Busbee, Shirlee

by Lady Vixen

  The room was in turmoil from their battle, and striding to the bell rope, he rang for a servant. Then he walked back to the bed, threw on his robe, and pulled the covers lightly over Nicole. When Sanderson answered the summons, Saber curtly requested several items and demanded that the room be put into some sort of order. Sanderson's features did not betray what he thought of such a request at this late hour or the state of the room. Quietly and efficiently he straightened overturned chairs, meticulously stationed the satinwood tables in their normal positions, and swept up the shattered glass. He returned and brought with him, on a large silver tray, the brandy and other things Saber had wanted. After putting them on a table he inquired formally, "Will that be all, sir?"

  Saber dismissed him with a curt nod and poured himself a glass of brandy and lit a cigar. For some seconds he stood staring thoughtfully at Nicole's motionless form.

  Nicole, herself, was emotionally spent. At the moment she wished she were dead! No, she thought suddenly, she wished Saber were dead. She rolled painfully onto her other side—it was best, she reminded herself, always to keep one's enemy in sight.

  Imperviously Saber returned her stare, although one brow rose quizzically, as though questioning her wisdom in showing so openly what she felt. He unhurriedly gathered up the ewer of warm water and a bowl, as well as the cloths he had requested, and walked over to her. As he looked down on her he was reminded of a vixen he'd seen once, her foot nearly gnawed in two from her frantic efforts to free herself from the teeth of the trap that held her. The creature had looked at the nearing poacher in that same way—half-fearful, yet ready to fight for its very life. Touched by her look, he hesitated. At last he said, "I don't intend to hurt you again." Then destroying any kindness the words may have imparted, he said bluntly, "Unless you force me to."

  Nicole shrugged, her soft mouth tightening with rebellion, the topaz eyes damning him.

  Unmoved by her hostility, he stripped back the covers, laying her body bare to his gaze. Nicole forced herself to remain motionless as his hand traveled lightly over the line of her thigh and hip. But with a regretful sigh Saber curtailed the urge and gently grasped Nicole's injured wrist. She winced at his touch, slight though it was, and Saber smiled in commiseration.

  "Sorry, brat. I wouldn't have hurt you on purpose, but I had no wish to spend the rest of my life squeaking in a high girlish tone of voice."

  In any other circumstances Nicole would have giggled at his words, but she was in no mood to be amused. Yet try as she did to resist it, she was undeniably drawn to him. Her eyes flat and resentful, she stared at him and wondered bleakly why she could look at him and still find him attractive. But he was so disgustingly striking, she thought angrily, with his harsh, sardonic features, the yellow-gold eyes bright in the bearded face, and the hair so black it held blue shadows.

  Saber's touch was gentle. He was sure her wrist wasn't broken, as he knew exactly how much pressure he had exerted, but it was quite swollen and obviously extremely painful. With almost professional skill he bound it, using the splints and linen strips he had also requested earlier. It wouldn't hurt for her to rest it a day or two, and he had some laudanum for the pain. Pouring the laudanum into a glass, he added some brandy to it and offered it to her.

  "Drugging me now?" she jeered.

  He smiled faintly. "Precisely, my little vixen. For your own good. Be a good child and drink it down."

  With a resigned grimace she took the glass from him and swallowed the contents in one gulp. Lying back against the pillows, she glanced up at him, curious about his next move. Her earlier faintheartedness was vanishing. Her paining wrist strapped, the warm glow of brandy in her veins and the worst behind her, she suddenly found she could look forward with more spirit than she had thought possible a minute before.

  Saber set down the empty glass on the table beside the bed. And then to Nicole's astonishment, he proceeded to bathe her entire body with the remaining water. There was no trace of desire in the dark bearded face as he bent over her and gently sponged away the signs of her lost virginity and his own brutal passion. How strange that after such violent events he could now be as tender as a lover. It made her wary, this unexpected kindness. The laudanum was making her drowsy and she wished he would leave her in peace. He had taken what he wanted, hadn't he? She stirred resentfully under his hands, glad when he at last threw the cloth into the bowl.

