He shook his head and placed a hand under her chin to close her shocked mouth. “No, I’m not.”
“Jacque! They’re absolutely fascinating! I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. And I work in a museum for chrissake! You have a rare talent. Have you ever thought about making a career of painting?”
He gave a humorous snort. “No. That would keep me hostage among the landlubbers far more often than I’d like. But if ye fancy them love, I’ll fill you a ship full.” More nuzzling.
“A ship full?” She laughed. “How about a house full? With a life-sized portrait in the living room of you and me…and our seven children?”
She felt Jacque stiffen beside her before getting up to retrieve his clothing. Had she said something wrong?
“Jacque? Are you all right? We don’t have to have seven chil—”
“‘Tis not about children dammit!” he snapped. Taking a moment to reign in his frustration, he added in a more controlled tone, “My home is aboard the Sainte-Anne. I’m sorry.” Now wearing black pants and boots with his shirt dangling from one hand, the other clutching the door knob, he kept his head down and stated in a tone just above a whisper, “I can’t offer ye anythin’ more than that lass.” The door closed behind him, leaving her alone in the frigid cabin.
The wall she’d thought demolished between them was suddenly rectified and seemed to be stronger than the last. She’d had the unshakable feeling he was still keeping secrets.
~ * ~
Guadeloupe proved to be quite testy for Esa. She was forced to remain hidden in Jacque’s cabin while most of the crew, including Jacque, went ashore to find their treasure, or treasures, as the case happened to be.
“I don’t think I can stare at these walls and keep my sanity for much longer, Jacque. It’s not fair! Why are men so damned arrogant? How can a woman be bad luck onboard a ship? I remember reading about women being pirates,” she’d fumed, pacing the floor in his stockings and an old tunic.
“I’m sorry, lass. I’ve already told ye, if the crew thinks for a minute I’m harboring a wench, they’ll make fish bait outta the both of us, not to mention what they would do before throwing your delectable carcass to the sharks. I’ll not risk it Esa. Even I am no match for forty men.”
She’d humiliated herself by falling into his arms and crying like a spoiled child. But she couldn’t help it. Although she understood the danger, it was maddening to be imprisoned in a lone room for weeks on end, eating, sleeping, and having to relieve herself in a wretched old chamber pot! She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been more mortified.
She longed for a real bathroom, for hot water and a spacious tub to soak in, toothpaste and a toothbrush, all the things she’d taken for granted in her own time.
Jacque had promised it wouldn’t take long to retrieve the treasure. Yet, she’d been with him the last time and it had in fact taken the better part of a day.
Dingo was left behind to keep her company. Some company. All the little beast wanted to do was pull her hair, pick at her clothing and play with her jewelry. Still, he was a distraction and better than being completely alone in a one-room reformatory, with absolutely nothing to do but twiddle her thumbs and wait.
But with the rambunctious bunch busying themselves on the Island, what harm could it possible do to take a peek? Five minutes. At the first sign of thunderous boots having returned, she’d fly back to her cage.
A rattle from the door startled her. Jacque! Had he changed his mind about her going? More likely forgotten something and come back to retrieve it.
Like his key. He seemed to be having a great deal of trouble opening the door. Perhaps she should help. But he’d warned her not to open it for any reason. Arms crossed in defiance, she waited for a knock. It didn’t come. After a few moments the door flew open. The blood left her face. Fear stole her screams as Dingo took shelter in the trunk.
The big beefy pirate advancing toward her with a menacing glare wasn’t Jacque.
~ * ~
With the slithering skill of a snake, Jacque slipped away from the others and made a mad dash through the palms, not bothering to look for markers along the way as the path was driven into the permanent map in his head. He stripped off his clothing and whispered a prayer that the lagoon monster slept and let him pass without incident before diving in. His nerves scratched the surface of his skeptical skin when he finally reached the C-tree and took the plunge. Why should he be worried? It was here, there’d been no time for anyone else to retrieve the stone, even had they known of its existence.
Breathing a sigh of relief, his chest swelled in anticipation of seeing the blue diamond in its unified radiance. He used his dagger to carve out the dirt in the cove’s cliff, his hand reaching in once again, awaiting the soft feel of the velvety cloth.
