"It's been a highly successful trip, men," he announced. "We've returned with a hold full of booty. There will be free rum in the canteens tonight to celebrate our return."
Cheers rose in a deafening roar. Hats were thrown in the air. Red Nick acknowledged the cheers with a curt nod and, when the cheering died down, took me firmly by the elbow and led me toward the cobbled street that rose immediately above the docks. I held my chin high, looking neither to the left nor the right, but I could see the men eyeing me with curiosity nonetheless. The women looked at me with active hostility they strove to conceal. Taunting Tremayne's new whore was one thing. Offending the captain's woman was quite another. As we walked past stores and shacks and large canteens with flaking white walls and red-orange tiled roofs, I reflected that the women would gladly have torn me limb from limb merely because I was young and attractive and wearing an elegant gown. Red Nick's patronage was all that protected me.
"Frightened?" he inquired,
"Not at all," I lied.
"They envy you, you know, the women."
"I imagine they do."
"They were young and beautiful once, when they arrived on the island. Rum and rough usage have taken a sad toll. I'm going to have to import some new women before long."
"What will happen to these?"
"They'll cook and scrub floors and make themselves useful in other ways," he said. "You needn't worry about them. As my woman, you're perfectly safe, and so is Tremayne's little whore. None of the townspeople are allowed up on the hilltop, unless invited."
The cobbled street curved to the right, past an ever thicker congestion of sheds and shacks, chickens and goats in the yards beyond. Ahead, a smooth road curved gradually upward, lined on either side by tall palm trees, their heavy, green-brown fronds rattling in the breeze. I could see a huge square structure beyond the trees, walls gleaming white in the sunlight, enclosing several buildings with multilevel red-orange tile roofs. I realized that it was an enormous stockade with a walkway on the inside and notches along the top with cannon pointing out. The only access was a huge pair of solid oak doors studded with brass. They stood open now, and I glimpsed green lawns and fountains and houses within.
"The island is impregnable," he explained, "but the stockade is a final precaution. Once the doors are closed, a handful of men could hold off an entire army."
"How many houses are there inside?"
"Seven," he said, "plus a small barracks. The main house is quite large, quite luxurious, as you will see, and the six cottages are comfortable. They're occupied by my lieutenants. Twenty of my best men live in the barracks."
We passed through the enormous doors. There was a spacious courtyard with palm trees and fountains and lush green lawns. The barracks was immediately to the right of the great doors, and the six small white cottages faced each other across the courtyard, three on either side. The main house was directly ahead, large and lovely with white walls and black wrought-iron grills over the windows and roofs that rose and slanted at different levels. Brilliantly colored flowers grew in beds on both sides of the main portico, wide white steps leading up to the recessed front door.
Everything was clean and peaceful and calm. The nightmare noise and fury of the town below might never have existed. Em and Tremayne were standing in front of one of the cottages. Em waved. Twenty men with muskets stood at attention outside the barracks, all tall, lean, powerfully built, dressed in attire similar to the other pirates' but much more neatly, boots polished, breeches clean, colored shirts full-sleeved, silky. Lyon stopped, turned to them, saluted sharply and told them to be at ease. The men lowered their muskets and moved lazily back into the barracks. Red Nick led me past the fountains and colorful flower beds and up the wide front steps. Draper and Corrie were following behind.
We stepped into a long, wide hallway with archways on either side opening into spacious, airy rooms filled with sunlight. At the end of the hallway a curving staircase rose to the second floor. Moving through one of the archways, we stepped into an enormous salon graciously appointed with the finest French furniture, deep blue brocade drapes hanging at the window, pale blue and rose Aubusson rugs on the golden brown parquet floor. With its graceful lines, delicate colors and carefully balanced elegance, the room would have delighted the most demanding Parisian aristocrat.
Red Nick turned to Draper. "Take the nigger to the servants' quarters," he ordered. "Sec that she gets a room, then report back to me."
