It felt like someone punched her in the stomach. Anne tried to swallow but her mouth was too parched. Even when she spoke her words sounded dry. “Is he alive?” She couldn’t take her eyes off the captain to see Joe’s reaction to her question, but she thought he shrugged.
“He moved, maybe an hour ago. Maybe longer.”
But he wasn’t moving now. Anne watched until her head felt like it would explode, willing him to show some sign of life. But the wind rustling through his hair was the only sign of movement as the unmerciful sun beat down upon the scene.
“What happened, Joe?” Anne spared a quick look at the boy whose pinched features were even more drawn. He seemed reluctant to talk at first, but eventually shook his head.
“The French Whore done fought us, and we was winnin’.” He sucked air through his teeth. “But when the cap’n went to board her, only some went with him. The others stayed on board.”
“You mean they didn’t follow?”
“Aye.” Joe nodded. “They didn’t do nothin’. Weren’t shootin’. Weren’t fightin’.”
“But didn’t they realize what would happen?”
“Don’t know as if that weren’t their intention. Leastways one of ’em struck the colors pretty quick.”
“Leaving Captain MacQuaid and a few others on the enemy ship to fight it out alone.” Anne wrapped her arms more tightly around her legs, then nestled her head to the side, her eyes on the figure hanging above the deck. She took a shattered breath. “Do you think they’ll cut him down soon?”
“Don’t know. Maybe they’ll just leave him there as gull bait. Or for the rest of us to see what can happen.”
“If we don’t do what?”
“Join ’em, I guess. Seen Stymie and some of the others prancin’ ’round. Seems like they already done it.”
“Maybe they’re the ones that struck the colors.” Anne turned toward Joe. “Think about it. Think about what I heard that night. Their plans to take over the ship.”
Joe shrugged in that way he had, that could mean he agreed or not. And Anne let it go. What difference did it make, really? How it happened wouldn’t change anything. It simply gave her something to think about as the long afternoon wore on.
She should be trying to decide what to do. But was acutely aware the decision was not her own to make. At least all the pirates, friend and foe, still viewed her as a boy. She wouldn’t receive the fate planned for her on the beach at Libertia.
But somehow it wasn’t her own fate that concerned her, nor even her cousin’s, though she’d seen no sign of him. It was the man hanging high in the shrouds that tormented her mind... and tore at her heart.
She watched him long after she thought there was a chance he still lived. She watched him until two pirates, one tall, with slumped shoulders and a scar sliced across his bare chest and the other young and almost pretty ambled toward the small group of prisoners.
“Captain d’Porteau wants the lot of ya on the French Whore.” When no one moved, the shorter one whipped out a pistol and aimed it toward Joe. Scurrying to her feet, Anne grabbed the boy’s arm and yanked him up. The rest followed, their bones cracking from their long stint on the hard deck.
Anne noticed now, what she hadn’t before. Oh, she’d been aware the pirates were roaming around the Lost Cause, but she could see now the deck was clearer. Obviously some repairs had been made.
After she stumbled across the plank to the French ship it was clear the crew was busy here as well. But she gave the decks but a cursory glance before her gaze was drawn upward.
“What do ye think of yer mighty cap’n now, eh, boy?” The scarred pirate gave her a shove when she paused to stare, then laughed when she stumbled. Anne pulled her hat lower and trudged along. When the group was told to sit near the mainmast she did, then realized she’d lost sight of Joe in the transfer.
From what she could tell most everyone was assembled. Rum flowed freely, though none was offered the prisoners. Everyone else, however, seemed in a festive mood.
She feared a moment of truth was at hand.
When a wild huzzah rang out the hair on the back of her neck prickled. Twisting her head she saw d’Porteau strut toward the center of the deck. His burly figure was outlandishly clothed in the ornate fashion of an earlier era. Black velvet, liberally encrusted with tarnished gold braid and sea salt, draped over his protruding stomach, then flared out to skirt past his knees. His pantaloons were ruffled and drenched with tattered lace, dingy and soiled. And above it all, sitting atop the curled black hair was a huge plumed hat.
