by Susan Ward
They walked in silence. Finally, she felt his lean muscles slowly relax. Several minutes later, she noted his eyes were fixed on the doll she carried and began to laugh.
Holding the doll beneath his stare, she teased, “Isn’t it charming. Some woman gave it to me back there. Such an interesting thing. What do you imagine it’s supposed to be?”
Indy shook his head. “I know too well what that is. Toss it into the sea, Merry. Toss it quickly.”
Laughing at the note of repugnance in his voice, she exclaimed, “Whatever for?”
“Who did you get that from?”
“Giselle called her Flava and warned me to stay away. But Flava called me to her table. She read my cards and said something that sounded like a blessing. Then she pushed the doll on me. Wouldn’t even permit Mr. Pitt to pay.”
Indy slapped his forehead into the palm of his hand. “That doll is black magic. The old woman is a Voodoo priestess. Don’t you understand? The woman put a curse on you. That doll is a Voodoo charm.”
That only heightened Merry’s interest in the doll. She was staring at it now with greater fascination. “Really? What kind of curse did she put on me?” Indy’s answering expression made her giggle. “I don’t believe in black magic. But it will make a good story someday.”
Aggravated with her now, Indy growled, “That is a Voodoo broom doll, for Christ’s sake. For once, don’t argue with me. Just toss it away. Maybe we should burn the bloody thing. It’s a fer—” He clamped his mouth shut. Her sparkling blue eyes caused him to break off. “Do as you will. Keep the doll if it pleases you.”
Merry laughed uproariously. He sounded so like Varian, just then. Indy stared at her, shook his head, and continued to walk. It was not his problem, not his mess, and it was time he stepped out of it. The girl wanted a Voodoo fertility doll to keep as a souvenir. Tom was right. The best he could do was hold his tongue and walk away from the damn thing.
~~~
Shortly before dawn, Varian woke Merry to make love to her drowsy body. Then he left her after an affectionate chide to behave herself. They were leaving Barataria today and there was much to claim his attention in making the Corinthian ready.
Leaving Barataria was both a blessing and curse. The society she would miss not at all, not even the companionship of the women. Merry could not say she had ever been enamored of the company of women, except for her cousin Kate, and she was far from enamored of these women. But she would miss the freedom with Varian, how he belonged exclusively to her the majority of hours ashore, how he was more often himself, less Morgan, in the quiet moments belonging only to them, where they could love.
But she did not want to stay on the island a moment longer than necessary, since even after five days here, she didn’t fully trust Jean Lafitte or know what to make of him. Yet, she also did not want to return to ship and all that awaited her there. Hours alone in the cabin. Morgan. Brief flashes, loving Varian. Uncertainty. She was in no hurry to feel again the full brunt of what awaited her aboard ship.
In the faint blue-white wash of morning, she lost a measure of her contentment. A quarter turn of the clock passed as she dressed and then there was soon a knock on her door. Giselle entered, plopped herself in a chair beside Merry, and insisted they play cards.
The two women were quietly playing cards when there came a loud rap on Merry’s door. Giselle looked up and said, “Entrez-vous.”
It was Jean’s man. “The Captain wishes to speak with you, mademoiselle.” Giselle made to rise. The man stopped her. “Not you. The British girl.”
Merry’s eyes rounded in surprise. She had not passed a moment alone with Laffite and it was indeed worrisome he sought her out when Varian was away from the villa. Her anxious gaze shifted to Giselle, to find the girl fretfully gnawing her lower lip.
The man ordered, “Come.” It was then Giselle made a nervous gesture of the arm for Merry to follow Jean’s servant. She warned, “Hurry, ma petite fleur. Jean has a temper. You do not want to make him wait.”
That was hardly a comforting disclosure. Merry followed silently down the hall to the door of Jean’s study. The man knocked once, opened the door, and then pushed Merry in.
The study was filled with midmorning light and Jean Lafitte sat before a massive mahogany desk, legs propped upon it, his green eyes intently fixed on the view beyond the window.
