Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  “Don’t worry about the girl, Pierre. I might give her to you if you like her. But get yourself dressed while we inventory the goods I’ve brought back with me. They’re worth considerably more than this little cat.”

  He pushed Gabrielle toward the girl who had given her the look of dismissal before. “Julie, see that she's cleaned up and presentable.”

  Gabrielle found herself pushed along to a small building where the girl bade her get inside and hurry up about it. Once within, the girl looked daggers at Gabrielle.

  “Who are you? Where do you come from?” she demanded, her arms folded across her bosom.

  Drawing herself up, Gabrielle eyed her in exactly the same manner. “I am Gabrielle—Captain Lafitte took me from a ship he had—had destroyed.” She struggled to keep the sobs from reaching her throat.

  The girl looked even more narrowly at her. “You mean that Jean rescued you from a captured ship?”

  Gabrielle nodded, suddenly feeling completely miserable.

  “What is he going to do with you, then?”

  Gabrielle shook her head. “He has not informed me of his plans for me. I wouldn’t doubt that he plans to kill me,” she said soberly, remembering the regret in Lafitte’s voice when he had told Beluche about his rescue of her.

  “Hmmph! Jean knows the value of a pretty woman too well to kill you. He might give you to Pierre or one of his other lieutenants or—” and here her eyes gleamed maliciously, “—he might have brought you as a lady’s maid for me.”

  Gabrielle looked around at the slovenly room. “Why would he bring you a lady’s maid?” she asked sarcastically.

  Julie drew up her hand to slap her but decided against it. “You don’t really think I live in this hole all the time, do you?” she said. “Why, I have beautiful quarters in New Orleans where I live in the style suitable to my station.”

  “And just what is your—station?” Gabrielle inquired smoothly.

  The girl flicked imaginary dust from her sleeve. “Why, I am Jean’s mistress, of course. He bought me at the quadroon ball only two months ago for just that purpose. My rooms are more beautiful than you can even imagine,” she continued in the same vein as before. “And, although Jean does not come to see me often—” she bit her lip at the slip she had made. Then, shrugging, she went on airily. “Jean is not a man like others. He is busy with so many things he does not have too much time for—lighter matters.”

  Gabrielle would have laughed in the girl’s face if she hadn’t felt so miserable. Well, she was relieved that the pirate already had a woman with whom to amuse himself. But, and she shivered, would she prefer the older brother to the younger? Dear God! Better to be a lady’s maid to this jealous bitch. At least she would be ensconced in New Orleans, the better to make her escape.

  The girl was calling to someone to bring clean clothes. “Come. We can go down to the beach and bathe. You really are dirty, you know,” she pointed out cuttingly.

  Gabrielle followed her out of the house, relieved to see that the earlier crowd had dispersed to help with the new cargo. They walked down the dusty street and then turned onto a winding path that led down to an isolated cove where a beach of fine white sand shone like drops of crystal.

  Gabrielle could not help but be awed as she looked at the emerald green of the ocean as it lapped lightly against the shimmery beach. Not far away she could hear the shouts and orders as men unloaded the long boats and made their way back and forth between ship and shore with the prize booty. She hesitated at undressing so close to where they were unloading, but the water did look inviting and she saw that Julie had already divested herself of her clothing and was romping in the water, splashing herself to cool her skin.

  Gabrielle finally made up her mind, and, lifting the hem of her dress, she brought it over her head and stripped off her chemise, kicking away her shoes as she ran, head first, into the cool water. A wave hit her full in the face, and she tasted the salt in her mouth as she tried to clear her eyes. She coughed and gagged, then stood up to gain her bearings. She had never been in the ocean before, and she felt strangely exhilarated as she splashed water over her arms and shoulders. She submerged her hair, watching delightedly as it spun away with the current like golden seaweed. She swam a little further out, glad of the chance to exercise her muscles, which had been turning soft with her enforced inactivity.

  “Hurry up!” Julie was crying out petulantly. “I didn’t mean for you to have so much fun.”

