Rocking back on his heels, Jacque looked into cool calculated eyes and whispered, “Child’s play.”
Damn, he’d hoped to keep the blithering fool alive long enough to find out how he knew about the stone. And his crew’s mutinous plot. Had Keats double-crossed him? What was the story between the two of them?
~ * ~
“‘At you Cap’n?”
Esa froze. She’d finagled with the knots at her wrists so they hung loose at her back, though she hadn’t time for anything else. Her feet were still bound at the ankles; her mouth yet held the filthy gag. Surely the burly giant hadn’t returned so soon!
Had he been successful in taking possession of the Sainte-Anne?
What about Jacque?
Another knock.
“Cap’n?” Hearing no reply, the toad faced buck threw the door open to have a look. A hard fist smashed into the man’s twisted face, the small bones of his nose made a crunching noise as he staggered backward into the cabin.
“I believe ye have something that belongs to me,” Jacque growled, shifting his gaze to Esa. “Ah, there she is.” He smiled as if to make light of the situation. “Are ye all right lass?”
Overjoyed by his unexpected appearance, she could only nod through the gag.
He returned the nod and snatched the remaining twine from the table before kneeling beside his foe. “Gabby,” he grinned. “I let ye live only because I know your orders came from ye yella-bellied commander.” The man at his feet said nothing, didn’t even put up a struggle as Jacque tied him up.
Esa brought her hands around and ripped the gag free, then untied her ankles. When Jacque turned, his eyes were the size of silver coins. A mystified grin stretched his handsome, if somewhat dirty face. “Blimey lass, ye never cease to amaze me. What other secrets do you harbor?”
Esa didn’t answer but threw herself at him, practically falling onto his bloodstained chest. “Oh my god Jacque, you’ve been shot! Does it hurt?” She tugged open his shirt, his shoulder had been grazed by a bullet and blood seeped from a gash in his abdomen.
“I’m fine lass. ‘Tis but a flesh wound.” He winked and revealed the injured shoulder, then swiped at the knife gash as though it were not but a scratch.
Images of Monty Python flashed through her mind and she might have laughed had she not been numbed by her fear. Why was it the small wounds always carried the most blood and pain? “I’m so glad to see you! I thought you were dead!” Her words were punctuated with desperate kisses.
“Avast! What do ye take me for? Some measly mouse dung!”
She tried to muster a smile but couldn’t, still reeling from the horrid incident. “Of course not.” She squeezed him harder.
He lifted her chin to meet his gaze. He looked like he wanted to say something but dropped his head as if under a spell, his lips claiming hers instead. His fear, his worries, his relief all flowed through the passion-filled kiss, mating with her own. She hadn’t missed the fright lingering in the corners of his eyes before his lips locked with hers. He’d been as terrified, as uncertain as she about the outcome of the broadside. Was it over? Had they won?
Jacque broke the heated union and smiled down at her with that sexy, mischievous grin she loved so well. “Well then, if there’s nothing keeping you…” he trailed off at her laughter.
“Well, now that you mention it, I sort of had a previous engagement with this big beefy dude with a thick scar down his face.”
He looked at her through narrow slits of feigned jealousy. “Looking forward to that were ye?” He snarled playfully. Offering his arm and nodding toward the door, he stepped over the bound man. “Well lass, I’m afraid ye beefy scar-faced dude won’t be able to keep the engagement. Perhaps I could stand in for him, eh?”
Boom!
Esa’s chuckle transformed into a shriek upon hearing the heart stopping sound that sent the entire ship teetering.
“Merde. What the bloody hell?” Jacque snatched her hand and made his way to the main deck, practically dragging her behind him.
“Ramey! What’s ye report? Have we command of the ship?” Jacque shouted upon seeing one of his injured crewmen hobbling toward the helm of the rival ship. The gunfire had ceased. Was it over?
“Hardly, Cap’n!” Breathless, the man nodded and pointed toward the stern. “‘Tis bloody dynamite! They just missed the Sainte-Anne by a fraction. They aim to blow her up!”
