They froze.
“Isn’t that sweet?” came Sid’s mockery. He cocked the revolver and moved toward the ill-fated lovers with the speed of a snail. “Sorry to interrupt such a touching scene.” He sneered, a wild glare in his cold, calculating eyes.
“Ah-ah-ah. I want you both where I can see you.” He lifted the gun, holding it with expert skill toward Jacque when he stepped protectively in front of Esa.
Jacque held his ground and thrust his chest out in defiance.
“I will use it, LaFleur. Make no mistake. Would you care to test me?” Sid’s stance, his very being on the yacht told them just how serious he was.
“It’s all right Jacque, please?” Squeezing his hand, Esa moved from behind him. Alarmed eyes shrank and gaped at Sid. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve been here for quite some time. You’ve just been too busy being the barbarian’s whore to notice—don’t do it!” he warned when a muscle in Jacque’s hand twitched as though he might go for his invisible gun.
Esa saw the uncertainty in Sid’s eyes and knew a fair fight was out of the question, he’d all but pissed himself when Jacque had took hold of him in the hotel that day.
Jacque’s teeth moved beneath the squared jaw. Black rage seeped from the core of his being, replacing his initial shock. He looked like a caged lion having gone too long without a meal, with a fat juicy sow hanging just beyond the bars of his cage.
“Why?” she cried. She’d never seen him so unkempt or so crazed, as he was now.
“The diamond. Give it to me,” he demanded, one hand open and extended, the other clutching the revolver in a death grip.
“Diamond?” Jacque feigned ignorance. “What diamond?”
Esa flinched. How in the hell could he possibly know about the diamond? Her blood ran cold when she glanced at Jacque only to find him glaring at her as though she were his bitter enemy.
Did he think…? No, he couldn’t…he wouldn’t!
But looking at him, she could see clearly that he did.
Her heart fell to her feet. How could he even think she’d betray him? She’d sooner die.
The devastating, savage look in his eyes wounded her worse than a thousand lashes ever could. He leered at her as though she’d invited Sid onboard. How could he think so little of her?
Jacque snarled and she could have sworn she heard an animalistic growl escape him just before he spat in a low lethal drawl, “‘Twould appear once again I’ve allowed my lust to lead to my demise.”
Sid’s voice rose to the next level, “Don’t play ignorant with me. I’ve searched your cabins, both of them. The jewel is nowhere to be found. Therefore, one of you must have it on you.” His eyes moved between them, as if searching for muted clues. A malicious grin spread his bearded face as he glared at Esa. “Take off your dress.”
Jacque stiffened beside her. “She doesn’t have it. I do,” he spilled in a low lethal roar, patting the pocket of his silk shirt. “Leave her out of this.” His eyes were dark, deadly and matched his tone.
“Is this true?” Sid asked. “Or perhaps you don’t want me to see what I already know like the back of my hand? I’ve had better lays in a bag of chips.”
“Avast, mate! Seize ye belligerent tongue.” His nostrils flared and his hands fisted at his sides, hungry for the kill.
“You forget who’s holding the gun, mate. It’s been a while since I last enjoyed the company of a woman. I think I might have one more go at this cow before she joins her worthless father in hell. Unless, of course, you’d rather hand over the diamond?”
Jacque pulled the stone from his pocket.
“Jacque,” she started, then hesitated at his stern glare. There was no way Sid would let them live once he had possession of the diamond.
Sid’s eyes grew the size of quarters. He looked like he did during an orgasm, she mused. Mouth hanging open, body gyrating as he rocked his socks off. “Throw it to me!” He spat, wiggling his hand.
Jacque casually tucked it back into his pocket and puffed his chest out proudly. “Come and get it.”
Alarm flashed across Sid’s face, then, as though he suddenly recalled who was holding the weapon, he snorted and said with a superior smile, “Have it your way.” He aimed the gun at Esa.
Then, with the grin of a thousand devils, he fired.
