Love Me With Fury

by Janelle Taylor

  Deep, rumbling, mocking laughter filled the dim room. “This is June, not Christmas, Captain Stovall,” he teased the vexed man before him. Stovall glued his wide eyes to the steel blue ones of glacial intensity before him as Spencer sneered contemptuously, “Don’t play me for a fool. Just what does your king have in mind for my territory?” he demanded. “This is an expensive cargo to rest upon the ocean floor,” he subtly warned.

  With false bravado, Stovall scoffed, “You can hardly call the entire ocean your territory, Captain Steele. As to the King’s plans, I am not privy to such knowledge,” he huffily declared.

  Spencer strolled around the stiff frame of his foe as he ventured, “You mean he doesn’t intend to attack America or blockade her ports? Ports which my trade needs easy entrance to?”

  A sudden inhalation of air and startled look told Spencer he had struck a nerve. He halted before the stubborn man and glared at him. “Tell me, Captain Stovall; would you care to see your ship scuttled, your spotless record demolished, and your crew executed before your eyes? I’m not asking for permission to see those hidden dispatches, I’m demanding them. Now be a good fellow and give them over,” he casually handed the anxious man his ultimatum. “The papers in exchange for your honor, your ship, and your crew,” he reiterated his unflinching terms.

  Suspicious lights danced in Stovall’s eyes. “Why would a pirate be interested in political matters?” he asked.

  “Why indeed would a privateer be interested in a war which might damage his most profitable business?” Spencer sarcastically questioned. “Besides, I wouldn’t want to go against the entire Royal Navy. Since I have an interest at stake here, it just might profit me and the Crown if I were to side with the inevitable winner,” he calmly hinted, seating himself at the captain’s desk and negligently propping his booted feet upon the cluttered piece of furniture which was securely attached to the wall. At Stovall’s hesitation, Spencer snarled, “Well? What’s it to be, my good man: an alliance with the Crown or my own declaration of war against it? As you know, I’m not a man who bluffs. I can give your fleet a Royal pain in the flank of its regal pants,” he ominously warned with an aura of self-assurance.

  “The Royal Navy doesn’t need the likes of pirates like you to help her defeat those foolish colonists!” he stormed in rising indignation and haughty pride. “Once the fleet sets sail, they’ll squirm like the snakes they are! They’ll regret the day they turned against the Mother Country.”

  “And just when does the Mother plan to take her errant fledgling back into her nest?” Steele inquired casually as he studied the neatly trimmed nails on his left hand.

  “I’ll not commit treason just so an arrogant pirate can line his pockets with gold! I gave quarter, but I will not forfeit my honor and loyalty!” he snapped angrily, his round face flushed with rage and humiliation.

  “Pride can be a costly possession, Stovall. I’m a smart man; I fully intend to side with the obvious victor in this approaching conflict. Who’s the commander of your fleet? I’ll offer my services directly to him,” he cunningly attempted another path to prevent being forced to settle this matter in an unpleasant way.

  Stovall gave those words careful consideration. Steele wasn’t a man to tangle with. Choosing to compromise, he smiled maliciously and replied, “You’re no threat to his majesty’s fleet, so what harm could it do to tell you? Captain Philip Broke commands the fleet,” he proudly announced, then smugly anticipated Steele’s cowering reaction.

  Spencer grinned roguishly as he nodded his head in acceptance of that interesting fact. “That means the Shannon is the flagship. Well, well…So Broke finally made it to the top,” he mysteriously commented, sounding as if he knew the man personally. “What other ships are heading this way?” he asked, undaunted.

  “If you think you can out-sail the fleet, you’re sadly mistaken, Steele. You’re no match for the combined forces of the Guerriere, African, Aeolus, Belvidera, and the Nautiler! They’ll blast your Black Mist back into the hell she came from!”

  “Do tell,” Spencer mocked his false courage and eagerness. “Why not ask Broke how many of his ships have won battles against mine? If your British courage matched your British boasting, you’d never have given quarter. Give Broke and Byron my regards when you see them. Tell ‘em to keep an eagle eye to their sterns. I’ll be seeing them real soon.”

