Ahead of them, they could hear the faint sound of raucous music from the grogshops, barrel houses, and brothels along lower Bay Street. It sometimes seemed they never closed; even when the runners were gone, there was always the custom of the stevedores and clerks, the speculators and hangers-on. Now, of course, the runners were coming in again, and their crews would be paid off shortly.
She glanced at the carriage drawn in on the side of the street near the government buildings as she passed it, thinking some official must be working late, but paid no more heed to it than to a thousand others. At the sound of the door opening on the vehicle, she looked back, more to see that Largo did not get in the way with his cumbersome trunk than for any other reason. By the time she saw Nate Bacon jump down, landing heavily on his feet with another man behind him, it was too late.
She whirled, picking up her skirts, but they were upon her. Hard hands caught her arms, wrenching them in their sockets as they twisted them behind her. A gloved fist holding a cloth drenched in some sickening liquid was held over her nose and mouth. She twisted away as she felt herself lifted, crying out, "Largo-the captain!"
But even as she called, she heard the thud as he dropped her trunk, and the patter of his running feet. A man cursed. A groping paw found her breast, squeezed. As she drew in her breath with the excruciating pain, the cloth covered her face once more. She swung dizzily, and at the apex of the arc, fell face downward into soft and suffocating blackness.
She awoke by degrees. She heard the quiet rush of water against the hull of a fast-moving boat, the splashing of paddle wheels and the thump of the beam. She could feel the rise and fall of a ship at sea, a soothing, familiar rhythm. Her nose was assailed by the smell of sweat, however, and of bed linens long unchanged. She was lying face down on the hard surface of a bunk, with the edge cutting into her shins where her feet dangled over the side. She opened her eyes to darkness, then realized from the slick feel of the lining and the unmistakable odor, that there was a man's jacket thrown over her head.
Remembrance returned in a sickening wave. The urge to fling off the jacket and jump to her feet was nearly overpowering, but the sound of a scuffing footstep held her immobile.
As she lay straining to hear, she discovered something else. When she was placed on the bunk, no attempt had been made to arrange her skirts. Her hoop had been tilted upward, so that it collapsed upon her. Now she lay with her gown and petticoats around her waist, the steel of her hoop on a level with her head, and her lower body, clad only in pantaloons, exposed.
The footsteps moved nearer. She heard the whisper of clothing. A hand descended on her thigh, sliding to grasp the roundness of her hip, kneading the flesh with hard, digging fingers.
Lorna sprang up, slinging the jacket from her head, retaining her grasp as she brought it around, so that the sleeve struck Nate Bacon across the face. As she heard his grunt of surprise, she thrust herself to her feet and righted her hoop. Her senses whirled, and darkness rushed in upon her once more. She had to clutch at the foot support of the bunk to steady herself.
"I rather thought," Nate said in rich satisfaction, "that a hand on your backside would bring you around."
"You…you are as vile as your son. What have you done to me?"
"Nothing of interest-yet. Merely dosed you with chloroform. Britain's Victoria proved its usefulness in childbed, but the bawdy-house operators of England swear by it to persuade reluctant young women to part with their virtue. I am only following in their footsteps."
"You haven't-?"
"-Ravished you? The idea occurred to me, and I will admit to indulging in certain liberties while you were unconscious, but I prefer that you be awake and fully aware when I finally take you. It is a pleasure you have so long denied me that I intend to make it as painful and humiliating an experience for you as possible."
Her breasts were sore and the lace that edged the neckline of her gown hung in a strip from one shoulder. Where else he might have touched her, she could not tell, but the thought of it made her feel unclean. She turned her head slowly to send him a scathing look. "I would expect no less from you."
"My dear Lorna, you have no idea of what to expect from me, but you will learn. You will learn."
The menace of his tone, the hot look in his eyes as they moved over her, sent an alarm ringing through her brain. She straightened, turning to put her back to the bunk support, collecting her wits with an effort. Weakness threatened to overcome her, but she pushed it from her. She searched for something to say, anything that would deflect him from his purpose. "This ship we are on, I assume it's yours?"