He struck a pose, preening on his heeled shoes, then turned with a flourish to plop his ample body upon a bench made of two upended barrels and a plank. While Anne watched in amazement a snaggle-toothed boy draped a garish satin and ermine cape around his plump shoulders.
The pirates from the Frenchman’s ship seemed to find this wondrous fun. Their cheers and bawdy laughter rippled through the sun-heated air. Once he’d settled himself sufficiently, d’Porteau lifted a ringed hand and the tall freebooter who’d brought Anne to the French Whore pounded the end of a boarding spike against the decking three times.
Quiet descended like a gossamer blanket.
“What say ye, Mister Attorney General?” D’Porteau’s voice was high-pitched, and nasal.
The man he referred to as attorney general tried to straighten his rounded shoulders. “If it please yer Worship.” His droopy-lidded eyes swerved to include the onlookers. “And ye gents, we got ourselves a real nasty one today.”
“What be his crimes?” The jewels sparkled as d’Porteau swirled a dirty hand above his head.
“Crimes aplenty, Yer Most Reverent, crimes aplenty. He be a pirate of the worst kind.” This brought a loud chorus of guffaws from the assemblage. “A charlatan and a rogue. A despoiler of innocent maids.” He paused. “And ’tis rumored, a coward, the blackest of all.”
D’Porteau stroked his chin. “Crimes such as these against mankind should not go unpunished.” He snapped his fingers. “Bring the prisoner before me.”
They were having a trial. A travesty of a trial to be sure, but one nonetheless. As royal governor of Libertia, Anne’s uncle had presided over a few juries, acting as judge. The offenses were minor; most of Libertia’s citizens lived together in peace and harmony. And of course Uncle Richard never put on such a show as this.
Anne wondered which of the group she huddled among would be brought to trial first, when a movement to her right caught her eye. Several agile tars had monkey’d up the rigging and were untangling Captain MacQuaid from the ropes. She gasped, surging to her feet as the binding went lax and he slumped forward. Only a rough hand on her shoulder restrained her from rushing toward the mast. She was jerked back abruptly, and before she could turn a voice hissed in her ear. “Don’t make it harder on him.”
Anne folded her legs and swallowed, nodding her head slightly as the blackamoor’s fingers drifted from her jacket. It would do no good to run to Jamie’s aid. She would probably be knocked aside before she reached him.
All she could do was sit, her back hunched over, her chin resting in the notch between her knees and try to keep the tears at bay.
At least he was alive.
His step was slow, shuffling, but he’d shouldered away the coarse hands of the tars once his feet hit the deck. Anne tried not to notice the raw and bloodied wrists, or the crusted, coppery blood on his upper arm. She tried. After all, thanks to d’Porteau she’d seen killing before, and suffering. People she’d lived with and liked. Innocent people.
So why did Captain MacQuaid’s pain seem to tear at her insides and touch her soul?
“Ah, there is the prisoner. I thought he might have found some coward’s way out of facing his accusers.”
“Aye, here he be, Your Eminence. Though a more scurvy specimen of pirate blood, I’ve yet to see.”
The French Whore’s captain found that amusing, the noise of his laugh rattled deep in his throat. “What say
ye, Captain Coward. Be ye guilty as charged?”
Anne tensed as all eyes turned toward Jamie Mac Quaid. He straightened his shoulders, though she could tell the effort it took. But he looked d’Porteau straight in the eye. “I’ll not answer to the likes of a swine-nosed, blubbering idio—”
His last word was cut off when the pirate serving as attorney general brought his pike down over the back of Jamie’s neck. He staggered, catching himself at the last moment before crashing to the deck. This too, was greeted by loud guffaws and angry jeers. “Me thinks he be pronouncin’ hisself guilty as charged, Your Most Wonderful Lordship.”
It took a moment for the staff pounding to bring the pirates back to order. They were obviously tiring of pretending to be calm, law-abiding citizens. All except the men surrounding Anne. They had yet to utter a sound.
Crimson trickled down through the windswept curls at Jamie’s nape. Anne watched the flow as if mesmerized, wishing she could do something to help him. Knowing she couldn’t. So she willed him her strength... what was left of it. Shut her eyes and tried to send her thoughts to him.