“Bloody hell!” he growled, jaw squared and muscles twitching as he scraped his fingers across the hole. Where in the name of Sita was the blithering stone? His mucky hand left the cleft and punched the dirt wall. “Godsteeth!” he spewed, chest heaving in his fury.
He threw his head back and shouted to the heavens. “Why must ye forsake me at every turn? Am I to know no happiness in this meager existence?” He fell to his knees, face to the ground he added, “Please, I beseech you, spare my family the king’s wrath! Lead me to the Stone of Sita!”
Where could it be? Who could have known about it? How in the hell had they retrieved it without his knowledge? Who would dare be bold enough to risk his wrath? And when had the fool acquired the stone?
So many things had changed after his last voyage to Guadeloupe. His mother had passed, but not before he’d let his tongue go untamed and made promises he never should have made. All in attempt to leave a smile on her angelic face as she took her last breath.
In the next instant, his head snapped upward. His heart raced. Like a flip of a switch, it came to him. All at once, he knew. He may not know the exact whereabouts of the troublesome jewel, but he had a pretty damn good idea where to begin his search. The words of his late first mate rang in his head from when he’d looked down on him from atop the death plank. “My brother overheard you and your father…”
His brother.
Jacque and Leon had fallen out after they’d returned from Guadeloupe. He’d purchased a vessel of his own and hired a band of thieves to man it. For a time, Leon Keats and his brigades disappeared to the point that everyone thought them dead. Then, like a dreaded bout of arthritis, he’d resurfaced, haughtier than ever. If he’d had any doubt about the man’s new air of confidence, it was gone now.
There’d been a spy amongst his men…Billy the Butcher. AKA William Roberts. He’d been with Leon and must have followed him when he’d buried the stone.
Why was the flea dung here now? His hands craved the feel of his blade slashing across the thick skin of Roberts’ neck. Was that the reason for the stone’s shrinkage by Esa’s time? Had Keats and Roberts made some sort of agreement? Something else gnawed at him.
Why would Leon send Emmanuel to seek something he already had custody of? Christ, he’d been wrong before…what if he were wrong now? Surely Keats wouldn’t have misinformed the brother he’d looked up to his entire life?
Still, he couldn’t shake the sick feeling that they were naught but ill-fated cards in the deck Leon was holding.
Did his redemption lie on the other side of the ocean? What he wouldn’t give for the speed of one of Esa’s precious charters!
He only hoped the stone hadn’t been tampered with yet.
Starting back toward his ship, he prayed Esa had curbed her curious nature and listened to him for once, recalling the last time he’d attempted to fetch the stone.
He’d bide his time until they reached Sainte-Milo. Mustn’t alert the crew’s suspicions with his vindictive demeanor. He’d dispose of Roberts quietly, before they departed the Island.
And while he’d look forward to coming face to face with the birth of his problems, a heavy dread took up residence in his heart.
With the hope of salvation came the risk of great despair. God help him, but this only complicated matters.
He’d hoped to retrieve the damned stone, give it to his father with a note for His Majesty, and then slip away into the sunset with Esa. Yet another notch of disappointment added to his ragged belt.
Now he would be forced to seek out the younger Keats. A face he’d never hoped to see again…nor that of his treacherous whore.
A shiver ran through him and he fought hard to push the horrid thoughts from his mind. Something didn’t feel right. He sighed. Perhaps it was just the thought of seeing her again that left his stomach in knots.
Leon Keats had the stone, he was sure of it.
After his return trek across the lagoon, Jacque sat beneath a balmy palm pulling his boots on when a large shadow fell over him. He remained still, acting casual, as if he hadn’t noticed the shift in lighting. Through his peripheral view, he could see a pair of brown britches tucked beneath dirty black boots, although one could almost see his reflection in the shiny buckle at either side. Billy Roberts.
His blood ran cold.
Roberts! The unruly traitor! Had the bastard followed him in hopes of finishing where Emmanuel had failed? He wanted to pounce from his position and rip his yellow heart out with his bare hands.