  Gabrielle laughed exuberantly and dunked herself beneath a wave, ignoring the girl. Oh, it did feel good to have so much freedom, she kept thinking. She would have continued to frolic in the sea, but she found suddenly that her arm was caught in a viselike grip as she was literally pulled out of the water.

  She was about to utter some scathing comment to the girl, but, peeking out from beneath her strands of wet hair, she found herself looking into those same jet-black eyes that she despised. They were in waist-deep water, and Jean Lafitte was wet up to his belt buckle—and very angry.

  Silently, he pulled her with him to the shore, where Gabrielle looked around frantically for something to cover herself with, painfully aware of her complete and defenseless nudity. Lafitte, though, barely looked at her, and she would have thought he was unaware of her femininity if his hand had not moved from her arm to her waist, where it moved up briefly to caress the curve of one perfectly shaped breast.

  “A very dangerous thing—to come down here to bathe, spitfire,” he said. “All the men will be down here very shortly to wash the grit of battle from themselves.”

  Gabrielle sent a suspicious look toward the other girl, who would not meet it as she sullenly began to dress herself.

  “Julie, why did you bring her down here?”

  The girl’s dark eyes were rebellious. “What would you care if the crew saw her naked? Let them have her! By the look of her, it wouldn’t take them long to finish her off, and then you’d be rid of her!”

  Gabrielle’s eyes widened as she understood the merciless streak in the other girl.

  “Get dressed,” Lafitte said to Gabrielle, giving her a little push towards the stack of clothes in the sand.

  She did so hurriedly, and silently the three of them marched back up the path to the settlement. Lafitte took her by the hand and led her towards the fortress after harshly ordering Julie back to the little house. Stumbling a little, Gabrielle grabbed at his arm to steady herself, and she felt the tightening of the muscles beneath his sleeve. He was taking her back to the place where she had seen Pierre, and she wondered if he had decided to give her to the other man.

  “Sally!” A young white woman came to the door in answer to Lafitte’s call. “Sally, I want you to watch over this little hellcat. I know I can trust you to see that she is fed and dressed in something that suits her.”

  “Of course, Jean, but you—you do not want. . . . You don’t want Pierre to. . . ?”

  “He won’t touch her unless I tell him she’s his. Now. I’ve got work to do and can’t be bothered with this thorn in my side.” He walked briskly out of the door, leaving Gabrielle standing next to the girl who seemed rather placid and was certainly extremely pregnant.

  “You are Pierre’s wife?” Gabrielle asked her politely.

  The girl smiled. “No, of course I’m not. His wife, Françoise, died some time ago, and Pierre has no intention of tying himself down again.”

  “Oh, I—I see,” Gabrielle muttered inanely, but she didn’t really see. What kind of place was this where the men seemed to service any woman they wanted and then sailed away to plunder some unsuspecting ship?

  The girl led her inside and motioned her to sit down at a long table. “I was just fixing soup for Pierre and Jean when they return from their work,” Sally commented. “Let me give you some now. I know you must be hungry.”

  “Thank you,” Gabrielle said, her nose twitching at the delicious smells that were wafting from the pot on the hearth.

  “You have jus
t arrived on the island?” Sally asked.

  Gabrielle nodded. “Lafitte took me from the ship Lillias. We were bound for—for Jamaica.”

  Sally was silent for a moment, considering. “Were you the only one who survived?” she asked gently and her direct question caught Gabrielle off guard.

  “Yes!” she gasped, trying to recover her poise.

  Sally patted her hand. “Please don’t cry. You’re alive, and you have not been treated too badly, I hope.

  “Were you—were you brought here, too?” Gabrielle asked her hesitantly.

  “I was not brought here from a ship. I was born here. This island used to have just a few shacks that comprised a small fishing village. When Jean first came here, all the people thought he was some lunatic whose thoughts of grandeur would land him in the calaboose. They were wrong. Jean was not, as some thought, an illiterate numbskull, but an educated, refined man who, when one sees him in New Orleans, meticulously dressed and completely polished in his manners, would seem like some wealthy plantation owner in the city on business. And so he is on business,” she said. She seemed to recollect herself and then stared sharply at Gabrielle. “He has never . . . that is, you’re the first woman he has ever brought back with him. . . .”

