Fortune's Flame

by French, Judith E.

  “I’m here,” she said. “I’m here, and you’re going to be all right. Everything’s going to be all right.” She turned on the burly guard with the rage of a cornered lioness. “How dare you leave him like this?” she demanded, coming to her feet and jabbing the man squarely in the chest with her fist. “I want clean water for him, and I want it now. I want him washed—no, I’ll do that myself. Bring me soap and towels.” She hit him again. “Are you deaf?”

  The guard swore a foul oath and raised a meaty hand to strike her down.

  Bess didn’t flinch. “Touch me,” she warned, “and Lord Kay will have you boiled alive in that sugar kettle.”

  Annemie chuckled softly. “That’s so,” she said. “Lord Kay has bidden me to tell you to follow the lady’s orders as you would his own.” She moved to stand by Bess’s side. “I would do as she asked, if I were you.”

  Bess glanced at the housekeeper. “You know what I need here. Can you see to it?”

  “Yes, missy,” Annemie said. “I will be pleased to help you.” She followed the guard out of the cell, leaving Bess and Kincaid alone.

  Bess turned back to Kincaid and knelt beside him. “It will be all right,” she murmured. “I’ll have you out of here in no time.”

  “Falconer?”

  “Never mind Falconer. I’ll deal with him.” Her hands were trembling as she stroked his hair and cradled his head in her lap. “I’ll take care of you, Kincaid. I’ll take you home to Maryland. You’ll see.” Her eyes clouded with tears and she blinked them away.

  Kincaid’s fingers clamped around her wrist. “Get away if you can,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t worry about me. I’ve survived this long—I’ll survive to escape.” His eyes looked golden in the shadows; they seemed to glow with a fierce inner light. “I can take care of myself, Bess. It’s ye I’ve failed.”

  “You don’t understand,” she said. “Falconer-Peregrine Kay—is going to let us go. He’s giving us back the Tanager and the treasure. We’re going home.”

  Kincaid’s grip tightened. “Why?”

  “Trust me. I’m going to get us out of here.”

  “Why, Bess?” he demanded. “Why would he let us go?”

  She didn’t mean to tell him, she didn’t want to, but it was impossible to look into Kincaid’s intense gaze and lie. Before she knew what she was saying, the words tumbled out. “One night,” she said. “I’ve promised him one night. And after that, we’re free to go.”

  “The hell ye say!”

  “I had to,” she whispered. “It was the only way.”

  “No. I’ll not have it.”

  “I gave my promise, Kincaid.”

  He let go of her wrist and turned his face to the wall. “Do as ye will,” he whispered, “but if ye sleep wi’ him, I’ll have no more of ye. We’re through. Do ye ken that, woman—we’re finished. I’ll nay have a woman whore for me—not to save my soul from hell!”

  Chapter 23

  Bess stood by the open window and stared out into the black Jamaican night. There was no moon, and fog lay thick on the ground. From far off came the haunting sound of African drums, and closer, the lapping of waves against the sandy beach. Bess’s hands were clenched around the windowsill so tightly that she could feel numbness creeping up her wrists. And her heart was as heavy as the great slab of limestone that reared out of the garden lawn just beyond her window.

  Kincaid’s infected wound had been tended by the physician again. The Scot had been washed and fed and properly clothed. Now he lay aboard the Scarlet Tanager, which was anchored in the harbor. Bess didn’t believe he would die, but he was still very weak. When they had moved him, he’d insisted on walking on his own two feet, but he’d staggered like a drunken man. And he was still fevered.

  Lord Kay had told her that a crew and a captain waited for the morning tide to take her back to the Chesapeake, and he’d assured her that her fortune in gold artifacts was safely stowed aboard in her cabin.

  She was ready to take her leave of Jamaica and Peregrine Kay—as soon as she had completed her side of the bargain. Tonight she would belong to Falconer; tomorrow she would be free. Bess wondered if the price she had agreed upon had been too great.

  The physical coupling between herself and Kay she could bear. There could be no rape when she had given her consent willingly. And even if he was cruel during the sexual act, he could cause her no greater pain than she was already suffering.