His face shifted to look at her and she was held in his magnetic stare. With the graceful flourish of his arm, he motioned her to a chair. Something on her face made him laugh, and then both his expression and his eyes softened.
“Have no fear, ma petite. If I desired something more than a chat with you, I would have brought you to my bedchamber. Morgan or not.”
Sinking on the edge of a chair, in a posture that would lend to fast fleeing, Merry fixed him in a stare. She was grateful for the desk between them.
Jean sighed as though displeased with her. “Giselle has taught you well. You are less free with your words than when you first arrived here. Bien. It will serve you better than your quick wit.”
Having no reasonable thought what to make of that, Merry only widened her stare. Jean turned back to look out the window. He said, “The British paid me a visit not long ago. Barataria is a useful island in their war with America. They want me to act the traitor to my adopted country and allow their ships access here. The Americans have pled their case as well. Tell me, ma petite, which country should I trust?”
Merry tensed. He was toying with her. This had nothing to do with why he called her in here. Deciding to toy back, calmly she lifted a brow and said, “I would think countries are much like women. What is it the French say? A wise man can love a woman, but he should never trust her. I would place my faith in no country.”
Lafitte threw back his head and laughed. “Bien. Bien. Giselle has taught you well.” He seemed to study her for a moment. Then, “The British wanted my assistance with a bothersome matter. There is much talk among the ships at sea. A bounty has been placed on a girl who went missing in Cornwall. They believe she has been kidnapped and is being held aboard a ship. The British Captain brought ashore another gentleman. An important man in the government. The Foreign Office, I think he said. He was most determined to learn of this girl and if my Captains knew of her fate.” The hazel eyes sharpened. “The offer for the girl is most tempting.”
Icy cold bands tightened around Merry’s stomach. She shrugged and hoped she managed an expression of indifference. “And what is the girl’s return worth to this man from the Foreign Office?”
“Ah, the British offered fifty-thousand pounds for her. But that is not the most amusing part of the tale.”
Merry thought she was going to be sick. Fifty thousand pounds. The amount alone was a dangerous thing. It was nearly impossible to get the word out. “No?”
Jean shook his head. “Non. The family is a powerful family and her taking an enormous insult to them. They will double it. One-hundred thousand pounds for both the girl and the man who took her from them. A fortune. It will tempt many. The man who has taken her does not have long to live, since they will pay for him even dead.”
The man? What did her family know? Trembling, Merry wanted to rise from the chair and found that she couldn’t. Her thoughts were snapping. Think, Merry, think. Jean told you this for a reason. What do you need to know and why did he tell you?
A moment of indecision, then she asked, “And did you share this information with Dominique? The other Captains? Anyone?”
Jean’s answering expression was of mock insult. “Non. I am French. I am a lover of love. And a girl from such a family would only run because of love. I told no one. Will tell no one. I am a lover of love and I am loyal to my friends.”
Merry digested that in silence. She didn’t know whether to believe him or to run from the room back to the ship. Staring at her curled fingers that had formed tight fists in her lap, she tried to decide what to do with this information. Certainly, she had to tell Varian, b
ut what would happen if she told him the truth? She was a danger to him. He did not even know it, and she wasn’t sure what the truth of her identity would mean to him.
Jean’s clever eyes roamed the room and then settled on her intently. “It is most interesting, is it not? For a silly girl who ran off for love, an insult, and injured pride the British would offer a fortune. Absurd, non?”
Quietly, Merry whispered, “Yes, indeed, Captain. Quite absurd.”
They were sitting there quietly in the room sometime later, when Varian appeared in the doorway. Merry could feel his internally contained alarm at finding her here, though his eyes were emotionless and somehow menacing. “I trust all is well here, Merry?”
She gave Varian a cautious smile, because she could not find her voice and the tension between the men filled the room. Jean’s clever gaze moved between them, and then back to settle on a vacant spot in the room.
