The Buccaneer (Pirates of the Coast)

by Barbara Devlin

  “All right, Mon Chou. Cager will do as you ask or he dies.” Somehow, Cager suspected Jean Marc was not joking, as he patted her bottom. “Go upstairs, so I can discuss the manner of his execution.”

  “I will not.” She bared her teeth and glared at Cager. “How could you do it? What did Francie ever do to you that you would abuse her so? Do you not understand that we surrender our heart inasmuch as we yield our body? Ours is an act of love, not self-gratification driven by base desires.” She turned to Jean Marc, wrapped her arms about his waist, and buried her face in his chest, and the emotional display cut Cager to the core. “I know what she endures, as I died a lifetime for each of the three days we were apart, and Cager has been gone these two months. No wonder she left us, and I bleed for her.”

  “And I wager he suffers, too.” Jean Marc cradled her head. “Just as the same torment brought me low until I found you.” Cupping Madalene’s chin, Jean Marc kissed her. “I love you, Madalene Davies Cavalier. Now go to our suite, this instant, else I shall be forced to discipline you.” Never had Jean Marc invoked the full compliment of her names, and Cager realized his neck was in real jeopardy. “Please, Mon Chou. Do it for me, as I worry about you.”

  “All right.” As she stomped past Cager, she spared him no acknowledgement.

  “Come in, mon ami.” Calm and collected, which did not fool Cager, Jean Marc flicked his wrist. “Tell me your sad tale, because I would like to know what possessed you to make the same mistake you once warned me against, especially when you know how well it turned out for me. Then I need you to make your apologies to Francie and bring her home, as my wife requires, or I will have to kill you, because no one makes Maddie cry.”

  ~

  Sitting in her mother’s rocking chair, Francie assessed a crooked stitch, set down her knitting needles, and swore under her breath. Frustrated and tired, she pulled a letter from her dress pocket, unfolded the parchment, and reflected on the contents, which would change her life in more ways than one.

  “I made you a pot of tea, my dear.” Papa set a cup and saucer on the side table and then plopped on the end of the chaise. “Why will you not talk to me? Why will you not share the details of your termination of employment, when our family has served the Crawfords for generations?”

  “Papa, as I already said, I am past due for a change in my life.” For his sake and her sanity, she gathered her wits about her, as she could not burden him with the truth. She had brought shame upon their good name, and she would not allow him to suffer her poor decisions and resulting humiliation. “I want to travel. I want to see more of America. Is that so wrong?”

  “Francie, who do you think you are fooling?” He covered her hand with his, and she flinched. “You suffer the morning sickness, you drink the chamomile blend, and you barely stomach the dry toast. Do you think I was born yesterday?”

  “I know not to what you refer, Papa.” She pretended an interest in her lace-trimmed sleeve. “Aunt Agatha is thrilled that I am coming to stay with her, and I am sure I will have no trouble finding another position, as Mrs. Cavalier wrote me a glowing reference.”

  “And what of the babe?” he inquired, in a low voice. “Who is the father, or shall I guess, given you have brought only one man into this home?”

  “There is no reason to respond to your query, since it is obvious you know the answer.” The weight of the world eased ever so slightly, as she met his gaze. “I am so sorry, Papa. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive, my child.” He sighed. “In some respects, I am relieved, as I thought you might have been dismissed because Mrs. Cavalier caught you practicing magick, when I forbade it.”

  “Being a child of nature is somehow worse than being unwed and pregnant?” It hurt her that he denied his gifts, as he rejected hers. “What of our legacy?”

  “You know what they call us.” Staring at the floor, he shook his head. “More important, you know what they do to our kind. What of your baby? Chances are your heir will inherit more than your physical characteristics.”

  “Papa, while I respect your position on the matter, I will teach my son or daughter to honor their gifts, just as they honor The Great Mother.” She set aside the unfinished blanket. “But I will neither encourage nor permit them to live in fear of their abilities, because ours is a proud tradition, and there is no shame in that.”