  Spencer stood up and lazily stretched his agile frame. He withdrew his poniard from the carved leather sheath hanging next to his deadly cutlass. He leisurely strolled over to Stovall and glared into his brown gaze with eyes as cold and awesome as his steel blade. Kicking the door open, Andy and Migget rushed in, seizing Stovall’s hands and securing them behind his flabby waist. With the flat side of the cold, sharp blade, Spencer tapped Stovall’s bulbous nose as he spoke.

  “Time’s a’wasting, Captain. I know you have some papers on board which interest me greatly. Since your honor, ship, and crew are of little value to you, just how much is the safety and survival of this?” he asked in a glacial tone which caused the Englishman to tremble as Spencer lightly tapped his groin with his sword. “One skilled flick of this blade and you’ll be talking like a woman for the rest of your life—if you don’t bleed to death first.”

  “You wouldn’t dare mutilate one of the King’s subjects! Have you no honor?” he asked in a shaky voice.

  “As you so aptly put it earlier, pirates have no honor or loyalty to any man or power but their own crews and ships. The papers. Now!” he fired the last word like a pistol shot in the midst of a deadly duel. “My patience has grown thin, Captain. I’ll give you to the count of ten to make your decision.”

  As Spencer began to count aloud, Stovall struggled to pull free of the powerful hold by Andy and Migget and cursed Steele mightily.

  Thundering laughter filled the room, mocking Stovall and his wild rantings. “Nine…Ten…Well, Captain? Your decision?” he prompted.

  “You wouldn’t dare!” he squeaked.

  Within inches of Stovall’s perspiring face, Steele vowed through white teeth, “I dare anything, Stovall, as you well know. When I leave this cabin, I’ll either carry those papers in my hand or your manhood upon this knife.” Before Stovall could speak or think clearly, several deft swipes of Spencer’s dagger had severed his belt and had opened his dark blue pants from his flaccid waist to his quivering groin. Steele’s art matchless, Stovall didn’t even receive a scratch.

  Stovall inhaled in stunned disbelief. Another swipe and his baggy drawers were slashed aside, divesting him of his pride and protective clothing as his limp manhood toppled out before the taunting gaze of Captain Joshua Steele. Outraged and shamed, Stovall shouted, “You black-hearted devil! You’ll pay for this offense! The fleet will chase you across the face of the entire ocean!”

  “Too bad you won’t be around to see it,” Steele retorted. “From the way I hear tell, few men survive castration. Those who do never show their faces in public again. Your time’s up, Stovall. What’s it to be?”

  Repulsed by the idea of touching another man, but knowing this was Stovall’s one weak point, Spencer gritted his teeth and reached for the stubby organ. Petrified by the seriousness of Steele’s threat, Stovall shrieked, “No! You can’t!”

  Steele’s cold laughter was his answer. Holding his blade securely and reaching for the terrified man’s privates, Stovall yielded before his hand could make contact with that sensitive area.

  “All right! There’s a sealed dispatch hidden in the wall over my desk!”

  Spencer replaced his knife and headed that way after warning, “If you’re lying, Captain, you’ll rue this day.”

  After a few moments of testing the wall for a hollow ring, Spencer smiled in satisfaction. Withdrawing his knife, he pried the board free to reveal the dispatch. Without a care to the royal seal upon it, he severed the binding and withdrew several papers of ivory parchment. He quickly scanned the contents, then smiled in pleasure. He turned to Andy and remarked, “You k
now what to do.”

  Before the Black Mist crew departed the frigate, the entire English crew was sleeping peacefully with the aid of the liquid secured from certain plants from a faraway island paradise. Amidst hearty chuckles, Spencer’s confident gaze eased over the group of slumbrous Englishmen. “That should prevent any heroic idea of following us. Let’s head home, men. You did your usual excellent job: success without any casualties. Put me off near Washington, then get the ship ready to head out again. From the looks of these papers, we’ll be very busy before the new moon.”

  Safely aboard the Black Mist once more, the black sails were drawn and secured out of sight behind the virgin white ones; the Jolly Roger and name board were returned to their storage place. The crew laughed and joked as they altered the notorious Black Mist to the neutral privateer Wandering Siren. In the slight evening breeze, the white sails gently fluttered as if content to return to port from a stimulating holiday. Never one to berate the elements or his beloved ship, Spencer reluctantly accepted this sluggish pace which would slow his progress and vital mission to see Madison.