  But it seemed that Saber was not done with her. She stared wide-eyed as he discarded his robe and lay down on the bed beside her. The laudanum made her reflexes clumsy, but she raised her fists to beat against his chest. He laughed and captured both hands, taking care not to cause more pain to the injured wrist. Her arms were pinioned on either side of her head, and as Saber towered dark and determined above her, she spat, "Not again! Not even you would dare to be such an animal!"

  His mouth curved in a mocking smile. Then lowering his body's warm weight against hers, his knees pressing her legs apart to let him enter, he whispered against her lips, "You will find that there are many things that I would dare."

  CHAPTER 11

  As was his habit, Saber woke as the first pale fingers of dawn were creeping into the room. Nicole's body was warm and soft as she lay sleeping next to him, and he lay there half-awake, savoring the sensation.

  Saber smiled slightly, suffering at this moment a trace of remorse. Nick was such a little firebrand, he thought tenderly. If he were to awaken her, no longer would she rest so confidingly next to him, but with her eyes spitting black defiance, she would leap instantly into the fray, damning him and hating him with every word she uttered.

  Pity . . . that, he thought drowsily. If only she could accept what had occurred as the natural course of events. It was bound to have happened sooner or later, if not with him with someone else.

  It was such a simple thing. He had always treated his mistresses well, as Nicole damn well knew. Grinning, he recalled the astonished look on her face when he bestowed, as a parting gift to one particular ladybird, a carriage and four matched bays. Surely she was aware that he would do no less for her, more in fact, taking into account her untouched state. Why couldn't she be logical? She offered a commodity he was willing to pay for—simple!

  Nicole's nearness disturbed his wandering thoughts, and with unsatiated hunger he could feel his own body hardening with desire. Lightly he touched her outflung arm and lazily nuzzled her ear. But even in sleep she rejected him, turning her head away.

  Regretfully he let her be. Perhaps it was the sight of her bandaged, curiously defenseless wrist, or it might have been the sweet softness of her face in repose that stopped him. Whatever the reason, it didn't cool his awakened passion, but he restrained his natural inclinations and left her to sleep.

  An hour later, after having dressed and breakfasted, he was on his way back to Grand Terre. There were things he had to attend to—not the least of these was Allen's fate! He would discuss it, he decided thoughtfully, with Lafitte. Together they would explore the most profitable method of disposing of his one-time lieutenant. Ransom, perhaps... or an outright sale to the American officials? Wouldn't Nick just love that! But he shrugged his shoulders. It made little damn difference to him.

  Several hours later Grand Terre came into sight, and shortly after dismissing his coxswain, he walked up the beach. Behind the thin, straggling line of trees that fringed the island had been built the thatched cottages that housed many of the pirates and smugglers, with their women. Bordellos, gambling houses, cafes, and other establishments that catered to the wild drinking and excitement-seeking pirates were clustered near the middle of the island. The slave barracoon was at the south end, the massive warehouses not too far distant, and in the center of the colony, rising like a lily from a refuse heap, stood Lafitte's brick and stone mansion.

  The mansion was sumptuously furnished: fine carpets lay upon the floor, paintings by the foremost masters of the day and heavy gilt mirrors adorned the walls, and crystal chandeliers winked and
blazed above. Businessmen, shopkeepers, plantation owners, and slave dealers all came to Lafitte for the best of any merchandise. There was hardly a segment of commerce in lower Louisiana for which Jean Lafitte did not supply at least a portion of the goods. From his warehouses only the highest quality of silks, laces, brandy, wines, tobacco, spices, and numerous other costly and sought-after items were sold.

  Since the importation of slaves had been banned several years before, it was only here on Grand Terre that the thrifty planter was able to buy, at reasonable cost, additional stock. In his slave dealings alone, he had a thriving concern. And his was no secret backstreet operation—respectable and prominent individuals came openly to trade with him. In New Orleans Governor Claiborne and the American officials gnashed their teeth in impotent rage, unable to put a halt to this extremely lucrative and highly illegal commerce.