Draper nodded, took Corrie by the arm and led her away. She cast a frightened glance at me over her shoulder as they left. Lyon removed his hat, tossed it onto one of the chairs. He looked at the elegantly molded white marble fireplace, the gleaming silver candlesticks, the two crystal chandeliers that hung from the ceiling with cascades of sparkling pendants. The wide skirt of his frock coat rustled as he strolled across the room to remove a glass and crystal decanter from the gilded white liquor cabinet.
"Wine?" he inquired.
"I think not."
"What do you think of the place?"
"It's beautiful," I said.
"I appreciate beautiful things. Beautiful furniture, beautiful objects, beautiful women."
"And don't care how you acquire them."
"I vowed I'd have all this one day. When I was young and hungry and cold, I vowed I'd have wealth and power. I was an orphan, you see, stealing food and pennies when I was no more than five years old. I was lucky. A gentleman whose watch I pinched took pity on me, took me into his home. He and his wife raised me as their son, gave me a fine education, the best tutors."
"And?"
"They died when I was sixteen years old, the fever, both of them within a week of each other. Their nephew arrived in Edinburgh to take over. He threw me out onto the street, literally. I climbed back in through a window and took a poker and cracked his skull open."
He took a sip of wine, his eyes expressionless as he continued.
"I fled. The authorities caught me. I was scheduled to hang. I managed to escape. I overpowered a guard and wrested the pistol out of his hand, shot him, shot another guard who tried to rush me. I hid out in the slums for over a month before I finally managed to get out of the city and take to the sea, a fugitive from justice. There was no turning back."
"So you became a pirate."
"It seemed the logical thing to do."
He finished his wine as footsteps sounded on the stairway.
"Neek-oh-las!" an excited voice cried. "Neek-oh-las! Ess that you?"
The footseps clattered noisily down the hallway, and then Maria burst into the room, absolutely stunning in a dark pink brocade gown that made a striking contrast to her dark, creamy tan skin. Her hair was a luscious blue-black, spilling over her shoulders in rich profusion, and her eyes were a lively brown, flashing, full of expression. Her mouth was wide and red and undeniably sensual4 a mouth designed for passion. Not nearly as tall as I, she had an extremely curvaceous body, the clinging pink brocade bodice accentuating smooth shoulders and full breasts and slender waist. Lovely though she was, there was a suggestion of greed in the petulant curve of the mouth, an acquisitive gleam in those dark, flashing eyes.
Halfway across the room, she paused and took a deep breath and placed her hands on her hips. I was standing by a table to the left of the archway, and Maria hadn't seen me yet. Her eyes were fastened greedily on Nicholas Lyon, a pouting, provocative smile shaping on her lips.
"You bring me a present?" she asked.
"I've brought you a surprise."
He watched her with a stony face that showed no emotion whatsoever, mouth held in a straight line, one slanted brow slightly arched and almost touching the heavy copper wave. Maria hesitated, puzzled, obviously expecting him to pull out a glittering bauble.
"Where is it?" she demanded.
Lyon nodded in my direction. Maria turned, curious. When she saw me her lips parted in surprise. She stared, her eyes full of dismay, alarm, anger. I couldn't help but feel sorry for her,
even when the lovely features hardened into a vicious mask. I stood there with a cool, detached expression, refusing to display my feelings. I pitied her. I hated him for what he was doing to her. Maria knew immediately, of course. No words were needed. She stared at me for several long moments, clenching and unclenching her hands, and then she gave a furious cry and whirled around and flew at Lyon with nails extended, planning to rake them across his face.
He caught her wrists, restraining her, cool, sadistic amusement in his eyes as he bent her wrists back. Maria began to scream and kick, struggling furiously, her blue-black locks flying, tumbling over her cheeks, her eyes flashing with Latin rage. She bit his hand and broke his hold on one wrist and threw her hand back and brought it across his face in a stinging slap, at the same time delivering a particularly vicious kick to his shin. He hurled her away from him with such force that she fell to the floor in a sobbing heap.
