"Goddamn you!" she yelled. "She's a bloody fool, sure, but you didn't have to kill her! She's not breathing! Yes, she is—just barely! Nadine, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes? She's out cold, and I think you've broken her bloody jaw!"
It was an act of incredible courage. Em detested Nadine and everything she stood for, but her natural compassion was far stronger than any personal dislike. She had flown to the girl's side without even thinking of her own welfare, and she glared at the pirate now with eyes literally afire with anger. A sudden hush fell over the ship. Red Nick's men were stunned by Em's foolhardy action, even more stunned by her words. Tremayne had turned quite pale. He stared at her with his mouth wide open in amazement. Nadine stirred in Em's arms and began to moan. Em held her close, stroking her hair.
"You'll be all right," she said. "Can you move your jaw? Thank God. I thought it was broken. You poor little fool!"
She helped the girl to her feet and led her slowly back over to the group of women. Nadine was crying silently, tears streaming down her cheeks in wet, sparkling rivulets. Red Nick hadn't moved. His expression hadn't altered. I could feel the tension crackling in the air. Draper was the first to respond. He charged over and seized Em roughly by the arm.
"Ten lashes?" he inquired. "Twenty?"
"Twenty should do," Red Nick said dryly. "Tie her to the mast. Perhaps the others will profit by watching her punishment."
"Hold on a minute," Tremayne protested. "Captain, look, the women—uh—they've been under considerable strain. This one—" He pushed Draper away and took hold of Em himself, "I have an interest in her. I don't want her cut up. I'll punish her myself."
Red Nick elevated one satanic brow, surprised by his second-in-command's intervention. Michael Tremayne ran his tongue over his lower lip, working up more courage.
"I'll take her down to rny cabin, keep her there. I'll give her a beating she won't soon forget." He seized Em's hair and jerked her head back, looking into her eyes with a fierce, menacing expression. "I'll see she learns to behave herself."
"She needs a lashin'!" Draper growled.
"You shut up, Draper!"
Red Nick hesitated a moment, calmly observing the two men who were clearly on the verge of physical combat. Draper was scowling, gray eyes glittering with hostility. Tremayne had hooked his left arm around Em's neck, holding her protectively. His right hand rested on the hilt of his knife, and his expression left no doubt that he was ready to use it if Draper persisted. The rest of the men waited eagerly, hoping to witness a good rousing fight before they resumed their duties.
"You want this woman, Tremayne?" Red Nick asked.
Tremayne nodded, drawing Em closer. Red Nick frowned, plainly displeased but willing to reward his man for services rendered.
"Very well," he said. "We'll postpone the lashing for the time being. I expect you to discipline her properly, Tremayne. I intend to hold you personally responsible for her conduct."
It was at this point that I heard a low, crooning noise and turned to see Bessie shaking her head. She shook her head and crooned and then, abruptly, so abruptly that it took everyone by surprise, she went rushing toward the railing. A pirate leaped in front of her, trying to grab her. She shoved him aside with superhuman strength, knocking him off his feet. Men shouted, rushing toward her, but Bessie jumped up onto the railing before any of them could reach her. She stood poised there for a moment like a tightrope walker, plump and ungainly, dark hair flying, blue skirts whipping, and then she dove into the water.
Several of the women screamed. Men rushed to the railing. I started to rush over myself, but Tremayne relinquished his hold on Em and seized my arm, restraining me. He shook his head, his dark eyes telling me that there was no hope of saving her. Corrie began to sob. I watched in horror as Bessie came bobbing up to the surface, thrashing her arms furiously, trying to swim. Em seized my hand as Bessie went under again and the two sharks we had seen earlier glided slowly toward her, their long gray-white bodies clearly visible just beneath the sun-drenched surface. Bessie came up again, hair plastered across her face, skirts wet and tangled.
