The liquor seemed to ease the pain that was her constant companion, and she soon came to depend on it. Her appetite had diminished, and if she often drank more than she ate, she took little notice. Those persons closest to her noticed, however, and were deeply concerned. Of course, it was a closely guarded secret how much the “young Widow Taylor’ drank. It would never do to set the whole of Savannah gossiping.
Thanksgiving came and went without the Taylor family finding much to be thankful about, though if she had thought about it, Kathleen might have been grateful for quite a few things. Her children were healthy, intelligent, energetic youngsters. Grandmother Kate was still active and well at the ripe age of seventy-one. Her family and Isabel were always ready and willing to help her in any way possible. The crops were abundant and being harvested on schedule; and they had been fortunate enough to get them loaded aboard her ships and past the British blockade. They would bring good prices this year. None of her remaining ships had been sunk or permanently damaged. Even the weather had held, affording Kathleen the continued comfort of her daily rides about the countryside. On her palomino stallion, she would gallop about the estate, racing over fields and trails, easing the tensions of both horse and rider. After a breathless run, Kathleen would turn Zeus loose in a meadow and find a secluded spot to nurse her heartache.
More and more often, Kathleen found herself heading Zeus toward the seashore, where she would sit on a knoll or a ledge of rock and stare out upon the endless, restless waters of the Atlantic. As in days past, she was once again experiencing that feeling of unity and closeness with the hidden complexities of the deep. The rhythm of the waves and the constant pull of the tides and currents brought comfort to her soul.
As she had resolved her anger at Reed, so she absolved the sea of its part in his death. She could no longer hold anger in her heart for the two great loves of her life. Here she gained a measure of peace and strength once more, and here her resentment of the British strengthened and grew. The need for avenging Reed’s death became a passion, and a litany in her brain. The desire to feel a deck rolling beneath her feet and her rapier in her hand became an immense ache within her. Each time she was drawn to the sea, her yearning to sail and wreak revenge on the British renewed and fed upon itself, until it blocked out all reason and every other emotion.
“I’ve got to go. I have to go. ” The phrase repeated itself in her mind until she thought she would go mad. The restlessness of the sea called to the restlessness in her blood, and Kathleen knew she could not deny its call much longer.
She did manage to resist until the Christmas season was over out of love for her children. The holidays were a trial and torment for her as she recalled past Christmases with Reed. This year there were no special gifts of love from him, nor loving presents from her to him. The holidays lacked luster without his broad, crooked smile to grace them and the sparkle of his blue eyes to lend them merriment. That exact smile and those glittering blue eyes were echoed in Katlin’s elfin face, and it was a knife in Kathleen's heart to behold them. Love and resentment; pride and sorrow, warred in her each time she looked at her darling son. She feared the day might come when she might actually despise him for resembling his father so perfectly.
This thought added to her resolve to get away, if only for a while, until the heartbreak eased to a tolerable level. Perhaps once she had sunk a few British ships and sent a few hundred Englishmen to their own watery graves, the score would be even. Maybe then she could learn to live with her memories and not awaken with Reed’s name on her lips. Maybe then she could face her small son and not flinch in agony, but see him for himself as well as a living extension of Reed. Perhaps there would actually come a day when she would not weep, or turn a dozen times a day to say something to him, only then to feel his absence tenfold.
Kathleen decided to return to Grande Terre, and made her plans accordingly. Contacting Dan, she had him conceal the Starbright in the hidden cove she had used years before. Once again she ordered Dan and Finley to assemble a loyal crew, and to disguise the Starbright beneath green paint and sails. She would join Jean as the piratess Emerald, not so much to hide her identity from the world, but from herself. These days, it was extremely painful to be Kathleen Taylor, Mrs. Reed Taylor, or the “young Widow Taylor.” Something inside herself cried out to reject this sorrowful person completely; to hide in her other identity. Emerald was bold, beautiful, outrageous in word, dress, and manner. There was nothing she dared not do, no place she dared not go. She was as free as the wind, and bold as brass. Her prowess with ship and rapier was known far and wide, and she had become a legend on the high seas. Kathleen needed to be this free, wild person once again. And she needed her revenge almost more than she needed air to breathe. To this end, she set about transforming herself. From Kate she obtained another batch of black hair dye, and from the depths of her old sea chest, she retrieved the green vest and cut-off trousers that had been Emerald’s scandalous attire.