Endure. Have courage. Survive. You are not alone.
It was all she could offer, and it was so inadequate. There were tears in Anne’s eyes when she opened them. When they met his.
She couldn’t explain it any more than she could change what was happening. But for one fleeting moment the captain turned his head. And stared straight at her. His sea-green eyes were bloodshot and strained. But there was no defeat in their depths. No despair.
He turned away so quickly, Anne could have imagined the whole of it... except she knew she hadn’t.
D’Porteau was the next to speak. His expression was still puffed with rage, though he resumed his seat after jumping up when Jamie uttered his contempt. “Very well, Attorney General, sir, let us hear what the good men of this ship feel.”
A loud swell of, “Guilty,” filled the air.
“Be there a man among ye, who thinks otherwise?”
Anne felt the pressure of Keena’s hand and bit her tongue. Silence reigned. The verdict appeared to be unanimous.
“Guilty, he be then.” D’Porteau held up his hands for quiet. “But there be more to decide.” His smile was sly. “What manner of punishment for the miscreant?”
There was a general demand for a hanging.
“From the yardarm,” one yelled.
“Keep his body hangin’ in the sun till his parts dry up and blow away,” another shouted.
“Carve out his liver,” came a call from a bloodthirsty tar.
“All very interesting suggestions,” d’Porteau muttered after his attorney general had regained some semblance of calm. He stood and pranced toward Jamie, his gait awkward in the heeled shoes. “But I’ve another idea.” He circled his prisoner, seemingly deep in thought. Again in front of Jamie he stepped closer, signaling for someone to pinion Jamie’s arms.
“This man is a captain.” He tilted his head. “Should he not have a boat?” A few of the Frenchmen’s crew chanted their agreement. “And the wide open sea beneath him?” The outburst of agreement grew louder.
“Aye, Cap’n, give ’em the whole damn ocean!”
Confused, Anne glanced back toward Keena, who stared straight ahead, his black, tattooed expression unreadable. But he didn’t seem relieved by this new form of punishment. And though it sounded preferable to hanging, Anne sensed it wasn’t.
D’Porteau would never do anything that wasn’t cruel and heartless.
Anne’s head jerked up when d’Porteau moved toward the remainder of the Lost Cause’s crew. He stood less than a rod from her. So close she could smell the sweat seeping through the aged velvet. Sweeping his small eyes over the knot of men he pursed his lips.
“What of these wretches? What shall we do with ’em?”
“Let us join ye.” Anne twisted her head to see a sandy-haired pirate she recognized from Captain MacQuaid’s vessel. He stood, pulling another tar up by his sleeve.
“Aye, ’tis the way of it,” the other adjoined, and more grumbled their acknowledgment as they stumbled to their feet.
Anne watched in awe as, like rebounding dominoes, each pirate stood. Until there were only a few including herself who still sat on the hard deck. Then there was movement behind her, and Anne felt a none too gentle tugging at her arm. Keena pushed up, bringing her with him. And everyone stood, ready to join ranks with the Frenchman.
Except, it wasn’t d’Porteau’s crew they were attaching themselves to.
“What do ye think, Captain Stymie?” d’Porteau called toward the man leaning against the rail. “Will ye have these tars as your crew?”
Slowly, as if deciding upon a piece of prime horseflesh, Stymie pushed away from the belaying pins and ambled forward. The man who before the battle was imprisoned in the bowels of the Lost Cause, now swept his bulging eyes over the lot of them. Then more slowly, evaluating each man.
Anne tensed when his gaze settled on her. She saw the spark of remembrance before she looked down. Her life under Captain Stymie would not be easy. But then she didn’t imagine anyone’s would be.
He paraded around the group, some of whom called out his name in greeting, then turned back to the Frenchman. “They’ll do,” he announced and Anne could almost feel the general sigh of relief among the captives.
“Then ’tis agreed.” D’Porteau took his time settling back on his rough-hewn throne. The boy who’d draped the dull satin cloak around his shoulders now jumped forward to arrange the folds. “Since the victory is in part yours, Captain Stymie, I award you the good vessel, Lost Cause and her crew.”
