by ML Guida
She snorted. “No, he’s a brute.”
He turned. “You’ve a strong will Hannah and need a man who you can respect.”
“You’ve got to earn respect father. He’s only earned my contempt.”
Her father sat in his chair again. He mopped his red face with a handkerchief. “I’m still hot. Must be the brandy.” He stopped mopping his face and sighed. “Hannah, I know I don’t show it, but I do care for you, girl. I want what’s best for you.”
She clenched her fists in her lap. “Marrying Jacques is what’s best for me?”
“Well, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I was trying to provide a better life for you. I should have known. Your uncle warned me, but my head was spinning and I couldn’t focus very well.” He gave her a small smile. “I’d drunk too much rum, my dear.” He frowned. “Nasty stuff. The devil’s brew. But I think Jacques knew this. ’Tis why I no longer drink rum.” He downed his brandy. “The man’s a clever bastard.”
Her father mopped his red face again and stared at the carpet, avoiding her scrutiny. She lowered her voice, “What did you do?”
“Because of a gambling debt,” he mumbled. “I’m forced to deal with Jacques.”
“And?”
“Not just you. My sugar plantation, the Emerald Sea. You’re a casualty.”
“I’m a what? A casualty?”
“If you’d married one of those other gentlemen, I would not be forced to have you marry Jacques.”
“I don’t understand.”
“My gambling’s gotten worse, Hannah. I’ve tried to stop. ’Tis part of the reason, why I came here, to escape my debtors. I’m sorry. If you marry Jacques, I still retain some of the profits. If you don’t, he gets the plantation and I go to a debtor’s prison.”
The blood drained from her face. She took quiet breaths. Her nails dug into the couch cushion. She tried to piece together what her father had done. He was her only living parent and he loved her in his own way. She didn’t want to lose his love, but this was too much to ask. “So, you’re sacrificing me to a monster so you can keep your plantation.”
He frowned. “Jacques isn’t a monster.” He gulped more of his brandy, spilling some down his jowls. “He’s a very desirable man and considered the catch of Saint Kitts.”
She snorted. “Why would any sane woman want to be married to Jacques? He was a slave trader.”
He refilled his glass with more bandy and swirled his glass. “You don’t have a choice daughter.”
She tilted her chin. “I won’t marry him, father.”
“Yes, you will.” His eyes glossy and his cheeks ruby, he drained his glass and slammed it on the end table. “You need a husband. Both your sisters are married. They didn’t give me any trouble with their marriages.”
“They loved their husbands. My brother in-laws don’t torture slaves nor do they threaten or beat my sisters.” The power slowly pumped her and her hands trembled, tingling. This time, she didn’t care. She wanted to hurt her father like he hurt her. Fathers were supposed to protect their daughters, not sell them into slavery.
“His plantation, the Sorcière de Mer, is very profitable.” He refilled his glass again. He ran a shaking hand through his hair. “You’ll want for nothing.” He took a sip from the glass.
All he cared about was his plantation, his damn brandy and the money. “You think I care about that?” She lost control and flicked her wrist. The glass flew out of her father’s hand, spilling gold liquid onto his shirt and smashed into the wall. Gold liquid splattered onto the wall. Shards of crystal crashed onto the floor.
“You unruly hellion!”
Hannah flinched. She jumped from the chair and darted toward the door, but she wasn’t fast enough. Her father grabbed her wrist and slapped her face. She cried out. Pain exploded across her cheek.
He raised his hand, clenching his fist. “How dare you!”
She focused on his fist, waiting for more pain. Why did she push the limits again? Her voice choked. “Please father.”
He lowered his hand and grabbed her shoulders and shook her, rattling her teeth. “You won’t use your power down here. Do you hear me?”
“Father, I—”
“Do you want to be burned as a witch?”
She blinked. “What?”
He tilted his head and his hands slowly released her. “These people are a suspicious lot and would not accept this behavior.”
Like him. He’d never accepted her behavior. He’d condemned her from the beginning. Besides her grandmother, only Kane had accepted her. He didn’t recoil from her. Or did he? Is this why he left her here? A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away. “How can you leave me here, Father? Do you hate me this much?”
