Nicholas Lyon was going to pay dearly.
Thirteen
The island was long and relatively narrow, separated from the mainland by perhaps a quarter of a mile. In the distance, it was brown and green and a light sandy yellow, the curving seaside harbor filled with ships. Above the waterfront, the land rose sharply, dotted with a ramshackle collection of huts and buildings. There were gray stone embattlements on the rim of the bluffs that rose above the beaches, and in the sparkling midmorning sunlight I could see the stout black noses of at least fifty cannon pointing out to sea.
"That's New Spain behind the island," Em informed me. "Texas, actually, I think they call it, but Spanish territory, a vast wilderness with just a few villages and a couple of medium-sized towns and a lot of Spanish missions. It goes on forever, Michael told me, and it's filled with savage Indians, dozens of tribes."
"That's encouraging," I said dryly.
"You haven't heard the worst part yet, luv. The other side of the island is fortified, too, because of the tribe along the coast. Cannibals," she added.
"Cannibals?"
"That's what Michael told me. They don't just eat their victims, they eat them alive!"
I found that hard to believe, but Em assured me it was true. The Sea Lyon glided smoothly toward the distant harbor, and the island loomed larger, color and detail sharpening. The deck was aswarm with activity, both Draper and Tremayne snapping orders. Red Nick sauntered up from below and came to join us on the poop deck. He was splendidly dressed in midnight-blue satin breeches and a matching frock coat lavishly embroidered in silver, lace cascading at his throat and wrists. His wide black hat slanted at a rakish angle, three long white and blue plumes curling down. His black boots shone with a high gloss. His finest sword hung at his side.
"How do you like my stronghold?" he inquired.
"It's quite impressive," I said.
"Small but sturdy," he observed. "When I left the Caribbean to stake out my own territory, free from competition, I found the island ideal. The fortifications were already here, a number of buildings as well. Another chap had decided to take over the Gulf Coast as his private domain. We had a nice set-to. He changed his mind—while feeding the sharks. Most of his men joined me, and those who didn't joined their leader."
"You simply took over?"
"I took over," he said. "Imported builders and craftsmen to spruce up the town and build my house—you can't see it from here, it's above the town, beyond that line of trees."
"I suppose Maria is waiting for you," I remarked.
"I would imagine she is."
"She's not going to be happy when you arrive with me in tow."
Lyon didn't reply, but a wry smile twisted at one corner of his mouth. I could see that he was looking forward to the confrontation. Surprising his mistress with the arrival of her replacement would undoubtedly appeal to his perverse humor. Em and I exchanged glances, and then she tactfully withdrew to go below. Tremayne stopped her, spoke to her gruffly, and she nodded wearily, moving' down the stairs. Nicholas Lyon watched the island as we drew nearer the harbor. A huge crowd had gathered below the town. They were cheering and waving their hats.
"How many men do you have on the island?" I asked.
"Three hundred and fifty men, seven ships. They're all in harbor now, as you can see. I'll be sending four of them out in a few days, each manned by a full crew with a trusted lieutenant in charge."
"You're very well organized."
"That's the reason for my success."
"You'll hang one day," I said,
"You think so?"
"It's inevitable."
"Not necessarily," he replied. "Perhaps I'll 'reform.' Perhaps I'll join the forces of law and order, like Henry Morgan, The British made an agreement with him, you know. They authorized him to go right on plundering, as long as he did it for them. He was knighted. They made him lieutenant governor of Jamaica as well."
"That was almost a hundred years ago."
"Ah, you know about Sir Henry?"
"I've read about him in history books."
"Perhaps I'll be in the history books, too. Sir Henry may have lived a hundred years ago, but man's venality hasn't changed an iota, my dear. As a matter of fact, I've already received an offer from the British myself. They wanted me to join forces with them to help subjugate the rebels."
"And you refused?"
He nodded, the long plumes billowing. "I admire the rebels. I admire any man or any group who defies authority. Were I to take sides at all, I'd be on the side of the rebels, but I'm much too independent, and my work is much too profitable. I'll wait a while before I become respectable. I have all the power now. The island is impregnable. I'm the terror of the gulf."
