18
Two days passed before Rosa-Lee finally saw a longboat rowing towards the Contra O Vento.
In all this time, she had neither heard from nor seen Roberto or Pierre. She paced their cabin nervously. She was not sure what was going on, but she felt uneasy, and all the uncertainty and doubts settled in her mind. She kept thinking of all the evidence against the man she now called husband.
Her pirate.
She loved him. That much she knew.
He was not acting like the pirates her father told her about. The cruel ways of their existence was not a part of him, or of Pierre, for that matter. The two were best friends but they rarely spoke about themselves, never let her in on the bond they shared.
Then there was that letter she had delivered to the Captain of the D.E.I.C ship. Why would a pirate hand a D.E.I.C captain a letter? It did not add up.
His persistence in reminding her that she must trust him because everything was not as it seemed caused more questions. He was a pirate, strict and fierce, although she had seen a side of him that she doubted other people were privy to.
He was an exceptional lover, tender at times, brutal at other times, but he always adored her. She felt safe in his strong arms and she smiled, wrapping her arms around herself. She missed him fiercely.
His love of good books was evident. The rows of books on the shelves were worn at the corners from years of reading. His knowledge of the world astounded her. He had seen most of the known world, which she only heard from her father or had read about.
He had a love for both land and sea as he talked about the farm, the land, his country and his parents. He loved them, missed them and still talked about his sister reverently.
He knew the seas, the currents, and every kind of cloud and what it meant. He knew when to be fearful of the sky and prepared or just dismiss it and call its bluff or, as he called it, “a pout of the heavens,” nothing to be afraid of.
Then there were those dreamy hands that made magic over her skin, the smile that lit up his face, causing the scar to disappear into the laugh lines, the glow of his passionate eyes when he made love with her, coaching her.
Her tender loving pirate. Her heart ached because of her unexpected love for him. It was the not knowing that drove her to pacing. Enrico kept her company the best he could, but she knew she did not make it easy for the chamber boy, hardly listening when he told of his past life before he joined Roberto’s crew.
The pirate ships lying at anchor all around her unnerved her, menacing and dark, holding secrets she was sure she didn’t wanted to know, the world of her husband.
Sometimes he would tell her stories, but she was sure he toned it down, not to upset her, but she did have a healthy imagination and she could read between the lines. After all, her father did tell them stories as well, stories that were fearful filled with terror and horror. From her father they were stories that other people lived, yet now it was different. Roberto lived them, making it all real. The scars proved that.
Then there were the women. Her husband was virile, that she knew, and to imagine him in the arms of others made her blood boil in jealousy. They had known him, enjoyed his lovemaking long before she was in the picture. They had taught him the things he was teaching her now and it did not sit well with her. She had not mentioned it to him and knew she had to work through it if she wanted to continue to trust him.
The men made sure that she stayed hidden in the cabin so as not to attract any unnecessary attention. The crew was on alert all the time. Tension hung like a thick, unseen blanket in the air. They were ready for anything, but it was not good for her nerves. The not knowing, not being out there created more nerves.
Her stomach clenched and when she woke the morning of the second day she had to run for the chamber pot. Sweat rolled down her trembling body and the moment Enrico saw her he called for the doctor. She was pale and worn out.
The doctor encouraged her to eat often; if not for her, for the new life she carried.
As the long boat bumped against the hull Rosa-Lee finally got herself under control and went to the upper deck.
†††
Pierre stepped on the upper deck with heavy boots and the men were glad to see him, meeting him with toothy grins. He was also a good man and the crew respected him. He had a self-assurance about him that made him attractive. Rosa-Lee had also seen loneliness in him and often wondered about it, but over the past four months, he had never once spoken about himself. The same vibe that she had from Roberto she also had about him, he also did not match the description of a pirate, yet he was one. He laughed easily and was pleasant to talk to.
“Are you ready, Señorita?” All familiarity was gone and they treated her like in the beginning. She had also noticed that they did not call her Señora. There must be a reason for that. She was sure it would become clear later.
“Yes, Señor, I am,” she replied, stroking the dress she had chosen with care, a pale blue taffeta which enhanced her creamy neck, shoulders and bosom. The bodice was hand-stitched with fine needlework. It clung around her and she found it difficult to breathe but it gave her the necessary courage to do what was expected. Her waist was cinched small, according to the latest fashion. She patted herself on her still-flat tummy as if to remind herself what was at stake.
They helped her into the long boat. The boats man, who was unknown to her, looked at her with a lustful grin. His eyes roamed over her body and she felt shivers running down her spine. She did not meet the arrogant stare.
With precision, they rowed to land. Rosa-Lee felt small as they passed the menacing ships. Men whistled and cheered them on as they passed, but she kept her head down, cringing under some of the vulgar comments. Pierre touched her on the back, unnoticed by the rest, reminding her that he was there and she knew she was safe with him around.