"You assume correctly."
"Is her destination Charleston or Wilmington?"
"Neither."
"Mobile, then."
"No. Nor Galveston."
She sent him a cool stare. "Then, we are simply cruising for your enjoyment. An expensive means of abduction, and a dangerous one with these waters swarming with federal frigates, but I suppose it suits your whim."
"Wrong again, my dear girl," he said, his smile expansive.
"Oh?" She lifted a brow. "Do you mean to tell me, or shall I guess again?"
"We are bound for New York."
She froze, her expression incredulous. "New York!"
"Where else should a good, loyal Union man be?"
"A loyal Union man, you? One of the biggest slave owners in the state of Louisiana? It's ludicrous."
"But, I'm not a slave owner, you know, not now. I had it from most reliable sources that Lincoln is considering a proclamation freeing the slaves. It will be completely illegal, of course, the equivalent of Davis's declaring that all owners of northern railroad stock must burn their certificates. The purpose, despite the humanitarian ballyhoo, will be to create internal discord and encourage insurrections that will require the Southern armies to turn their attention to the home front. The outcome will be chaos, with men of property finding their land worthless overnight, since there will be no one to work it. Can you blame me for selling my people quickly, before I was caught in that disaster?"
"Since it is you, no."
"Take care, Lorna," he said, his tone hardening. "You will pay for every insult you utter, this I promise."
She gave him a look of cool distaste that made his jaws tighten. "You will feel ridiculous, there in New York, when the South wins."
He turned his head, and, finding a small table behind him, leaned against it with his arms crossed over his chest. He wagged his head from side to side in mock sorrow. "They won't win, you know. They will fight gallantly and die in droves, but in the end they will be defeated. And then I will come back and make the Mississippi River my garden stream, and Louisiana my outhouse."
"Even you aren't that rich," she jibed, her smile making a mockery of his pretensions.
"I will be, when I'm through."
"How? By running the blockade? This ship of yours is so old and slow compared to the Lorelei that it waddles; it will never get past the federals to make New York, much less stay the distance for a run."
"I could prove you wrong, but I will forego that pleasure. Once I reach the North, I may send her back to be sold, concentrating on other ways to increase my store of gold. I could sell spoiled pork to the Confederates, for instance; there's already been a fortune or two made in Yankee dollars doing that."
It was common knowledge in Nassau that much of the salt pork that was loaded for the South had come to the islands from the Midwest via Boston harbor. Some even had the stamp of the federal military inspectors still on it. "That," she said lightly, "is an occupation that should suit you admirably, your being so similar in nature to the commodity."
It was a moment before her meaning penetrated, then he came erect and reached out to slap her, a hard blow that brought the taste of blood to her mouth as her head snapped around from its force. She clenched her teeth on the pain, wishing passionately for the derringer left behind in Ramon's cabin, put away in his trunk when she had returned Chris'
s clothing to him. Failing that, she would have liked to flail at him with teeth and nails, except that she would give him no excuse to touch her.
She turned her head slowly, facing him once more. Her voice was soft when she spoke. "The last time you did that, if you will remember, I stuck a needle in you."
"It's you who will have something stuck in you, and it won't be a needle," he said crudely.
"Since you have been so kind as to warn me, I will do the same. I will retaliate. Believe me."
He laughed, a full-bellied sound. "When I get through with you, you will have more to worry about than some sneaking woman's revenge. I suggest you begin now, by turning your mind to what I plan on doing with you when this voyage is over."
It did not bear thinking of, and she did not intend to try. "I suspect, if I am patient, you will tell me."
He shook his head, his expression obscenely benign. "No. You will decide what will be the outcome. If you are…accommodating, if you show a proper eagerness to please in the next week, then I may install you as my mistress and you will discover how generous I can be. If not, then you will still perform according to my desires until I tire of the sport. Afterward, it will be entirely fitting, I think, if I turn you over to the military authorities. You are still wanted as a Confederate courier."