None of her family or Reed’s, except for Kate, had ever known of her short reign as Emerald, though they had heard tales of the piratess and marveled at her escapades. She did not tell them now, nor of her plans to return to this identity. She did not mention Grande Terre, or Jean and Dominique to anyone but Isabel and Kate, though the others knew these friends of Reed’s by other names. Instead, she told them only that she was going away for a while on one of her ships, asking them to be patient with her. She would return in time. Last, she begged Mary to take good care of her children; to tell them daily that she loved them, and to talk to them often of Reed so they would not forget their father.
Only to Kate and Isabel did she confide the truth. Kate wearily accepted the inevitable, knowing Kathleen’s stubbornness well. Isabel promptly told Kathleen that she intended to go along. She, too, would become a pirate and wield her sword alongside Kathleen.
“I wonder if your eagerness stems from a desire for my company, or from a desire to see the devastating Dominique again,” Kathleen teased.
Isabel flushed furiously, but refused to rise to the bait. Instead, she packed a bag and prepared to leave with Kathleen.
On the day of their departure, Kathleen stood once more aboard the Emerald Enchantress, staring long and hard at her reflection in the mirror. Gone were the sunny red-gold tresses, and in their place hung a heavy curtain of long ebony hair, making her emerald eyes seem brighter. They would be even more so once she acquired a sun-kissed tan on her pale face. The skimpy vest, without a shirt beneath it, gave a tantalizing view of her cleavage, and the short trousers barely covered her buttocks. Comfortably worn black boots rose to her knees. Rapier, pistol, and knife completed her outfit.
Gone was the woeful image that had met her gaze constantly in her mirror at Chimera. Gone was Kathleen— here was Emerald. Welcome, Emerald—beware Britain!
Chapter 12
For months Jean had wondered how Kathleen was managing. He worried about her state of mind, and thought of her constantly. While he hoped to see her again, he never dreamed it would be so soon. Neither did he expect her to arrive as Emerald. When his look-out informed him that the famed green frigate, the Emerald Enchantress was entering the bay, he was astonished. Shortly thereafter, the raven-haired beauty greeted him.
“Hello again, Jean,” Emerald/Kathleen greeted him, coolly extending her hand.
Gallantly, he bowed, lightly touching his lips to her fingertips. “Welcome, Kathleen—or should I say Emerald? What brings you back to Grande Terre?”
“I have come to join your privateering operation, if you will have me. If not, I shall sail on my own behalf, as I did before,” she said boldly. They talked as they walked toward Jean’s house, Isabel and Dominque following behind, exchanging their own greetings and bits of news.
“May I ask what led you to this decision, cherie? I thought never again to see the Emerald Enchantress sail these waters.”
She met his gaze directly, fire in her eyes. “Revenge, Jean—purely and simply,
revenge. I intend to sink every English vessel I can. They are responsible for Reed’s death, and I am going to see that they pay dearly for the grief they have caused me and my children!”
Jean looked slightly baffled. He hoped Kathleen’s mind had not become unhinged by grief. “But, Kathleen, the Kat-Ann went down in the storm. The British had no control over that.”
Her eyes spat green flames. “They had everything to do with it! If they had not caused this war, there would have been no exchange of prisoners, and Reed would not have been in the area where the storm occurred.”
“I see. ” Jean nodded his understanding of her feminine logic. “What I do not understand is your appearance once more as Emerald. Why change the Starbright back to the Emerald Enchantress? As the Starbright, she was already legitimately registered as a privateer, which she is not as the Emerald Enchantress,” he pointed out.
“Could you not get me a letter of marque, as you do for your own vessels?” she countered.
