Savage Surrender

by Natasha Peters

  He nodded. "I know guns even better than I know ships. Big or small, the principle's the same. But Jean, he'd raise all kinds of Holy Hell."

  I knew he would teach me. He realized it, too. "You know as well as I do that Jean lets me have the run of the island, Dominique. I can do anything I want. Please teach me, Dominique, please."

  "Aw, fer God's sake, stop your grovellin'! You know in your hands I've got no more spine than a piece of seaweed. You knew before you even asked me that I couldn't say no."

  "Oh, that's grand! Can we start today? And I want to learn to fence, too. My brother Philippe taught me a little when I was younger, but I want to be good, really good. Will you teach me that, too, Dominique? Please?"

  Dominique shook his head. "No, not me, I won't. I'm no great hand with the blade, and you'd learn bad habits from me. Jean is the one to ask for that—he's the best swordsman in the country, or I'll chop up the Tigre and eat it piece by piece—but I can tell you right now what Jean will say. He won't do it."

  "Of course he'll do it, if I ask nicely," I said confidently. "How could he refuse me?"

  "Now, who in the Devil are you gettin' ready to wage war on, you little spitfire?" asked Dominique warily. "Something's brewin' up there in that bit of cotton you call a brain. I want to know what it is."

  I looked hurt. "Why, Dominique, can't a woman learn to defend herself without raising all kinds of suspicions?"

  He grunted. "A woman can't do nothin' without givin' a man the shakes. You know that. Now I have a sneakin' suspicion of what you're thinkin' about, and I won't have it. And I can tell you another thing, even if you got around me, Jean would sink every last one of our ships afore he'd let you do that. Why, if anything happened to you he'd slice us all to ribbons, every last one of us."

  "What could happen?" I demanded.

  "You're a stubborn wench, you are, but a damn pretty one." He sighed. "A regular full-blooded pirate's beauty."

  That afternoon he initiated me into the care and handling of firearms. I learned to clean, load, and fire a pistol, but my aim was terrible.

  "You've got to open your barmy eyes when you shoot or you'll never hit a damn thing," said Dominique, exasperated.

  "But it's so noisy, Dominique," I complained. "I think I'm going deaf."

  "Screwin' up your eyes ain't gonna save your hearin'. Try it again now. Spill in a little powder first, that's right; now the ball. Poke it in good. Now raise it up—for God's sake relax your arm a little or you'll bust your shoulder—and squeeze the trigger. Well, that wasn't too bad. Just remember, Mademoiselle Hotshot, the gun doesn't know if the hand that's holding it is male or female, so bein' timid and ladylike isn't gonna help you. Try it again."

  By the end of the day I had at least learned the rudiments of shooting. But I felt very tired at dinner, and I must have dozed off at dessert.

  "—a fine bouquet, but disappointing to the taste, and that is the true test, after all—Why, Elise, you're not even listening."

  I pulled myself up. "Oh, forgive me, Jean. I'm rather weary tonight, I'm afraid."

  "I hope you're not having a relapse. Perhaps I've been working you too hard." We got up from the table. "I think I shall have my brandy on the veranda tonight. If you wish to retire—"

  "No, Jean, really, I'm fully awake now. How boorish of me to nod off at the table! What must you think of me? "

  "I think you are a wonderful, good-hearted, beautiful woman, you know that. You are tired, that is all. But even if you were so tired you fell in the soup tureen, I would still think you were wonderful. Please, don't feel you must keep me company this evening, Elise."

  "No, I want to come out." We strolled out to the veranda. I sat on the railing while he settled himself in a broad wicker settee and swirled his brandy.

  "Now," he said, lifting the snifter and inhaling the aromatic fumes, "you want to ask me for something. What is it?"

  I stared. "How did you know?"

  He smiled gently at me. "How does an old woman know when it's going to rain? From the pains in her knees. I, too, have my pains. A little bone here in my chest," he pointed to an area very close to his heart, "throbs alarmingly whenever a woman is about to ask me something. The harder it throbs the more she wants. Right now," he closed his eyes and concentrated, "it is only a medium throb. But I suspect it will become worse if we ignore it. So tell me, Elise, what can I do for you?"

  "I want you to teach me how to fence."

