"I suggest we go back to the stockade," Nicholas said, "Men, you escort the other ladies back. I'll see to Miss Danver."
"No!" Corrie cried.
One of the men tore her out of Em's arms. Corrie struggled valiantly. He frowned, doubted up his fist and slammed it against her jaw, catching her around the waist as she sagged forward, totally unconscious. He slung her across his shoulder and carried her down the beach as though she were a sack of potatoes. Em walked off with the other two without protest, one on either side of her. I faced Nicholas Lyon with cool composure that matched his own. Waves lapped at the prow of the boat, lapped at the grotesque corpse on the sand.
"Are you going to kill me, too?" I asked.
"I should," he replied.
His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. He had just murdered a man in cold blood, and he felt absolutely nothing. He had pulled the pistol and fired without giving it a thought, had not even bothered to look at the body. He was a monster, but I had known that from the beginning. I gazed at him now without fear, without feeling and with no hope whatsoever. I had matched wits with him, had thought myself crafty and clever indeed, and all the while he had been wise to my maneuvers. He had undoubtedly been amused by my feminine wiles, a sardonic smile playing on his lips as he let me continue making a fool of myself.
"I don't care what you do to me," I repeated, "but Em and Corrie are innocent. Neither of them wanted to help me. I made them do it."
"We'll discuss it later," he said. "Come along, Marietta."
He began to stroll casually down the beach toward the pathway cut into the side of the cliff. I followed meekly, stumbling on the damp sand. Nicholas Lyon never once looked back, but when he reached the foot of the path he turned, waiting for me to catch up. He took my hand, assisting me gallantly, letting me move up first so that he could keep an eye on me and take hold of me if I lost my footing. I climbed up the steep incline, not caring whether I slipped or not. When I was halfway up I paused, looking down. I could jump now. I could end it all. It would be over in a matter of seconds. Red Nick waited patiently, knowing what was on my mind, unperturbed.
I couldn't do it, of course. I truly didn't care what happened to me, but I couldn't desert Corrie and Em. Em might be able to fend for herself, but Corrie was utterly defenseless and I still might be able to save her somehow. I continued on up the path, feeling his presence behind me. The sky was more pink than gray now, taking on a faint golden-orange hue on the horizon. I reached the top, exhausted, depleted, swaying slightly. Nicholas took hold of my arm, steadying me, his manner strangely compassionate, I looked up at his face. It might have been sculpted in granite.
"I'm all right now," I said.
He let go of my arm and moved across the clearing toward the trees, lithe and graceful as a panther. Although he maintained complete silence, that curious gallantry prevailed as we moved through the woods. He took my hand now and then, leading me around a tangle of shrubbery, helping me over a fallen log. He held vines back out of the way as I passed, treating me in a manner that might almost reflect a tender, protective concern.
The sun had come over the rim of the horizon as we cleared the woods, and a dark golden-orange light streamed down in slanting rays as we passed through the gates and crossed the stockade. Several of the men were loitering out in front of the barracks, watching us, and I saw Em going inside the cottage door, Tremayne holding her arm in a firm grip. I had no idea what Nicholas was going to do to me. I didn't really care. I didn't seem to be able to feel anything at all as we moved up the steps and into the foyer.
"You're filthy," he said in a flat, toneless voice, "Go to your room and bathe and change. I'll be in the drawing room."
I went upstairs and removed my clothes and unfastened the cloth bag holding the jewelry and dropped it into the jewelry box. I took a long bath and brushed my hair until it gleamed and put on a frock of sky-blue brocade embroidered with tiny royal blue flowers. I adjusted the off-the-shoulder puffed sleeves and ran my hands over the snug waist and spread the full skirt out over the layered petticoats. I gazed at myself in the mirror with sapphire blue eyes that seemed utterly lifeless. My hair fell in a rich tumble of copper-red waves, spilling to my shoulders in thick profusion, but I didn't bother to pin it back.
