Captives' Charade

by Susannah Merrill

  “Spirited words for a helpless – and I might add, lying – wench,” the pirate chortled. “Do not toy with me, Señorita, for I have waited for your charms much too long ... and unnecessarily.” His eyes narrowed ominously. “It would not take much to provoke me into punishing you for your deceit.” He viewed her hungrily. “’Twould be a pity for such lovely flesh to suffer permanent disfigurement ....”

  “Stewart would kill you.” It was a weak defense, despite her venomous delivery, but Sarah knew of no other way to gain a reprieve. Furtively she judged the distance between where she stood and the parlor doorway behind her, depressed by what she saw.

  D’Alava grinned obscenely. “He has already been given that chance ... and failed. Your lover will not have such an opportunity again.”

  “You underrate my husband’s will if you think harm to me will go unavenged.” “But, querida, you forget. Chamberlain is also my prisoner, no? Do you think me so careless that I would leave myself unprotected from a jealous rival?” He waited patiently for his words to sink in and laughed, when, with a start, Sarah realized just what he was saying.

  Gripping her hands together to quell their shaking, she demanded, “What have you done to him? Where is Stewart?” The room threatened to swim past her as she waited for his answer. That Stewart might be powerless to rescue her was something she had never once considered. It had been the basis for her bravado, and now, for the first time, naked terror engulfed her as she saw the evil depths in d’Alava’s malicious black eyes telling her to believe what she could barely give name to.

  “Now you are frightened, no?” he announced, casually smoothing his moustache across his sneering lip. “Buena. Perhaps you will not be so defiant, querida, now that you see the inevitability of your fate.”

  “What has happened to Stewart?” she whispered, mesmerized by the horror overtaking her. “Tell me.”

  “A pity,” he replied in mock sympathy, slowing moving toward her. “It was an accident, I believe. One that often befalls prisoners who try to escape.” He nodded his reluctant assent to the heart-rending misery etched on her strained features. Taking her suddenly limp arm, he led her, unchallenged, to a settee, talking most pityingly all the while.

  “Did he vow never to leave you? It pains me to tell you that that was exactly his plan.” Searching her wide, vacant eyes as he seated her, he added hastily, “But of course he meant to come back for you ... perhaps,” insuring the rooting of the seeds of doubt.

  “You haven’t told me,” she murmured dully, her lips barely moving. “Is he ...?” Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. I could accept his leaving me, but please don’t tell me he is ....

  “Dead,” d’Alava finished solemnly. The groan that escaped her lips might as well have been perpetrated by a blow to her stomach. “A nasty duty I have accepted for myself, no?” d’Alava continued, seemingly oblivious to her pain. “Galena offered to bear the bad tidings, but,” he pontificated, “I am the master of this island, and thought it only fitting ... my sweet, you are as pale as a ghost. Some sherry, perhaps?”

  She nodded unconsciously. Anything to stop his incessant patter, anything to mitigate the fierce churning of every fiber in her body. A blackness threatened to overwhelm her and she bent her head, doubling over to ward off a swoon. Stewart dead? Her chest ached with unspent tension; her limbs were devoid of feeling, like heavy logs attached to her quivering torso. His handsome face flashed before her, brown eyes crinkling a greeting as they awoke in each other’s arms. Was it only this morning? His pleasant, almost ironic humor as he prepared for the day, clothing his splendid sunripened body in tight breeches and a loose shirt as she watched secretly, shyly admiring the lean rippling flesh, his muscles stretched and honed by his labors.

  Huddled pathetically there in d’Alava’s parlor, the reality that he had planned an escape without her created a suffering nearly as scorching as his death. And had he succeeded, she would still be here, dreading the insidious plans the malevolent cutthroat had made for her.

  Only Stewart would not be dead, a voice deep within her soul cried out. Was this the price for loving? That he could use her to survive, then leave her defenseless, and she would still grieve his death? Yes, she admitted with humiliation that threatened to make her physically sick. Sarah clamped her hand over her mouth, clutching her waist with the other as the room began to spin around her. With an inhuman cry, she stumbled off the couch, raced unheeded through the parlor doors out onto the promenade where she hung over the balustrade, violently ill.