“Don’t be a fool.” He walked to the door and put his hand on the doorknob. “I’ve no choice in the matter.”
She blurted, “I want to see it.”
He frowned. “See what?”
“I want to see the Emerald Plantation.”
“Why?”
She lifted her chin and clenched her fists. “I want to see what I’m worth.”
He cocked his eyebrow and opened his mouth, but shut it. Turning his back on her, he opened the door. “I’ll take you tomorrow.” He left her alone in the cold room, left her to think about her bleak future married to a cruel man whom she could never love.
In the early morning hours, Hannah sat next to her father in the carriage, clutching her fingers tightly in her lap and peering out the window. They hadn’t spoken a word to each other since last night. What was there to say? He’d betrayed her. She’d her trusty dagger strapped to her thigh as always, her hand caressed it. She needed to rely on herself. Kane believed in her. Now she needed to believe in herself.
The carriage passed a peeling brown-painted church with a cracked steeple bell. An old bent preacher bent with age swept dirt off the lopsided steps. Drunken patrons wobbled from a brothel across the street to gaming houses, shouting obscenities. The carriage slowed through the crowded street at the Lighthouse Tavern. She wanted to jump out of the carriage and race inside, demanding someone take her away from this place. But now wasn’t the time.
The carriage slowed. The same man, wearing the crowned hat, sat on a dapple-gray horse. The hat shadowed his face, but when he tipped his hat, the sun hit his left cheek. There was a white jagged scar. She sucked in her breath and dug her fingers into the folds of her dress. Her heart pounded. Kane?
Hannah wanted to rip off the man’s hat. She called on her power, tingles raced through her. The man kicked the side of the horse and galloped down the dusty street. A carriage passed between them, hiding her view of the man momentarily. She waved her hand. The man turned the corner and the horse’s tail flicked. The hat sailed through the air and landed in a water trough. The man and horse were gone.
She slammed her fist in her lap. “Damn!”
Her father demanded. “What?”
She glanced at him. “Nothing.”
Had it been Kane? Or was it her imagination? The man had a scar. But was it Kane? Had he come to rescue her? Where was he going? How she longed to feel his hands and lips on her again, whispering into her that he’d never let her go.
“Hannah, sit back down,” her father urged.
She peered out the carriage window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Kane, but only passed seas of sugar canes and other carriages.
The driver pulled into the courtyard of a white mansion with six columns. Sentinels of palm trees surrounded the large plantation home. Green birds chirped and hopped along the yellow and orange flowers bushes blooming next to the porch. The carriage stopped and a groomsman opened the door. She took his hand and descended from the carriage. Her heart sank at the empty road. No dapple-gray horse. No Kane. No rescue.
“Hannah,” her father said.
She turned and followed him up the wooden steps. Two gold cherub sculptures, bearing harps, hung over the oak door as if to sing when anyone entered. Only h
er father would demand such a herald.
The door whipped opened. Her father’s former boatswain, John Boswell, strolled out, the same powerful man she remembered, but older. His thick blond hair was streaked with gray and he still wore it tied back in the same slick tail. He’d the same golden hue skin and the same mossy green eyes now framed by deep wrinkles. John Boswell had spanked her more than once for using her powers. Same man. She hid her trembling hands in the folds of her dress.
“Ahoy, Captain.” Boswell grinned. He cast his gaze over her and she shrank.
“Why Hannah, I’ve not seen you since you were knee high.” He pointed to her swollen cheek. “Still getting into trouble I see.”
Ignoring his gruffness, she curtsied. “Hello, Mr. Boswell.”
“Well, Mr. Boswell, my daughter wants a tour of the Emerald Sea,” her father gestured as if to present the king’s palace.
“Um, this might not be a good idea t’day, Captain.” He nodded towards her. “One of the slaves attempted to run away last night, and someone’s going to make an example of him.”
“Oh. I see.” Her father lowered his head and kicked his right heel into the ground. “Hannah, I think we should come back tomorrow.”