  Kincaid would never forgive her. Never!

  No amount of arguing had convinced him that she had made a sensible decision. What were a few hours in the arms of another man compared with the lifetime they would have together? Kincaid’s stubborn ire was irrational.

  But now there would be no years of happiness. . . no wedding with Kincaid. . . and no father for her coming child. He’d said that this proved to him, once and for all time, that she was no better than his dead wife, Gillian. By bargaining with Kay, Kincaid felt, she was betraying him and his honor as a man in the worst way.

  But for her there could be no other choice. To save Kincaid from butchery and enslavement, she would give herself to a dozen pirates like Peregrine Kay. She would trade her life for Kincaid’s life and never regret her decision. So tonight there were no tears and no regrets, only bittersweet longing that things could have been different.

  Bess drew in a deep breath, filling her head with the heavy scent of a dozen strange flowers. This island air was deceptively soft, she thought, all sugarcane and salt breeze and wild citrus. It lulled you into a false sense of paradise.

  She wished with all her heart that she were home on the Eastern Shore, smelling the rich brown earth, the spicy tang of pine needles, and the musty autumn leaves. The oaks and maples would be a glorious rainbow of gold and green and orange, and overhead, vees of ducks and geese would be winging their way south to winter in the Chesapeake marshes. The air would be crisp and clean. In early morning, the horses would crack a skim of ice on their water troughs, and frost would gleam like scattered diamonds on the fields. The farmers would be grinding tart apples into cider, and their wives would be baking pumpkin and sweet potato pies.

  Home. . . She was going home tomorrow with the gold she needed to rebuild all that had been destroyed. And if she couldn’t have the man she loved beside her, she could make a future for his son and all the people who depended on her at Fortune’s Gift.

  The sound of a door opening behind her caught her attention, and she turned to see Annemie coming into the bedchamber carrying a tray. “Is it time?” she asked bleakly.

  “Yes, missy. The clock has already struck half past ten. My master awaits you.”

  Annemie was dressed in a simple white linen night rail tied at the throat with narrow pink ribbons, much like the nightgown Bess was wearing. Annemie’s light brown hair hung loose around her shoulders and her slender feet were bare. She looked more attractive tonight than Bess had ever seen her.

  “We might be sisters,” Bess said, trying to cut through the wall of awkwardness between them. “Look at us.” She laughed. “Oh, am I wearing your—”

  “Yes, missy,” the housekeeper said. “We are much of a size.”

  “Too tall for beauty, both of us,” Bess agreed.

  “You are kind for a witch.” Annemie sighed. “My skin freckles like yours, but there the similarity ends. I know that I am plain.”

  “Strong,” Bess corrected her softly. “Not plain, but strong. And you move with a grace I will never have.”

  Annemie smiled and ducked her head shyly. “A gift from my African grandmother.”

  The two eyed each other like schoolchildren meeting for the first time, not ready to make peace, but not ready to fight either. Bess picked up a brush and began to brush her already smooth hair. It had grown longer since she’d come to the Caribbean, and the hot tropical sun had brought out red-gold highlights. For once, Bess hated the color of her hair. Perhaps if it were dull and gray, Kay wouldn’t have desired her.

  “You d
o not wish to do this thing,” Annemie said.

  “But I must. I’ve given my word.”

  Annemie sighed again. “You talk like a foolish man. We are women—have you forgotten?”

  Bess stared at her in puzzlement.

  “Will this night make you happy?”

  “Of course not,” Bess replied.

  “Will you make my master happy?”

  “Not unless he fancies making love to a wooden ship’s figurehead.”

  “Then he will be greatly disappointed.”

  Bess’s anger flared. “You expect me to care?”

  “Then why do it?”

  “You know why! If I don’t, he’ll turn Kincaid over to the Spanish. And he’d keep me a prisoner.”

  “You wish only to go home with your man?”

  “Yes.” Bess swallowed hard against the thickening in her throat. “But there’s no other way.”

  “My Yoruba grandmother had a saying, ‘There is always more than one way to satisfy a man.’ ”

  “How, Annemie? How can I get out of sleeping with Lord Kay and escape his revenge?”