I felt numb as I went downstairs. Nicholas was waiting in the drawing room, drinking a cup of coffee. He didn't look up as I entered. He continued to drink his coffee, lost in thought, it seemed, his blue eyes reflective. He had changed into a pair of snug dark brown breeches and a pale, creamy tan shirt open at the throat, the full bell sleeves gathered at the wrists. His dark brown boots were glossy. His tarnished copper hair was unbrushed, falling across his forehead in feathery locks. He finished his coffee, set the cup down and turned to look at me, his eyes still thoughtful.
"What am I going to do with you?" he asked gently.
"I don't know. I don't care."
"It seems those endearments you murmured last night were less than sincere. All the while you were planning to run away."
"I don't deny it."
"That distresses me, my dear," he continued. "I had hoped we had reached a new phase in our relationship. I had hoped you were actually beginning to enjoy my company."
His voice was low, gentle, almost crooning. He looked at me as he might have looked at a beloved child. The voice, the manner were far more chilling than anger would have been. The cold, harsh Nicholas was familiar. This tender, concerned lover was frightening indeed. I gazed at him with my chin held high, my eyes perfectly level. He sighed and shook his head, a regretful smile on his lips.
"Burke told me you were planning something. He wasn't sure just what, but he knew something was afoot. I chose not to believe him. I made love to you, and then I made love to you again, and you clasped me to you and rubbed your palms over my back and whispered sweet words. Apparently you meant none of them."
"I hate you, Nicholas. I always have."
"I went back to my room and slept, and half an hour later Burke awakened me and said that you and the little nigger were gone. I summoned the men, and we found the guard outside the gates, quite unconscious. You must have hit him very hard."
"I wanted to get away from the island. I wanted to get away from you."
"I was upset, naturally, but most of all I was concerned for your safety. I was afraid you might actually get off the island and fall into the hands of the Indians. It was then, my dear, that I realized I had fallen quite hopelessly in love with you."
"You're incapable of love," I said.
"I thought so myself," he admitted. "I'm not particularly pleased. Loving you makes me vulnerable, renders me incapable of meting out the punishment you deserve. Had Maria done what you've done, I'd have put a bullet through her heart and taken great satisfaction in doing so."
He sauntered slowly across the room toward me. I felt a tightening inside my stomach, but I held my ground, refusing to show fear, refusing to show any emotion whatsoever. Nicholas paused in front of me and studied my face with a tight smile on his lips. He shook his head again, regretful.
"I wish you hadn't done it," he said.
"I'll do it again, the next chance I get,"
He slapped me across the face, so suddenly, so savagely that I almost fell down. He slapped me again, again, slamming his palm across my right cheek, my left, until both were burning with blistering pain. My head seemed to ring as blow followed blow, but I refused to cry out, even as he hit me yet again, so viciously that my legs crumpled and I fell to my knees. My cheeks seemed to be covered with liquid fire. Nicholas Lyon seized my hair and jerked my head back and slapped me once more, putting all his power behind it. I toppled backward, sprawling at his feet on the carpet.
He stood over me with his hands resting on his thighs, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily, blue eyes hooded, peering down at me without expression. I seemed to be whirling in a void, cheeks aflame, black curtains drawing over my eyes. I gasped and closed my eyes, and some
of the dizziness left. I struggled to keep from crying, determined not to give him that satisfaction. I shifted my position and caught hold of his calf in order to pull myself up. He turned and walked away, and with the support removed so abruptly I fell face down, barely able to break the fall with my palms.
I reeled on the brink of unconsciousness again. The floor seemed to tilt and spin. After several moments I managed to crawl over and catch hold of the side of a chair and pulled myself up. I stood, clutching the chair for support, still not sure I wasn't going to pass out. Nicholas was standing at one of the windows, peering out at the lawns.
"Are you all right?" he asked. He didn't turn around.
"I—I'll live," I said.
He continued to stare out at the lawns, his back rigid, pale creamy tan silk draped across his broad shoulders. A ray of sunlight streamed through the window, touching his hair, turning it into a dark, fiery copper. I held onto the chair, my cheeks turning numb now, the burning gradually abating. I adjusted the bodice of my gown, tugging at the sky-blue brocade, straightening it across my bosom.
