And so his grand conquest died in the flames and rubble, bested by the quiet strength and unimpeachable honor of a gentle society miss who preferred lace-collared frocks to breeches.
As he stood at the starboard rail, she exchanged bits of conversation with various members of the crew, all of whom doffed their hats, and paused to kiss Tyne on the cheek. With the grace and elegance that pervaded her every gesture, she turned and addressed the men, as a whole.
“Thank you, for saving my life. I owe you a debt I can never repay.” Then she pinned Jean Marc with a steely glare. “And I will never forget you.”
And then Maddie was gone.
The ensuing hole in his world, marked by her sudden absence, opened and gaped wide, jeopardizing the foundation upon which he built his stage, threatening to swallow him whole. If only she had played her part, but the mere wisp of a girl outwitted him. For a while, he remained rooted to the spot, hoping to glimpse her aboard the naval ship. Impatient, he craned his neck and then caught sight of her in a skiff, accompanied by three redcoats, as a deckhand rowed her to the docks.
Each successive rise and fall of the oars increased the space between them, yet he maintained his post, struggling to preserve the connection, however fleeting. And although he could not see clearly, he swore she watched him. A dull ache flickered in his chest, the pain increasing in direct proportion to the ever-growing distance from Madalene.
Weighted by some mystical burden, which tightened its stranglehold about his throat, squeezing, choking, threatening to wring the air from his lungs, he clutched tight the rail but found no relief or support. Instead, the invisible torment delved deep into his gut, unfurled, and spread, increasing the agony ravaging his soul, and he fought for breath.
When she reached her destination, she disembarked and disappeared in the crowd, and he dug his nails into the wood rail. It was time to admit the real reason he rejected her, and it had nothing to do with pride, plunder, or possession. “I am sorry, Mon Chou, but I had to surrender you. I am a wanted man, and I could not endanger you, because I love you, too.”
Tyne cleared his throat. “Have you decided on a new course, Cap’n?”
There were countless journeys Jean Marc could have chosen, but he could not respond. Drowning in some foreign hell on earth, he emitted a feral growl and pushed from the rail. “Take us to the windward side and drop anchor, as we will go ashore just after dusk. And if you wish to retain use of your teeth, you will wipe that smirk off your face.”
#
It was early in the afternoon, as British Army Lieutenant Lowe steered the wagon past a stately stone gate, which bore a sign marked, The Fair Winds, and Madalene hugged her sacks of personal belongings and tried to ignore the heartache that threatened to tear her in two. At the end of a long and sandy drive, lined with palm trees, loomed a large, two-story house with six massive columns spanning the front, a balcony rimmed by wrought iron railing at top center, and black shutters framing each window.
If she had any assumptions regarding how a plantation house should look, The Fair Winds exceeded her expectations. When Lieutenant Lowe reined in, a dark-skinned woman appeared at the door and then disappeared inside the home. Shortly thereafter, an older gentleman and a young lady strolled onto the porch.
“Let me help you, Lady Madalene.” Lieutenant Lowe jumped to the ground and then turned to hand her down. “Lord Livingston, I have brought your daughter to you, safe and sound.”
“Madalene?” The grey-haired, distinguished elder with familiar blue eyes, which welled with unshed tears, pressed a hand to his chest. “Is that you, dear child?”
“Papa?” She dropped her things and ran into his waiting embrace. “Oh, papa, it has been so long.”
“My darling girl, at last we are reunited.” At first, he hugged her, but then he held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you. You are the very image of your mother, God rest her soul.”
“What is she doing here?” The pregnant blonde cast a countenance of unmasked loathing and cradled her large belly.
“Now, now, Prudence.” Papa chuckled. “Am I to be caught in the middle of two strong-willed females?” With a twinkle in his stare, he drew Prudence, who appeared not much older than Madalene, to his side. “Allow me to introduce your stepmother, Lady Prudence, countess of Livingston.”
“It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lady Prudence.” Fighting to conceal her shock at the revelation, Madalene sketched a quick curtsey. “I look forward to getting to know you, Papa, and what I presume is my future brother or sister.”