“Easily, but you have evaded the true issue. Why are you hiding yourself behind Emerald’s identity once more?” He was determined to pin her down to an answer.
Her chin went up in defiance, and she answered honestly, “Because I cannot bear the pain of being Kathleen Taylor, Reed’s widow.” Her eyes closed briefly against her private anguish. “Do you know, Jean, that I can barely stand the sight of my own son because he looks so much like Reed? I had to get away—away from home, where everything reminds me of Reed—and away from myself and the miserable, drab person I have become.”
She squared her shoulders in a brave gesture that tore at Jean’s heart, and forced a smile. “It is easier to lose myself entirely in her identity. Besides, can you see the proper Widow Taylor prowling the seas and creating havoc with the British fleet? Oh, it would never do—never do at all!” She rolled her expressive eyes heavenward. “Only Emerald can boldly issue her challenges and wield her sword. Only she would dare to wreak her revenge in as bloodthirsty a manner as I intend to do. For I intend to give no quarter, Jean.” Her eyes were hard with hatred. “The sea will be a watery coffin for many an Englishman before my soul is satisfied. The British have taken much from me, and I intend to make them pay dearly.”
“As well they should,” he agreed. “I welcome you into the fold, cherie. Welcome to the notorious, if overrated, society of the Brethren of the Coast!” As if to officially mark her membership, he took her face between his palms and solemnly kissed her on both cheeks.
“Thank you, Jean.” Her voice was husky with gratitude. “Thank you for not judging me, as many would do.”
He smiled and said nothing, though privately he thought, “Never, my love, could I judge you harshly.”
Not everyone was as pleased as Jean and Dominique at having Kathleen and Isabel join their ranks. Though almost all had heard of Emerald, some preferred to think that the piratess’s prowess was greatly exaggerated. Then there were those men who simply resented having women claim to be as proficient as they in a traditionally male arena.
There was at least one man who disliked Kathleen’s presence for totally personal reasons—Pierre Lafitte. Years ago, he’d sworn vengeance on her for slicing open his sword arm and nearly causing him to lose it. Twice, he had attempted to force his attentions upon her. The second time, Jean and Dominique had prevented him from accomplishing his goal. In fact, they had not only helped Kathleen escape, but had threatened to break every bone in his scurvy body if he ever tried it again.
Now it seemed he would have to put up with her on a permanent basis. Pierre knew how protective Dominique was of her, considering her his adopted sister. Now Dominique had found a second wench to impress; the little Isabel, and Pierre knew Dominique would have his head if he dared harm either of them.
To make matters worse, Pierre had not failed to notice the looks Jean was giving Kathleen when she was not aware of it. Jean was acting like a lovesick pup. No one ever dared take what Jean claimed as his, and these days he had a very proprietary gleam in his eye when it came to Kathleen. As much as Pierre knew his brother cared for him, he also knew Jean would brook no interference here. Whenever Pierre’s hatred of Kathleen rose like bile in his throat, he reminded himself that no one crossed swords with Jean and emerged unscathed.
Kathleen's attitude underwent a major change as she projected herself into the bold, free personality that was Emerald. Her eyes flashed with new life, and her skin, quick to turn golden under the sun, took on a glow of vitality. That captivating smile was more in evidence these days, though often tinged with cynicism. Her tinkling laughter joined that of the others more often. Her very stance and walk emanated confidence and determination. Isabel also noted that Kathleen was no longer drinking as she had at Chimera.
Dominique, in a magnanimous gesture—and as an excuse to be in close contact with Isabel—volunteered to act as Kathleen’s first gunner. Guessing his amorous intentions, Kathleen accepted his offer. Dominique was one of the best gunners to be had, and Kathleen welcomed him to her crew.
Jean, having never had much contact with Kathleen as Emerald, was at first reluctant to let her go off on her vengeful jaunts alone. Never having seen her in action, he wanted to evaluate her abilities first-hand before he turned her loose without his aid. Therefore, he suggested that their first venture be a joint effort, the Pride sailing as consort to the Enchantress.