  Gabrielle leaned towards her. “But that is why I am so confused,” she said. “Everyone keeps telling me that he is not interested in women. Is there something wrong with him?”

  Sally shook her head. “He was once married to a lovely young girl—”

  “Yes,” Gabrielle interrupted. “One of the crew members told me that she died during childbirth.”

  Sally nodded. “Then you know as much as I. I think he fears getting involved with another woman so deeply. He must have loved his Christina very much.”

  The two young women finished eating in silence. Afterwards, Gabrielle sat in front of the hearth, drying her hair and wondering how she had come to this point where she could sit calmly in a stranger’s house, the prisoner of a pirate captain on his island fortress.

  It was late in the evening when the two women heard the sounds of men’s voices and heavy footsteps. Peeking out the window. Sally signalled to Gabrielle to get out more dishes.

  “They have brought others with them. A meeting of the lieutenants,” she explained shortly.

  The door was flung open, and Pierre entered, his eyes immediately seeking out Gabrielle as she hurried to put out more plates and get out of their way. The next man was Renato Beluche, who smiled at the sight of the girl and winked knowingly at her. Behind him came two men who were unfamiliar to Gabrielle, but whose Italianate looks caused her to shudder in apprehension. One man was dark and squat with a deep slash scar across his face that left him with only half a nose. He reminded her of a deformed monkey, and she disliked his dark eyes when they roved silently over her. The man with him was dark also, with liquid dark eyes and a fierce-looking mustache, although he was taller and less heavy than the first man. He smiled dimly and somehow he reminded her of Lieutenant Rué, with the same cruel expression in his eyes.

  Jean Lafitte was the last to come inside, and Gabrielle watched his face for some expression when he saw her. But to her relief, he seemed just as disinterestedly casual towards her as before.

  “A long, hard day, my friends,” Pierre laughed, drinking noisily from his cup. “Time to rest, make love to a good woman.” He eyed Gabrielle deliberately, but she would not look at him as she replaced the pot on the hearth.

  “You’ve brought a valuable cargo with you this time, Lafitte,” the taller of the two Italian men spoke up. “Have you decided how we are to split it?”

  Lafitte carefully broke a biscuit that Sally had laid on his plate. “The usual way, Gambi. That is acceptable, is it not?”

  The other nodded, but his eyes slid craftily to the shorter man.

  “I wish to be frank,” that one said. “Shall we send the women out?”

  “Chighizola, you are not going to tell me you are dissatisfied with our arrangement, are you?” Lafitte asked him.

  “Well—I believe that giving you a fourth of everything. . . .”

  “You imply that I do not deserve a fourth, Chighizola?” Jean asked, looking at him directly for the first time as the sudden and immediate tension in the room was communicated to everyone present.

  “We will certainly concede that you work for it, Lafitte,” the man said quickly, looking to the taller Italian for approval, “but Vincente and I only receive a sixth, and we work just as hard as you do.”

  “How many ships have your crews brought in in the last month, Louis?” Jean went on. “I believe the last count was five. Personally, I have brought in twice that number and Renato has brought in four.”

  “We have no quarrel with Renato,” Gambi said harshly. "What we cannot understand is how your brother can receive a sixth of the take when he does nothing but add to his harem and grow fatter on chicken fricassee and gumbo.”

  Pierre’s bull-like face took on the color of the coals in the hearth, Gabrielle thought, as he rose from his seat, his swift movement causing his soup bowl to be upended and the contents spilled into his lap. Sally hurried to clean up the spilled soup.

  “For Christ’s sake, woman! That soup is scalding!” Pierre yelled at her, barely missing her cheek with a sloppily aimed blow. “Get me another bowl, and be quick about it!”

  “Go into the other room, Gabrielle,” Sally whispered to the girl, obviously afraid that Pierre’s wrath might find her a more suitable target.