  After a time, she heard sauntering footsteps from behind and knew that d’Alava had joined her. Too weak and feverish to protest, she suffered silently while he patted her forehead with a dampened handkerchief, then tucked the cloth in her dangling fingers so she could use it to tidy her face.

  “So you did care for him,” d’Alava stated not unkindly.

  “Hewasmyhusband,”sheansweredblandly, unable to pick her elbows off the railing. “Maybehepromisedyoumarriage, querida, but that was the extent of it. I do not bluff to learn the truth, only to make others admit it.”

  “I do not know what you’re talking about.” D’Alava sighed laboriously and moved to a half-sitting position on the balustrade. “There was another woman onboard your ship,” he offered matter-of-factly, “though the credit for her discovery goes to my faithful servant, Turgot.” Sarah tensed apprehensively, but continued to lean over the balcony, staring at the dense foliage beyond, her body pounded into languor by the heaping of one nightmare upon another. “You see, Turgot had a weakness for young boys ....” and when he saw her clutch the handkerchief over her mouth, added, “Not unusual for a man too long at sea, though Turgot carries his fetish wherever he abides. He was most satisfied with the arrangements your captain made to put the waif to work in the kitchen. Saved him the inconvenience of seeking the ‘boy’ out in the prisoners’ quarters.” Sarah’s heart plummeted with the realization of their role in Tegan’s murder, and suddenly her eyes were blinded by tears. D’Alava continued, mindless of her torture.

  “He courted your little mute unsuccessfully – though one who can’t utter a protest is as good as willing in my book, no?” When that failed to arouse her, he accelerated with force. “And what a surprise?” D’Alava laughed gleefully and it was all Sarah could do to keep from being sick again.

  “He-he raped her?” she choked, the tears sliding down her ashen face. “Well you don’t think after all her hard work, she was going to acquiesce without a protest?” the pirate rejoined playfully. “But Turgot has a short temper and just enough brains to detest being made a fool. That girl paid dearly for your saintly lover’s cunning ... just as you will pay, si?” His black eyes narrowed threateningly.

  But Sarah was past the point of caution. “You loathsome, disgusting bastard!” With a swift movement that belied his cumbersome size, d'Alava gripped her against his. seemed to bring her closer to his repulsive form. Finally, she tossed head aside and stood rigidly wrist, spinning her body to press She struggled but every maneuver still, willing back the nausea that threatened to engulf her. “Watch your tongue, querida,” he warned, so quietly yet with so much menace that a cold shiver raced up her spine. “There is nothing between you and unspeakable torture save myself. You would do well to placate me with the same favor you dispensed to your self-seeking rake. Perhaps this time you will fare better ....”

  Bowing her head in submission, her body too frail to resist and her mind grief-stricken and confused, Sarah was nonetheless relieved when d’Alava released his grip, allowing her to cling to the railing of the promenade. Eager to gloat still, the pirate continued his account of the discovery of their charade. “Seeing that Chamberlain had disguised the identity of one female, it was only logical to assume the other was engaged in pretense as well.”

  “You examined the marriage documents, did you not?” Sarah rejoined without spirit, knowing that it was hopeless to even dare believe that wedlock would save her now, now that s
he was ... a widow. God, what a hollow, heartless word.

  “Oh, the Special License serves the letter of the law,” d’Alava snickered, “but not the spirit. Chamberlain take a wife? I had my doubts from the beginning, but you seemed such a sweet, sheltered dove, I truly did not wish to see you suffer the crudities of a pirate hijacking.

  “Call it a character flaw, if you will,” he beamed proudly, “but you aroused certain ... how shall I say ... fatherly ... instincts. Besides, I had no desire to vent aggression on close friends after such a successful tour of duty.” His equanimity was revolting. Sarah knew a great longing to lean farther forward and fall the eight feet to the hard earth below. Perhaps God in his mercy would assuage this torture with a fatal broken neck. But she was too much of a coward. Admitting it brought more cold tears to her tangled lashes.

  And still the pirate kept up his relentless monologue. “I was perfectly content to play the gracious host, even if it meant giving you and that horny stud free reign to carry on your ill-fated little tryst. I might have offered the same hospitality even knowing the truth about you,” he added, in a tone that forced her to cast an eye toward his face.