Jacque spotted two men near the helm rustling with a piece of dynamite and an angry torch. With any luck, they’d blow themselves up. “Godsteeth! When I give the signal, get her off this ship!” His gaze was a curtain of black rage. His hand found his gun as he rushed toward the helm.
Having the element of surprise on his side, Jacque snuck up behind the pyromaniacs and ripped the torch from the man’s hand. The men swirled around in stunned horror.
“Didn’t your mother ever tell ye not to play with fire?”
“LaFleur!” Venom replaced the shocked expressions as one man welded the cane of dynamite like a weapon; the other seemed to take note of the gun in Jacque’s hand even before it went off in the bomb holder’s gullet.
Too late, the second man bolted for his weapon.
“Now!” Jacque threw a nod toward Ramey and Esa, waiting until they’d safely crossed over before vaulting onto the deck of the Sainte-Anne himself, dynamite and torch still in hand.
“Get us out of here Ramey!” he bellowed.
Slowly, the Sainte-Anne sailed away from Satan’s Wrath. When Jacque felt her a safe distance away from the other vessel, he lit the fuse and sent the flaming baton spiraling across the water. He didn’t wait for the hissing rod to find its target before he grabbed Esa and pulled her beneath him as he hit the deck and hollered, “Fire in the hold!”
The sparse crew followed suit, dropping facedown on the planks, arms shielding their heads as a deafening roar shook the night. The explosion lit the black sky like a grand fireworks display.
Shards of sizzling wood slapped the deck, some hitting and singeing his back before going out. When the rain of fire ended, Jacque sprang to his feet as his crew offered victories cries to the sea.
“Ye all right lass?” he asked, helping Esa to stand and examining her for any signs of injury.
“I think so,” she replied, her gaze unreadable as she looked in the direction the other ship had been a few moments ago. “That’s more than I can say for them.”
For the first time it occurred to Jacque that Esa wasn’t used to such carnage. In her time, men weren’t free to go about shooting each other up, but spent their time talking things out. At least the domesticated ones. Unfortunately, his time didn’t permit such simplicities.
Her profile was shaded, yet he could see the horror that crinkled her brow.
Damn it, sometimes talking just didn’t get the job done! What would she have him do, submit to the will of his foe? Then his ship, his crew, he himself would be on their way to the ocean floor while Max had his way with her.
Nostrils flaring, he forced a civil tongue, “Esa, I’m sorry. I—”
“Couldn’t you have just locked them away in the hold?”
“Locked them away? In the hold?” He threw his hands up and paced several moments before stopping. “Esa, I’ve no time to explain my actions. Sometimes one must do unto others before they can do unto you, eh?”
She just stared after the sinking lumber and shrugged. Jacque’s heart grieved for her. She wouldn’t understand, she couldn’t, having such a gentle heart; such a sheltered existence.
Yet, he couldn’t help but relish the sweet burst of vengeance that rose high in his chest. He’d won the battle and saved his ship. And changed another blackened page in Esa’s vile history books.
Could he be as successful with the rest of his mission?
Twenty
Two weeks later, the Sainte-Anne dropped anchor in the port of St. Milo. The few surviving crewman knew Esa remained on board, but seemed to value their lives more than to
utter a cross word to their captain. The farther north they sailed, the colder the wind grew, the choppier the sea became. The nights came fast, dawns early and food rations were slim.
Jacque and Esa had loved much, and often, not knowing which time might be their last. Once he tracked down the diamond and saw it into the king’s hands and his father and family out of harms way, what would become of them?
What was her purpose for being in his time? Did she have one?
She’d worked her wanton magic in attempt to convince him to give up his life at sea and obtain a respectable occupation. And carried on about his paintings until he’d finally agreed to show them just to silence those beautiful lips long enough to steel a kiss. She wanted him to be a provider and made it all sound so simple.
But life away from his ship, away from the freedom of the sea was anything but simple.