"And proud of it," I said.
"Naturally."
"You enjoy killing."
"On the contrary, I find it a bore—but necessary."
"I see."
"You're an enigma to me, my dear. Sometimes I think you're very satisfied with yourself and with your new position. Most women with your background would be. Sometimes I'm not so sure."
"No?"
"I know you enjoy making love with me. You're a marvelously passionate creature. Once I broke you down, you proved that—repeatedly."
"Against my will," I said dryly.
"You enjoy it, my dear."
"I'm human, and you're unusually skillful."
He smiled, pleased. I looked at him coldly.
"I state that as a fact, not as a compliment. I respond to the skill, not to the man. I happen to loathe you."
"I find that intriguing."
"I imagine you do."
"You're a challenge, Marietta, a most interesting challenge. I never know what to expect. I broke down your reserve in bed, and I'm going to break down your mental reserve as well. I'm going to turn that loathing into love."
"I'll never love you."
"You will, my dear," he promised,
I smiled to myself. Nicholas Lyon was utterly intrigued, just as I meant him to be. He had mastered my body, and now he wanted to master my emotions, too. He had conquered me, yes, but that conquest wasn't yet total, and as long as I held back he was in my power, not I in his. His ego required slavish devotion and adoration, and he was determined to have it. I would never love Nicholas Lyon, but he was already beginning to fall in love with me. I sensed that, and it suited my purposes ideally.
We were in the harbor now. I could hear the men on shore cheering. Nicholas Lyon lifted his hat and nodded to them, and they cheered all the louder. He was a king here, absolute monarch of the island, and he wielded his power mercilessly, I knew. No one dared defy or disobey him. The price was much too high. Public floggings and executions were common on the island, according to Em, and Red Nick's men lived under a stringent set of rules, They could kill and rape and plunder at sea, but thievery on the island was punished by death. There were canteens on the island where they could drink and brawl to their hearts' content, but serious fighting meant flogging, and fighting with weapons meant execution. Nicholas Lyon kept them under tight control, ruling his domain with an iron hand.
Close up, the island was much larger than it had seemed from the distance. The harbor was almost directly in the center, with the streets and buildings rising above it. On either side of the town, if that it could be called, the land was uninhabited, lush tropical woods stretching out. The streets, I saw, were cobbled. There were huts and shacks leaning precariously against one another in a disorderly jumble, with a number of sturdier buildings of whitewashed stone, the roofs a dark red-orange tile. There were stores, a smithy, at least half a dozen rowdy canteens where rum and other liquors were provided for a price. I noticed a number of women in the crowd awaiting us, disheveled, slatternly creatures as bizarrely dressed as the men.
"I'd better go below," I said. "I told Corrie to meet me in your quarters when we landed."
"You're fond of the little nigger, aren't you?"
&nbs
p; "She's a sweet child. I thank you for giving her to me."
"Just keep her out of my way," he warned.
Corrie was in the bedroom, carefully folding the gowns and placing them in a valise. She had skillfully altered each one of them, including the one I was wearing, a dark golden yellow taffeta striped with silver. She looked up as I entered, alarmed, alarm turning to relief when she saw me. Nicholas Lyon made no secret of his dislike for her, scowling whenever he saw her, and Corrie was terrified in his presence, eyes lowered, shoulders hunched forward as though expecting a lash across them at any moment. I smiled at her and helped her finish packing the gowns, placing the necklace and makeup kit on top.
"Is we supposed to pack his things, too?" she asked.
"One of his men will do that later, Corrie."
"I'se glad, Miz Marietta."
"I am glad," I corrected.
"That's right," she said. "I remember. I'se goin'—I am goin' to learn to talk proper. All them lessons you done be givin me, I listened real good, and I ain't goin' to talk nigger talk no more. I forget sometimes is all."
"You're doing beautifully, Come."
