Ashes and Ecstasy

by Catherine Hart

  As she brought up her rapier in challenge, she called clearly, “En garde!”

  A wide, stupid grin crossed the quartermaster’s face. “I’ll be! A Frenchie!”

  “Wrong, button-brain,” she replied caustically. “Now present your weapon, or die like a dog. I care not which.”

  The man’s smile immediately melted into a scowl. “You asked for it,” he growled, bringing up his own blade.

  The man’s expertise with his weapon was practically nonexistent. Within seconds, she had disarmed him, wounding him severely on the thigh.

  Her next opponent was little better. It was not until she faced her third Englishman that she was offered any challenge. As she met his first lunge and parried it, a thrill ran through her. Here, at least, was a man who knew one end of a sword from the other. He thrust again, and she skillfully counterparried. A series of graceful sidesteps kept Kathleen safely out of harm’s way as she parried his swings and watched for his weaknesses. A quick feint, and she had him lowering his guard. Her blade found his heart with unerring accuracy. It was a clean kill for a worthy opponent.

  When the fighting was over, Jean had efficiently taken the captain out of action, and many others lay dead or wounded. The remaining men surrendered fearfully. Even Isabel, in her first actual battle, had held her own, Dominique guarding her fiercely.

  With grim satisfaction, Kathleen watched the bodies tossed overboard. Not for one moment did she allow regrets. Instead, she thought of Reed, and felt more than justified. This was the price men paid when they chose to go to war. One did not kiss one’s enemy on the check and wish him well.

  It had been decided that any undamaged vessels they captured would be divided evenly between her and Jean. This first prize would be Jean’s, sent to the Grande Terre. The next would be Kathleen’s. She had already decided that half of her share of captured ships would be added to her private fleet and sent on to Savannah. The other half she would offer to the government in Reed’s memory to help build up the United States Navy.

  “Kathleen, I watched you meet your last opponent,” Jean stated. “You were excellent! You never took your eyes from his for a moment.”

  Kathleen calmly nodded. “Thank you, Jean, but your praise is too high when the competition was so poor.”

  “It was enough for me to see that Dominique and Reed did not exaggerate your skills. No wonder you disarmed Pierre so easily that day long ago.”

  “Not so long ago that Pierre has forgotten his hatred of me, Jean,” she pointed out.

  “No, but he will do nothing about it now, cherie. True, he is without many morals, but Pierre is not stupid.”

  “I am not worried. I can defend myself.”

  “Where do we go from here?” Jean asked, including her in the decision. “Why don’t you show me where you hid the Emerald Enchantress when you were stalking Reed so diligently?”

  Kathleen laughed up at him. “Jean, a lady never tells all her secrets,” she teased.

  An answering light made his hazel eyes glow with an emotion more than mere pride. For a moment, they stood before one another as a man and a woman, and Kathleen felt the pull of his charm. For the first time in months, she felt like a woman, if just for a few seconds, and it confused her. She saw the desire flare in Jean’s eyes, and her reaction was totally feminine. Wordlessly, he was telling her she was beautiful and desirable.

  For a moment she stood mesmerized by his heated gaze. Then she turned from him in confusion and shame. There had been a time after she had first met Jean, when Kathleen had recognized the immediate attraction between them. She had admitted then that if she had not been so madly in love with Reed, she might have been drawn to Jean’s dynamic masculinity.

  Now Reed was dead, but it was much too soon for her to be able to acknowledge any feelings for Jean. Loneliness was creating this ache within her, and her traitorous body wanted to be held close in strong arms. Kathleen told herself to ignore the physical desires welling up within herself for the first time in many months. Guilt that she was feeling these things rose up in her and stained her cheeks a bright pink. Though Reed no longer stood between her and Jean, his memory was sweet, and his loss far too bitter as yet. Reed did not stand between them, but his ghost did.

  Jean saw the confusion on her face as she turned from him, and cursed himself for allowing his desire to be so obvious. He knew it was too soon, and he hoped he hadn’t frightened her. He did not want to set her running from him just when he was hoping to lure her nearer little by little. Hope rose as he recalled that tiny spark of answering desire she had involuntarily shown. With patience, she might yet be his.