  He surprised her with an angry, smoldering look. “You smug, little whore!” Her breath caught sharply in her throat and she sidled away in renewed fear. “The both of you, laughing at my stupidity as you tumbled in my bed!” His chest was heaving with the effects of his sudden wrath, and Sarah saw the dark, mad glaze of his beady eyes. “Nobody deceives me and lives to tell about it ... at least not until today.”

  “Wh-whatdoyoumean””Sarahchoked, grasping her shoulders, hugging herself tightly to stop the shaking of her limbs.

  “Chamberlainpaidforhissins...lying, making a fool of me, and trying to escape,” the Spaniard replied. “Why should both of you suffer the same fate? Why should I punish myself for your conniving, when your torture could be my rapture?” His stubbly hand reached out and pinched her chin, forcing her to stare straight into his burning black eyes. “For as long as you amuse me, you’ll do your penance flat on your back.”

  “No...no,please....”shewhispered tragically, her blue eyes wide and glassy with sickening horror. Never could she endure his cruel touch, his disgusting, selfish embraces, his vile possession of her tender body. But was there any choice, now that she was so desperately alone and helpless? Feverishly her brain struggled to bring forth a defense, even a stall, anything to keep this barbarian at bay. But it wasn’t until he leaned forward to press sneering lips to the crawling flesh of her neck that the thought occurred to her.

  “Pleasedon’thurtme,Señor,”shepleadedin a small voice. “I beg for your mercy. You see, I-I carry a child.”

  CHAPTER 29

  D’Alava stopped in midpoint, his pitchblende eyes searing right through her. Immediately Sarah regretted her rashness, for there was no basis for the statement’s truth, and the pirate would know soon enough that she was lying. But she had committed herself and returned his look with all the assuredness she could muster.

  His thick fingers dug into the smooth flesh of her jaw before he carelessly flung her away to allow himself a thorough inspection of her tall, slim form. Concentrating on her well-rounded breasts, tiny waist and slender hips, he spat, “You are lying. And I thought you had more sense than to attempt to deceive me again.”

  “’Tis the truth,” she implored, “though the time has not been long.”

  “How long?” he bit back impatiently. “T-two months, perhaps less.” Seeing that he was completely unconvinced, she hastily added, “I-I have not been well, so I am still ... rather thin.”

  “Too thin,” he muttered cruelly, grabbing her arm in a biting hold, “for me to believe your feeble story. And it makes no difference anyway. I want you even if you are harboring Chamberlain’s bastardo!”

  “Señor, I beg of you,” Sarah choked, the tears streaming down as he maliciously pulled her quaking form against his chest. “Please do not kill my baby. It-it is all I have left.”

  “Did Chamberlain stop his nightly exercise because of your ‘delicate’ condition ... if indeed you are so encumbered,” d’Alava sneered. “I think not!”

  “MyGod,Señor,”Sarahwhimpered hysterically as his teeth sank into the sensitive flesh of her shoulder, his arms rendering her helpless against his merciless assault. “Do you care so little for what has happened to me? Can you not give me some time?”

  Hisheadshotupandhespokeasif possessed by demons. “Time? You want time? After all the days you have stolen with your treachery? You prevaricating, high-born bitch! You will learn soon that I dictate the moment, and it is now!”

  With a contemptuous yank that nearly removed her arm from its socket, d’Alava dragged his terrorized prey back through the balcony doors into the parlor. Gasping and stumbling blindly in his wake, Sarah was in no way prepared for the scene that followed when they reached the great foyer, whose stairs would lead them to d’Alava’s private chambers.

  Itwasadream,shewassure,assureasshe could be of anything in this hideous nightmare she was living. A presence, so pervasive, so real that she screamed before she actually saw the shadowy form of a man stepping silently from beneath the winding staircase on the other side of the threestoried hall.

  Alerted by her cry, d’Alava whirled about, instinctively forcing her back against his chest as his free hand drew the pistol from its sheath. He aimed it at the slowly approaching figure. “Let her go, Simon, and make peace with your Maker.”