"How can you know that…unless-?"
"Quite right, my dear. It was I who overheard your charming conversation with Sara Morgan. It was I who informed against you."
"But, why?"
"I told you once, I think. You deserved to be punished for what you had done to Franklin, and it pleased me to think of you in a northern jail. At the same time, my passing of the information served to pave my way for a return to the Union. It was a neat arrangement, but a painful decision, since I much preferred to inflict the punishment myself. Your escape was a relief, since you had served my purpose and were still available for my ends."
His words raised echoes in her mind. Franklin, that night so many months ago, had babbled of punishment, and in his eyes had burned the same avid anticipation. What twisted thing in the minds of both men caused them to find pleasure in the prospect? Was it born in them, or had it been taught in brutal lessons?
"Your son tried to impose his will on me, and he is dead. Doesn't that trouble you?" The implied threat was weak, but all she had as a defense. The amazing thing was that, for the first time, she could speak of it without the immediate stab of guilt.
"You mean aren't I afraid you will serve me the same? Hardly. Franklin was no match for you in anything save strength. I am."
It might well be true. He was between her and the door, watching her, parrying her attempts to disturb his equilibrium. Even when he had struck her, he had made no move to encroach further. It was as if he toyed with her, confident of his ability to control her, in no hurry to end her mental torment by physical action. In the meantime, her resistance excited him. The more frantic she became, the more farfetched the defense she drew on, the greater his pleasure would be in subjugating her.
She sent a swift glance around the cabin. It was very like the one on the Lorelei, except that it was more cramped, with a single spindly chair at the small table that sat in the corner behind Nate, opposite the bunk. It was also less well kept. Dust and salt grime coated every surface, and the wood table was stained with the grease of former meals.
In an attempt to undermine his confidence, she gave him a scornful glance. "You failed once to take Ramon into account," she said, her smile scathing. "It's a pity you are making the same mistake again."
"Cazenave's ship was just in, low on coal. Even if he could get immediate access to reloading, the delay before he misses you will give me a head start he can't hope to overcome."
"Low his ship might be, but I have little doubt he will gamble on catching you before the store runs out."
"In an ocean thick with federal ships? It would be suicide."
"I doubt he will stop to count the risk. As for when he will learn I have been taken, he will hear it soon enough from Largo."
His loose mouth curled in mocking amusement. "The boy who ran away?"
"It may be he ran to find help."
"A wharf rat like him? He ran to save his skin."
She affected a shrug. "Believe it, if it makes you feel better."
"You think I'm afraid of Cazenave?" he demanded.
"I think it would be wise. I think, were I you, I would be on deck watching my wake to see if his ship was steaming after me."
He gave a short laugh. "Such a dreamer. Well, let me open your eyes."
Catching her wrist with hard, stubby fingers, he dragged her from the cabin and out onto the upper deck. Ignoring the side long glances of his officers and crew, he pulled her toward the stern. Lorna saw the quick grins the men exchanged, heard the ribald quips and laughter, and knew instantly what they thought of her. To change their minds, to enlist their aid, would require more time than Nate Bacon would allow her.
At the aft railing, he hauled her up beside him, but directed her attention to a gray bulk there, instead of to the water. "Take a look at this," he said. "Damned if I wouldn't just as soon Cazenave did come chasing after you like a hound after a bitch. This beauty would give him a warm welcome in your place."
He reached out to thump the shining metal barrel of a gun. Lorna had never seen one, but she recognized it from descriptions she had heard. It was a long-ranged, rifled Parrott gun. Most commonly used as a bow-chaser by federal ships in pursuit, it was deadly in its accuracy and more dreaded by the blockade runners than a broadside of cannon.
"Why," she said, raising her gaze to his gloating face, "this makes you a pirate."