  His keen eyes scanned the empty and moonlit horizon in each direction as he made his way to his cabin to study those critical papers. So, Perceval had been assassinated by a lunatic on May eleventh… General Issac Brock, that wily old sea-dog, was in Canada…How much power and influence did those Tory ministers have? How would Jenkinson, Canning, Liverpool, and Casterlaugh vote? Too damn many variations and factions to consider! It was June fourteenth; surely he could make port by the sixteenth, two days prior to Madison’s deadline of the eighteenth…

  Spencer entered his cabin which boasted of his mercurial, strong personality. It was an artistic and intriguing mixture of American, nautical, and English decor. One thing he demanded even at sea was comfort in luxurious style. He poured himself a stiff brandy and lay down upon his large bed, propping himself up with several feather pillows. He rested his head against them and closed his eyes. Things didn’t look good at all, he mused.

  He placed his arm behind his head and downed the entire contents of his glass. He set the glass on the wooden table beside his bed and relaxed. It wouldn’t change matters if he read those documents a third time, so he tossed them aside. He picked up the oblong wooden box near his bed and opened it. He pushed aside the velvet covering to reveal a striking painting he had foolishly purchased in Washington months ago. He could still distinctly recall that curious day.

  He had been heading toward a shop where secret meetings took place when a painting in the shop window captured his eye. He had stopped immediately and backed up a few steps to take another look at it. He wondered why it had seemed to call out to him to obtain it. He absently moved his nimble fingers over the dried oils upon the surface of the exquisite painting, suddenly annoyed to find himself tracing the delicate and graceful lines of a lovely and wild sea creature who was seductively poised upon gray rocks at the edge of an ocean. As the colorful waves crashed against those rocks and sent white spray over her lithe frame, she was smiling provocatively as if utterly intoxicated by her freedom and beauty while luring some unseen lover to join her revelry. His eyes sought out her enticing, yet sensually innocent, expression.

  Had this mysterious painting had any bearing upon his actions in England by that serene pond? Had Angelique’s resemblance to this dreamy creature provoked him into cunningly seducing her? Was it this mythical creature he had imagined come to life? As if mesmerized by the allure of this fanciful mermaid, he had irresistibly bought the painting that very moment. As if viewing this absurd -act of indulgence as some sign of foolishness and weakness, he had later refused to hang the sensuous wandering siren in his cabin.

  With a muttered curse, he flung the box across his bed. If he didn’t know any better, he would swear Angelique had posed for it! To buy a picture of a beautiful dream and then to meet it in the flesh was a little too eerie to suit Spencer Farrington. Damn her for taking away his peace of mind! Damn her mystery and unforgettable aura!

  He rubbed his temple as if her dauntless attack still sent forth pain. If ever their paths crossed again, Miss Angelique Whatever would discover what it was to cross Captain Joshua Steele! He grinned roguishly at that delightful speculation, then frowned at its impossibility. Angelique was just as elusive as that luscious mermaid!

  As her face floated before his mind’s eye, his cabin suddenly felt stuffy and confining. He jumped up to seek fresh air and a change of scenery on his rolling deck.

  “Be gone from my mind, Sea-Witch,” he murmured angrily as he swiftly left the painting and the disturbing documents behind.

  VII

  “Out of her own goodness make the net,

  That shall enmesh them all.”

  —Othello, William Shakespeare

  Philadelphia was marvelously exhilarating in early June. Lady Alexandria Hampton was thrilled and pleased by her visit to this unexpectedly magnificent city in this surprisingly civil and thriving country. She was constantly amazed at her friendly reception by the people in America; she had fully expected them to dislike her on sight because of her loyalty to England. Yet, she was anything but scorned by those amicable people whom she had come into contact with since her arrival two weeks before. The dinners and parties had delighted and enchanted her, as had this wonderful land. Discounting the few women who treated her as a threatening rival, her stay with her uncle had been enjoyable and enlightening.