  The older woman beckoned Bess closer. “Tonight, when I brought him his evening brandy, it contained a potion that will cloud his mind.”

  “He will fall asleep?”

  “No. For he is clever. He would know you had tricked him. The ground roots will make our deception easier. You must go to him. Let him embrace you if you must, but do not speak. Say only yes or no. I have told him that you are overcome with shame, and that you had begged that there be no candle in his bedchamber tonight.”

  “But I still don’t understand. If the drug won’t put him to sleep, then how can—”

  Annemie raised her hand for silence. “In the Bible it speaks of the servant who went to her master in place of her mistress. Once you are with him and he knows it is you, you will offer him wine from this jar. You must take some, but you must only pretend to drink it. This wine contains a sleeping mixture, very powerful, but it will keep him asleep only for a short time. When he has succumbed to it, I will take your place in his bed.”

  “You would do this for me?” Bess asked.

  “Not for you, but for my own self. I have loved him for many years, and I have kept myself pure. Now that I am no longer young, I do not wish to grow old without knowing what it feels like to be loved by a man. If my master would have a sacrificial maiden, let it be one who goes to him with a heart full of joy—one who will give him only happiness.”

  “And if we get away with it? What will happen in the morning? He will awaken and know you are not me.”

  Annemie laughed. “I will give him such a ride that he will sleep the sleep of the dead. At dawn, I will slip from his bed. And you will be free to go to the ship. Who will stop you? While my Peregrine dreams of his night in heaven, you and your Kincaid will ride the morning tide out to the open sea.”

  “And later? What will you do later?”

  The housekeeper shrugged. “I did not know I would do this until tonight. Who knows what I will do tomorrow? But one thing is for certain. I will not go to my grave a bud, but a full-blooming flower.” She took Bess’s hand. “And my Peregrine will have memories of this night to delight his old age.”

  “And if he catches us?”

  “He will kill us both,” Annemie assured her.

  “Then we have no choice. We must do it so well that he doesn’t catch us.”

  Her brave words echoed in her head as she followed Annemie through the house to Peregrine’s apartments. And with each step, her apprehension grew.

  “This is as far as I can go,” the housekeeper said, pointing to a wide door. “There. Keep your head about you, missy. And remember, he must drink the wine, and you must keep him at a distance until he grows sleepy.”

  Bess shivered as she took the wine tray and knocked twice. “Don’t fail me, Annemie,” she whispered.

  “Come in,” Peregrine called.

  With a nervous final glance at the other woman, Bess pushed open the door.

  Peregrine was a shadowy figure in the darkened room. “Come in, my dear. I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Bess hesitated in the doorway and tried to get her bearings. Without a candle or moonlight, she was at a loss. The bedchamber smelled of orchids. Although she couldn’t see them, she knew that there were dozens of them in the room.

  “Come to me, Elizabeth.”

  She forced herself to take one step and then another across the cool wooden floor. She was so frightened she could hardly hold the tray with the wine and the glasses steady. Tall, curtainless windows stood open to the veranda; she could feel the warm breath of the night air on her bare skin. I can’t do this, she cried inwardly. I can’t. But she kept walking. “I brought wine,” she said. Her voice sounded overloud to her ears.

  A hand closed on her arm. “Give me the tray,” Peregrine said. “I’ve no need for spirits tonight.”

  God knows I have, she thought with black humor. Kutii! Where the hell are you when I need you? It took every ounce of her willpower to stand still as Peregrine took the tray, set it down, and cupped her face in his hands. When he bent to kiss her, she felt his stale breath on her lips and turned her head away.

  “You’re cold,” he said. “Come to bed. I’ll warm you.”

  “I’m. . . I’m not ready,” she said. “Please, I’d like a glass of wine.”

  He kissed her throat.

  “No!”

  “You gave me your word. We had a bargain, Elizabeth. Are you breaking that—”

  “No,” she murmured, backing away from him. Her hand brushed against a bedpost. “I. . . I feel silly in the dark,” she said. “Light a candle.”