  Claiborne had forgotten himself so far as to have circulated a poster offering five hundred dollars reward for anyone who would bring him the notorious pirate, Jean Lafitte. Lafitte had laughed and promptly made a counter offer—he would pay fifteen hundred dollars to anyone who would bring the governor to Grand Terre!

  Remembering that not-too-distant incident, Saber was smiling as the servant ushered him into Lafitte's office.

  "Mon ami, it is good to see you! I have been expecting you hourly since word of La Belle Garce's arrival reached me. What has taken you so long?"

  Grinning, Saber helped himself to one of the excellent cigars that reposed in a crystal case on Lafitte's desk and said as he did so, "I had a little matter that required my attention."

  Lafitte looked arch, murmuring, "Ah yes, the affair of the young boy who is not a boy whom the Captain was discovered embracing in his quarters."

  "I'll be damned!" Saber growled, looking annoyed, but shrugging his shoulders, he selected one of several crimson velvet chairs arranged comfortably about the large room and sat down, crossing one booted foot over the other.

  Lafitte, still smiling, reseated himself behind his desk. Evidently, from the litter on top of it, Saber had interrupted him at work, but this was not an uncommon occurrence, and Lafitte was always pleased to see one of his best captains.

  Both were tall men, Saber perhaps by a little the taller of the two. Lafitte, a few years older than Saber, was an extremely handsome man with attractive regular features. His complexion was dark and the lively black eyes betrayed his French ancestry. His hair was black, as blue-black as Saber's, and there was an air of culture and elegance about him. Certainly no one would ever take him for a smuggler.

  Lafitte's background was shrouded in mystery, and beyond the fact that he and his brother Pierre had opened a blacksmith shop in New Orleans some years ago, little was known of his earlier days. Even then the brothers had dabbled in smuggled goods, and from the smithy they expanded to a pleasant cottage near St. Philip and Bourbon streets and to a warehouse on the docks. Not content with the slipshod method of the pirate suppliers, Lafitte, along with his brother, had boldly traveled to Grand Terre and commandeered the whole disorganized structure of the many pirate gangs; welding them together with the privateers, he had produced one of the greatest networks in the history of smuggling. Men like Dominique You, rumored actually to be a member of the Lafitte family; the notorious pirates Gambi and Chighizola, called Nez Coupe; and the experienced seaman, smuggler, and cannoneer, Renato Beluche, whom Lafitte called oncle, all acknowledged him as their leader, their Bos. And Captain Saber was one of his most trusted lieutenants.

  For a few minutes Lafitte and Saber conversed desultorily. Then Saber brought up the issue that concerned him most—Allen Ballard.

  A frown creased Lafitte's forehead. "How do you wish to dispose of him? He is, after all, your prisoner, and as long as he is in no position to pass on more information, I do not greatly care what his fate is. We can turn him over to the Americans, thereby gaining their guarded goodwill... or we can sell him back to the British. It makes little difference; we benefit whichever way we chose." His frown lightened, and flashing a singularly charming smile, he murmured, "A pleasant state of affairs, no?"

  "I think I should like to keep him prisoner for the present," Saber said slowly. "I should like a bit more information from him. We can always dispose of the man . . . but I may have a use for him in the meantime. Do you mind if I have him transferred from the ship to your calaboose, here on the island?"

  Lafitte gave his consent readily and at Saber's request summoned a servant to carry a message to La Belle Garce for Allen's removal. The servant gone, Saber asked idly, "Do you wish to come with me when I question him?"

  A sardonic gleam in the black eyes, Lafitte retorted, "Hardly, and you would be dismayed if I did. I am not deceived by your casual attitude, mon ami. You wish this man for your own purposes, and for your own reasons you want him in my so-very-secure calaboose. If it were not for that, you would never have mentioned his existence to me!"

  Saber grinned, not a bit abashed by Lafitte's correct reading of the situation. "Well, it did occur to me that there might be a member or two of my ship that might not agree with my actions," he admitted. "Ballard was very popular with the crew."

  "But naturally! A spy would be," returned Lafitte dryly. "But, speaking of spies," Lafitte continued, "word reached me just after you sailed this last time that there were some very pointed questions being asked about you on Grand Terre."

  Surprised and showing it, Saber asked, "What kind of questions?"

