Gabrielle

by Theresa Conway

  “French, but she speaks English like a native.”

  “I see. In that case, I give you my blessings, my friend.” Gabrielle heard Pierre’s voice, a little excited as he questioned Dominique about the women he had brought back with him.

  “Five of the prettiest senoritas you could have asked for,” Dominique proclaimed. “If you like ’em dark, that is. Velvet skinned and clear-eyed. A mother and her four daughters from what I can tell.”

  Without looking at him, Gabrielle could picture the look of lustful interest on Pierre’s big face, and she felt sick with revulsion.

  “I suppose we could hold them for ransom,” Jean was saying idly, his voice betraying little interest as he toyed with a penknife.

  Dominique nodded thoughtfully. “We could, but it might take months before we were paid off. If we were paid off, that is. The senora’s husband was killed in the foray, and one of the daughters was married—her husband was lost, too. From what I gathered, they had been on their way to Mexico to settle down for good—mayhap they were running away from the authorities in Spain.”

  “Are you saying that a ransom note would be no good?” Jean asked.

  The big man shrugged. “Not likely.”

  “Well, then, what do we do with them?” Pierre asked with increasing excitement, leaning over the table. “I would really like to see them, Dominique, if it’s all right with you.”

  “Of course, but we must settle what’s to become of them, my friends, before any other action is taken.”

  Jean stood up. “Well, it matters little to me what you two decide,” he began. “The island is getting crowded as it is without adding to the population with captured prisoners. Then, too, women always cause fights among the crews.” His words were practical, uttered without feeling.

  “You’ll not kill them?” Gabrielle could not help her rash cry. She could not believe the coldness of the man.

  He looked at her angrily. “Be quiet, wench. Must I remind you that you, yourself, are on this island through my good graces? Keep your nose out of matters that don’t concern you.”

  The other men gave her looks that mixed appreciation with caution. Without another word, she returned to her room. A few minutes later the door was pushed open roughly and Lafitte stood in the doorway, half-glaring at her. Past him, she saw that the kitchen was now empty, the others having already taken a hasty leave.

  Lafitte closed the door carefully behind him and lounged against it for a moment as though to calm his temper. Gabrielle stared back at him.

  “That is positively the last time you will be allowed to cross-examine me in front of my own lieutenants.” He straightened from his position against the door. “I do not in the least like anyone to interrupt me, much less express disapproval of my opinion when such an expression is not asked for,” he continued slowly. “I will remind you for the last time that the only reason you were not thrown to my crew upon our arrival here is because I chose to keep you safe. Can you even imagine some thirty men using you, wench? Can you imagine how long you would live before you no longer had the strength to scream anymore—before you became unconscious—and then died?” He watched as her eyes grew wider and her lovely mouth trembled with fear. “Please remember, you are not here to express any opinions on the conditions of our profession.” He moved to leave the room, then turned to her and added in a softer tone, “I will come for you tonight. I have only waited this long because I was anxious for You’s return.”

  After he had gone, Gabrielle rose shakily from the chair and began to pace the room. “I will come for you tonight.” The words went round and round in her brain. What did he mean? Was he going to make her watch the horrible festivities of the evening? Was he going to force her to see the degradation of the Spanish women, just to teach her a lesson? Or was he coming for her for himself? The thought made her grow cold. Although she was technically no longer a virgin, the thought of this villain seeing her body, doing things to her that she only dimly remembered now, made her mouth go dry with fear.

  As the evening drew near, Gabrielle found herself becoming ever more nervous. It was twilight before a young boy came to the door, his elfin nose sniffing the smells issuing from the kitchen.

  “Cap’n Lafitte says he’ll not be to dinner tonight.” The boy relayed the message, then stood hesitantly in the doorway until Sally called him in to share their meal, an invitation which the lad quickly accepted. As the three ate, conversation turned to the “booty” from You’s ship.

  “The women have been assembled on the beach. There’s a huge bonfire to be lit, and then the men’ll have a go at ’em.”