  “As you wish.” She heard his footsteps and the door opened. “Bring a lamp,” he shouted. A male servant hurried from the adjoining chamber, and a pale circle of light illuminated the master’s bedchamber. She had been right about the orchids; there were large porcelain bowls heaped with them on every table. Kay’s oversized bed loomed above her, hung with heavy draperies of red flowered silk.

  Her gaze lit on Peregrine Kay, and she couldn’t contain a gasp when she saw that he was stark naked. He wore not a stitch, not even a nightcap to cover his shaved head. His chest was sunken and covered with black hair, and he had a pronounced paunch. Before she averted her eyes, Bess noted that he was still very well endowed, and he was definitely having a better time than she was.

  He returned to the bed carrying the lamp. Bess put the table between them and hastily poured two glasses of wine. Drops splashed onto the tray and over her hand.

  “Your modesty is refreshing,” he said.

  She glanced toward the open windows, wondering how far she could get if she ran. Not far enough, she decided. “Let’s drink to our bargain,” she said. She kept her eyes fixed on his face as he took the glass she offered. She lifted her own goblet and pretended to drink.

  “Into bed, Elizabeth. I tire of this game.”

  She climbed up onto the high mattress, still clutching her glass, and scooted to the far corner. “Tell me about your empire,” she said. “I have heard of Falconer for years, but I never guessed that—”

  Peregrine set down his glass and slid into bed. He reached for her, and Bess deliberately spilled her wine down his bare chest. He swore, and at almost the same instant, the chamber door banged open.

  “Stop this abomination!” Annemie said.

  Kay grabbed Bess’s hand and glared at his housekeeper. “How dare you?” he demanded. He paused, and glanced back at Bess. “You’re wearing the same gowns. What trickery—”

  “Take your hands off my woman!”

  “Kincaid!” Bess cried.

  Peregrine whirled toward the deep, burred voice at the window, and Bess twisted out of his grasp. “What the hell—” Peregrine said.

  “Dinna move,” Kincaid ordered. He stepped over the low sill into the bedchamber and raised the double-barreled flintlock pistol until it pointed dead center a
t Peregrine’s chest. “Dinna even breathe.” Kincaid’s own breaths were deep and ragged, and he was as gray as tallow, but he held the weapon steady as he leaned against the window frame for support.

  “No! Don’t hurt him,” Annemie cried. “Take her and go, but don’t shoot him.”

  “You’re mad, all of you,” Peregrine said. “How far do you think you can get? I don’t know how you got through my guards, but—”

  “Cease your blather,” Kincaid said. His voice was low and strained, but Bess knew that Kay’s life hung by a thread. “Bess.”

  She moved around the bed to Kincaid’s side. Sweat beaded on his forehead and the bandage around his chest was soaked through with fresh blood. She slid her shoulder under his free arm to help him stand. “You shouldn’t have come,” she murmured. “You’re killing yourself.”

  “You cheated me,” Peregrine said. “We made a bargain and—”

  “No!” Annemie dashed across the room and put herself between Kincaid and the man she loved. “Let them go. The fault is mine, sir. It was me who drugged your wine. I wanted to take her place in your bed. If someone must die tonight, then let it be me.”

  “Why, Annemie?” Peregrine demanded. “Why would you betray me after being faithful all these years?”

  “Because she loves you,” Bess said. “She couldn’t bear to see you bed another woman in this house.”

  “Annemie, is this true?” he asked hoarsely.

  The housekeeper looked into Peregrine’s eyes. “Forgive me. I know who I am and what I am, but I . . .”

  Peregrine shook his head. “We will talk of this later. For now, stand aside. Do you believe me a coward to need a woman to protect me?”

  “Stand aside,” Kincaid warned Annemie.

  “I will not,” Annemie answered in her throaty voice. “If the Scot would kill you, he must kill me first.”

  “Leave them both and come away,” Bess urged Kincaid. “We’ll go to the Tanager and catch the outgoing tide.”

  “I believed you, Elizabeth, when. . . when you. . .” Peregrine’s speech slurred and he began to tremble. “Annemie . . .” A frightened look came over his face.