“Thank you, for bringing my daughter to me.” Papa shook Lieutenant Lowe’s hand. “Shall we adjourn to the drawing room for a bit of refreshment?”
After consuming a glass of lemonade heightened with sweet marsala, during which time she shared her woeful tale of the Trident and Captain Hammond’s demise, to her father’s horror. Madalene recounted her rescue and subsequent travel aboard the Black Morass but omitted her relationship with Jean Marc.
“Might I be shown to my chamber, Papa?” Madalene rubbed the back of her neck. “It has been a terribly lengthy journey, and I am in much need of a nap.”
“Of course, my child.” Papa stood and kissed her forehead. “Miss Hannah will take you to your accommodation, and we will talk more over dinner.”
“I suppose she wants the best room in the house.” Scowling, Prudence scrutinized Madalene from top to toe.
“And so she shall have it.” To the housekeeper, Papa said, “Install Lady Madalene in the suite at the south end, which overlooks the ocean, and see to her every comfort.” Then at his wife, he wagged a finger. “Prudence, do not ever take that tone with my daughter. Madalene is my firstborn, and her position demands respect. You will act as befits your station, or you will suffer the consequences of your ill manners. Do I make myself clear?”
To wit the not so nice stepmother stomped a foot in protest.
As Madalene climbed the stairs, Miss Hannah smiled. “Your grandfather, Mr. Crawford, was a very fine man, if I may say so, Lady Madalene.”
“Thank you, Miss Hannah.” She admired the wood grain of the polished balustrade. “I miss him still. And Aunt Eileen spoke highly of The Fair Winds. I am sorry I never ventured here, with her.”
On the second floor, the landing spread wide, revealing a wide hallway. At the third door on the left, Miss Hannah propped ajar the oak panel, strolled to the far wall, drew back the drapes, and flung open the sash. A burst of sea air enveloped Madalene, harkening cherished memories aboard the Morass.
“Shall I unpack your bags, Lady Madalene?” The housekeeper stood with hands clasped before her.
“No, thank you.” The soul-shattering sorrow that plagued her since Jean Marc broke her heart loomed on the horizon, and she preferred privacy, in that moment. “I would like to rest. Would you call me in time for dinner?”
“Yes, Lady Madalene.” At the entrance, the housekeeper paused. “The staff prayed for your safe arrival, and I will tell them of your presence. I will leave the door open to properly cool the room, and you may close it when you lie down.”
“Again, my thanks, Miss Hannah.” Madalene sat on the bed and doffed her slippers. “I look forward to improving our acquaintance.”
Gazing out the window, Madalene noted a ship in the distance, and she ran to the ledge. Was it the Black Morass? Was Jean Marc out there, somewhere, thinking of her? Did he pine for her as she yearned for him?
Given his rejection, she doubted he spared her a second thought, and that hurt. A gentle breeze whispered and thrummed, sifting through her hair and kissing the tears that streamed her cheeks. “How could you?”
“How could I—what?” Prudence inquired.
Dragging her sleeve across her face, Madalene whirled about. “Oh, it is you.”
“Why did you come here?” Madalene’s stepmother paced as a caged animal. “What do you want from us? The Fair Winds is ours, and I will not let you take it from us, as it is my ch
ild’s legacy.”
“I beg your pardon?” Anger sparked, but Madalene checked her temper. “You labor under the misapprehension that this land is part of my father’s entailment, Lady Prudence. On the contrary, The Fair Winds is one of the gems in the Crawford estate, which I inherited, by law, from my Aunt Eileen. While I have no plans to evict you from the plantation, I will brook no interference in my affairs and, in future, will thank you not to insert yourself into my business.”
“How dare you, grasping, greedy schemer.” Lady Prudence leveled a malevolent stare. “You will not succeed. You will not rob my babe of its rightful fortune.”
“Get out.” Madalene pointed for emphasis. “And I warn you not to impinge on my person, again, else you will regret it.”
“Do not worry.” The termagant smiled, and Madalene’s skin crawled. “I will have no need to bother you.”
With that, Lady Prudence slammed shut the door, and Madalene shuddered. Crawling atop the mattress, she hugged a pillow, closed her eyes, and summoned a vision of Jean Marc. Then she unleashed her misery, and grief rushed forth as a tidal wave.