They landed and for the first time in four months, she was back on solid ground. Her legs felt unsteady and almost out of place but soon the feeling of stable firmness of the land returned and she walked steadily behind Pierre. Her eyes were on his boots.
Men watched her, following her with greedy, hungry eyes. Pierre had tied her hands together with a blank look, pulling her behind him; she said nothing, looked nowhere in particular, and made no eye contact with anyone.
Men tried to grope at her but Enrico, who walked behind her the whole time, removed their hands with ease, protecting her. Unbearable smells welled up in her nose, and she had to fight very hard against the nausea that made her want to double over. She had to swallow a few times to get it down but remained calm, willing herself to breathe controlled breaths.
After about fifteen minutes of walking through the throng, they came into a clearing. Men stood all around her, looking down at her with piercing, hungry eyes. Stifling smoke filled the air. Her eyes burned from it and Pierre left her alone, but she could sense Enrico behind her and was at ease.
She looked around, searching for the man she loved, and when she saw him between a few men, she wanted to call him. Roberto stood out tall and strong, far above them, looking at her with a blank stare as if he did not know her in this world. She remembered his words and repeated to herself, He loves me. I know this, trust him.
Suddenly there was a light buzz in the air and in her vision another man stepped up, large and menacing. Fierce words assaulted her.
The Falcon, she guessed. The nose was a dead giveaway to the name. He was huge, and she had to lift her head to look at him towering over her. His teeth were yellow, signalling his unhealthy lifestyle and an ugly grin was on his face. Handsome was not a word used in the same sentence with this man. He was extremely rough. His face had a leather-like look from years of exposure to the elements.
He looked at her; the grin reached his eyes but made it more sinister.
“Ah the sister, finally. Ah, but you are pretty.” With rough hands he took her chin in his hand turning her head to both sides. She could not help herself and shivered.
He did not
let on that he noticed it and continued
“Your brother did not lie. You are pretty.” He roared with laughter and the men joined in, except Roberto. He stood there emotionless, looking straight at her, not missing anything. Disgust filled his eyes as the pirate touched her.
“Where is my brother, you bastard?” she hissed, unwavering before the Pirate.
An overwhelming, disgusting stench came to her when he breathed directly into her face.
“Your brother will come when I am good and ready. First, I am going to play with you,” he said, grabbing her breasts.
“A handful!” he said, looking at his men. It hurt and she flinched. Anger filled her and she stood up straight, looking him directly in the eye.
“You would like to kill me, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?” he said with a smirk of defiance.
Again, a roar broke loose, men slapping their knees as they laughed.
“I am going to enjoy you. Let me have a look at you.” With one swift movement, he ripped her bodice from her, exposing her to all the hungry eyes. Lips smacked. Disgust coiled within her belly, threatening to spill over her lips but she swallowed, refusing to back down.
He brushed away her hair, cupping her breasts again. Roberto fumed, clenching his fists and stepping forward. Pierre held him back.
“Slow down, friend, your time will come,” he spoke softly into his ear, holding him back at his shoulder.
The Falcon came closer, looking at her with pale green eyes and investigating her skin as if she was under a searchlight. She felt humiliated, exposed to every hungry glare. The rough hands kneaded her and he leaned forward to suckle a breast, biting the nub so that it stretched. She flinched in pain, sniffing. He chuckled, the sound trembling through her and she clenched her fists as he continued.
Suddenly he stopped and sniffed again, and then hollered:
“I smell a man on her! You bloody bitch, you’ve had sex!” Enraged, he slapped her and she fell to the ground. Her cheek burned as she struggled up and stood in defiance, looking at the pirate. He came closer again, looking at her abdomen, and again he raged,
“She is with child!” He slapped her again so that she fell on her backside.
“I will take the bitch!” a pirate called out.
“I don’t mind. The bitch will not live long enough to be a mummy,” another chuckled out with mockery. Again, the air filled with laughter. This time it mingled with lust as they looked at her, knowing one of them would have her.
Roberto shook as he heard the news and for a split second a smile appeared before it was gone, keeping his face still as his Rosa lay on the ground.
An instant later she stood up straight again. Her hair fell forward and covered one breast. Her chin lifted and his heart swelled with pride. There are the thorns. He had missed them. Her body was rigid as she stared the Falcon down. Her arms and bound hands drew protectively over her abdomen, the place his child grew.
It will take more than that to break her, he thought.
“Take her away!” The Falcon screamed, his eyes flashing. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Roberto moving toward them, saying,
“What do you want me to do with the bitch?”
“You can have her!” the Falcon screamed. “I wanted a virgin. Why is it so hard to find a virgin in the world, especially one that is supposed to be a lady?” he screamed.