  He sat motionless, his brandy snifter poised in mid-air. "You astonish me, Elise. Really, you do. Fence! Why on earth do you want to learn to fence?"

  "So I can defend myself," I said, lifting my chin.

  "I pray to heaven that God's angels will defend us all. Do you women not have enough weapons in your arsenal? Do you need to borrow a man's as well? I assure you, Elise, you have no need to master the martial arts in order to defend yourself. I, Jean Lafitte, promise that I shall defend you to my dying breath. And all of my men will gladly give their lives for you. I know we Americans must seem like barbarians to you, but believe me, Elise, there is no need for you to take up arms against us. I have never heard of such a thing!"

  I took a breath and said as levelly as I could, "If I had had the courage and the knowledge I would have killed Josiah Fowler. I would have, Jean. And if ever again I find myself in a similar situation, I want to feel confident that I am well prepared. Oh, not with a woman's weapons—I tried those, Jean, and they don't always work. I need to know how to use weapons a man will understand, like the sword."

  "I should have taken you to New Orleans the minute you were well enough," Lafitte said sorrowfully. "I'm afraid living here among these ruffians has affected your mind. A sword is not a child's toy, Elise. It is an instrument of death, and when you deal out death to men you can expect them to deal it back to you. But," he sighed deeply, "the throbbing in my chest tells me that you are about to remind me that I said I would do anything in my power for you."

  "How acute your perception is," I remarked dryly.

  "Elise, it's utterly impossible. I have never heard of a lady doing such a thing, and I refuse to be a party to such an outrageous undertaking."

  I threw back my head and laughed delightedly. "Oh, Jean, I'm not a lady anymore, and I don't know if I ever was! I'm a pirate's beauty, a regular full-blooded pirate's beauty! Dominique said so!" I threw myself onto the settee next to him. "And beauties are notoriously headstrong and stubborn and maddeningly persistent. I should think pirate's beauties are even more so!"

  Lafitte stared into his brandy. "This must be the part where you throw your arms around my neck and kiss me and call me 'Uncle Jean,"' he said, lifting the snifter and draining the remainder of the pale amber liquid.

  I obliged him. I hugged him tightly, kissed him tenderly on the cheek, and said sweetly, "Thank you, Uncle Jean."

  "At least I have the sense to know when I am beaten," he said wearily.

  "I think you are wonderful!" I kissed him again.

  "Women always do when they get their way." He sighed heavily and got to his feet. "It remains to be seen, however, how apt a pupil you will be."

  "I shall work from dawn until dusk," I promised eagerly. "When my other tasks in the library are finished, of course."

  He moved to the rail and looked out over the water. After a while he said, "You know, Elise, a weapon is a strange thing. It has no brains, no feelings, no judgment. It doesn't know if the hand that holds it—"

  "—is male or female," I finished for him. "I know, Jean. I'll be careful, I promise you. But this is something I feel I must do, can you understand that?"

  "No, but that doesn't matter, does it?" He sounded tired and sad. "And now you should go to bed. We shall start tomorrow morning at eight o'clock, in the ballroom."

  "Thank you." I resisted the impulse to hug him again, but rested my hand on his arm and said softly, "Good night, Jean."

  The next morning when I appeared in a skirt and blouse, Lafitte smirked and said, "Y
our costume may be a distinct disadvantage, Elise, if you wish to fight like a man."

  "What do you mean?" I looked at myself. What else was I to wear?

  "You force me to demonstrate." He grasped a sword and whipped it expertly through the air a few times. I gasped admiringly. "Pretend for a moment that we are facing one another as enemies. Perhaps you would like to hold a sword. To help the illusion."

  He chose a weapon for me and handed it to me with a bow. The sword was heavy, and it threatened to drag my arm down, but I struggled stalwartly to hold it up.

  "Now," he went on, "eye your opponent, me in this case." He spread his arms and posed gracefully, one leg in front of the other. His body in its flowing white shirt and skin-tight breeches was as slim and supple as a boy's.

  "You are beautiful, Jean," I exclaimed. "I think you make a beautiful target."

  He frowned with annoyance. "I make a fair size target, Elise, but if I am quick enough to avoid your thrusts you will never touch me. Now look at yourself. You are an even smaller target than I am, but your skirts make you enormous. Voilà!"