She frowned. “Why? What’s happening? You said I could see the plantation. What do you mean someone’s going to make an example of him?”
“He means, mademoiselle, just what he says,” a smooth voice said behind her.
Hannah bristled. Jacques. This time, he dressed in all blue, matching her mood. He removed his wide-brimmed blue and white hat, bowing to her, his eyes never leaving her face. His cloying cologne turned her empty stomach. Did the man bathe in it? Subtle wasn’t a quality Jacques possessed.
“Hannah,” Jacques studied her. “What happened to your beautiful face?”
“She and I had a disagreement,” her father said.
“Since she’s to be my wife, I’ll decide on whether or not there will be any disagreements.”
Hannah cringed.
Her father bowed. “As you will.”
Jacques took a step toward Hannah. “Since Mademoiselle’s going to be mistress of a plantation, she needs to see what we do with runaway slaves, no?”
Her father blocked his path. “Jacques, I don’t agree.”
Hannah hid behind her father. For once, her father protected her. Maybe he was having second thoughts?
“Capitaine Knight, ’tis imperative she sees how things are done. There’re reasons my plantation’s one of the richest in Saint Kitts.” He pointed his walking stick at her father. “Your slaves have become a bit lax and need to be taught a lesson. Comprenez-vous, Capitaine?”
Boswell elbowed her father in the ribs. Her father grimaced. “I can’t do anything about this John. He’s right. The slaves need to be taught a lesson.”
Boswell gritted his teeth. “Aye, I agree. But must Hannah witness this? She’s trouble. Things might go amiss.”
Hannah glared, but kept her mouth shut. Same old Boswell.
A horse trotted by, Hannah whirled around, but her shoulders slumped. ’Twas a fat man riding a black horse.
“Do you think I like this any better than you?”
Hannah turned at her father’s shaking voice. “What’s—”
“Come with me.” Jacques grabbed her arm and led her around the mansion.
She shuddered and gritted her teeth, “Jacques, let go of me.”
“No, you must see how we make examples of runaway slaves.”
The blood drained from her face.
Jacques dragged her down a soft, smooth gravel path where seas of sugar canes grew on either side. Then the path changed. Sharp rocks and prickly stickers jammed into her ankles. She grimaced and pushed on Jacques’ hand, but ’twas like tearing off a manacle.
“Here we are,” Jacques said.
Gray splintered shacks lined a small weedy clearing. Barefoot adult male and female slaves in tattered clothing stood in a semi-circle in front of two tall pine beams, placed several feet apart. Black chains and shackles dangled from each beam. Chopped logs had been piled between the charred beams. The male slaves stared straight ahead. Tears streamed down the faces of the female slaves and the children clung to their mothers’ legs, hiding their faces in their skirts.
Her heart thumped, she glanced at her father. Will the nightmare not end? She wanted to wake and be back on the Soaring Phoenix.
“Masta, masta, please.” A female slave wearing an eye patch threw herself at Jacques’s feet. “Please don’t burn him, please don’t burn him.”
Jacques kicked her in the stomach. “Get away from me.”
“Jacques,” Hannah jerked her arm, trying to pull away from him. “Leave her alone.”
“She’s a slave and needs to know her place,” he said.
The sobbing woman wrapped her arms around her shins and rocked. Hannah wanted to draw her into her arms and comfort her. “Will you release me?”
“No.”
“Release me,” she insisted and slapped Jacque’s hand. “Let go of me. You’re hurting me.”
“I’m sorry.” He released her arm, but wrapped his arm around her waist, imprisoning her next to his body.
She pressed her hands down on his arm. “Jacques, let go of me, I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re right, you are not. Now, as a wife of a plantation owner, you must never let the slaves think you’re not in control, or they’ll rise up against you and murder you in your bed.” He leaned close to her ear, his hot breath brushed her neck and she grimaced. “I’ll show you how to keep this from happening again,” he whispered.
He lifted his head. “Monsieur Dubois.”
A giant white man cupped his hands around his mouth and called out. “Bring him out.”