The blood curdling shot pierced the air. Jacque shoved her to the deck. She waited for the pain she knew would follow such a deadly explosion, but it never came. She looked down at her chest and saw droplets of blood dotting the yellow dress. Where had the blood come from—
“Jacque!” she screamed when she looked up to see the blood trickling over his fingers and down his hands as he clutched his chest and staggered backwards. “Oh my God! No!” She sprang to her feet, reached for him, not carrying about where Sid was, nor where the next bullet might find its refuge. She wanted to be with Jacque wherever he went, even if it meant following him in death.
An ungodly amount of blood gushed from the open wound. Even if they weren’t in the middle of the Gulf, there was nothing she could do to save him. He was going to die. “Jacque!” she screamed as he drew dangerously close to the edge.
It all happened so quickly, over the span of a few seconds, that there was no time to think.
When Jacque fell over the side of the boat, she grabbed his shirt to stop him. Instead she went crashing into the fatal black waters with him.
~ * ~
Sid glared at the place he’d seen them fall and cursed. Had it not been so dark, he would have leapt into the water behind them. He wanted to cry. It was gone. The damned fool had taken the cursed fortune with him to the bottom of the sea!
His plans were ruined.
“Mr. Cromwell?” He jumped at the sound of the familiar voice. The small crew clustered on deck apparently after having heard the gunfire. “What are you doing here?”
Sid followed the horrified gazes to the trail of blood and the gun in his hand. Shaking his head, he laughed uncontrollably as his headline flashed before his eyes. “Man shoots lover in jealous rage, then turns gun on himself…”
“Where’s Esa?” someone asked.
Still laughing, Sid raised the gun to his head and pulled the trigger.
Sixteen
A small island near Guadeloupe, October 31, 1756
Her head pounded so fiercely that she thought she would spew her last meal. Before Esa could fully open her eyes, a group of crude men speaking with strangely familiar accents had huddled around her.
The sounds of the ocean combined with the warm sand beneath her back and the waves slapping her from the waist down caused panic to take hold of her senses. Her heart sped so quickly it threatened to punch a hole in her chest.
What in the hell was she doing sprawled along the beach? Good god, had someone slipped something in her drink? A morbid chill coursed through her veins. How many times had her father warned her about leaving her drink unattended?
Wait, had she been at a party? Hell, her head hurt so badly she probably couldn’t recall her street address, much less her whereabouts last night. When she so much as tried to open her eyes and have a peek at her surroundings, the punishing sun met her gaze with brute vengeance and she clenched them shut again.
“Blimey! Did ye see that? The wench just washed up out of the sea. Just like that!” a man cried, followed by the snap of a finger.
Why was the man talking like a pirate? She vaguely recalled the annual festival. That must be why these men were carrying on like so. She almost laughed, and would have had shame not consumed her.
What in the hell was she doing passed out on the beach?
“What’s that she’s wearin’? I’ve no seen the likes ‘afore, mmmm-mm! I’d go fishin’ everyday if I thought I’d catch me a meal as fine as that. Aye, Stew?” A low whistle escaped the man and she didn’t have to see him to know his eyes devoured her body and wished like hell she had the strength to get up.
“All right boys,
you’ve had your thrill, the show’s over. I’m fine, you can be on your way,” she ranted blindly. It hurt her head to even speak.
“Blimey! Did ye hear that? We better inform the Cap’n!”
“She sounds like a bloody English bitch.”
What? Why did they sound so hostile?
And just what was she wearing? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. She shielded her eyes and looked down at herself, barely able to lift her head for it felt as though it weighed a hundred pounds. A yellow sundress. What was so odd about that? Aside from the fact that the dress was nearly transparent, thanks to being waterlogged. She groaned, draping an arm over her breast as the ocean tagged her bare legs once again. No wonder the party seeking perverts refused to leave.
“Go on, get the hell out of here, leave me alone,” she spat, feeling like the main attraction in a circus act. Were these men responsible for her current incapacitation?
She heard sharp inhales of breath all around her. Was that her voice that sounded so repulsive? She tried to push herself up, but her elbows and bare feet sank in the wet sand.