“Looking for something?” Roberts’ salty grin could be felt as much as heard. Jacque looked up to find the burly fool blocking his path, the mouth of his menacing pistol aimed directly at his head.
He should have known. Should have put two and two together when the name Roberts turned up in the same vault as the diamond in the twenty first century. His loyalty to Keats must have earned him and his descendants the protection of the Keats fortune.
That is, what was once to be the Keats fortune.
Once he reclaimed custody of the slippery stone all that would change.
Devil be damned, what to do to keep the trigger-happy brigand from blowing his head off? “I should take ye life for following me Roberts.” He paused, allowing the coolest of smiles to half light his face. “Ye taken to men bathing o’er the curve of a soft wench these days?”
“Ye forget who’s holdin’ the gun mate!” Roberts snarled, weapon at the ready.
The feel of white-hot fury piercing his chest nearly saw Jacque’s hand dart to the phantom wound as he recalled Sid uttering similar words before his most recent travel through the ages. Had the gods not intervened, he might have met his death…again.
Not this time.
Jacque slowly came to his full height, one eye on Roberts’s heated gaze, the other resting on the steady pistol at his chest. “Avast, what is it ye seek, mate?”
Roberts unleashed a low vile laugh meant to intimidate his enemy. It only served to anger Jacque further. “Aye LaFleur, ‘tis not what I be after, but what I already have. Although, I must thank you for getting rid of Keats for me.”
As the man babbled, Jacque half listened while trying to determine how best to handle his current predicament. With doom staring him in the face, he couldn’t help but think of Esa. Which led to images of a movie they’d watched with her.
Could it work?
Only one way to find out.
Keeping his eyes on target, he raised a leg high in the air mimicking one Jean-Claude Van Damme and knocked the gun out of Robert’s hand, and the superior grin off his face. The bilge rat looked dumbstruck. Jacque punched him square in the face and watched as the hefty man stumbled backwards before falling to the ground.
It had all happened so fast, it took Jacque a second to register his success.
He straddled the traitor, snatching his filthy shirt and giving it a swift shake as blood trickled down the man’s face from the large gash at his nose.
“Who told ye about the stone?”
“Go to hell!” Roberts spat, making every effort to throw Jacque off his midriff and spraying his face with spurts of blood in his struggles.
Jacque moved off to the side and brought an elbow down on his gut. Roberts screeched as he curled into a fetal position, the fight gone from him. Whipping a dagger from his boot, Jacque held it to the man’s jugular. Jaw squared, in a voice just above a whisper he asked again, “Who told ye about the stone? I won’t ask a third time.”
“No one—arrrggh!” Roberts cried as he planted the tip of the blade in the thick of his side.
“I warned ye Roberts!” He was sore tempted to finish the job right then. Instead, he slashed the traitor’s sleeve open and carved a deep ‘P’ above his wrist.
“No! Wha-arrrgh!” The man squealed as the blade pierced his flesh. “I-I beg ye, have merc—arrrgh!” he screamed and writhed in pain as Jacque took his time, and great pleasure, in his malice.
A fate worse than death, the natives would take one look at the mark and know he was a pirate, thus hang his thieving carcass for bird feed as a warning to future turncoats.
He wiped his blade clean on the man’s shirt and looked deep into the dull black pools in his head. “Ye don’t have to say a word. I already know who holds Sita’s stone. Good day mate!” Jacque sprang to his feet, ignoring Roberts’s hearty pleas and hurried back to his ship.
Making double time, the words of his late first mate rang in his ears. Something Emmanuel had said as he stood atop the death plank.
If there was a hint of doubt in the corner of his mind, his nemesis was as clear as a plate of glass aboard Esa’s charter.
He’d sooner face the devil himself.
Jacque returned to the cabin several hours after he’d left. He’d expected Esa to run into his arms and smother him with kisses before he’d had a chance to even open the door, as had become her delightful habit.
But she didn’t.
Was she sulking? The silence was deafening. His heart hammered, a hollow ache took hold of his gut. Eyes searching the hammock and then the table. And finally, every corner of the room as he stepped inside and closed the door. “Esa?” he called. But she didn’t answer.