Shy, meek, docile, the girl not only had a sweet nature, she had a strong native intelligence as well and, until now, no opportunity to develop it. During the past few days I had been giving her lessons in grammar, correcting her speech, teaching her the alphabet. Corrie was a marvelous seamstress and could indeed perform miracles with brush and comb, but I intended to teach her to read and write and speak correctly, preparing her for that day when she would really be free. She looked up at me now with dark, lovely eyes, the soft black nimbus of hair framing her light brown, delicately featured face.
"Is—are they goin' to hurt us, Miz Marietta?"
"Everything's going to be all right, Corrie. The worst part is over now. We'll be getting off the ship in a few minutes, and you'll have a room in the big house and—no one will hurt you."
"I try not to be scared, but that Cook, he said I'd better watch my step. He said if I got uppity the captain would have my hide, said he'd turn me over to his men and they'd tear me apart."
"He was just trying to frighten you."
"The captain looks like he'd like to have my hide. He glares at me with them scary blue eyes and tightens his mouth up and—and I get all trembly inside. He don't like niggers, I can tell."
"You're—don't use that word, Corrie."
"But I is a nigger, Miz Marietta."
"You're a beautiful and intelligent young woman, and one day you'll be able to hold your head up with pride, not because of the color of your skin but because of what you are''
"You is so good, Miz Marietta," Corrie said.
I moved over to the mirror and looked at my reflection, touched by what she had said, saddened, too. The yellow and silver striped taffeta gown had puffed sleeves that fell off the shoulder, and even after Corrie's alterations the bodice was provocatively low and snug at the waist. I gazed at the reflection, but I didn't see the woman with copper-red locks and worldly blue eyes. I saw, instead, a very young girl who had been as pure of heart as the Negro child who stood beside the bed, fastening the valise.
"No, Corrie," I said, "I'm not good. Perhaps I was once, a long time ago, but—things happened."
Corrie stepped over to me and placed her hand over mine, and when she spoke, her voice was grave and as lovely as dark honey.
"But them things weren't your fault," she said. "It ain't right for you to blame yourself. Them men took my cherry, but that didn't make me bad, they's the bad ones. You let the captain poke his tool in you 'cause you have to, not 'cause you want to. You has a fine heart, Miz Marietta, and you is kind and them is the things what makes a person good,"
"I wish I could believe that," I said dryly.
"Believe what?" Em asked, stepping into the room.
"Nothing," I replied.
"Jesus, can you believe we're finally going to get off this ship? I hope I can walk! Do you feel that? We've stopped moving. How am I going to survive without the floor tilting under my feet and the ceiling swaying overhead? Well, luvs," Em said, "we've made it to the island. The first hurdle is behind us, the next one coming up."
"You looks lovely, Miz Em," Corrie said.
Em had changed into a pale, creamy tan satin gown embroidered all over with tiny brown silk flowers and tiny emerald silk leaves. Her glossy chestnut waves were piled on top of her head, several long locks spilling down in back, and she was wearing a gorgeous pair of emerald earrings. Hazel eyes saucy, cheekbones lightly dusted with golden brown freckles, a rueful smile on her small pink mouth, she did indeed look lovely.
"Michael told me to fix myself up," she explained. "He wants to impress his chums on shore with his fancy new whore. He gave me the gown and gave me the earrings and told me if I behaved myself I'd get a necklace to match. You think I'm not going to be an angel? At least until I get the necklace," she added. "If I seem to be chattering like a magpie, it's because I'm terrified. Did you see that mob on shore?"
"I saw them," I said.
"Getting off this island isn't going to be as easy as I thought it was going to be, but we're going to do it, luvs. The three of us are going to escape as soon as possible, cannibals or no."
Corrie's dark eyes grew wide. "Cannibals?" she said,
"Nothing for you to worry about at the moment, luv," Em assured her. "I'd as soon face a tribe of cannibals as face that mob out there, but I suppose we'd better go on up on deck."
Em took hold of my hand and took hold of Corrie's and squeezed both tightly. She smiled a bright, rueful smile but wasn't quite able to hide the apprehension in her eyes. She was brave and feisty and determined to keep up a cheery front, but I could see that she was as dispirited as I.
"We are going to make it, Em," I said.