  Before I knew what was happening, he had wrapped the point of his sword in my skirts and forced me back. I lost my balance and fell to the floor.

  "I seem to have lost my balance," I said wryly.

  "Forgive me, Elise, but you forced me to demonstrate the point I am trying to make." He stood over me and looked down at me very seriously. "I hope you realize now that this is no sport for a woman."

  "You did not even prick my skin," I said. I felt angry with him. I knew that he never had any intention of teaching me how to use a sword. He was trying to embarrass me into quitting in disgust.

  "I have no desire to hurt you, Elise," he said. "But I wish you to understand the folly of your ways." He offered me a hand to help me up. I ignored it and jumped to my feet.

  "If you will excuse me for a brief moment, Monsieur," I said, patting my disheveled hair. "I seem to require some pins to keep my coiffure in order."

  "Of course, Elise." He bowed and fell into a chair with a thoughtful expression on his face.

  "You won't go away?" I asked anxiously.

  He breathed deeply and looked up at me. "No, Elise, I won't go away. But I hardly see the point of continuing."

  I would show him. I raced through the house to the kitchen, where Lily was kneading some dough.

  "Lily, quick," I gasped. "You've got to find me a pair of breeches. Now!"

  She looked up from her bread board and stared at me. "Breeches! On a girl? I never heard of no such thing."

  "Please, Lily," I begged. "Monsieur Lafitte has promised to teach me to fence, but we're not getting anywhere because of my skirts and he's being just horrible to me. Oh, I want to learn so badly, I really do. I want to know how to defend myself, you see. Against men."

  She chuckled. "Well, now, I ain't never had no trouble defending myself, 'cause I'm about twice your size and my George listens when I say boo. But you, Missy, you ain't much bigger than a Louisiana mosquito. Let me think. Miz Rollins' Albert is about your size. You wait right here."

  She went out the back door towards the pirates' dwellings. I paced the floor nervously, and after what seemed like hours she returned, waving a small pair of gray breeches.

  "Here we are, Missy. I got 'em off the line. So at least they's clean."

  I tore off my skirt and petticoat and slid into the breeches. Albert must be quite small indeed, for his trousers fit me like a glove. Lily fussed around me, tucking in my blouse, and she found a length of red satin to wind around my waist for a sash.

  "Oh, thank you, Lily!" I hugged her fiercely and ran back to the ballroom. I snatched up a sword and fell into the classic stance that Philippe had taught me years ago. "Me void, Monsieur," I cried jubilantly. "En garde!"

  Lafitte was leaning back in his chair with his hands locked behind his head and his eyes closed. At my words he sat straight up and gaped at me. His eyebrows nearly disappeared into his hairline. "You make me tremble, Mademoiselle. Let me look at you." He stood up and walked around me very slowly, eyeing every part of me in my revealing costume, almost as if I were a horse he considered buying. "Not very fashionable," he remarked, "and not particularly well cut—really you must let me recommend my tailor, Elise—but not altogether unattractive." I sighed impatiently and bore his inspection in silence. "And yet it is very strange," he mused. "For some reason you still look like a woman. I don't know if I shall be able to forget that."

  "It is immaterial to me, Monsieur Lafitte, what you are able to forget and what you are able to remember," I said coldly. "I have come to fight, not to parade around in my starched shirt front and ruffled cuffs like a peacock."

  He laughed out loud and clapped me on the back. "Touché, Mademoiselle Lesconflair, touché. En garde!"

  That day we established a pattern which we followed in the weeks to come. We worked in the cool hours of the morning, and again, if nothing interfered, in the evening after the heat of the day had passed. He didn't spare me in our lessons; if anything he worked me harder than he would a boy, just to prove to me that I was too weak to stand up to the intensity of the training. I worked just as hard to prove that he was wrong. When I was alone I practiced for hours in front of the mirrors in the ballroom.

  I never told Jean that I had persuaded Dominique to teach me to shoot, and Dominique did not realize that I was learning to use a sword. Hoisting the heavy pistols helped strengthen my wrists and arms, and the concentration I was learning from fencing helped improve my aim when I fired my pistols.

  "Well, wench," said Dominique one day with a satisfied nod, "at least you're no worse now than any of my men, and you might even be a little bit better."

  "Oh, Dominique, that's wonderful!"