  He reached out to brush an inky curl from her hot cheeks. “Cherie, you have not answered my question. Will you show me your secret hideaway?”

  Gathering her wits and her nerve, she faced him once more. “Of course, Jean,” she answered steadily. “There is no great cause for secrecy now; no reason you should not know of it.”

  They sailed to the southern tip of Florida, to the area called the Florida Cayes—or Keys, as the Americans were prone to say. Here, amid moss-draped islands, Kathleen showed Jean her favorite hiding place, a small bower in which a ship could remain completely unnoticed while able to secretly observe a goodly area round about. It was superbly located to view one of the primary passes into the Gulf, a route heavily traveled by ships voyaging to and from Louisiana and Mexico.

  Jean was duly impressed. “You chose very well, petite. No wonder you always seemed to catch Reed unaware. You had only to wait and let him come to you.”

  “As we have only to wait, like spiders in a web, to catch the unsuspecting British,” she stated grimly.

  This they did, capturing three English vessels in as many days. Two of the British ships were badly damaged in the fray, and were sunk. The third Kathleen sent to Grande Terre, later to be sailed to Savannah.

  While awaiting their prey, there was much time for leisure. The friends passed the time with amiable talk and challenging card games. This suited Jean well, as it threw Kathleen more intimately into his company. Dominique was of a similar opinion, getting to know Isabel better each day.

  As time went by, Kathleen was becoming quite attached to the outrageous parrot. The bawdy bird followed her everywhere, spouting epithets and choice phrases. It soon became apparent that Peg-Leg had a taste for rum. He was also hopelessly addicted to fresh scones when he could get them. When forced to eat dry biscuits instead, he complained loudly. He could say his name, and after hearing Dan address Kathleen often enough, Peg-Leg soon began calling her “Cap’n Kat.” An incorrigible flirt, he was constantly winking and whistling and squawking, “Kiss me, sweet!” His extensive vocabulary included many salty phrases learned from the sailors who had frequented the tavern. “Blow me down!” and “Shiver me timbers!” were two of his favorite sayings. He was a colorful bird in more ways than one, and provided Kathleen with many a laugh. Peg-Leg had several modes of transportation, none of which included much exertion of flying. Often he could be seen traversing the deck atop Dom’s arm or Finley’s hat, when he was not perched on Kathleen’s shoulder. Even Dan sometimes grudgingly allowed the bird to ride on his head. Peg-Leg’s prime target was often the ship’s cat—it was riotous to see the poor, befrazzled cat streak by, Peg-Leg clinging victoriously to its back, squawking and pecking with glee.

  At first Isabel wanted nothing to do with Kathleen’s ludicrous pet, but Peg-Leg gradually won her over. “He’s a crazy bird, but he is entertaining,” she admitted. “However, I am glad he is yours and not mine. Invariably he says something embarrassing at just the wrong time!”

  Kathleen finally convinced Jean into letting her sail the Emerald Enchantress from their hidden bower for brief scouting forays. When she encountered a British vessel, she would make sure the Enchantress was seen, then turn tail and run, the English in hot pursuit. She led them straight back to Jean, where she, Jean and their crews would jointly pounce. After half a dozen ships were taken in
this area, the privateers wisely decided to move on. Even the British, as dense as they could be at times, were sure to send a convoy sooner or later to investigate the disappearance of several of their fleet. As experienced as the crews of the Pride and the Enchantress were, they were not so foolhardy as to face a number of British vessels at once.

  They wandered up the western Florida coast toward Mobile and New Orleans, where they harassed the British blockade along the southern coastline. When they sighted a ship by itself, either the Pride or the Enchantress would try to lure the enemy further out to sea and attack in force. This worked well, netting them three ships—until they lured a lone British sloop into the open, only to be discovered by a second British warship as they were attacking the first. Suddenly the British outnumbered them by half again their crew.

  Jean, his eyes bright with the light of battle, turned to Kathleen. “Well, ma petite piratess, shall we make a run for it or stand and fight?”

  “I’ll never run from an English dog if I stand the slightest chance of beating him! We shall fight, mon capitaine!”