"Of course we are," she retorted, squeezing our hands again. "A bunch of pirates are no match for us."
She let go of our hands and Corrie picked up the valise and we joined the men on deck. Tremayne appropriated Em immediately, seizing her roughly by the arm and leading her away. He was foppishly attired in brown satin breeches and matching frock coat faced with gold braid, his wide brimmed brown hat festooned with curling gold and white plumes. He led Em down the gangplank, greeting his cronies with gusto and showing off his new acquisition with a boisterous, swaggering pride. Em wore a patient, resigned expression as lewd shouts and noisy catcalls filled the air. One of the slatternly women broke free from the crowd and spat, barely missing the hem of Em's gown, A pirate clipped the woman on the jaw, knocking her down, and as she climbed to her knees Em gave her a dignified look and extended a stiff middle finger. The crowd roared with raucous laughter.
Tremayne grinned and slung his arm around Em's shoulders, and they moved on up the street. Draper came over to where Corrie and I were standing. His gray eyes were fierce. The nostrils of his sharp, beaklike nose flared, and there was a sullen curl on his lips. He was wearing the clothes he had been wearing the first time I saw him, black boots, black breeches, the loose-fitting silky green shirt with full sleeves. His coal black hair was held back with a green bandana, and the gold hoop dangled from his earlobe, gleaming in the brilliant sunlight.
"Your little friend is much too sure of herself," he growled, watching Em and Tremayne with flashing animosity. "She may have a nice pair of teats, but she'd better watch her step."
"Tremayne will take care of her," I replied.
"Yeah, he's pretty cocky, too, gettin' much too big for his breeches. He dudn't watch it, I'm gonna take the wench away from him. I'd like to get my hands on those teats."
I gazed at him with repulsion. Draper's eyes continued to flash, the fingers of his left hand beating a tattoo on the hilt of his cutlass. An erection strained against the cloth of his breeches as he watched Em and thought of what he would like to do.
Red Nick strolled over to join us. He had been watching the scene, too, and there was a glint of wry amusement in his eyes. The a
musement faded as he looked at Corrie. His thin lips curled down at the comers. Corrie cringed, her shoulders trembling. He glared at her with strong aversion for half a moment, then dismissed her from his mind and turned to me.
"Draper will accompany us to the house," he said.
"What a charming surprise."
"Are you ready?"
"I suppose," I said.
My voice was cool, my manner cooler, Nicholas Lyon smiled a twisted half-smile and extended the crook of his arm. I placed my hand in the curve, and we moved toward the gangplank. Corrie remained where she was, nervously clutching the valise, not knowing what to do. Draper gave her a savage prod, and the two of them fell in behind us. The wooden plank creaked a little beneath our weight as we descended. The crowd on the dock cheered robustly, those men with hats waving them in the air as their leader stepped into their midst.
It was a huge, horrifying mob at least a hundred strong. The men had surly, savage faces, many of them with scars or broken noses or eye patches. They wore jack boots and bandanas and many, like Draper, sported golden hoops in one earlobe. All carried knives and cutlasses and pistols, even though there would seem to be no reason to here on the island. There were at least twenty women in the crowd, plump, soiled creatures with coarse faces and long, tattered hair. I repressed a shudder as the shouting, smelly crowd surrounded us, reeking of rum and sweat and filth. This was human nature at its foulest and most depraved, a nightmare mass from the depths of hell. They screamed lustily, waving hats and arms and bottles.
Nicholas Lyon raised his arm, his features stem. Silence fell immediately. His eyes were expressionless as they swept over the mob, and I saw fierce, brawny men stiffen with fear, as though they expected him to find some fault and mete out severe punishment. Tall, harsh, handsome in a cruel, chilling way, he did indeed have them under tight control, subduing an unruly pack of cutthroats without a word. He exuded an aura of utterly ruthless power, and had he ordered them to, all of them would have fallen to their knees to pay obeisance,. He held them in suspense a few moments longer, eyes like blue ice, his lips curling with a faint smile of satisfaction as he savored his power, and then he gave the smile full play.
Jennifer Wilde Page 20