The sharks circled her leisurely, one of them gliding over to investigate, nudging her almost playfully, circling again as the other shark swirled over and casually bit off a leg. The water turned scarlet. Bessie's scream was a shrill, ear-splitting cry of anguish that ended in a horrible gurgling as she was pulled under. The sharks grew frenzied, feasting greedily, and the water churned furiously, bright, bright red. It was all over in a very few moments. The enormous creatures disappeared. The crimson stain spread and turned pink, fading, and then the water was blue again and sparkling with sunlight. Bessie might never have existed. Three of the women had fainted.
"Hoist the anchor, men," Nicholas Lyon said dryly. "We've tarried too long as it is."
The deck became a beehive of activity as the men hurried about their duties, pulling up the anchor, tightening ropes, climbing the rigging to adjust the sails. The sails flapped, catching the wind. The ship rocked, beginning to move. Red Nick strolled over to where we were standing. Draper and one of the other men were pulling the unconscious women to their feet, reviving them with sharp slaps. Tremayne, remembering his promise, grabbed Em's hair again and made a fist, holding it in front of her face with a menacing gleam in his dark eyes that was extremely convincing.
"Think you can handle her, Tremayne?" the captain asked.
"I can handle her, all right. She's gonna be black and blue before the day's over."
"Amuse yourself," Red Nick said.
Tremayne released Em's hair, seized her wrist, and dragged her toward the stairs leading down to the officers' quarters. Em stumbled along beside him quite willingly, eagerly, in fact. The captain watched them for a moment and then turned to look at me. I didn't lower my eyes. I met his stare calmly, neither defiant nor intimidated.
"Draper, get these women below," Red Nick ordered, his eyes never leaving my own. "Not this one," he added.
Draper barked orders and four men came to help him, herding the women together and shoving them roughly toward a dark, narrow opening at the other end of the ship. Corrie glanced back at me with despairing eyes as one of the men dragged her away. Nicholas Lyon and I stood facing each other as men rushed about, yelling to one another in coarse voices, as the great sails snapped in the wind and the ship moved over the waves with remarkable speed. I was perfectly immobile, much calmer than I had any right to be. He folded his arms across his chest, heavy maroon silk flowing, fluttering softly. His piercing blue eyes slowly undressed me and then dared me to betray some kind of reaction.
"In two days time, The Sea Lyon will rendezvous with another ship," he informed me. "The women will be transferred to that ship and sent on to our agents in Brazil. The Sea Lyon will return to my island."
I made no reply. I continued to meet his gaze with cool composure.
"Your little friend, the one Tremayne has taken a fancy to, will remain on board. She's his property now. I gave her to him."
"That was quite generous of you. I'm sure he appreciates it."
"What do you call yourself?"
"My name is Marietta Danver,"
"You speak in a refined voice. Are you an aristocrat?"
"I was educated as one. I was shipped to America as an indentured servant over five years ago.''
"What was your crime?"
"I was accused of stealing an emerald necklace."
"From an aristocrat?"
"I was a governess in the London home of Lord Robert Mallory. When I refused to become his mistress, he placed his wife's necklace in my valise, summoned the Bow Street runners, and claimed the jewels had been stolen."
"You were innocent, of course."
"Of course," I said.
"You're a very clever woman, I can sense that, and I'm glad to hear you're a thief instead of a fine lady. I hate the aristocracy. I hate everything they represent. Were you a blue blood, I would send you along with the other wome
n without a moment's hesitation and without a single regret."
"And as I'm not an aristocrat?"
"I might decide to take you on to the island."
If he expected me to show relief, he was due a disappointment. I showed no emotion whatsoever, and that bothered him. His thin lips curled. His nostrils flared. I was taking a great risk, I knew, but I also knew that a grateful, submissive creature would have bored him, would have awakened his crudest instincts. Nicholas Lyon had every intention of taking me down to his quarters and making love to me, and there was nothing I could do to prevent it, but if I played it just right, I could prevent him from sending me to South America with the other women. If I was to win, I had to arouse his interest as well as his lust, and instinct told me that a man like Lyon would find resistance and cool indifference far more intriguing than meek submission.
"I'd as soon go to Brazil with the others," I said.