  A knock at the door interrupted their discussion, and her father stood. “My dear, I never meant to discredit our heritage. Indeed, my only thought was for your safety.” Another pounding inspired a frown, as he walked to the door. “I swear, if it is Mrs. Boswell, again, I will not be held responsible for my actions, as that woman is a menace.”

  Laughing, she gave her attention to her project. Just as she picked up her needles, a familiar voice beckoned.

  “Hello, Francie.”

  It took the combined effort of magick, personal strength, and intestinal fortitude not to react to Cager’s arrival, yet she dug her fingernails into her palms.

  “Mr. Tyne, what a lovely surprise.” Steeling herself, she faced him. “When did you return from Port Royal?”

  “This afternoon.” To her dismay, her father conveniently disappeared, as Cager dragged a chair from the table, so he could sit beside her. “I was saddened to hear of your departure from the Cavalier household, as Madalene is distraught without you.”

  “I was sorry to cause her any distress, as she has been a great friend.” Drawn to him, she noted his characteristic sandalwood scent, and she faltered. “How was your journey?”

  “Productive, to say the least.” Resting elbows to knees, he leaned forward and furrowed his brow. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I beg your pardon?” She tittered to mask the agony welling in her throat. “What have you done that I should be vexed with you?”

  “Francie, you know what I mean.” He reached for her, but she withdrew. “I never should have left as I did. I should have been there, when you woke, to reassure you. If it makes you feel any better, I will never forgive myself for the unpardonable slight.”

  “Mr. Tyne—”

  “Cager.”

  “Mr. Tyne, you fret for nothing.” Inside her, something fractured, as she recalled a past statement, which served her purpose. “We had fun, you and I. Where is the affront in that?”

  “Back to formalities, I see.” For a while, he simply studied her, and she suspected he saw too much. “But it was more than that, and you know it.” At last, he sighed, grasped her wrist, and twined his fingers in hers. “There is nothing I would not give to travel back in time and have my chance again, but that is not possible. All I can do is go forward, as I should have from the first. And although I have no right to ask you to have faith in me, I swear, I will do anything to earn your trust.”

  “Such dark words, Mr. Tyne.” And he omitted the one utterance that would sway her in his favor. She had to get rid of him, before she foundered. If she could survive that conversation, she would never entertain him, again. “Really, you make too much of our…exchange.”

  “Marry me,” he blurted, as he produced a small box. “Be my wife, now and forever.”

  When she refused to take the tiny parcel, he set it in her lap.

  Deafening silence weighed heavy in the air, as she loomed at a perilous precipice, and she ached to scream. He had only to speak the singular but overwhelming expression, and she would be his, yet he remained mute on the subject. Four simple letters, when considered on their own, but taken together as a whole, they represented the greatest power of all.

  Love.

  But it never entered the equation.

  “Mr. Tyne, as there is no understanding between us, it would be inappropriate to accept a gift.” She tried to return the present, but he rebuffed her with an upraised palm.

  “Sweetheart, do you not understand that I am proposing, in truth?” He lifted the lid, revealing a stunning gem unlike any she had beheld. “It is a betrothal ring.”
<
br />   Still no mention of love.

  “So I gather but out of the question.” Had he offered for her in May, she would have fallen at his feet. Indeed, she would have welcomed his suit. But in the wake of his rejection, and the absence of love, she could not, in good conscience, wed him. “Wish me merry, as I am going to live with my Aunt Agatha, in Virginia.” Francie shrugged. “It has been arranged, and I look forward to making new friends. Perhaps, if you travel there, we might meet again.”

  “What are you doing?” Cager’s query perplexed her. “Why do you fight what you know is fated? Why do you run from me, when you know you want this, just as I do.”

  “I know no such thing.” In that she did not lie, as she would not marry for convenience, as she had a babe to consider. The mantel clock chimed the hour, and she made a show of yawning. “Well, it has been lovely to visit with you. We must do it again, before I move to Virginia.”

  “Fair Francie, you are going nowhere, unless I take you.” Standing, he shook his head, when she tried to give him the ring. “Keep it, as I have not yielded. And I will be back, as I will convince you to marry me, one way or another.”