  And fight they did. This time Jean stood at her back, and they cut a wide swath through the enemy swarm. The thrill of combat sang in her veins as her rapier flashed in the sunlight, scoring strike after strike. Her eyes sparkled like polished gemstones, and her throaty laughter rang out in chorus with the clash of steel meeting steel.

  Triumph lent impetus to her blade even when her arm grew weary under the weight of her sword.

  Kathleen was at her finest that day. Her nimble feet and agile moves were both graceful and deadly, and the sword in her hand seemed directly propelled by her brain, reacting instantly to its commands without the slightest hesitation. She could see the surprise on her opponents’ faces when they first found themselves squared off against a woman, and sensed their initial reluctance to fight a female; but her flashing blade soon convinced them that they were fighting for their lives. This delicate-appearing creature fought like a man, and had no qualms about sending her blade into their flesh. A few of the men she faced threw out coarse comments, but she remained unruffled by their obvious baiting. Her shrewd eyes assessed them contemptuously, and her laughter rang clear as she threw herself into the business of defeating them. Kathleen was enjoying herself thoroughly. A few of her opponents were worthy of her skills, issuing just the challenge she needed to keep her senses sharp. She and Jean were a striking pair to behold. Their finesse was marvelous, and their success was an inspiration to their fellow crewmen.

  Isabel, always under Dominique’s watchful eye, was gaining confidence in her own abilities and displaying excellent swordsmanship. Her courage and daring made up for any skills she had yet to master, and her mind flew as fast as her feet and her sword. Her spirits were undaunted as she fought with fierce determination. Dominique’s pride in her knew no bounds as he fought beside this vivacious pixie who had stolen his heart.

  By the end of the battle, both English ships were theirs‚ though one was too badly damaged to salvage. Only three of their own men were wounded, none seriously. A victory celebration was definitely in order.

  Chapter 13

  After this triumphant bout, they headed back to Grande Terre, where they left their ships and boarded pirogues for a trip to New Orleans.

  The two women decided that the journey called for wearing dresses. Certainly they could not traverse the streets of New Orleans in their sailing togs. For the first time in months, Kathleen regretted having to wear mourning garb, but she had brought with her only two black dresses. Telling herself that her widow’s weeds did not fit Emerald’s flamboyant image, Kathleen promised herself a new gown or two from the elite establishments of this famed city.

  The one blot on their adventure was that Pierre had decided to go along, supposedly to see his children and wife. While Pierre did visit with his family, too often he chose to accompany the others—mainly to annoy Kathleen, she was sure. In front of his brothers, he was unfailingly polite, but at opportune moments he would make barbed comments to Kathleen, and she could feel his hatred simmering under the smooth surface of his deceptive smile. At such times, Kathleen drew comfort from the feel of the dagger strapped securely to her thigh beneath her skirts.

  It seemed Jean knew nearly everyone in New Orleans, and everyone knew him. Most of the French and Creole population adored him, as well as some of the American inhabitants, though a few, including Governor Claiborne, distrusted and publicly maligned him. As they toured the city, Kathleen saw first-hand evidence of the governor’s enmity. On nearly every city block was displayed a “wanted” poster. Governor Claiborne had posted a reward of five hundred dollars for the capture and arrest of Jean Lafitte.

  Immediately alarmed, Kathleen turned to him. “Jean, we must go back to Grande Terre!” She reached out to lay her hand upon his sleeve. “I would never have come if I had known you were endangering yourself. You could be arrested at any second!”

  Had he been in actual danger, Jean could not have cared at that moment. It would have been a small price to pay to see Kathleen’s concern for him, and to feel her delicate fingers curled about his arm. His own hand moved to cover Kathleen’s; hers seemed to burn like a brand through his shirt and set his blood racing.

  “I thank you for your concern, cherie, but do not upset yourself. Those notices mean nothing, I assure you. It was a ploy that failed, for I roam the city freely and no one bothers to turn me in. As you see, the citizenry of New Orleans love me. I bring the goods they want so badly through the British blockade, and they would hate to do without their luxuries.” Jean waved to a merchant as their carriage rolled slowly past a store.

  Dominique laughed. “Yes, and see there!” He pointed to a notice on a nearby fence. “Jean has his own ways of dealing with the illustrious governor.”