Out of a faded gray shack, two muscular white men dragged out a shirtless black male slave. The slave was taller than both men, but his shackles kept his strides short, almost shuffling. His torn breeches revealed his muscular calves and scarred back.
“No, no,” the slave said. His wide eyes focused on the two wooden posts, and he dug his heels into the ground, flying dust up.
“Come on, Simone,” Dubois said. “You brought this on yourself.”
Hannah cringed. This couldn’t be happening. “What are you doing?”
“I told you. He’s to be punished.” Jacques tightened his grip. “To be an example.”
Simone jerked on his chains, but the men yanked and Simone fell to his knees. Sweat and blood covered his chest. He’d a cut lip and one swollen eye. He peered at Jacques. “No, Masta, masta. I promise I’ll na rise against you again, I promise. I would ne’er hurt you. I promise. Please Masta, please Masta, don’t burn me.”
Hannah blinked. Chills ran down her back. Burning? Civilized people didn’t burn each other alive. She dug her nails into Jacques’s arm. “Jacques, you cannot be serious.”
“Oh, but I’m chere. Simone here tried to start an uprising while on the run. As my wife, you’d be a perfect target.”
Perspiration trickled down her chest. “Jacques, please don’t do this.”
She glanced at her father. “Father, please.” But her father avoided her gaze and cleared his throat.
“You’ll watch,” Jacques promised, his hand clutched her neck, his fingers digging into her flesh, forcing her to look straight ahead. “Dubois, Simone needs a lesson first.”
The two men chained Simone to the stakes, his arms stretched wide over his head. Dubois cracked his whip, and it sizzled through the air. It split across Simone’s back. Each time, a lash hit him, the slave released a torturous cry. His knees collapsed and the chains stretched his convulsing body. Hannah wiggled, but Jacques only tightened his grip. “Stop this madness, Jacques.”
“No, chere,” he countered.
Fine, then she would. She stared at the whip and pulled on her power. Dubois raised his hand. She flicked her finger. The whip flew out of Dubois’s hand and landed at her father’s feet. He
r father said nothing.
“What are you doing Dubois?” Jacques demanded.
Dubois scrambled to get his whip. He examined it closely. “I’ve never done that before, I don’t know what happened.”
Simone hung his head on his chest. Blood trickled down his back and his chest heaved. Hannah licked her lips. “Jacques, Simone has paid his debt. Release him.”
“His crime deserves death,” he said. “Dubois, proceed.”
The same two burly men poured oil, strong and pungent, onto the pyre of wood.
“Masta, please,” the woman, wearing an eye-patch, begged.
“Shut up or you’re next,” Jacques warned.
The woman lowered her head and sobbed into her hands. Her powerlessness tore through Hannah. She had to help her.
“You may light it, Dubois,” Jacques said.
A man lit the pyre of wood. Simone threw his head back. “Gawd, have mercy!” Simone yelled and stomped the wood with his bare feet.
Flames licked the logs. Hannah stared at the fire, drawing on her power, and a spark exploded. A flame burst through the air, aiming towards Hannah and Jacques.
Heat warmed Hannah’s back. “Merde,” Jacques cried as he released her. “My arm, my arm!”
Hannah whirled around. Jacques hit the flames eating his shirt. She bit back a smile. The bastard deserved it.
She held up her palms and faced Simone. The fire sizzled and rose, swirling smoke blocked out his face. Heat warmed her face and sweat poured down her forehead. She ignored Simone’s screams and drew on her power. Flames licked at Simone’s calves, devouring him like a hungry monster. He howled. Hannah’s eyes watered. She coughed and sputtered at burnt flesh, tasting it on her lips. Her stomach knotted and she wanted to vomit, but she concentrated on Simone’s chains. The links twisted around twice. Simone yanked and broke free. Hannah choked with relief.
Simone rolled on the ground, the dirt dampening the yellow and orange blaze on his legs. A man cried, “He’s free! Grab him!”
“Dubois,” Jacques growled.
Dubois grabbed a jug.
“No,” Hannah screamed.
But she was too late. Dubois poured oil onto Simone and he burst into flames. The agony of his screams tore through the clearing.