“Why did you become a pirate?” she’d asked one chilly night after hours spent feeding their carnal appetites.
“Land lubbing fops,” he’d grunted sleepily.
“What do you mean?”
He sighed, adjusting himself in the hammock, resigning to answer her questions so he could get some much needed sleep. “Avast, what do ye suppose the difference is between a pirate and a king?” When she shrugged, he answered, “A vessel, a crown and a lot of water.”
She laughed. “I’m serious.”
“As am I.” He grinned and threw her a lazy wink. “My father worked hard his entire life, slaved from the moment the cock crowed until dark blanketed the night for as long as I can remember. As did his father before him. But for what I ask ye? He reaps no profit. The king and his courtesans have the roundest bellies, the thickest purses, the softest lives in the land.”
“So, you became a pirate in hopes of becoming a rich, fat dude?”
He snickered. “Ye jest, but tell me lass, have ye ever gone to bed hungry? I mean, really hungry, not just with an unquenched craving like ye chocolate bar or ice cream sundae.”
“Thankfully, no. But I think you know far too many of my vices.”
“Indeed, I’ve made it my life’s mission to learn every sordid detail about ye, so don’t venture to keep any secrets.” He tweaked her nose. The smile left his face as he rode the tail of a memory back to his childhood. “‘Tis not easy to sleep when ye gullet sticks to ye backbone and you’re so famished you’d challenge a mouse for a measly crumb.”
“Oh Jacque, I had no idea. I thought with the vineyard and all, you’re family was better off than that.”
“Aye, and we were at times. But during the winter we mostly survived on dried beans and bread when we could afford to buy the grain. The king’s men never failed to show up at the harvest, taking the better part of the vine. My mother, God rest her soul, used to beg my father to sneak a small crop before His Majesty had a chance to take his share, but he was so afraid of the king’s wrath, he refused. Once and only once mind ye, she dared to steal away with an apron full of plump juicy grapes. She took them to the market and traded them for some grain and meat. Though the peacock of a merchant robbed her by raising the price of his goods.
Louis caught wind of it and threatened to severe her right hand. Had my father not begged on his hands and knees for mercy, he surely would have. Though the Royal mercy came with a high price, and soon my oldest sister was carried off to the king’s palace to become one of his courtesans. My mother was never the same after that.”
“That’s so tragic, how old was your sister?”
“Thirteen.” The thought piqued the muscle beneath his jaw. “At any rate, I was caught up with a band of thieves soon after and found a life at sea far less stressful. The meals were just as sparse and not near as tasty, but it offered a freedom beyond the confines of the land. I couldn’t bear to watch my father succumb to such thievery. When I was old enough, I left. With each bountiful raid, the better part of me earnings were sent back home.”
“I see.”
“I might have remained a pirate had it not been for my mother. When she took ill, she confided her dreams, her fears in me in the wee hours of the morning while I relieved my weary sisters and tended her fever. She said she hadn’t slept through a solid night when I hooked up with Keats and went off to a murderous life of looting. She wanted me to settle down, give up my wayward habits and do something with my life. Foolish woman, like you she tried to convince me to make a profit with my oils, said I could change the world with the flick of my wrist.” He laughed, though his tone was laced with melancholy. “Might ye let me get an hour’s rest now wench?” He gave her a squeeze that let her know he was playing.
“Like I said, your mother was a smart woman. I think she must have loved you almost as much as I do.”
~ * ~
Jacque tried to convince Esa it would be safer if she remained on board until his return, but she wasn’t having any part of it. Stubborn wench! And the last thing he needed was to lock her inside against her will and have her break free and get herself into trouble.
With a kiss and a prayer, he reluctantly agreed to her staying at his father’s house. She should be safe enough there while he went in search of his loathsome malefactor. Just the thought filled him with venomous loathing.
Once on land, she swayed a little in her feet. “Still wearing my sea legs.” She chuckled and steadied herself against his chest. “Where to now? When do we meet the king? Gosh, I can’t believe I just said that! I’m really going to meet King Louis!”