Kathleen had to chuckle to herself at Jean’s concern, but if he needed to be convinced, she would not argue the point. It was comforting to know that someone cared so about her safety. Then, too, two vessels against a British sloop-of-war were more assured of victory.
To further raise her spirits, Dominique presented Kathleen with a parrot. His dark eyes sparkling with merriment, he chuckled, “No pirate worth his salt should be without one!”
“Then where is yours, Dom?” she countered saucily.
“Why, I expected you to share old Peg-Leg here with me, of course.”
“Peg-Leg?” she echoed. “Where on earth did you acquire this colorful creature, may I ask?” Kathleen was entranced with the bird’s bright red, gold, and green plumage.
Dominique’s grin was pure deviltry. “I think I will let you guess. Believe me, Peg-Leg will give you plenty of clues in short order.”
“Why is he called Peg-Leg?” Isabel asked, eyeing the bird curiously.
Dominique shrugged. “Because he stands on one leg so much of the time, I suppose.”
“That would stand to reason,” Jean chuckled dryly. He thought he recognized the bird from a tavern in New Orleans much frequented by rowdy seamen. He was glad Dominique had come up with the idea, but he wished he had been the one to think of it. At any rate, the parrot was sure to be company for Kathleen in her most lonely hours, and he was sure she would appreciate the bird’s unusual repertoire of choice words and phrases.
That first night, with Peg-Leg aboard his perch in a corner of her room, Kathleen began to converse with him as she undressed for bed. “You are a pretty bird,” she told him.
“Dirty bird!” he squawked.
“Pretty bird,” she corrected.
“Dirty bird, ” Peg-Leg repeated.
With a shake of her head and a chuckle, Kathleen completed undressing, Nude, she reached for her nightgown. A lewd whistle split the air, and made her stop stock-still. Her mouth wide open, she whirled on the bird. “Did you do that?” she asked him accusingly.
She could have sworn it winked at her. As she turned once more to gather up her nightdress, the bird whistled suggestively once again.
“I’ll be switched!” Kathleen swore in amazement. Tugging her gown over her head, she climbed beneath her bedcovers, giggling gleefully. “You’re right, Peg-Leg. You are a dirty bird! Wait until I get my hands on that Dominique!”
January sped by as the Emerald Enchantress and the Pride traversed the seas, seeking their British prey. Once in a while they would strike a Spanish vessel, primarily for
Jean’s benefit. Jean nurse
d a lifelong hatred of the Spanish, and as he pointed out to Kathleen, it had turned into a very lucrative venture. While there was no profit in attacking British warships, there was much to be gained in carrying off Spanish booty. Kathleen didn’t mind, for it helped to pay her crew as well as Jean’s.
Their primary objective, however, was English vessels. They encountered their first target just days from Grande Terre. When the British sloop realized she was heading directly toward not one ship, but two, she turned tail and ran. Kathleen and Jean gladly gave chase. The Emerald Enchantress being the faster ship, Kathleen swung a wide arc around the enemy sloop, keeping well out of range of her guns, and cut her off from the fore. Meanwhile, Jean closed in from the rear. Thus they both avoided the sloop’s dangerous broadside shots, and neatly sandwiched her between them before she could maneuver quickly enough to do any damage.
Kathleen took great pleasure in noting the apprehensive looks as the British saw that both attacking ships flew, not the stars and stripes, but the Jolly Roger. The well-known skull and crossbones had long been a symbol of pirates, and sent fear racing along the stiffest spine.
Rapier at the ready, Kathleen boarded the sloop, Finley close behind. It was her policy, and one she advised her crew to follow, to fight in pairs. In that way, each man had a partner guarding his back. It was a strategy she’d adopted early, and it had served her well.
Bowing to Jean’s leadership, she let him deal with the British captain, choosing for herself the quartermaster. The tall, thin man towered over her as she faced him defiantly. Her first advantage was plain to see, as he stared at her obviously feminine form in the calculatedly revealing outfit. After the first shock came the leering, lustful look she had learned to expect.
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