  Upon reading the sign, Kathleen burst out laughing. Jean had posted bills of his own, offering a reward of fifteen hundred dollars for the capture and delivery of Governor Claiborne to him at Grande Terre. “I do not believe this!” she gasped in amazed delight. “Jean, you have a wicked sense of humor!”

  “It is a game we play, the governor and I,” Jean explained with a grin. “So far I am ahead, and Claiborne is pulling his hair out.”

  Jean took them shopping, refusing to let either Kathleen or Isabel pay for any dresses and accessories they bought. “Jean,” Kathleen complained prettily, “you are making me feel like a kept woman!”

  Though he knew she was teasing, a note of seriousness tinged his answering comment. “Would that be so terrible, cherie?”

  Their eyes locked in a private moment of communication, until Kathleen tore her gaze from his and turned away, blushing uncomfortably.

  Being set loose among the shops of New Orleans was like the best of Christmas wishes. Beautiful lacy gowns adorned the windows; lovely, delicate parasols in the sheerest of fabrics were irresistible; satin slippers and reticules in every shade imaginable beckoned.

  “This is heavenly,” Isabel sighed rapturously, sniffing at yet another scent in the exclusive perfume shop they had discovered. “I can’t recall when I last had so much fun!” Isabel, over the past year, had shed so much of her reserve that the vivacious raven-haired young woman now resembled the girl Kathleen had first known. But there was a maturity about her that only added to her charm. Isabel’s dark eyes sometimes reflected hard-earned self–respect and painful secrets, even while they flashed with renewed life and laughter. Isabel’s recovery was nearly complete; however, Kathleen’s had barely begun.

  It was unthinkable to be in New Orleans and not visit her dear friend Eleonore. Eleonore was delighted to see her, inviting both Kathleen and Isabel to stay with her while they were in town. Kathleen was torn between her desire to be with Eleonore and an unwarranted feeling of disloyalty to her friend because of Jean’s obvious admiration for herself. Not for the world would she cause pain to Eleonore, wittingly or otherwise.

  Seated over tea in Eleonore’s parlor, the three
women conversed. “I am so sorry for your loss, Kathleen,” Eleonore sympathized. “You loved one another so much! I can only guess at the pain you feel.”

  Kathleen shook her head in sudden despair, her eyes filling with tears. “Eleonore, I can not imagine anything hurting more. For a long time I refused to believe it was true. I was so sure Reed was still alive—I spent months searching for him, and not until we discovered the wreckage of the Kat-Ann did I accept the reality of his death.”

  Eleonore nodded in understanding. “Jean told me; and now you are back at sea, once again the famed Emerald. Why?” Eleonore was one of the few who had known about Kathleen’s adventures as Emerald years before. Though Eleonore had been Jean’s lover at the time, she had applauded Kathleen’s escapades, and aided her in numerous ways.

  “Revenge,” Kathleen answered shortly. “What else? Revenge against the British for causing this war in the first place; this war that took Reed from me forever!”

  Eleonore sighed sadly. “I, too, am awaiting the end of the war, so that I might sail once again for France. For months a great homesickness has assailed me. I would give anything to be home again on French soil.”

  “It is my turn to ask why, Eleonore? New Orleans could nearly be a city in France—so much of its culture is here. The architecture, the language and customs, the people, all reflect their French heritage.”

  “True,” Eleonore agreed, “but it is not the same. In ways, it only makes me more homesick, reminding me of what I miss.”

  Kathleen hesitated, then asked, “How much of this homesickness has to do with Jean? Did he break your heart badly?”

  Eleonore laughed softly. “Ah, Kathleen! How can I explain to you, who were so desperately in love with Reed, how different it was between Jean and me? Yes, I loved Jean, and he loved me in his way, but it was never as it was with you and Reed. From the start, we knew our affair was a temporary thing. We shared our lives and our passions with none of the usual jealousies of lovers. It was a time when each of us needed the comfort and companionship the other offered. We were friends as well as lovers. Now the spark of passion has faded, but the friendship lives on. It was an exciting interlude, and since it has ended, neither of us has regrets. We enjoyed what we shared; we shall treasure the memories; and we meet and part as dear friends, now and always.”