"By the lights of some. I looked on it as insurance, when I planned on running the ship." He lifted a massive shoulder. "I've never been one to let a little thing like legalities stand in the way when there was something I wanted. In this case, gold."
"But, your men will be tarred with the same brush, will have had to pay the supreme penalty, if you are all caught."
"They didn't have to sign on. And, of course, I myself have no intention of sailing in the ship on her runs. I'm not so big a fool."
Compared to this man, Ramon was the soul of honor. She had been wrong to judge Ramon so harshly. At least he had wanted money for a purpose, to regain his heritage, to right a wrong, not just for the power of wealth. "You may have trouble getting rid of it when you sell your ship."
"I doubt that. The North is not so flush with arms that they will turn down such an effective weapon. I shouldn't wonder if I make a profit on it."
"You would sell it to be used against other blockade runners? What a revolting man you are!"
"And what a sharp-tongued bitch you are. For that I think I will have you get down on your knees and…" and he continued, in detail, with the punishment he thought suitable for her error. Sick to her soul, she looked away, toward the spreading wake of the ship and the broad expanse of the ocean beyond. He ceased speaking, jerking her around and waving toward where the faint, low-lying mass that was the islands already fell away behind them. "Do I make you ill? Do you long for rescue? Go ahead and look. Look good. Do you see any sign of a ship? Do you see any sign of your lover steaming to save you?"
Her eyes were, perhaps, more used to scanning the wide stretches of water than his, more used to spotting the federal frigates as cries of "Sail ho!" rang from the crow's nest. On board the Lorelei, the sighting of a ship was worth fifty dollars to the first man to shout a warning, and it had been a game to while away the long hours, as she tried to see if she could better the men on watch. Now, her gaze roved the horizon, straining against the orange glow of the setting sun. Suddenly, her vision narrowed. Her hands tightened on the railing.
"Yes," she whispered, then said louder, "Yes!"
Nate seemed to swell. He flung her from him, so that she snatched for the railing to keep from falling. He slewed around. His jaws clamped and belligerent, he grabbed for the rail also and
spread his legs to keep his balance while he mounted foul oaths. He ground out a final word. "Where?"
She pointed in silent triumph, then stood watching as the sails she had sighted, with the stack pouring smoke between them, came onward, resolving with amazing speed into masts set into the hull of a ship with side-wheels churning in fast pursuit. Largo, she thought in near incoherence, deserved a reward and would have it if she ever returned to Nassau.
Nate swung, shouting to his hired captain for more speed, cursing him for dawdling, before wrenching back around to glare at the chasing ship.
Then as she watched, Lorna felt uneasiness grip her. Minute by minute, she grew more uncertain. Dismay washed over her, and her shoulders sagged. The ship wasn't the Lorelei.
She remained resolutely standing, watching the ship rise and fall in the waves. That it was a blockade runner in its paint of gray was plain from the way it kept appearing and disappearing in the shifting light of sunset, but it was not Ramon's ship. She grew afraid that Nate would notice, fearful of what must come when he did. She stared at the fast-closing ship until her eyes burned, her mind blank with disappointment and dread. Then, abruptly, her sight cleared. She knew the ship. It was stupid of her not to have recognized it at once. It was the Bonny Girl.
Had Ramon commandeered Peter's ship? Or had the Englishman, perhaps, been present when Largo reached Ramon? Another possibility that occurred to her she banished at once. She refused to think that it might only be a coincidence that had set Peter on a trail behind her, that he might only be starting out on another run. Surely, he would have waited for dark before leaving the protection of the island chain? And yet, darkness was so near.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of orange-pink. She turned her head to stare at it. Then, as the Avenger's stern rose higher on the back of a wave, she saw it more plainly: another sail with the light of the setting sun on the canvas. Nate had not seen it as he turned to berate the ship's crew again. It resolved itself into a ship, pale gray, fast, though not closing in as quickly as the Bonny Girl had done due to the increasing speed of the Avenger.
Surrender in Moonlight Page 41