Then with a sly grin nearly obliterating his eyes, the Frenchman twisted toward Jamie MacQuaid, who stood, surrounded by several guards. “Ah, do you hear that, poor captain? Your crew has deserted you for another.” He made a “tsking” sound with his tongue and teeth. “Such a pity when I was bound to give you your own boat. Now ye shall be the captain of no one.”
“I shall be his crew.”
Anne didn’t know she was going to say the words until they were out of her mouth. Then it was too late. She’d stepped forward, leaving the security of the group, to show herself. It was an impetuous act. No doubt a stupid act. Keena certainly must have thought so... Anne jerked free of the hasty grab he made for her coat. And saying it wasn’t like anything she’d ever done before.
She sucked in her breath as all eyes seemed to rivet into her clothing. Were they seeing the woman beneath? Why hadn’t she thought of that... thought this through? Sweat pooled between her breasts, riveting down into the waistband of the breeches she’d become used to wearing. And she waited.
D’Porteau was the first to overcome his surprise at her actions. He tilted his head, allowing the preposterously large feather in his hat to billow in the breeze. “What’s this... a cabin boy for Captain Coward? Hmmm.” His beady eyes swerved to Jamie. “What would elicit such loyalty in a youth, do you imagine?” Whether or not he expected an answer, he received none from the stoic, tight-jawed Captain MacQuaid. He soon lost interest in taunting his expressionless foe and turned back toward Anne.
“So ye wish to join your captain, do you, on his cruise?”
“Yes,” There was no taking it back now.
His lips pursed. “Well, perhaps we should see what your new captain has to say about your desertion, though why he would want such a filthy urchin as yourself...” He let his lace-wristed hand flutter. “What say ye, Captain Stymie? Shall we hang the lad for treachery? His desire to leave you so soon smacks of it.”
“Hang him for whatever ye choose,” the thick-lipped Stymie responded. “I have no use for the dog.” He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “The pup’s nothin’ but trouble.”
“Ah, trouble, is it?” The Frenchman seemed to roll the word around on his tongue, savoring it. “Perhaps we should let him join his good captain’s crew.”
“I don’t want him.”
Anne’s eyes shot to
ward Captain MacQuaid where he stood, bloodied and battered... and rejecting her sacrifice. Her utter foolishness in stepping forward was already blatantly apparent. She was to be hanged. Anne tried to swallow but couldn’t get past the lump in her throat.
Yet to know that she had one option, to be sent with the captain, and he was refusing her that... She wanted to bury her face in the palms of her dirty hands and weep. Instead she stood head bent and listened as the Frenchman continued this farce of a trial.
“Ah, the prisoner has a tongue in his head after all. And he uses it now to speak out against a boy, a poor garçon, who offered his services.” D’Porteau shook his head and clumps of oily hair stuck to his cheek. “I think you have lost your right to make any demands. I...” He again pounded his chest. “... shall be the one who decides. I am the victor, this day.” He paused and the pirates grew quiet. “Before the sun sets on another day we shall launch the captain and his crew of one, and wish them Godspeed.”
The wave of jeering laughter swelled, seeming to surround yet separate her from everyone else on board the French Whore.
Everyone but Jamie MacQuaid.
Now that the decision was made, the judgment passed down, he stared at her. And as dangerous as she knew it was, Anne could not help being drawn to those eyes.
She made a terrible mistake, she knew. There was a joke here someplace. One she couldn’t quite comprehend. But as she was grabbed from behind, she began to.
Rough hands jostled her, knocking her from side to side in an attempt to move her along toward d’Porteau. She looked around, but there was not a kind expression, a sympathetic tone. Even Keena seemed intent on doing her harm. He grabbed at her so roughly Anne thought her arm would pull free from its socket.
It wasn’t until she slammed up against his solid strength that she realized his ploy. Dark fingers slipped into her pocket, but before she could discover what he gave her, his hand clamped over hers. Then he pushed her away.
My Seaswept Heart Page 14