  “I would not wager on it, sir.” With that, she walked him to the door, where he pounced and kissed her hard.

  “Wager on that, sweetheart.” Thus, he saluted.

  As Francie returned to the humble sitting room, her father strolled in from the kitchen.

  “What have you done?” He opened and then closed his mouth. “Mr. Tyne proposed, and all you had to do was accept him. Why did you refuse?”

  “Because he does not love me, Papa.” In that moment, the tears fell. “He never loved me.”

  As her father protested, she grabbed her shawl, ran down the stairs, crossed the ground floor, and sprinted into the community garden behind her home. Shining bright in the night sky, the moon cast a silvery pall over the landscape and sparkled on the water’s surface of the birdbath, and various night creatures chirped a lilting lullaby.

  “I thank The Great Mother for her wisdom, blessings, and protection of this day.” It was a straightforward expression of gratitude that she voiced every morning and night, but it mocked her in that moment.

  Then she broke.

  Falling to all fours, she sobbed, as the tattered remnants of her hopes and dreams shattered before her. She did not want to hurt Cager. Oh, no. Quite the opposite. Because she loved him, she could not trap him in a marriage he did not want. She could not permit him to settle for her, as that would be an affront to her devotion. So she would beseech The Great Mother for a blessing upon him that he might prosper in Francie’s absence.

  With upraised palms, she closed her eyes, focused her intent, and invoked his image. Her pulse slowed, her inhalations relaxed, and she rolled her shoulders. “By the light of The Great Mother, may you know health, happiness, and love, Cager Tyne.” Uncanny warmth enveloped her. “Cager Tyne.” Energy coalesced, crystalized, and burst forth. “Cager Tyne.”

  THE BUCCANEER

  CHAPTER NINE

  The long case clock signaled the late hour, as Cager crossed the foyer and veered down the hall, to Jean Marc’s study. As he mulled Francie’s dour demeanor, he did not even attempt to go to bed. Instead, he sought comfort in a bottle of brandy. When he entered the man’s domain, he was surprised to find Jean Marc, sitting in one of the two high-back chairs before the hearth.

  “I had thought you already retired.” Cager drew up short. “Is something wrong? Did you argue with Madalene, because of me? If you wish to be alone, I can leave.”

  “No, no, mon ami.” Jean Marc laughed and waved a greeting. “Come in and have a drink, as there is no difficulty between my wife and I. In fact, just the opposite is true.”

  “I do not follow, because you are usually locked in your suite about now.” At a side table, Cager pulled the stopper from a decanter and filled a crystal balloon. “Is everything all right between you two?”

  “It is better than all right, because my delicious bride received a delivery from La Femme Séduisante, which is an exclusive purveyor of particularly salacious ladies unmentionables, this afternoon.” Jean Marc lowered his chin and grinned. “Even now, Maddie waits to surprise and seduce me.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” Hell, if Francie engaged in such behavior, the last place anyone would have found Cager would have been in the study.

  “Because I linger, her anticipation grows, such that when I join her, she will all but rip off my clothes. Believe me, I will be surprised and seduced.” Jean Marc waggled his brows and scooted to the edge of his seat. “Once, Mon Chou danced for me, and it was the most erotic experience of my life, such that I feared I might hurt her, in my lust-filled state, but she assured me that was not possible.”

  “Madalene—danced?” Cager snorted. “I wager she has come a long way from the shy debutante we plucked from the burning Trident.”

  “Aye, and I adore her.” Jean Marc cast a smug smile. “But if you ever tell anyone, I will slit your throat, as dead men spill no secrets.” Then he chuckled, as he gazed into his glass. “Still, did you ever imagine that dainty little thing could love me, a ruthless pirate scarred in more ways than one? Could bait me, when I thought I had seen and done it all? Yet, when I think I have reached the limits of our passion, she drives me further into the abyss of pleasure, and the love I covet for her grows ever stronger.” He slapped his thigh. “She is with child, yet her primary focus in life is to make me happy, and all she asks for in return is my heart, so I give it to her, unreservedly. How did I ever deserve her?”