"I didn't want to do that," he said.
I made no reply. Nicholas turned away from the window and moved over to the liquor cabinet without looking at me. He poured himself a brandy, expressionless. He drank it slowly, staring straight ahead without seeing. My head was clear now. I let go of the chair and brushed my skirt and then rubbed my fingertips lightly over my right cheek, wincing as I did so.
"You got off lightly, Marietta. I should have beaten you until you passed out."
"Why didn't you?"
"I happen to love you," he said coldly.
"You have a—a curious way of showing it."
Nicholas set his glass down and looked at me for the first time with eyes a dangerous, chilling blue. I could sense the violence and hostility bristling just beneath the surface, ready to flare up again at the least provocation. I brushed hair from my cheek and, somehow or other, managed to summon a vestige of dignity, returning his glare with poise. He frowned, a deep furrow digging into the flesh above the bridge of his nose. I felt something wet and salty on my lashes and was amazed to discover tears streaming down my cheeks, and I let them flow, not bothering to brush them away, crying silently, unable to help it. His frown deepened.
"I don't suppose you regret it," he remarked.
"Not—not at all," I replied.
"The men will expect some kind of retribution—in public, in the square down in town. If I had any sense, I'd have you strung up and lashed in front of the whole island."
I reached up to brush away the tears, but I couldn't stop the stream. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction. Those chilling blue eyes examined me closely, without emotion. His thin lips were pressed into a tight line.
"I don't imagine Tremayne will want his little whore's back torn to shreds either. He'll administer his own punishment in private. It looks as though the little nigger will have to stand in for you both."
An icy knife seemed to pierce my heart. "What—what do you mean?"
"She'll be taken down to the square this afternoon. She'll be tied to the whipping post with her arms over her head. Her dress will be ripped away from her back, and my man will administer fifty lashes."
"No," I whispered.
"It will probably kill her," he observed. "That should satisfy the men."
"You can't—you can't do it, Nicholas. You can't."
"You'll watch, of course. So will Tremayne's woman."
"Nicholas—"
"After that, I imagine you'll think twice before attempting anything like this again."
"Please," I begged. "Nicholas—please don't do it. She―she's just a child. None—none of this was her fault. Please. Please don't do it. I'll do anything—anything you like, I'll promise anything."
"I have no choice, Marietta."
His voice was as cold and emotionless as his eyes. I was completely encased in ice now, and my heart seemed to leap. I couldn't let it happen. I couldn't. I had to do something, anything, to prevent it. He stood with legs spread wide, arms folded across his chest, immobile, unfeeling, the deep furrow above the bridge of his nose.
"You said you loved me," I pleaded.
"It has to be done."
"If—if you love me, you—you won't do this. You'll grant me this one thing. I'll never try to escape again. I promise. I'll be dutiful and submissive. I'll devote myself to—pleasing you in every way I can."
He didn't seem to hear. Not a facial muscle moved. I sobbed and turned away and started toward the door, filled with an anguish that was almost unendurable. He took several long strides and grabbed my wrist and jerked it brutally, whirling me around so that I was facing him again. He looked down into my eyes for a long time, irritated, indecisive, frowning fiercely.
"Please," I whispered.
"I'm a goddamn fool," he said harshly.
"No. No. You—you have compassion."
"It's not compassion, Marietta. It's weakness. The worst kind of weakness."
"No."
He hesitated another moment and then let go of my wrist. He walked back over to the liquor cabinet to pour yet another brandy, and several moments went by. My heart seemed to be in my throat. The suspense was shattering. I didn't think I could bear much more. He took another sip of brandy and looked at me with hooded eyes.
"Very well, Marietta," he said dryly. "I'll let your little nigger go, but I intend to hold you to your word. If you break it, I'll kill her myself. I swear it."