"You can't do this to Maria!" she screamed. "You can't do it!"
Draper strolled into the room, showing no reaction whatsoever to the scene in progress. Maria climbed to her feet and stood there for a moment with angry tears spilling down her cheeks, and then she looked at me and screamed a curse and leaped toward me. Draper reached out and deftly caught her, slinging his arm around her waist. She reared and bucked like a wild animal. He grabbed her hair and jerked her head back, pulling her off her feet, holding her up in front of him. She continued to kick, her pink brocade skirts swirling wildly. Draper chuckled, tightening his arm around her waist, tugging at her hair with savage force, arching her head back across his shoulder.
"You want her?" Lyon inquired.
Draper hesitated, debating the wisdom of taking over the captain's woman, clearly deciding it might be unwise, might lead to future resentment. He shook his head, scowling.
Lyon arched an eyebrow, surprised. "No?"
"These Spanish wenches, they ain't my type."
"Let me go!" Maria shrieked.
"I see," Lyon replied.
"Whatja want me to do with her?"
"Take her over to the barracks," the captain said. "She can keep the men amused until the next ship leaves for South America."
"No! No! You can't do this to Maria!"
"You have your orders," Lyon said.
Draper dragged the screaming woman out of the room. Her cries echoed in the hall, ending abruptly. Apparently, he had clamped a hand over her mouth. There was the sound of a door opening, closing, then blessed silence. Red Nick poured more wine and sipped it slowly, completely unruffled. I was horrified, and it took superhuman effort to maintain my poise. The man was totally amoral, totally unfeeling, and I knew full well that the same thing could happen to me if I began to bore him.
"I'll take that wine now," I said.
He looked up, gazed at me for a moment with cool blue eyes, and then filled another glass. I moved across the room to take it from him.
"What will happen to her?" I asked.
"The men will enjoy her for a few days. One of the ships sails for South America next week to pick up provisions and make a few coastal raids. She'll be sold to one of the houses."
"You can do that to a woman who has lived with you?"
"Without a qualm," he replied. "Don't waste your pity on her, my dear. Maria was a greedy, grasping little whore. She reveled in her position, gave herself airs, treating everyone with disdain. I found it amusing for a while, and then it began to weary me."
"You'd do the same thing to me," I said.
"Undoubtedly—if you wearied me."
"I'll keep that in mind."
"Do, my dear."
He finished his wine and set the glass down on the cabinet, then took the glass from my hand and placed it beside the other. He rested his hands on my shoulders and looked down into my eyes. I gazed up at him, cool, composed, not the least bit intimidated. He smiled a wry smile, pleased with my, composure, my icy reserve, determined to break it down with his sexual prowess. His lean, harshly attractive face tightened with desire, that familiar gleam shining in his eyes. As his fingers squeezed my bare shoulders, as he drew me toward him, I vowed that Nicholas Lyon was going to be sorry he ever met me. One day he would be sorry indeed, I vowed, but in the meantime he would be anything but bored.
Fourteen
The sand was gray and strewn with pebbles and tiny pink-orange shells and scraps of yellow-brown seaweed. The waves washed over it with a soft, slushing sound, leaving a residue of frothy white foam. The water was a light grayish-green and constantly moving, sloshing, sending the waves swooping over the sand. I walked slowly along the beach, relishing the solitude, thankful to be away from the oppressive confines of the great white stockade. It seemed incredible that we had been on the island over two months, kept in an elegant prison, Em and I serving our men, desperately trying to formulate some plan for escaping.
We were not allowed to go down to the town, which was just as well. Neither of us had any desire to mingle with the ruffians there. We had been kept inside the stockade, allowed to wander as we pleased within the walls, and it was only during the past week that we had been permitted to explore the beaches and woods. Red Nick, Draper, and Tremayne had taken The Sea Lyon to a rendezvous at sea, where booty from another ship would be transferred to The Sea Lyon, and Em had charmed the captain of the guards into allowing us to take short walks outside. It hadn't been easy.