  “Who knows why anything happens?” Just as Cager could not make sense of his relationship with Francie. “But you make your declaration?”

  “Of course,” Jean Marc replied, without so much as a blink of his one good eye. “I waited my whole life for her, although I did not know it until it happened, so why would I not embrace her, without hesitation?”

  “Did it frighten you, the first time?” The mere suggestion gave Cager collywobbles.

  “No.” Jean Marc shrugged. “Why would it, when Maddie never fails to respond, in kind?”

  “So, you just said it.” Cager drained his glass.

  “Aye.” Jean Marc narrowed his stare. “What are you really asking me?” Then he shook his head. “You have not told Francie you love her.”

  “It is complicated.” Cager shifted his weight.

  “Then un-complicate it for me.” Jean Marc stood, collected the decanter, and poured two refills. “But hurry, as Mon Chou awaits my arrival, and I depart soon, because my blood is up, along with my Jolly Roger, and I am anxious to see in what state of undress she poses to provoke me.”

  “I went to see Francie, tonight, as you suggested.” Cager took another gulp of liquid courage. “She is miserable, she knows she is miserable, but she refuses to come home with me.”

  “Why should she?” Jean Marc consulted his timepiece and untied his cravat. “When you do not commit to her?”

  “I am committed to her.” Cager raked his fingers through his hair. “I gave her a ring, and I asked her to marry me, when I never planned to take another wife.”

  “No, you offered her a physical possession and pretty words.” Jean Marc pointed for emphasis. “But you did not gift your heart, and she knows that, because when it comes to love, women cannot be fooled, and they will not settle for less than they are owed. As for Adele, it is past due for you to let her go. You cannot live in the past, when Francie defines your future, or will you make her suffer your history?”

  “I would have Francie as my bride.” Frustrated, Cager pushed from the chair and paced before the hearth. “I would have her at my side, as my partner in life. I would dress her in pretty frocks, bedeck her in precious gems, and purchase whatever fanciful creations she would wear to entice me, if only she would have me, but she refuses me, and I ask you why?”

  “Did you tell her that?” Of course, Jean Marc posed the one question guaranteed to humble Cager.
>
  “Not in so many words,” he admitted, begrudgingly.

  “What did you say to her?” Then Jean Marc snapped his fingers. “And did you do it on your knees? If you remember, Mon Chou forced me to kneel, as the rest of you made sport, on the beach in Port Royal, in order to secure her acceptance of my proposal.”

  “Aye, I remember it.” Cager could not help but laugh. “And that was after she pummeled you.”

  “In her defense, Maddie was frightened and heartbroken, given she just learned her father wanted her dead, so he could steal her inheritance, and she thought I abandoned her.” Jean Marc leaned back his head, gazed at the ceiling, and laughed. “But you may take comfort in the knowledge that, while you must kowtow to your prospective bride prior to speaking the vows, afterward, she spends much of her time on her knees, and she does so without complaint.” The mantel clock chimed, and he came alert. “Mon ami, that is my summons. Whatever you decide, you should be talking to Francie, not me.”

  “Wise advice, my friend.” Cager saluted. “Now, go and board your wife.”

  “You may depend upon it.” With that, Jean Marc strutted from the study.

  With both palms resting on the mantelpiece, Cager studied the flames and pondered the situation, and a single nagging and undeniable query echoed in his ears.

  Just how much did he want Francie?

  Regardless of his fears, he had to face the truth, and Jean Marc was right. Cager had to make his declaration; else he risked losing his woman. Determined to win her, he downed the last of his brandy, returned the empty glass to the table, and strode from the study.

  Just as he entered the foyer, someone pounded on the front door, and he unlatched the bolt and set wide the oak panel, only to discover Wesley Osborne.

  “Mr. Osborne, what are you doing here?” Cager glanced at the long case clock. “It is awfully late. Is something wrong?”

  “Mr. Tyne, I beg you, please, you must help my daughter.” Osborne compressed his lips and wrung his fingers, as a tear slid down his cheek. “The night watch arrested Francie for the practice of witchcraft.”