Into the silence, Jean laughed. “Ah, Morgan. You are back and you have come to steal la petite away from me. And we were having such pleasant conversation.” His smile was artfully charming. He rose from the desk in a graceful flourish. “Mon Dieu. I almost forgot why I invited you in here, ma petite. I have a present for you. A gift to wish you well on your journey.”
He went to the handsome Louis XIV chest and pulled out an elaborate gold and jewel brush set. Smiling he said, “I could not think of a more perfect woman to give this to. It was a gift from the Emperor to Joséphine. I do not recall how it came to be in my hands, but now I put it in your hands for safety.” He set the heavy set into Merry’s palms. “It is very valuable, ma petite. It is solid gold, diamonds and emeralds, should you ever have need of such an extravagant gift.”
Merry understood exactly the purpose of the unexpected gift. Tears filled her eyes. Jean leaned forward to kiss her on each cheek.
He paused before pulling back, to whisper, “All men are not good like the Captain and I. Be careful who you trust. Time will make more dangerous your circumstance. I hope my little present helps you, should you ever have a need.”
She nodded, unable to speak through the tightening of her throat. He tapped her nose. “Now off with you. You have wasted enough of my day.”
Varian was staring at her strangely as they went into the hall. He asked, “What was that all about, Merry? Why are you crying?”
Merry brushed away her tears and smiled. “There is nothing for you to be concerned with, sir. We were only chatting and he did not offend me in any way. He was a perfect gentleman. You can trust, Jean. He is a good man.”
~~~
They spent their last hours on Barataria with a picnic in a green pasture meadow. It dipped toward a deserted inlet of the beach, far from view of anyone. Brilliant colored birds fluttered above them in the lush arch of moss dripping tree limbs, and Merry lay atop a blanket, curled into Varian’s chest.
They were both in a quiet mood. Things were easier here. Away from the crew, there was no need for caution. He could love her freely. Merry could do nothing less, in any breath, than love freely. The return to ship with her would be both a blessing and a curse for Varian.
Varian studied her face, remembering her struggles with him as Morgan, and the ship in the days before they had left for this adventure. He wondered what awaited him once they returned to sea. She was so young. He asked too much from her. He had taken too much from her, as well.
Symbolic gesture, of sorts, but he found himself lying there, taking tiny sections of her long curls and gently tying them around his fingers. The dark tresses were streaming like a web around them both, and he had tied her to him so thoroughly she could not get free.
Merry rolled until she was on top of Varian. She was certain he was unaware of what had slipped into his eyes and what he told her with the unconscious acts of his hands. She wondered what her own expression bespoke, since the same driving need to lose herself in him moved in possession of her, as well. She did not feel as though she could get close enough to him. That she could be in possession of him, as much as she longed to.
She watched as he tied another strand of her hair to him. Yes, she understood what he was feeling. It moved in her as well. She touched his neck with her lips. “Lay with me.”
When Varian looked up, his eyes were darker than midnight. She had surprised him. “Here? Now?”
“Yes. Here. Now. You may have tied me to you, sir, but right now it is time for you to be captive of me.”
~~~
The warm afternoon sun touched Merry’s cheeks as they walked to the docks. A sudden sound caught her attention. It was pug, yapping from the decks of the Corinthian. Then her dog scampered in a flurry of slipping paws down the damp plank to them.
Of course, the miserable beast went to Varian first, yapping and springing at his feet. Of course, the man ignored him. In a moment, pug was across the dirt and into Merry’s arms, lapping affectionately at her face.
“Oh, will you stop it you ridiculous dog,” she laughed, struggling to keep hold of the fidgeting pug. Her mirth-sparkling eyes lifted to Varian as she straightened up from the ground. “Ah, I think we’ve been missed. I don’t think we should leave him in Mr. Craven’s care again.”
Both her sparkle and smile vanished. The look in Varian’s eyes was dismissive. Without a word, he turned and continued up the plank.