He furrowed his brow and looked at her. “No, you’re not. First thing is to get you out of those clothes. Ye don’t make a very braw man, lass. I’m sure my sisters will have something more suitable.”
He hoped it wouldn’t take long to find Keats, or the diamond. Dread lurked in the dark corners of his soul at the thought of leaving Esa, if only for a few hours. The same tormenting question played over and over inside his head. How long would they have before time interfered again?
~ * ~
France was everything Esa imagined it to be. The land of love, it was adorned with rolling hillsides and deep rich valleys. The amorous landscape almost made her forget how cold she was.
Jacque tucked her beneath his arm and they walked a few cobblestone blocks to a saloon, complete with flashy red light women. Ignoring said women, Jacque marched her to the end of the lengthy bar, whispered something to a man that looked to be a permanent resident of the place, dropped a few coins into his open hand before the man nodded in invitation to a gruff looking gentleman to join them.
Esa was too caught up in the frilly corsets and stockings floating about the smoke-filled room to pay any mind to their conversation. It took some effort to translate from French to English and vise-versa, and watching the interactions between the card players and the high priced ladies openly fascinated her. A man played a piano at one end of the bar while a woman dressed in red from her hair to her high heeled shoes sang a bubbly French tune.
A sharp tug of her sleeve announced it was time to go. And none too soon, as one of the brazen women approached her and Jacque and inquired, “Got about twenty minutes, boys? I’m having a two for one special, guaranteed to make a man outta you.” She directed the latter part of the sentence toward Esa, taking a long drag on her sleek filtered cigarette. She winked and rubbed her heavy breast suggestively with her gloved hand.
Esa’s mouth fell open. Was the woman soliciting her?
Jacque was right, she did make for a rather scrawny man. The sooner she got out of the ragged britches and frock and was free to let her hair down from under the corked hat, the better. She suddenly craved the pelted heat of a hot shower to wash away the crud the woman’s words left her with.
She must have stood there with her mouth open a little too long, for Jacque placed a hand beneath her chin and closed it. Then he turned to the night laborer. “Er, perhaps some other time Jezelle, this one’s not quite ready to reap the sweet kiss of manhood.” He winked and hurried her outside.
“Jezell
e?” She gaped at him. “You’re on a first name basis with that, that—”
He hushed her with a kiss that sent a wave of heat gushing to her toes. “Forget her, she’s just someone I use to play cards with when I was bored. But now that I have you…” he trailed off and dipped his head in another attempt to kiss her.
She dodged him this time. “Cards? Cards? What kind of cards were you playing? Strip poker?”
He had the nerve to chuckle. “Mmm, that sounds like a game I’d like to play with you!” With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he lifted her and gave her a spin then pulled her from the road as a carriage turned the corner. It stopped directly in front of them and Jacque opened the door for her to climb inside. She recognized the driver as the man the bartender had summoned.
Huddled in the protection of Jacque’s arm, his body heat helping to keep her warm, she smelled a hint of grapes in the air as the carriage joggled them toward his childhood home. The modest two-story farmhouse sat in the foreground of the hilly vineyard that spread a mile either side of the home. A slightly older version of Jacque was the first to greet them upon entering. It was obvious where he had gotten his good looks.
Well into his fifties, Jamus LaFleur possessed a tall, fairly muscled frame. Dark, shoulder length hair beheld speckles of gray weaved throughout its softness. Esa watched the joyous reunion in silence; the interpreter in her mind doing its best to keep up with the exchange.
“When do we leave?” Jamus asked, too blinded with excitement to notice her just yet.
Jacque dodged the question and pulled her in front of him. “Pop, this is Esa. She’s my guest.”
Esa winced. Pop? Why, that’s what she called her father. Pops.
“Guest?” Came the bright eyed sneer of pretty girl that looked to be no more than seventeen. “What about—”
“Sara,” Jacque interjected in a scolding tone.
Esa turned just in time to catch the tail end of the unsettling glare he’d cast at his sister.
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