She was gone. Panic ripped through him, heating his blood and rekindling his worst fears as he tore out the door. Frantic and breathless, he searched every square inch of the large black schooner but there was no sign of her anywhere.
Where was she?
Godsteeth! Why must she be so bloody stubborn? He’d told her not to leave the cursed cabin until she was tired of hearing it! With no signs of a struggle; she’d obviously left of her own accord. Unless… no he didn’t even want to think about the possibility that time might have reclaimed her. At least not until he’d driven down every avenue.
Dammit, she belonged to him! It would be so much easier if she’d been taken by something he could see, something he could fight. For no matter how many tears he cried, how many prayers he sent, if time had been the culprit, there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
With any luck, her budding curiosity and boredom had surely gotten the best of her.
But where the hell would she have gone?
~ * ~
“Open it!” Brutus shouted when Stewart lowered the hefty weight beneath the shelter of trees. They’d traveled some distance, and fast, in order to bypass the others. At most, they had the better part of an hour.
Stewart tugged the knots holding the hostage inside the moth-ridden coverlets free. To his horror, the vile wench had practically wiggled them loose already. The cover fell away and the hellion squirmed, but to no avail. Murdock was the master of bondage. She could writhe all day and still not escape.
“What’ll we do with her?” Stewart asked.
“Lafleur is a traitor, you heard what Keats said. Now the blackguard’s gone and placed us all in Davey’s grip by bringing the wicked wench on board. I say, we leave her here and make him walk.” Murdock raved as he paced the sandy terrain. “We don’t need the curse of no sea witch looming over our travels.”
“Not so fast Murdock, what of her? If she’s a mermaid, she owes her rescuers a boon. And, well, we are the ones that found her. Ye we
re there, ye saw her wash in with the tide.” Stewart’s voice shook with a mixture of fear and wonder.
“Have ye gone and lost your bloody mind Stew? We didn’t rescue the witch, we took her against her will. Grant us a boon,” Murdock sneered in disgust, adding, “Indeed. I fear we’ve brought Satan’s wrath upon our shoulders with our error. Appears to me LaFleur’s the one been granted the boon. If you’ll recall, the wench foretold of our plans, how else would the Cap’n have known and killed Keats if she hadn’t told him?”
“He’s right Brutus. I’ve heard horrid tales of the wanton creatures. They steal the breath of newborns to silence their screams, lure ships to the belly of the sea with one sultry stare. A man might go to bed dreaming of capturing such a beauty, ne’er to wake again. Perhaps we should just leave her be and head back. We can deal with LaFleur, we don’t need her to prove his deceit.” The man adjusted the dirty white bandanna atop his stringy head and went to stand beside Stewart. Murdock and the two other crewmen joined them.
“What is this? Ye don’t mean to tell me you yella bellies believe that rubbish?” Brutus threw his head back and laughed so hard his belly shook. At that moment, a loud boom shook the sky.
Brutus paled and gaped at the wench as though she were the cause of the offense. Her eyes seared him through narrow slits of rage.
Stewart and the others made a move to leave, but Brutus stopped them in their tracks with his lethal words. “Abandon me and tell what ye know, and by God’s teeth, I swear I’ll see ye all walk when I’m Cap’n.”
“But Brutus, Roberts—” Murdock stopped and jumped back a few feet as a bolt of light accompanied a fresh boom.
“Cover the wench and take her to the hold.”
“Why can’t we just leave her here-Ugh!” The cold steel of Brutus’s blade entered the front of Murdock’s abdomen and came out his back. His black gaze was fixed on the darkening sky as he collapsed at his murderer’s feet.
“Anyone else?” Brutus waved the blood-laced weapon a few moments before sheathing it at his waist. “Make haste, ladies!” He glanced at the hostile sky adding, “The others will be heading back soon. We mustn’t be seen with the witch until we’ve carefully charted our next steps. I can’t wait to see the look on LaFleur’s face when he discovers we’ve taking command of his treasure and his ship.”
Corsair Cove Page 30