  Gabrielle stared at the boy, who could be no more than eleven years old. He continued to eat with total unconcern, munching the steaming carrots as though he hadn’t eaten in days. He went on jabbering happily between mouthfuls about the other prizes that You had brought back: a chest of gold, yards of silk and lace, finely made arms. Gabrielle barely listened as she pushed her half-finished plate away listlessly. When the boy had finished his meal, he thanked the two women politely, then hurried out the door, presumably to watch as the bonfires were being lit. It was now quite dark outside, and Gabrielle helped Sally with the dishes to keep her mind away from the beach.

  “How—how can you be so calm when you know what is happening to those defenseless women?” she finally exploded in a rush. Even as she spoke, a scream punctuated the chirping of the crickets.

  Sally looked levelly at the other girl. “Be glad,” she said quietly, “that you are here with me.”

  “Glad! Oh, yes, I am considerably beholden to Captain Lafitte for sinking the ship I was on, for bringing me here against my will, for letting me stagnate here on this horrible island! If I had never seen his face, I think I should count myself the luckiest of women! I hate him! I hate him, do you hear?” She was nearly screaming the words at the other woman.

  “Such bravado!” Gabrielle whirled to see Lafitte himself standing in the doorway, his black eyes flashing with some emotion. “What an odd way for you to express your thanks that I saved your life.”

  “You—you didn’t save my life,” Gabrielle threw at him, nearly on the verge of hysteria. “You destroyed it!”

  He stood deathly still as he picked at a nail almost too calmly. “Then, are you saying that you would prefer to have died on the cargo ship with the others?”

  “Gabrielle!” Sally warned, “think what you are saying!”

  Gabrielle turned her back on the woman, “Yes! Yes!” she cried out. “I would rather be dead than remain here.”

  “Very well, then.” Roughly, Jean Lafitte grabbed her hand and started pulling her behind him as he made his way down the path that led to the beach.

  Gabrielle could hear Sally’s imploring sobs, and she felt the gravel scraping her bare feet. She heard the chirping of the crickets, the loud laughter of drunken men mingling with low moans and shrill screams. She could feel the moistness of the air on her face, the slight chill in the December breeze on her arms. Like a brand of iron, she felt the hand of Lafitte nearly crushing her fingers as he dragged her towards the sounds and the light on the beach. Her head was dizzy with smells, sounds, and feelings. As she realized where he was taking her, what he had decided to do with her, she felt fear in her throat squeezing the breath from her body.

  “Oh, no! Oh, my God, no!” she cried, trying to wrench her hand from Lafitte’s grasp. No, she didn’t really want to die, not now, not like that!

  He stopped momentarily on a small knoll, and Gabrielle’s horrified eyes took in the scene of bloody carnage on the pristine sand. She shut them tight but could not block out the screams and pleas.

  “You cannot do this!” she yelled at him, desperately kicking out with her feet and trying to loosen his hold on her.

  “Be quiet!” he hissed and pulled her along again.

  Hysterically, Gabrielle pulled and twisted against him, but he was stronger than she, and she remembered Sally’s warnings—too late.
Dear God, she couldn’t go through with this—she couldn’t be mauled and savaged and torn to pieces by a dozen men who were so drunk they hardly knew what they were doing.

  In her state of horror, she did not realize at first that Lafitte was taking her away from the terrible scene. Not until she heard the voices of the men growing dimmer did she attempt to crush her own hysteria. Broken shells hurt her feet, and she stumbled on loose clods of earth as Lafitte pulled her down a small hill to a private little cove. She felt warm sand underfoot and looked dazedly at the bright moon in the sky, the darkness of the water, the brightness of the sand.

  He let her hand go. “Do you still want to die, Gabrielle?” His voice seemed very far away, and was that truly anger she detected in its tone?

  She pushed her tumbled hair out of her eyes and attempted to look up at him through sudden tears. “No, no! I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die!” she repeated brokenly, covering her face with her hands.

