grappling hooks and lashed the bulwarks. Frustrated with his own lack of knowledge, he said more to himself than Loul, “What do I not understand?”
“I don’t know, brother, but we must escape.”
“Tie off those ropes.” Jordan kept his voice low, motioning for his men to secure the grappling hooks. Knowing he and his crew were within seconds of becoming prisoners, he hoped to keep the situation under control just long enough. Through his spyglass, he swept Donato’s island. In less than a minute, the point of power would shift and Jordan would lose the gamble he had taken.
Damn it, where was Donato?
“This is too close, brother,” Loul echoed Jordan’s concerns.
He couldn’t have miscalculated. A pirate was a pirate. He again scanned the island, until he saw movement. He couldn’t contain his sense of relief. “Look, Loul, right on time. Here he comes.”
Off in the distance, a sloop appeared, rounding the point of Half Moon Island, approaching the British war machine that now sat anchored to Le Vengeur.
Taking advantage of the British position, the sloop opened fire. Water splashed over the main deck, capturing the attention of the British commander. He leaped onto the helm. Realizing his perilous position, he shouted out orders.
“Cut those ropes! Crack sails!”
Jordan responded. “Hooks into her, men!”
The hidden crewmen leaped from their positions and tossed over a row of grappling hooks, tying her off to Le Vengeur. The other ship entered the fray, firing again, landing a direct hit atop his Majesty’s main deck. Sailors flew into the water. Jordan only needed to hold on a few more minutes and the Brits were in peril.
“Cut those ropes!” a British seamen ordered.
“Shoot anyone wearing a fancy hat.” Jordan’s hidden crew now pulled out their muzzle loaded rifles and fired across the gunwale, halting any attempt to break free. Another cannon shot by the oncoming ship brought the top of the warship’s main mast crumbling down.
The British officer raised his horn. “Master of the Le Vengeur, I release you. Allow my men to disengage.”
Jordan smiled and bowed from the helm. “I appreciate such generosity, but I do believe it is now I who has you.”
The officer threw a worried glance to the approaching pirate ship, ordering the gunners into position. “I will fight such odds if I must!”
“You wish to cut loose? Divest yourself of our good company?”
“Yes, yes, Captain, cut the ropes!”
“Quickly, then, why do you pursue me?”
“Your ship, and to keep you from—” Another round of shot splintered their galley distracting the officer. “Captain, release us!”
Jordan wanted to ask so much more, but being within range of Donato’s sloop, he doubted the Brit would dialogue anymore. Besides as cruel as the situation was, Jordan enjoyed the man’s anguish, holding him long enough to make the warship an easy target for Donato de la Roche.
Jordan smiled with a stiff bow as he signaled for the men to cut the grappling hooks free and crack their sails. “We depart!”
As the sails sucked up the wind, Le Vengeur moved forward, quietly cutting through the water and away from the fracas.
“Time to cut the bait loose,” he ordered.
As the tender floated away, Jordan turned the wheel just four degrees forward and silently slipped to the other side of the island.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aurèlie had hung on tight while in Jordan’s cabin. She had nearly died when he seemed to surrender without a fight, and she had feared he had made that choice because she was onboard, but having seen the expression of the British commander as Le Vengeur floated past him, she knew Jordan had orchestrated a very successful escape. The British would not follow sitting broadside to the approaching ship. That much she understood.
She leaned forward to see out of the stern window and watched the longboat drift away from them. As if gliding silently above the water, they circled around the other side of the island, quietly drifting along a sandy beach. Explosions from cannon fire rode the wind. A small dusty plume of smoke rose over the island from the fighting now taking place directly opposite of them.