Relief swept over me, and I was suddenly so weary I could hardly stand. I moved over to him and took his left hand in both of mine,
"You won't be sorry," I whispered. "I'll keep my word."
Nicholas Lyon pulled his hand free, his thin lips spreading into a tight, disdainful line.
"You'd better," he told me.
Eighteen
Nicholas held my arm firmly as we moved past the outlying shacks and down the steeply inclining street toward the harbor. The sunset was bright with orange and gold and red, the sky ablaze with vividly colored streamers that began to fade and smear even as they appeared. Goats peered around corners at us with suspicious, belligerent faces, and chickens clacked, scurrying out of the way with much flapping of wings. I stumbled on the cobbles. His grip tightened, warningly, it seemed. I detested the town, detested coming down here to the canteens. Of late, sensing this, he had insisted we come down several nights a week. He seemed to derive some perverse satisfaction from seeing me ill at ease.
"Don't walk so bloody fast!" Em snapped, walking ahead of us with Tremayne on one side, Draper on the other.
"Shut up, wench!" Tremayne growled.
He gave her a shove. Em tripped on the cobbles. Draper caught her arm, steadying her. She cast a mutinous glance at Tremayne but held her tongue. Her lot had not been an easy one since our escape attempt two months ago. Tremayne had administered a beating that had left her immobile for almost a week, and, ever since, had been surly and brutal, cuffing her at the least provocation, treating her like chattel. He had begun to drink heavily, too, rarely sober after the sun went down. Em endured all with a grim, stoical attitude. Draper was beginning to seem more and more attractive to her.
Deep violet shadows were beginning to shroud the town as we passed the storehouses. The banners had almost faded. The sky was taking on a somber purple hue. Far ahead, through the crooked line of buildings, I could see the ships, masts towering like a skeletal forest. Raucous music and coarse laughter filled the air as we neared the canteens. I tensed, bracing myself for the ordeal. Nicholas smiled a twisted smile, wry amusement in his eyes. He knew I hated the noise and the filth and the horrible smells, the drunkenness and brawling good humor. He liked to sit and watch my reactions, savoring my discomfort. I never protested, never complained.
I had promised to be dutiful and submissive, and I had kept my word. I had promised to devote myself to pleasing him, and I had done so, causing our relationsh
ip to take on a curiously perverse tone that, I knew, gave him a great deal of satisfaction. I was no longer cool and defiant. I no longer held back. I served his meals myself. I poured his brandy. I lighted his cigars, and, when he took me into his arms, I melted against him at once and parted my lips and let him use me as he wished. He had found it amusing at first, but gradually his amusement had turned to disdain. He took to taunting me in subtle ways. He goaded me. His love-making was frequently extremely brutal, as though he were trying to force me to break down and rebel. We were playing new games now, and Nicholas definitely had the whip hand, his threat concerning Corrie keeping me in line even when he pushed me the hardest.
He claimed to love me. Perhaps he did, in his way, but his idea of love was strangely twisted, strongly allied with its reverse side. Love meant weakness to Nicholas Lyon. He hated this weakness in himself and, because I was the one who caused it, he felt compelled to make me suffer for it. He didn't beat me as Tremayne beat Em. No, his way was much more wily. He subjected me to constant humiliation, my pride broken, he thought, my spirit thoroughly subjugated. When he didn't ignore me completely, he scrutinized me carefully with that twisted smile curling on his lips, as a cat might scrutinize a mouse he contemplated pouncing upon. I played the new role to perfection, but I was beginning to feel the strain. He knew that. It pleased him. He was quite satisfied ... and not yet bored.
A shrill scream split the air as a hefty woman with tattered, greasy blonde hair came tearing out of one of the canteens, her violet skirts flying. Two pirates rushed out in hot pursuit. One of them made a flying leap, catching her legs with his arms and bringing her down with a mighty thud on the cobblestones. She screamed again, fighting vigorously as he climbed atop her, and then both of them began to laugh lustily. The other pirate stood by on wobbling knees, guzzling rum from a bottle as he watched the jolly copulation.
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