  Thevoice.Sofamiliar.Cruel,unforgiving. Yet, a balm for the senses. Sarah stared, her emotions rising to joy and falling to despair with each furious beat of her heart. Had she lost consciousness? Was it a nightmare, this dear, sweet vision of the only man in the world who would ever have her love? “Stewart,” she whispered tearfully, prayerfully, hoping against hope that the portrait would not fade away at the sound of her voice.

  “A cruel act of fortune that you somehow escaped your intended demise,” d’Alava uttered coldly, his breath pricking as it stirred the hair above Sarah’s ear. “For now you will suffer a slow, painful death as you observe the submission of your harlot to her new lover.” As if to emphasize his words, the pirate’s restraining hand rose from Sarah’s waist to clamp painfully on her breast. Impulsively, she struggled, but it was useless. His grip was too strong, too hurtful. The man, who looked so much like Stewart, did not flinch, though his dark eyes narrowed imperceptibly, dangerously.

  “You have one shot, d’Alava.” The confident, resonant voice seemed to reverberate throughout the house, sending chills of trepidation through Sarah’s abused body. “God help you if you miss.”

  Fearlessly, the unarmed man moved another step closer, his mystical arrogance having a sure effect on the couple before him.

  Suddenly, without warning, d’Alava turned the barrel of the pistol inward so that it stuck painfully into Sarah’s ribs. When she gasped, the pirate jerked her back more closely to his chest. “One more step and she and the child are dead!”

  That warning, so desperately offered, stopped the apparition cold, an unearthly glint of pure, unadulterated loathing seeping from every fiber of his being.

  NeverhadSarahseensuchaghoulish, heinous sight as the total aura of revulsion that emanated from this man. It wasn’t Stewart, and yet, it was. Her body shook from the effects of the malevolent hatred passing over her to the man who clutched her more tightly to him. D’Alava sensed it too. She could feel his body cringe. Did this mean ... could it be ... was it really?

  Ablacknesspulledathereyelids.Herknees buckled, given unannounced to a will of their own. The floor was suddenly there to meet her cheek as a gunshot echoed about her.

  “Sarah! Wake up. There’s too little time. Wake up!” Insulted by the quick, painless slap on her cheek, Sarah’s eyes flew open to see a thin, brown face creased with worry hovering over her.

  “Galena?”Shefrownedinconfusion.Shehad expected d’Alava to be the perpetrator of such abuse. “Where-where is ...?”


  A relieved grin swept away the maid’s clouded expression. “Señora, you awake! She be awake!” The last statement was directed toward another presence, and Sarah closed her eyes again, swallowing weakly, praying for the blackness to return. Anything to postpone the inevitable.

  “No you don’t,” a deep voice warned her gently. “There’s no time for you to leave us again.” Daring to believe her ears, Sarah gingerly turned her head, which was pillowed in Galena’s lap, her eyes fluttering open once more. “Stewart?” Her childlike voice verified her disbelief.

  “Atyourservice,”hechuckledwryly,his brown eyes warm and reassuring, “and not a moment too soon.” His large, warm hand found her smaller, cold one and he gripped it firmly as it to prove that he was real and not a ghost.

  “Stewart,” she whispered reverently, “I thought you were ....” “Thoughtd’Alavadidmein,eh?”hemocked her playfully. “You never did have much faith in me.”

  “No, you don’t understand ....” she protested, trying to rise.

  “Easy now,” he ordered pressing her back into Galena’s lap. “Are you ready to get up?” Sarah nodded, and with their help, was lifted shakily to her feet. Galena scurried off the floor behind her. Only half out of need for support, Sarah twined her arms around Stewart’s waist, resting her head on his comforting chest, reveling in the safe feeling of his arm about her shoulders. Her head was clear, knowing no dream, no matter how beautiful, could match the intensity of her happiness at this moment. “Thank God you’re alive.”

  “Andd’Alavadead!”Galenarejoiced, clapping her hands in glee.

  “Heis?”Sarahasked,lookingfromoneface to the other for assurance. “Your man be the best pirate I never saw, the way he use that knife.” The maid offered eagerly. “Bastard killed with he own blade, just so!” She made a slicing gesture beneath her chin, adding a sound effect for emphasis. “I see everything. Great show! You miss best part. But that all right. You still see what left.” She pointed to a place behind Sarah’s shoulder, to which Sarah began to turn until Stewart stopped her.