THE BLACK MORASS
CHAPTER NINE
The sun sank below the yardarm on the third full day without Maddie, and Jean Marc feared he might run amok. After canvassing Port Royal for any mention of his woman, he ventured to the local whorehouse for a drink and a fuck with a three-penny upright. At least, that was his plan.
In the crowded brothel, some of the worst of humanity mingled, smoked, and indulged their baser appetites, while a musician screeched and scratched on a violin. The dank stench of sweat mixed with stale ale, and he second-guessed his tack, until he spied a familiar face in the back corner.
“Barry, what are you doing here?” Jean Marc pulled up a chair, sat, and flagged a bar wench for a glass of rum. “I did not think you traveled these parts, for fear of capture.”
“Jean Marc, it is good to see you, old friend.” The pirate, known as the Iron Corsair on the seas, scratched his chin and gnawed on a roasted turkey leg. “And you are the last person I expected to walk through that door.”
“My fortunes changed, and I anchored a-weather to avoid detection.” He thought of Madalene and wondered if she was all right. Was she happy? Had she forgot him, already? No. She loved him, she declared as much on the decks of the Morass for all to hear. And in a moment of infinite stupidity, he let her go.
“Well, hello, Jean Marc.” A blonde with large breasts rubbed against him. “Can I interest you in a blow, or are you in the mood for your usual fare?”
The mere suggestion inspired naught but revulsion, as he belonged to Madalene, and he grimaced. “No.”
Indeed, Maddie was everywhere and nowhere, at once. As some sort of twisted torment, she enveloped him in her presence, claiming his lips, filling his arms, warming his bed in his dreams, and yet when he woke her absence manifested a great chasm threatening to consume him.
“Now that is a first.” Slapping his thigh, the Iron Corsair tossed a few coins on the table, spread his legs, and unhooked his breeches. “On your knees, and open your mouth, doxy. I will take what he refuses.” With a groan, he bared his teeth, as the wench’s head bobbed. “So what brings you to Port Royal? Let me guess, a woman?”
“How did you know?” Jean Marc stared into his glass and sighed. “What have you heard?”
“Because you decline the pleasure of a stranger, and I have heard nothing.” Barry downed the last of his ale and exhaled audibly. “That is good.” Then he shook his head. “So what is she to you?”
“In truth, nothing.” Jean Marc revisited her dream and envisioned himself garbed as a gentleman and walking, arm in arm, with Maddie on the streets of Boston. “But she could be everything.”
“Then why is she not with you?” The Iron Corsair pounded a clenched fist and grunted. “What did you do?”
“It is a long story, and one I am in no mood to share.” Another whore propositioned Jean Marc, and he rejected her advance with a brisk flick of his wrist, as all he wanted was Maddie. “And why are you here?”
“I made the mistake of taking an unfinished job from the Marooner, and it is the last one I will ever assume, but I owed him a debt, and soon it will be repaid.” Barry closed his eyes, wrenched the whore’s hair, and growled. After securing his breeches, he slapped the doxy on the arse as she stood. “Will you be here, later, darling?”
“I will if you want me to be here.” She trailed a finger beneath Barry’s chin and winked. “And I will toss whatever you wish.”
“Perfect.” He waved. “Now be gone with you.” To Jean Marc, Barry said, “The Marooner attacked and sank a ship of innocents, all for the sake of a single woman, but the dumb bastard failed to kill his target.”
“Oh?” A chill shivered over Jean Marc’s flesh. “Anyone we know?”
“I am not sure.” The Iron Corsair ordered another ale. “He is secretive with the details, as it is dirty business.”
“So I gather.” Summoning calm, as he refused to leap to unsupported conclusions, Jean Marc rolled his shoulders. “What did this curious female do to warrant the Marooner’s attention?”
“She is an American heiress, or some such.” Barry belched. “Apparently, her father, an English lord of ill repute, remarried, and the proverbial stepmother, in anticipation of a blessed event, wants the firstborn gone.”
Jean Marc lowered his chin and pinned the Iron Corsair with a lethal glare. “Lady Madalene Davies.”