Where were her sandals? She lifted her head to have another peek. Seeing nothing but a pack of burly old pirates that smelled as bad as they looked, she laid her head back in the pillow of sand. Sure her shoes lay somewhere along the bottom of the Atlantic.
To her horror, a wolf-call sprang from somewhere beside her. “Avast! This one’s even more comely than the one ye selected for LaFleur, aye Keats!”
LaFleur? Her eyes shot open—now oblivious to the loitering strangers.
Her head raced, pushing with everything she had to break through the barrier that held her memories captive. Then it happened, her mind flooded so quickly it left her dizzy. Jacque! Was he somewhere with these vulgar men?
The deafening sound of gunfire boomed in her ears and the distressing memory of what happened on The Abigail attacked her mind. Her heart fell through a trapdoor in her stomach. Jacque had thrown himself in harm’s way to save her! He couldn’t be amongst these ruffians.
He was dead. She’d seen the blood, witnessed the fatal shot herself.
Her grief brought her to a sitting position, though every muscle in her body screamed against it. The bawdy buccaneers jumped back in alarm when she finally made it to her feet, staggering a few moments before finally finding her balance, hot tears stinging her cheeks and cleansing sand dust from her eyes.
“Aye, I think we’ve found ourselves a real live mermaid, mateys!” A black-toothed swashbuckler barked, rubbing his stubby hands together with enthusiasm.
An eerie panic settled over her and shook her to the bone. Suddenly she knew what had transpired, knew who these loathsome men gaping at her like she was the last woman alive were.
The bloodthirsty crew of the Sainte-Anne. Through some cruel twist of fate, the hands of time had taken her into its cold fist and cast her straight into hell!
“You stay away from me! You, you tried to kill Jacque,” she shouted at them, oblivious to the danger, feeling only the pain of losing her beloved Jacque. The tears wouldn’t stop falling and her legs didn’t seem to have enough strength to hold her up a moment longer. She fell to the sand and cried like she’d never cried before. Jacque! Her bleeding heart screamed.
“How the devil could she know about—”
“She’s not just a mermaid, but a se’er!”
“Or a witch,” another man sneered, worry underlying his brave façade.
“Indeed,” another man replied in a voice that demanded compliance. “Bring her along.”
“Get the hell off me!” Esa hissed as she was hoisted over the shoulder of a giant she heard someone address as Tiny. She bucked with everything she had left, but it wasn’t enough. She was at the mercy to whatever these savages decided to do with her.
Jacque wouldn’t be coming to her rescue this time.
She was lost in his time, alone.
As soon as the brute lowered her to the ground, Esa did something she’d never done before in her entire life.
She fainted.
~ * ~
“Wake ‘er up, the Cap’n likes ‘um full of fire…and that little cannon reeks of it!” Emmanuel Keats snorted as he turned back in the direction of the small village.
“But Keats, what if she tells ‘em—”
Keats stopped abruptly and spun round to face the cowardly crewman. Removing the piece of palm leaf he’d shredded to clean the remnants of his lunch with, he stated, “Aye, she might. But tell me Stew, what difference does it make? LaFleur’s a walkin’ dead man. A traitor! Once he’s in that hut, it’s all over. And that’s Cap’n Keats to ye, mate.” He looked over Stews shoulder and made eye contact with Billy the butcher who was last in line.
Stepping aside, he waved the other men ahead. He held out a hand as Billy started to pass. When the others were no longer within earshot, he asked, “Yer certain ye can find it without ‘em?”
The man tapped his temple with his forefinger. “‘Tis all up here.”
“You’ve no fear of the lagoon? Perhaps we should keep him alive until after he collects the stone?”
“We don’t need to keep the traitor alive any longer than necessary. You’ve set ye trap, carry through with it. There may not be another chance, if he grows suspicious we’ll all be meetin’ at the locker. After the triple two’s he drew from the deck last night, I think he’s anticipating something. Besides, if LaFleur can do it, I can do it.” Billy flashed a superior grin, adding, “You and that snake eyed brother of yours just better keep to ye end of the bargain, and I’ll keep to mine. Aye?” He walked off in the direction of the others.