  Gabrielle did as she was told, disappearing into a room that must be Sally’s sleeping quarters. She closed the door behind her and sat in the chair in one corner until the meeting was finished. She heard the endless droning of voices as the men continued talking, some angry, others seeking to placate. Much later, Sally told her to get undressed and slip into bed.

  “The men will be awake all night. You may as well get some sleep,” she explained.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gabrielle gazed absently out the window to where Lafitte lazed in the rope hammock, a cigar in his mouth as he listened to his brother, Pierre, who sat in a chair next to him. She was sewing a ruffle on one of his shirts, and every time she stuck the needle in the snowy shirt-front, she pictured herself plunging it into Lafitte’s chest instead.

  It had been four days since he had brought her to Grande Terre, and still he had done nothing about her. He had never told her his plans for her, and he barely spoke to her at all, unless it was absolutely necessary. At times she would catch him watching her almost covertly, an enigmatic expression in his dark eyes, but he would look away when she met his gaze. It troubled her, not knowing what would happen to her, and Sally, knowing how the question preyed on her mind, gave her plenty of work to do.

  Gabrielle’s sewing talents were held in extremely high esteem by all the women, and Gabrielle thought she must have repaired at least twenty gowns in the short time she had been on the island.

  Pierre had not attempted to press his person on her other than at mealtimes, when he was careful to sit extremely close to her. She had learned that he spent most of his time in New Orleans and was thankful that she would not have to put up with his irritating attentions much longer. Jean sat at the head of the table, apparently taking no notice of his brother’s irritating habits.

  So Gabrielle had silently seethed for four days, wondering when something would happen to change the dull pattern of living. Even as she thought this, a young boy came scampering up to the yard, his dirty face bright with excitement.

  “The Tigre, Cap’n, the Tigre! She’s coming in!”

  Both Lafittes stood up expectantly and ran down to the shore. Gabrielle stood with Sally on the doorstep and watched as the 120-ton brig rounded the strait and downed anchor. Shortly, three or four longboats were lowered into the water and filled with men. She could see the Lafittes and Beluche on the beach, their hands extended in warm greeting as a short, swarthy man stepped from the lead boat and nearly c
rushed Lafitte in his burly arms.

  As with Lafitte’s return, it seemed as though everyone was on the beach to welcome yet another hero. There were cheers and acclamations as everyone talked at once about the success of this man’s mission. This, Gabrielle thought, must be Dominique You, a well-known pirate who was, she understood, as yet uncommitted to a complete affiliation with Lafitte.

  Gabrielle stepped back inside the house as she saw the men approaching. She looked up from the chair where she had rescued her sewing when she heard their voices and received an impression of flashing black eyes, a hawk nose, and powder-burn scars on the left side of the man’s face, which made him seem truly ferocious. His eyes were fixed on her for a moment, and a voice like a lion’s rang out.

  “And where did such a likely-looking miss come from? Pierre, don’t tell me you’ve added another one to your bevy of ladies.” Dominique You strode over to where Gabrielle sat, and with both hands holding her helpless, he placed a very wet and noisy kiss on her mouth.

  Gabrielle wiped her lips with one hand as soon as he released her, at which the man roared with laughter.

  “So, she doesn’t like old Dominique, heh? I suppose you prefer the more pristine lips of fine Pierre here?” He slapped his thigh as Gabrielle’s face turned rosy.

  “She’s not Pierre’s woman,” Jean Lafitte said quietly, seating himself at the table.

  Dominique’s eyes brightened and his mouth formed a snort of surprise before he slapped the slighter man on the back and whispered something in his ear. Lafitte’s laugh grated on Gabrielle’s nerves, and with a swishing of skirts she got up from her chair and moved away from the table. How dare they make sport of her! She could not bear this much longer.

  For a moment she did not register the voices of the men as they turned back to business and Dominique You informed Lafitte of his booty. But she froze suddenly when she heard him inform the captain that he had brought back five women whom he’d taken from a ship bound from Spain for Mexico.

  “Gorgeous beauties they are, too, my lads, though I doubt you’d interested, Jean, with that remarkable-looking wench you’ve acquired. Is she English?”