  He pulled her to her feet and lifted her in his arms. He will hold me under the water until I cease to breathe, she thought. As he lowered her, she braced herself for the shock of icy water but felt soft earth beneath her and opened her eyes to stare up at the silhouette of his head hiding the moon.

  He was bending down to her, silently, slowly, and Gabrielle held her breath, wondering what he was going to do. The touch of his hand on her cheek unnerved her so that she jerked her head away from him and tried to struggle to her feet. He pressed her back firmly on the sand, and she felt his leg over both of hers, holding them down as his hands caught her arms.

  She turned her head to avoid his mouth, but he followed her so that he fastened his lips over hers. Her whole body shook with reaction and the dawning sense of the nearness of his body to her own. His hands left her arms to pull with growing impatience at her bodice. Another moment, and she shivered when his hands caressed her breasts, even as he went on kissing her. Her lips felt bruised when he lifted his head, her eyes were brimming with tears and her ears were suddenly filled with his warm breath and the sound of soft murmurings in French.

  Eventually, her body began to respond to the half-forgotten sensation of caresses, and then there was nothing but his mouth on hers, his hands on her skin, and the sand at her back. Warm tremors rose from her thighs to her breasts as he continued to embrace her. The sea breeze was suddenly cool against her perspiring skin as he removed the last of her clothing.

  Involuntarily, she drew her thighs tightly together and raised her hands to ward him off. Silently, he caressed her belly and hips until she relaxed and allowed herself to drift pleasantly along on the rising tide of anticipation. She began to feel that dimly remembered core of heat in her belly which seemed to radiate to her whole body until she was returning his kisses with equal fervor and pulling him down to her.

  She started as she felt something hot and alien probing at her thighs and, for a moment, she struggled again, coming back to herself. “No, no,” she murmured. She couldn’t let him do this to her. She couldn’t! He was a murderer, a pirate, a man with no morals—how could she let him make love to her like this!

  But now it was too late, and he was not to be denied. His teeth bit at her nipples and his hands came down to part her thighs with a strength that she could not fight.

  She could feel one hand on each of her thighs, digging into the soft inner flesh as his weight pressed down so that he could drive deeply into her. She cried out with initial surprise and hurt as he drove again and again until he was all the way inside her and his hands moved up to hold her shoulders.

  His thighs were strong and he moved within her, faster and faster, making her head roll from side to side as she fought her body’s reaction. No use! Despite her hatred of what he was, instinct drove her legs upward to clench tightly around his hips, aiding his movements as she arched her back and left herself open to him, like a budding flower whose petals were spreading one by one. She was crying and gasping for air, hating herself and him for her own act of betrayal against those of the Lillias who had died at his command.

  My God! she thought, if she were honest with herself, she did not want to think of that now. She did not want to think of anything but this man and his flesh inside of her flesh and this soaring feeling of excitement that was carrying her faster and faster towards its climax.

  Her fingers pressed into his strong back and his lips worked against hers until, finally, everything seemed to explode at once, and a soft scream was torn from her throat. They lay together, exhausted, he breathing deeply and she glad of his arms around her, holding her tightly against him.

  “I knew it would be like this,” he murmured after a few moments. He licked her neck and she sighed. “Raped by a pirate,” he went on, chuckling a little. “You can see, I hope, what a pleasant experience it can be, spitfire.”

  Privately, Gabrielle was still amazed and a little frightened at how easily she had shed her inhibitions with this stranger—this pirate—whom she did not really know. Certainly there could be no hope of anything permanent with the corsair, for hadn’t she seen how Sally and the other women were treated by their men? On the island the women were used to assuage a hunger, a basic need. If there were marriages, they were treated lightly, and most of the men still assumed the license of the bachelor.

  Gabrielle moved out of his arms and sat up suddenly, reaching for her clothing. Lafitte caught her hand.

  “Stay with me a little longer, Gabrielle. I will be lonely without you.”