  After Henry Cowling’s party to introduce her to his circle of friends and acquaintances, she hadn’t been allowed a moment’s rest from invitations and sieges by eager young men. Feeling deliriously happy and desirable, she revelled in her femininity. What cloud could possibly darken this glorious trip and her heady adventure to what she had erroneously considered the end of the earth?

  Henry glanced down the lengthy table at her and lifted a quizzical brow, wondering at her suppressed giggles. “What butterfly flutters within you, my dear?” he genially teased his lovely niece. “That smile could light the darkest corner and your laughter could lift any dismal heart. I’m so glad you decided to come visit your lonely, old uncle,” he remarked.

  “Henry Cowling, you sly fox,” she mirthfully chided him. “You’re anything but lonely or old. Isn’t it wonderful to be alive and well?” she commented, her vitality and youthful zeal sparkling within her enchanting eyes. “You were absolutely correct; America is a fantastic land. I can hardly wait to tell Papa all about my experiences here,” she excitedly told him. “There’s so much to see and do,” she stated.

  “Ah, to be young and carefree again,” he sighed dramatically, then chuckled. “Once you’ve returned home and settled down, you’ll always remember these gay times,” he unwittingly ventured.

  “Settled down! What a dire thought to dampen this happy occasion. I could live this blissful way forever,” she exclaimed. “Wouldn’t it be stimulating to seek new and different adventures every day for the rest of your life?” she dreamily suggested, a note of sadness entering her eyes and sending her previously elated spirits downward.

  “Why do you talk in such a miserable way? You sound as if marriage is a prison,” he jested, failing to return a smile to her somber face. “You can’t go gallivanting around the countryside much longer, Alex; it wouldn’t be proper.”

  “You’re sounding more and more like Papa every day, Uncle Henry,” she rebuked him for spoiling her sunny mood with reminders of her imminent fate in the bonds of legal wedlock. “Why must I be chained to a marriage I do not want? My blood sings with wanderlust, Uncle Henry. I cannot bear the thought of being housed away in some country manor. It isn’t fair I was born a woman! I’d love to be a sailor and travel to distant ports. Besides, I’m still a young girl; there’s no rush to see me wed!”

  “You’re far past being a young girl, Alex; you’re very much a woman, a beautiful and desirable woman. Why do you so despise the idea of marriage?” he seriously questioned, intrigued and dismayed by the wretched irritation lining
her striking features.

  Horrified, she caught herself before shouting back, “Because it wouldn’t be to a vital and interesting man like Stephen!” She flushed and glanced away from his probing gaze before saying, “If Papa would allow me to select my future husband, I wouldn’t be so rebellious! What happiness can lie in an arranged marriage? It’s humiliating and disgusting! I didn’t think Papa so cruel and selfish.” A mental image of Stephen flashed before her mind and annoyingly warmed her very soul.

  “Now, now, Alex. You did say your father had given you some time to find a husband on your own,” he mildly corrected her. “Why, you’ve at least fifteen young lads pursuing you here, not to mention countless swains back home,” he reminded her of the hot-blooded males who seized any chance to catch her eye.

  “I want a man, Uncle Henry, not some foppish wastrel. You’d think at least one real man would come calling!”

  “What about Daniel Grey or Seth Carter or Steven Hardy?” he argued.

  At the mention of one particular name, she grimaced and wailed, “You call those men? Daniel has more appendages than an octopus! Seth sits under his father’s fat thumb! And Steven…Steven is boring to tears,” she issued her criticisms of each male suitor.

  Henry laughed, then suggested, “Are you perhaps being too choosy or just plain stubborn, Alexandria Hampton? A perfect man doesn’t exist, child. If I were you, I would study each one carefully and select the best man among them,” he wisely hinted.

  She sighed wearily and agreed, “You’re right, of course. But that doesn’t make marriage any more acceptable.” Naturally she couldn’t blurt out there was a perfect man around, near perfect anyway… Besides, Stephen was lost to her forever and it was best to put him completely out of mind.

  In an attempt to alter this explosive and offensive subject, she asked, “How did your meeting go with Mister Clay? He certainly seemed piqued about something when he arrived this afternoon.”