The noise around her from the docks came as a jolting intrusion. The crew of the Corinthian was amassed on her decks since they were making ready to sail, and she could hear Tom Craven’s acidic voice harshly barking orders. Varian’s behavior came as an ugly omen of the change in Merry’s circumstance with the return to ship. It shot through her that the pleasant hours in the meadow were gone, that they were back in a less genial condition, and effortlessly he would reduce her to a meaningless thing when necessity required it.
Varian was Morgan again, and having not been above decks with him since she’d become his lover, she had not realized his guise would encompass them. Quite clearly it did.
From where Merry stood, the Corinthian appeared no longer an innocuous vessel, but a creature she looked at with real loathing. Light-headed with pain, she dropped the pug and he chased back up the plank toward Varian.
By the time her dainty slippers touched her wooded world, Varian was busy in the active command of his crew. She stood beneath the mast, absently smiling at a man here or there who she considered agreeable elements among the crew.
Not one gave her notice or acknowledged her. Not Indy, Shay, Mr. Seton, Mr. Boniface, or Mr. Colerain. Dismissed by the Captain, she was dismissed by them. In all moments, she would only be what Varian wished in his world at sea.
She was about to cross the deck to the hatchway, wanting the privacy of below decks, when Varian’s icy voice checked her. Mid-way through a sentence, he turned to Tom Craven, tossed him Merry’s bag, and then ordered, “Take her below and lock her in my cabin.”
Then, with his expression sealed, he looked away. His eyes did not linger on her, though she tried to hold his gaze, and soon he was in deep discussion with Mr. Seton. Catching his face in those moments, she found it hard to believe she had ever seen laughter or tenderness there.
Humiliated and angry, she stood in the ensuing silence the victim of Mr. Craven’s deep, dull-set eyes. He stared at her in an unkindly way, impatient for her to follow, and when Merry made move toward the hatchway, he went briskly ahead of her below deck.
She had almost disappeared from the harshly glaring brightness of the day, when Merry heard from behind, “For Christ’s sake, take that miserable mutt with you or I’ll kick it over the rail.”
She ignored the words and her threatening tears until she was safely into the cabin. Crossing the Persian rug to the stern gallery, she anxiously waited for Mr. Craven to leave. The tears were battling upward and so was her fury. The quiet of the cabin surrounded her as a grossly unpleasant thing, and she could feel Mr. Craven’s hulking presence behind her. She stayed fixed, staring out the stern windows.
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Be gone, you wretched old man. Be gone.
Fighting to hold onto the last of her composure, she did not expected to hear Tom’s soft whisper inquire, “Are you all right? Is there anything you need?”
Humiliation complete. Kindness from Mr. Craven. Whirling to face him, she snapped, “Of course I’m fine. Get out of here.” And when he didn’t move promptly, she took off her shoe and threw it at him.
Alone in the cabin, she gave in to both her tears and her anger. She spent most of the afternoon in Varian’s chair, cursing him in her head. She saw him only once that day, with Mr. Seton in tow. He said not a word to her and Mr. Seton’s presence provided no opportunity for her to rail at him. He left the cabin as quickly as he’d entered it.
The change in motion of the ship told Merry they were back to sea. After dusk, Indy brought her a dinner tray. He set out the meal and left without a word to her. As the cabin door snapped shut behind him, she realized the boy had ignored her tears. A change in the state of her relationship with Indy. She had wanted to be no longer a source of conflict between the boy and Varian, but now that she sat bathed in his diminished willingness to be involved in her affairs, she regretted it. It was clear to her she had made another mistake. The boy’s friendship was something she had come to depend upon. Often times, he was her only friend here.
The night grew long as the hours passed slowly. When it became clear Varian would not join her soon, she changed into a nightgown and climbed into his bed. Sleep proved elusive and so did the quelling of her temper. If Varian expected her to tolerate his callous treatment in the presence of the crew, then Varian had much thought to correct. That fiction was one he had better do away with quickly.
Wrapped tightly in his blankets, held in the darkness of the cabin, she started when the cabin door opened, then softly clicked closed. It was Varian, at long last, near the wee hours of the morning. She grabbed the first thing her fingers brushed, and threw it fiercely at him.