  "Not," he added, winking his eye meaningfully, "that you'll be any good as a pirate until you've learned to wield a blade, but someday—"

  "Someday—" I whispered, hefting my pistol in my hand and firing at a rock down the beach, "Damn! Someday soon, Dominique. Very soon."

  The day came when Jean admitted that my form showed considerable improvement and that I needed to focus my energies on keeping my wrists supple and improving my concentration. I felt that I had already won a victory. Our lesson on concentration was a memorable one.

  "You cannot kill a man when you are thinking about something else," Jean said airily, waving his blade. "You must thrust as though you hated me, as though you meant it, Elise. Duelling is not a woman's game, you know. Even the greenest boy could disarm you the way you fight now, swish swish like a lady."

  I fought to control my irritation. "But I don't want to hurt you, Jean."

  "Well, if you don't want to hurt me, you'd better try to kill me. Or had you forgotten that killing is what this is all about? Don't worry about hurting me, Elise. Concentrate on killing. I can protect myself. En garde."

  I lashed into him furiously, sparing nothing. He laughed delightedly and parried my blows, making some remark about finally getting some fun out of these lessons. I knew he was playing with me and I pressed my attack, ignoring the amused look on his face. I hated his slick confidence and his masculine arrogance. So he wanted me to kill him, did he? By God, I would do my best.

  Just as I saw an opening his eyes flickered. I seized my chance and thrust my blade home. I only touched his shoulder with the point, but a red stain quickly spread over his snowy shirt front.

  He looked down at the flow of blood. "God in Heaven," he breathed. "That's what I get for watching your derriere in the mirror."

  I flung my sword aside and rushed to him. "Oh, Jean, oh, dear God, what have I done?" I sobbed. "I didn't mean to kill you, I really didn't. Oh, Jean, I shall never forgive myself, never. You have been so good to me, and I was angry because you have been acting so—so superior, and I don't know how it happened. I shall never fight you again, never!"

  I tore his shirt away from the wound and staunched the blood with a wadded handkerchief. I made him sit down while
I ran for a glass of brandy, and as he drank, I crooned over him, vowing to lay down my sword forever. Through it all he looked sheepish.

  "Lay down your sword? And have the whole world think that when Lafitte was bested by a girl he refused to fight her again? No, my petite Amazon, I must fight you now whether I want to or not, simply in order to preserve my self-respect, which has been badly bruised by this little scratch. You have proved my point, though. About a woman having tricks in her arsenal that a man could never have. And about concentration. If only I hadn't been admiring your—" He reached out and gave a tender pat to the object that had caused his downfall.

  I jumped back indignantly. "Why, Jean Lafitte, you're no different from any other man!"

  He smiled shamelessly. "No, Elise, I may be better than many men, but at bottom I am no different."

  Chapter 7

  Queen of Barataria

  Life on Grand Terre was good to me, and as I regained my health I achieved a new level of self-confidence and pride in my latest achievements. But I soon became dissatisfied with sitting around the island listening to the pirates tell tales of adventure that were forbidden to me. The Lafitte enterprises were interesting enough on paper, but I had seen their marauding ships return to the island with as many as six captured vessels stringing along behind, and I longed to see a battle first-hand.

  I felt no great desire for the gold and the jewels—at this stage in my life wealth had ceased to have any importance for me—nonetheless the idea of stealing struck none of my moral nerves. More thrilling by far than the illicit wealth was the adventure which the ships carrying that wealth represented to me: battles at sea, flaming sails, the clash of blades and the thunder of guns, the taking of the prize, the cheers and the lusty merriment. Adventure.

  I could see myself, as taut and strong as a tigress, climbing around the rigging, battling at Jean's side like a Fury, overwhelming my antagonists with my flashing blade and deadly aim, and shocking them speechless because I was a woman. It just didn't bother me that what Lafitte and his men were doing was against the law. The law had not helped me on the Charleston Belle, and I had lost my regard for it. I knew I could never again be accepted by society, a society that supposedly lived by the law, and I had gone too far to fit in with anyone's ideas of conventional womanhood now. I didn't want to go back to the old life. What did I care for their rules of behavior, their silly customs and strictures and limitations and meaningless social gestures? What did I care for their stares and recriminations? I was no longer one of them. I was my own woman, and I chose to be a pirate.