Emmanuel watched him for a moment before catching up. The fool’s cocky arrogance might be exactly what was needed to uncover the stone. But could he really be trusted? His brother seemed to trust him enough to disclose what he’d overheard Jacque and his father discussing… and enough to offer him a full third of the blasted profits.
How foolish Jacque had been to enlighten his father as to every sordid detail of where he’d hidden the bloody stone. In the event something should happen to him.
Well, it was time. The main event was about to start. Soon LaFleur would meet with the costly consequences of his wayward deeds.
Then he would take care of the senior LaFleur, along with the overconfident butcher. A third of the split? Over his dead body!
~ * ~
Jacque spat the salty sand from his mouth and bolted upright. The warm tide smothered his legs. His head spun as though he’d enjoyed half a case of the finest Rum. He shook his head as though to clear his cluttered mind and opened his eyes, squinting against the sun’s raging glare while the foamy surf rushed back in to caress him once more.
Painful memories took the form of a cutlass and sliced through his heart, invading his mind like a bad dream. “Esa,” he breathed, pouncing to his feet and circling in search of her.
Something was different, but frighteningly familiar about his tropical surroundings. A forest of wispy palms occupied the area hotels should have stood. He raised a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s blinding reflection off something resting in the sand. He drew closer to find his cutlass—his cutlass? Where had that come from? Keats had stolen it when…
What the hell was going on?
He clutched his chest in hopes of stifling the phantom pain and looked down. He felt the color drain from his face. Dear God! There was no blood, no wound. Had he lost his mind? He’d heard the shrill of the bullet, felt the brute force with which it split his tender flesh. Yet, he was unharmed…and dressed in exactly the same attire as when he’d been forced to walk the death plank.
His mind raced, searched for answers but didn’t find. Had it all been a dream?
Feeling as though the wind had been knocked out of him, he dropped back onto the hot sand and rested his head on his knees. The prickly hairs of his beard tickled his chest. His beard?
His hands flew to his face. Godsteeth, at least a
month’s worth of wiry growth!
That explained it. It had to be a dream.
Dazed and bewildered, he shook his head pondering the absurdity of it all. How else would one account for traveling through time and spending days and nights of endless ecstasy in the arms of an angel one might pluck straight out of his fantasy?
Esa Keats…was nothing more than a delicious mirage. But her warm satiny flesh was more real in his arms than any other ever to be held in the needy crook of his arm. The lingering scent of her perfume still taunted his nostrils, inflamed his senses.
The hollow in his heart stirred with remnants of hope lost. Something low in his gut burst through his anguish and screamed: It was no dream!
She was as real to him as the air in his lungs.
And, he’d involuntarily left her alone…with a murderer.
His eyes fell on his hat—his hat? How in the name of Satan’s army did that get here? Keats had taken custody of it when he stepped into the captain’s shoes. He’d been wearing it when the bilge rat mocked him from where he stood on the death plank! But if that were true… Get hold of yeself mate. ‘Twas a bloody dream and nothing more. Forget it. Forget her.
Impossible!
He let his head fall back and cursed the clouds, the stars in the heavens for the violent storm whirling through his body, leaving a tornado effect of his every sense. “Why must ye toy with me so? What have I done to deserve your wrath?”
Dream or no dream, how was he supposed to live without her?
The beard, the hat, the clothes, he didn’t care what the facts illustrated; he refused to believe she was anything at all if not awaiting him in her time. And if it wasn’t a dream? A wave of nausea rushed in with the tide. Had Sid hurt her? Was she dead? Or had she been in on Sid’s scheming from the start?
The pain from the bullet he’d taken paled in comparison to that caused by her possible betrayal.
His head snapped sideways at the sound of a familiar voice. Was that the boisterous shouts of one of his crew? What would the treacherous lot think if they saw him alive?
Jacque came to his feet and brushed the grit from his clothing. Collecting his cutlass, he slid it back into its rightful place at his waist. He patted his pocket. No diamond. And why should there be? For as real as he might want his time with Esa to have been, the odds continued to stack against him. He’d be far better off not to dwell on such oddities.
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