A blond giant with suspicious brown eyes, a crooked nose and wide pink mouth with lower lip thrust out belligerently, he had adamantly refused at first, telling her he was responsible for our safety during Red Nick's absence. Em employed considerable persuasion one night in the shrubberies that grew in the garden behind Tremayne's cottage, and the next day we were permitted to take a walk in the forest with an "escort" of two men, the blond giant, whose name was Cleeve, and a black-haired brute named Grimmet. They accompanied us the following day as well, bored with our questions about trees and flowers, longing to be back at the barracks to drink rum and gamble with their cronies.
Seeing that our strolls were innocent and knowing full well there was no way we could get off the island, Cleeve had relaxed his vigilance and allowed us to go out without an escort the third day. Em continued to use her genial persuasion each night in the shrubberies—she didn't dare allow him to enter the cottage for fear someone would see, meeting him well after midnight under the cover of darkness—and now we were permitted to come and go at will providing we avoided the town and returned in under two hours. Cleeve was taking a great risk, of course, but Red Nick hadn't strictly forbidden us to go outside the walls, and I had assured Cleeve I would take full responsibility when the captain returned.
Even this limited freedom was welcome. It was good to be away from the large, elegant house with its spacious rooms and sumptuous furnishings, to be able to stroll without the sight of walls surrounding me. It was good to feel the sun on my cheeks and hear the sound of the waves and the crisp rattje of the palm fronds in the breeze. To my left, the beach merged into a gently sloping land that climbed to the bluff above where the gray stone fortifications stood, chipped and weathered by sun and sea wind. I could see a cannon pointing toward the mainland. The fortifications weren't manned now, for there had been no trouble with the Indians in years.
Cannibals they might be, but they stayed on the mainland and never ventured to the island. Once, four years ago, they had foolishly launched an attack, hundreds of them swarming over the beaches. Their bows and arrows had proved almost useless against cannon and pistol and cutlass, and they had quickly retreated, leaving the beaches littered with dead and dying tribesmen. They had apparently learned their lesson, for there had been no more serious trouble. The pirates frequently went to the mainland on various missions, but always in force, always heavily armed, and although there had been skirmishes with the Indians, they had been minor.
I paused now, staring across at the mainland, Trees grew thickly beyond the beach, the space between them heavy with underbrush. It looke
d dark and forbidding, green and brown and black, shadowy thickets and leafy tunnels leading into the mysterious interior where savage Indians painted their bodies with black and white and smeared themselves with alligator grease to ward off mosquitoes and carried long bows six feet tall. It was hard to believe that beyond the coast there were verdant green hills and sweeping plains and villages where Spanish padres in long brown cossacks welcomed visitors into the dim coolness of great adobe missions. Red Nick had told me a great deal about New Spain, or Texas as the settlers called it.
I bent down to pick up one of the tiny seashells, a gorgeous, delicately wrought thing, a pale pinkish-orange as smooth as pearl, speckled with brown. The Indian women, I knew, made necklaces of these shells. I slipped it into the pocket of my yellow cotton dress to take back to Corrie. She was too frightened to join Em and I on our strolls, convinced she would be slaughtered the moment she stepped outside the stockade. Her lessons were coming along beautifully. She spoke now with barely a trace of her former accent and rarely made a grammatical error. She could already read a few words and could write her name with aplomb. The lessons were satisfying to both of us and helped to pass the time.
Would we ever escape? I felt a terrible frustration as I continued along the beach, passing under a cluster of palms, moving across a wide expanse littered with driftwood. The frustration had grown steadily over the weeks. Escape seemed impossible. Em and I had discussed every possibility. It might be possible for the two of us to swim across to the mainland, but then we would be at the mercy of the Indians who could very easily be watching me at this very minute. Em was much more optimistic than I. She constantly assured me we would find a way, and I tried to believe her.
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