That genuinely surprised him. "You'd prefer a brothel to my bed?"
"I'd prefer a brothel," I replied.
"You're unusually bold, Miss Danver. Unusually brave as well. You saw what happened to the skinny blonde."
"Do you think I'm afraid?" My voice was perfectly calm. "I've seen enough cruelty this past week to make me completely immune. Nothing you could do to me could possibly matter at this point."
"No?"
"I'll go with the others, Captain."
I turned and started walking quite coolly toward the other end of the ship. Nicholas Lyon took three long strides, grabbed my wrist and gave it an excruciatingly painful twist. Seizing my elbow with his other hand, he thrust my arm up between my shoulder blades, twisting even more, applying so much pressure I had to bite my lip to keep from screaming. Holding me in front of him, jerking my arm up another few inches, he forced me to walk toward the stairs, and when I struggled he gave my arm an upward yank that caused me to cry out in spite of myself. He forced me down the stairs and down a long narrow hallway with doors on either side, and I continued to struggle, knowing I must.
At the end of the hall an elegant mahogany door was slightly ajar. Nicholas Lyon kicked it all the way open and thrust me into a spacious, sumptuously appointed room. Letting go of my arm, he gave me a shove that sent me sprawling. I landed on my hands and knees on the plush gold carpet, hair falling in heavy waves across my cheeks. Sitting up on my knees, I brushed the hair back and turned to look at the man who stood in the doorway.
"In one of the adjoining rooms you'll find soap and water," he informed me. "Wash yourself. Scrub yourself thoroughly. In one of the chests you'll find a selection of gowns. Put one on. I'll be back after a while. I expect you to be waiting—and willing."
"And if I'm not?"
"I'll make you wish you'd never been born."
He turned and pulled the door shut behind him. I could hear his footsteps moving back down the hall. I stood up, rubbing my arm. It was so sore I could hardly move it, but the pain didn't matter at all. What mattered was that I had won the first round, even though he didn't realize it, and I was determined to win the second as well.
Eleven
Red Nick's quarters were elegant indeed, the walls of this main room paneled in dark mahogany that gleamed with a rich patina, exquisitely colored parchment maps hanging in ornate gold frames. There was an enormous desk, a dining table, several chairs, those at the dining table with high, carved backs and seats upholstered in plush yellow brocade, A gorgeous brown and bronze globe with gold lettering stood in one comer in a mahogany stand, and more maps, neatly rolled, stood in a mahogany rack beside it. Crystal pendants dangled from ornate wall sconces, and a chandelier hung over the dining table, pendants tinkling softly as the ship moved.
Brushing errant locks from my temple and rubbing my arm, I stepped into one of the adjoining rooms. It was much smaller, obviously his dressing room. His clothes hung in an enormous oak wardrobe, a collection of highly polished boots lined up neatly beneath. A pair of razor-sharp cutlasses hung crossed on the wall, the hilts silver and gold filigree, and there were pistols, too, at least seven of them arranged in an ornamental pattern. They were different shapes and sizes, all of them shining, all deadly.
I examined his clothes quite brazenly, the fine brocade frock coats, the heavy silk shirts, the narrow trousers. Nicholas Lyon lived well, and he had a taste for splendor. I ran my fingers over the smooth, leaf-brown satin dressing robe embroidered with darker brown fleurs-de-lis. The clothes told me quite a lot about him, as did the collection of weapons. Killing meant nothing to him, but cleanliness and fine things meant quite a lot. No wonder he wanted me to scrub myself thoroughly.
Behind a large Coromandel screen with coral, turquoise, and black patterns against a silver-gray background, I discovered a large porcelain tub filled with clean water that was still quite warm. Towels, soap, and sponges were piled on a table beside it. I took off my filthy clothes and slipped gratefully into the water, arching my back, sighing with pleasure as the water surrounded me, warm, soothing, wonderfully relaxing. The soap had an exotic, musky scent. I used a whole bar, scrubbing, rinsing, scrubbing again, reveling in the thick, foamy lather. I spent almost an hour in the tub, washing my hair three times, rinsing it, and when I stepped out I felt gloriously clean.