  “But—but it is late—and Sally will be wondering. . . .”

  “Does it matter?”

  Gabrielle was silent, and he drew her down beside him once again. She felt his hand in her hair, twisting it idly, and she wondered if he guessed at her reason for wanting to get away. Could he sense her embarrassment, her confusion over her own passionate response to him?

  Lafitte turned her face so that he could look at her. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, Gabrielle. It’s not just your physical attraction, but something else—an inner quality that I find lacking in so many women. It was this that I sensed on the ship, and this also kept me away from you. I did not want to know a woman who might be able to bind me to her.” He paused for a moment as though expecting her to answer him.

  Gabrielle could think of nothing to say. Certainly she had no wish to hold him in her power—she felt nothing more than a pleasant sense of appeasment now as she lay next to him.

  Practically, she couldn’t help but think that after this episode, perhaps he might allow her to leave Grande Terre and go to New Orleans. It made sense to her that if he was worried about her influence over him, he would wish to be rid of her.

  “I’m—cold. Could we get up now?” she whispered.

  He held her for a moment longer then reluctantly release her so that she could dress herself. She felt his eyes brooding on her. Perhaps, even now he was thinking that he should let her go, she hoped.

  After he had put some order to his clothing (she realized, with a slight feeling of distaste, that he had not troubled to remove his shirt or breeches), he grasped her hand as before and led her back up the path. Gabrielle could still hear the yells and shouts of the men on the beach, but there were no more screams from the women. With a dawning sense of sickened realization she knew that the women were probably dead or too weak to resist anymore. Even as Lafitte had been making love to her in the cave he must have known that his men were destroying those prisoners. Perhaps, she thought, risking a guarded look at her companion, she had best not underestimate this man.

  At the door to Sally’s house, he released her and waited until she had slipped inside.

  “Wait for me. I will join you later,” he said, and his tone was commanding again.

  Gabrielle shivered and watched as he left her, knowing that he was going down to the beach to check on the condition of his men. The thought continued to gnaw at her mind that here was a man who held human life very cheap. Despite his markedly special i
nterest in her, she would have to be very careful not to anger him past the point of endurance, for she very much doubted that, even for her, he would make any exceptions to his own hard rules.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Gabrielle lay face down on the mattress, wondering sleepily whether she should get up now or wait a bit longer, hoping that perhaps one of the women would come over for conversation. Lafitte was gone, had been gone for almost two months, after settling her in the new house that was only recently completed.

  It was hard at times for Gabrielle to believe that she would be eighteen years old in April and that she was, virtually, a prisoner on the island, since Lafitte had left strict orders stating that anyone responsible for any attempts to escape would have his hands cut off. The warning made Gabrielle’s flesh squirm, and whenever Lafitte’s hands claimed her body in the bed they now shared, she was only just able to keep herself from shuddering with revulsion. They had had only five days together before he left on another voyage, which filled Gabrielle with nothing but relief, and she hardly looked forward to her master’s expected return sometime in early March.

  Sally’s baby had been born—a small, red-faced boy who did nothing but cry and demand to be fed. Gabrielle declined to hold the baby any more than necessary, for every time she looked at the tiny face she saw the lecherous round visage of his father, and the thought filled her with disgust. Sally had gone to another man. He was kind and much older than Sally, but she assured Gabrielle she was completely content.

  Pierre Lafitte had obtained a lovely, young quadroon, well mannered and a little shy, whose name was Marie Villars. She made cautious friends with Gabrielle, feeling a kindred spirit with this other young woman who served her own master’s brother.

  Gabrielle was patient and helpful with the girl, but she couldn’t help despising her placid contentment with her lot. Marie explained to Gabrielle that she had gone dancing at the Quadroon Ball every Sunday night for six months; her mother was in hopes that she might find a rich planter for her protector. When Pierre made an offer for her, the mother was speechless with joy that one of the famous Lafitte brothers wanted her daughter.