  "Mmmm, some questions like: What is Captain Saber's true name? Where did he come from? When?"

  Puzzled, Saber stared at Lafitte. "Why would anyone be that interested in me? Do you know who it was?"

  "That I do not. Words travel like wildfire on Grand Terre, conveniently losing their sources in the process. It may be nothing, but I thought it wise to warn you. Perhaps someone wishes you evil. A jealous husband, no? Or someone who would benefit if you were to come to grief? Who knows?"

  For a second Saber thought of Robert Saxon in England, but pushed the idea away as absurd. Even Robert's arm was not that long.

  Not greatly alarmed by Lafitte's news, Saber dismissed the subject with a shrug and adroitly changed the topic of conversation. Staring out the window at the glimpse of the bay over the straggling treetops, he asked, "What sort of price would you give me for La Belle Garce?"

  "Pardon?" Bewilderment was apparent in Lafitte's voice. "I must have misunderstood you... I thought you just asked if I would buy your ship."

  "Hmm, I did. I've decided to sell her. I've a mind to become respectable."

  If Saber had stated he wished to become a nun in the Order of Ursuline in New Orleans, Lafitte could not have been more horrified. In a faint voice he repeated, "Sell La Belle Garce and become respectable!" He spat out the last word with a great deal of distaste. Staring at Saber's bearded face with consternation, he cried, "You must be mad! Why?"

  At the moment Lafitte could find no words to express his feelings. It was simply incomprehensible, and Saber, taking pity on him, said gently, "I've enjoyed our association, profited by it, but I'm not the wild hotheaded youth that I was ten years ago. I grow weary of playing the pirate, even if it is cloaked by the polite term of privateer. Bluntly, I have no more need of La Belle Garce. I've acquired fortune enough to make it unnecessary for me to continue in the role of privateer, or if you prefer plain speaking—pirate!"

  Recovering himself somewhat, Lafitte sighed. "So you would leave your friends and become like the so-proper gentlemen in New Orleans."

  Saber laughed. "I would never turn my back on a friend and I doubt I shall be able to become a model of decorum."

  Lafitte allowed a shadow of a smile to cross his handsome face. "I agree." Then seriously, he asked "You are certain this is what you plan to do? You will not, six months from now, change your mind?"

  All laughter banished from the gold eyes, Saber regarded his cigar rather somberly. "Yes, I'm certain and I would offer you a little advice... if you
will not take it amiss."

  Lafitte cocked an eyebrow and looked amused. "You will teach your granny to suck eggs?"

  A quick grin was flashed to him, but then Saber said carefully, "If I were you, I would follow my example and disassociate yourself from Grand Terre and all that it implies."

  Lafitte stiffened, and aware of it, Saber met his angry stare. Softly he said, "Jean, listen to me. The wild days are almost over. We're in our waning stages, if you will just read all the signs correctly. The Americans are not going to stomach you on their doorstep much longer, and what is worse, they're convincing the old die-hard Creoles that we really are a menace and should be stamped out. It's only a matter of time until they take definite action." Deliberately he added, "That small slave rebellion in the Parish of St. John the Baptist, a few years back, did you little good."

  Lafitte grunted in agreement. That much of what Saber said was true. There had been a rebellion planned on the order of the bloodbath that had overtaken Haiti many years ago. And when it was discovered the ringleaders were slaves who had been smuggled in from Africa by Lafitte, the more respectable portion of the population had been outraged and frightened. But unlike Saber, Lafitte did not read into that little contretemps the beginning of the end. He had outraged others before; it was certainly nothing novel. Without heat he inquired, "Are you a rat leaving what you think is a sinking ship, mon ami?"

  Saber's mouth thinned and his hand tightened around the wineglass. "No. If I were, I would wait six months or a year before leaving." Flatly he said, "Get out, Jean, before you lose everything."

  "Ah, bah! You annoy me! Feeling as you do, I think it is best that you will no longer be part of the organization. I have no use for men that doubt me."

  Saber stood up, put down his wineglass, and very, very properly bowed. He turned to leave but Lafitte muttered, "Wait!"