I dried myself with one of the large, soft towels, using another to rub my hair dry, and then I slipped into the leaf-brown dressing robe and walked into the third room, the gold carpet caressing my bare feet. The bedroom was larger than the dressing room, not nearly so large as the study, dominated by a huge mahogany four-poster with canopy and hanging of dark, embroidered gold brocade, the counterpane a deep, rich yellow satin. There was a dressing table with silver-backed brushes and combs, a hand mirror with silver frame. A full-length mirror hung on the wall, reflecting the sunlight that streamed in through the port holes.
Three large, ornately carved chests set against the wall, and I was just getting ready to examine their contents when the door leading into the study from the hallway opened. I turned, surprised to see Em tiptoeing across the room, eyes full of mischief.
"In here," I said.
Em jumped, slapping a hand over her heart. "Lord, luv, you scared the wits out of me!"
"What are you doing here'? If he finds you—"
"He's not going to, luv. He and Michael are up on deck, doing whatever it is the captain and second-in-command do. I heard him bring you down here, and soon as I knew the coast was clear I popped over. My, these rooms are fancy, aren't they? Michael's room isn't nearly so grand."
"Did—did he beat you?"
"He gave me a spanking," Em said, smiling impishly, "but it was quite enjoyable, a tantalizing prelude to what came after. That was even more enjoyable. He's a brute, of course, a villain through and through, but I've had worse, luv, believe me. At least he's young and fairly nice lookin', strong as an ox, too, I might add."
"He seems to be quite taken with you."
"He is. Oh, he'd turn on me in a minute, break my jaw without giving it a second thought—these men are dangerous—but I can manage him. I've had a lot of experience. I see you've had a bath."
"There's a tub of water in the dressing room."
"If I had time I'd nip in there and have a splash myself, but I dare not stay too long. Michael really would beat me if I got caught in here, and the captain would undoubtedly give me fifty lashes. Scary, isn't he?"
"Very."
"He makes my blood run cold, I don't mind admittin' it. Are you going to be able to handle him?"
"I think so. It's not going to be easy."
"I don't envy you, luv. Tremayne's a cuddly baby bear compared to Red Nick, and his men are a pack of puppies. That one, if he didn't like the way you looked when you got out of bed in the morning, he'd run you through and step over your body on his way to breakfast."
"You're quite right."
"Is he going to take you to the island?" she asked.
"He hasn't made up his mind yet."
"But you're
going to make it up for him?"
I nodded. "I told him I preferred to go on to Brazil with the other women. He had to bring me down here by force."
"Clever," Em said, "very clever. A man like that, anything he can take without a fight he doesn't consider worth taking. He's going to have to rape you, and you're going to resist like mad."
"The first time."
"You're going to do just fine, luv. I knew you would. You want to be very careful, though."
"I intend to be."
Em adjusted one of the sleeves of her tattered pink dress, and the bright, perky quality vanished. Her eyes, usually so merry, were serious now and full of genuine concern. She might prattle and prance like a frivolous sprite, but Em was blessed with a strong native intelligence. Tough, shrewd, one of life's survivors, she faced me now with her hands on her hips, her frown making a tiny furrow on the bridge of her nose.
"We're in a very tricky spot, luv. It's going to take all the strength, all the courage we've got to pull through it. I keep thinking of that idiot Nadine, a victim of her own stupidity."
"That was a very brave thing you did, Em, rushing to her defense the way you did."
"I don't know what came over me, luv. I must have been out of my mind. That addle-pated little ninny deserved what she got, but all the same—" Em shook her head. "There's nothing we can do to help her now, just as there was nothing we could do to help Bessie. That—that sight is going to haunt me for the rest of my life."
"It's going to haunt me, too."
"We've got to put it out of our minds. We've got to concentrate on savin' our own skins—and Corrie's. We don't have much time. Michael told me the other women are going to be put on another ship in a couple of days. We have to work something out before then."
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