“Thank you, Falcon,” Roberto replied, bowing respectfully, grabbing her arm. She struggled against him and he slapped her, and her eyes spat fire as he held her. He did not even look at her.
“You pirate scum!” she hissed, but Roberto did not flinch as pirates roared, calling her names.
Quickly he made way with Rosa-Lee behind him. He moved her closer to him to cover her nakedness and walked out of the circle. Pierre and Enrico were not very far behind, hands on their swords as they watched every move, every thick bush. They followed a small path leading them up the hill and at a rocky dead end, turned right into a wooden structure.
The rough wood structure was built in a huge square, standing on a wooden deck mere inches from the ground. Five steps led up to the veranda without any railings around it. The roof was shingled with dark wood. Two windows framed each side of the wooden door and on both sides, closing with shutters, no glass in the panes. As they stepped onto the wooden deck, it creaked underneath their weight. Pierre and Enrico stepped aside as he opened the door for her.
Roberto was quiet all the way to his hut. Her imagined angry words resounding in his head after he had slapped her. He had to do it. It was expected of him as the son of the Falcon, but he was furious with himself for what she had just been through. How would he face her?
When they were inside and the door closed, Roberto stood with his back to her, closing his eyes. He was afraid of what he could see in her eyes, the rejection of what just happened. Instead, he heard her softly speak.
“We were about six months into our journey, walking through the thick dense jungle of Africa, which was a struggle in the scorching humid heat. My father had to cut a path through it, the only one with enough strength to do so. He was also hungry and very tired.” He could barely hear her and imagined how she looked at him, but he could not turn, only listen.
“My mother’s feet were completely giving out, as skin fell from them, leaving them a raw, bloody mess. She tried to hide it, never cried. But when my father saw it, he was furious with her and could not believe the damage caused to them. He bandaged them with strips of his shirt under much protest from her. The sneering remarks some had made held them apart and she did not want him to be in more trouble. Father continued with the nursing of her feet and she was grateful in the end. The captain was furious, cursing him, but he ministered to her wounds and carried us both without complaint.” He heard a smile in her voice and he blinked as moisture settled in his eyelids.
“A savage tribe helped my father to get food. We thought the chief was a good man. But he indicated to my father that he wanted payment for the food and then looked at the women: my mother, my half-sister, and two slave women. Father removed all their clothing to show the chief that they were too skinny after the lack of food during that time. Father had to point out my mother and my half-sister’s bony shoulders and hips to the man, only covered with skin. Father compared them to the chief’s own wives, over weight and huge.”
“The chief did not like skinny women and dismissed them, to great relief of the remaining group, me included. He wanted big, chubby women and showed off his own women standing behind him. The two slave girls still had enough on their bones to win his approval and they agreed without any struggle to stay behind. To them, it did not matter where they were. As long as they had food, they were satisfied. By then they were used to being abused and given away to whoever owned them. The two women did not even put up a fight.”
She was quiet for a few minutes, as tears ran down her face, her cheeks swollen and sensitive, but bravely she continued, and he swallowed at the tears that ran down his face.
“First you married me and then you branded me so that he could smell you on me. The past week making love to me, you branded me so hard that at times it hurt, but you saved me, didn’t you?” He turned around, tears rolling down his cheeks, and she walked into his open embrace, looking at him with trust and love.
He did not deserve her.
“I said I would trust you, no matter what.” And she comforted him, his head on her shoulder.
“I am so sorry that you had to go through that, but that was the only way that I could protect you. You were so brave, my Rosa.” His touch on her cheek stung after the slaps. With both his hands, he cupped her face and kissed her, his breath warm against her skin. Then, jerking his head up, he asked curiously,
“Are you with child?”
“Yes I am. The doctor confirmed it two days ago, and I wanted to surprise you.”
He lifted her in the air, twirling her around, laughter in his voice.
“I am going to
be a father!”
“Yes you are, my love,” she laughed, her cheeks still hurting. He put her down and with a warm hand enclosed her stomach in wonderment, removing the restraints and the rest of her clothing, kneeling in front of her.
“Your mama is the most gorgeous and the bravest woman you will ever know, little one,” he whispered into her tummy, his lips brushing against her skin as his hands held her hips.
She knelt down in front of him with love pure and unstrained, eyes dark with desire.
“Make love to me,” she whispered.
“How can I refuse that request?” He brought her closer, their lips locked in tenderness.
“I love you, my Rosa.” He crushed her body against his, demanding her mouth. With hunger he devoured her. She removed his clothing, struggling to get to the bed.
When they finally did manage to get there, he became tender in his love. Whispering tender words in her ear, on her stomach, the vibrancy of every word causing her to arch into him. She demanded his attention, but he continued with the slow torture until she pleaded for him to end the sweet torture. He just ignored her and continued at his own pace, deliberate in every lingering touch.
A Pirate's Wife Page 16