“How did you know?” Barry leaned forward, and his eyes flared. “Do not tell me that is your woman.”
“Indeed, and you and I need to talk.” Jean Marc propped his elbows on the table. “So I presume the stepmother hired the Marooner to kill Maddie, so the new babe can inherit the estate.”
“I am sure she is involved, somehow, as they always are.” Barry furrowed his brow and frowned. “But the father paid for the job.”
#
Standing at the window overlooking the ocean, Madalene daubed the tears from her face, with a handkerchief, and turned to assess her appearance in the long mirror. Bereft, aching for Jean Marc, she practiced her smile to avoid prying questions, as she could not think of him without succumbing to a deluge of woe. Beneath a contrived mask of cheer, she descended the stairs and joined her father and stepmother in the dining room for dinner.
“Are you feeling better, Madalene?” Papa toyed with the stem of his crystal glass. “You appeared a bit peaked this morning. Perhaps the sea air does not agree with you.”
“On the contrary, I love it here.” And Jean Marc would have loved it, too. “In fact, we should set a time to review the planation books and the stillroom ledger, as I noted some discrepancies in the figures, which we should reconcile before ordering additional supplies and services. In the future, I will engage the expertise of an accountant.”
“But you may leave that to my care, dear child.” He patted the back of her hand. “As such drudgery is not women’s work. Would you not prefer to go shopping with your stepmother? It would give you the opportunity to become better acquainted.”
“I would not.” In light of Prudence’s demeanor, which bordered on downright rude, Madalene made a concerted effort to avoid the ill-mannered woman. “Rather, as I am new to property ownership, I would involve myself in the day to day running of Fair Winds.”
“What did I tell you?” Prudence sneered.
“You act surprised, stepmother.” Folding her arms, Madalene lifted her chin. “Need I remind you that Fair Winds belonged to my mother’s family? And in the Crawford tradition, I intend to assume control of the plantation and its operations.”
“I presume you brought Eileen’s will and the deed?” Papa asked.
“Yes.” Madalene nodded. “I put the papers on the desk in the study, as you requested, Papa. The indenture was reissued in Boston, before I departed, to reflect the change in right of possession.”
“So everything is in your name?” He reached for his w
ife and twined his fingers in hers, and Madalene shifted with unease. “The bank accounts, the house in Boston, the timber holdings in Virginia, the tobacco farm in Georgia, along with Fair Winds?”
“I own it, all.” A shiver of dread traipsed her spine.
“And you intend to manage the estate, in its entirety?” Papa arched a brow. “You cannot be persuaded otherwise?”
“As Aunt Eileen expected, I will assume direction of the assets.” To her amazement, Papa actually glowered. “Is that a problem?”
“It is for you.” He waved, and she glanced behind her.
A group of menacing characters, dirty and disheveled, similar to the crew who sailed the Black Morass, entered the dining room. Assuming stations at either side of her, they appeared bent on mischief, and Madalene peered at her sire.
“What is going on, Papa?” Shivering, she clasped her hands to conceal their trembling. “Who are these men?”
“Your new masters, my dear.” In that instant, Papa dipped his chin, and the men closed in on her. “You will begin your new life with them, as I have fixed a date with the magistrate, to have you declared dead and to assume proprietorship of the Crawford fortune.”
“You will never succeed.” She pushed from the table, stood, and her chair toppled to the floor. “Do not touch me, sir.”
“Now, now.” The tall, clean-shaven brute reminded her of Jean Marc, if not for the blonde hair and the missing patch, and he wagged a finger in reproach. “Do not fight, dove, as you will lose, and my partner will not abide damaged merchandise.”
“Take her.” Papa drew Prudence to his side. “But you should demand a steep price, as she comes from prime stock.”
With that, Madalene faced a full-scale assault, as an assailant gagged her with a long kerchief, while another bound her wrists. And even amid the shocking attack, as terror waged war with her senses, Jean Marc occupied her thoughts. If only he knew of her distress, he would save her. Perhaps she could bargain with her captor, as her buccaneer would rescue her. At least, that is what she told herself, as the pirates dragged her into the hall, and she moaned and kicked in protest.
The Black Morass (Pirates of the Coast Book 1) Page 7