A Pirate's Love

by Johanna Lindsey

  "This is my other guest, the owner of the ship we spoke of, Bettina," Pierre said. "He has been staying with me for some time now, awaiting the return of his ship."

  The man took Bettina's hand and bowed before her. "Don Miguel de Bastida, mademoiselle. It is an honor—"

  "Bastida!" Bettina gasped. "You—you are the one Tristan searches for."

  The man turned pale. "Do you know this man Tris­tan?"

  "Yes, unfortunately I do. Can you tell me, mon­sieur, just out of curiosity, why does Tristan want to kill you?" Bettina asked.

  "I would have asked you the same question, made­moiselle. I have been informed by different people for many years now that a young man called Tristan searches for me, yet no one can tell me why. You say he wants to kill me?"

  "That is what I gathered from a conversation I overheard. Tristan mentioned that he had been looking for you for twelve years and that he feared you might die before he could find you. He—ah—called you a murderer."

  "A murderer!" Don Miguel laughed. "The man must surely have me mistaken for someone else. But I would like to meet this Tristan. Do you know where he is now, mademoiselle?"

  "I gave the Comte de Lambert a map that shows Tristan's island hideaway."

  "Don Miguel, this is hardly an appropriate conversa­tion to have over dinner," the Comte de Lambert said quickly.

  "I am sorry, Pierre. You are right, of course. You must forgive me, ladies, for it is not often that I dine with such charming company. I forgot my manners."

  "That is quite all right, Monsieur Bastida," Jossel replied, glad that the comte had interrupted the con­versation, though Bettina did not seem to be upset.

  "You are Spanish, Monsieur Bastida. How is it that you speak French so fluently?" Bettina inquired.

  "I have been to France many times in my travels. Also I have dealings with many of the French settle­ments here in the New World. It was necessary to learn your language."

  "I must compliment you, monsieur. You have learned it well."

  The conversation continued with small talk through­out dinner and afterward, when they retired to the drawing room. Don Miguel de Bastida was a charming man, and he seemed quite taken with Jossel. Bettina noticed how different her mother looked from the last time she had seen her in France. Then Jossel had been under the strain of her daughter's leaving home. But now she looked much younger and very beautiful with her silky white-blond hair braided about her head, wearing a green velvet dress that set off her dark-green eyes.

  The Comte de Lambert seemed preoccupied every time that Bettina glanced at him. She twice noticed a worried frown on his face, but he hid this quickly with a lazy smile when he saw her watching him. He was a handsome man, though not nearly as handsome as Tristan. Even with the scar Tristan bore on his cheek, he was still— Why did she keep thinking about Tristan?

  As it grew late, Bettina tactfully excused herself. She was not really tired, but she wanted to be alone. Pierre insisted on escorting her to her room, and when they reached it, he followed her in and closed the door.

  "Is the room satisfactory?" he asked, coming up be­hind her.

  "Yes," Bettina said, glancing around at the luxurious furnishings. "Your house is quite beautiful, from what I have seen of it."

  "I had it completely refurnished when I decided to marry you. You can see the rest of it tomorrow. Ah, Bettina, I have waited so long for you to come." He turned her around and crushed her to him, covering her mouth with his hard, demanding lips.

  "Please, Pierre, it is late and—"

  "Do not send me away, Bettina," he cut her off, still holding her close. "We will be married soon, and—and I want you so."

  "Pierre!" Bettina gasped, pushing him away.

  His face turned angry, almost cruel. "I cannot stand the thought that he had you first!" Pierre said heatedly. Then his face softened and he continued to plead with her. "Please, Bettina, I will be gentle, I will make you forget this Tristan."

  Bettina was shaken by Pierre's behavior, but she was also angry that he would assume she would jump into bed with him before they were married.

  "Do you intend to rape me, too?" she asked in a cutting voice.

  "Of course not," he replied.

  "Then leave my room, Pierre. It is late and I am tired."

  "Forgive me, Bettina. You have had an exhausting day, and I was thinking only of myself."

  She permitted him to kiss her again, softly this time, then he left the room.

  RY as she might, Bettina couldn't sleep. The dis­gusting scene with Pierre kept coming back to her, making her more and more angry. Just because she was no longer a virgin did not give him the right to presume she would sleep with him before they were married!

  She had heard her mother go to her room a few min­utes before. Bettina was so glad that her mother was here. She was not dependent on the Comte de Lambert now, and as her mother said, she didn't have to marry him if she didn't want to.

  It was over an hour since Bettina had gone to bed, but she just couldn't seem to fall asleep. It was unusual­ly hot in the room, and she was tempted to remove her shift and sleep naked. Even with the large French windows open, the breeze that she could hear in the trees outside failed to come into the room.

  Bettina got up and walked out onto the wide veranda.

  The entire one-storied house was supported off the ground on short pilings, and the veranda completely surrounded it.

  Thick gray clouds covered the entire sky and hid the full moon. Bettina supposed it would rain soon. Per­haps then her room would be cooler.

  She walked a little way down the veranda, seeing the lights of the town in the near distance, but she stopped when she heard voices. Turning, she saw that she was standing just outside the drawing room, and had almost walked in front of the open doors. Very little light spilled out on the veranda, for there was only one candle left burning in the spacious room.

  "You are indeed a lucky man, Pierre," Don Miguel was saying. "If I were ten years younger, I might try to win Bettina Verlaine away from you. But I am too old now to keep such a beautiful young girl happy. Her mother, on the other hand, would make me a suitable wife. It is amazing how young the widow looks, despite the fact that she has a full-grown daughter. But perhaps even Jossel would find me a bit too old to satisfy her."

  "Nonsense, Miguel, you are still as fit as ever," Pierre replied. "Why not stay here a little longer and try to win the lovely widow. You could do worse."

  "What? Are you trying to get rid of the mother-in-law before the wedding?" Don Miguel laughed.

  "There will be no wedding," Pierre said bitterly.

  Bettina gasped, moved closer to the wall, and stood immobile beside the wide-open doors, hearing the con­versation as clearly as if she were inside the room.

  "You are joking, of course—or are you a fool?"

  "If only I were joking," Pierre said in a voice mixed with rage and regret. "You have been in town. You have heard the talk about Bettina. When the Windsong crawled into the harbor and her crew spread the tale, Bettina was quickly called the pirate's whore because no attempt had been made to exchange her for ransom. I cannot possibly marry her now."

  "You are indeed a fool if you give her up just be­cause of what your neighbors will say about her."

  "You do not live here, Miguel," Pierre returned. "This is a small island, and I cannot have continued gossip about my wife. It would cause endless difficulties."

  "So you will just let the pearl slip through your fingers? If I were—"

  "I intend to keep the pearl," Pierre interrupted. "I just have not figured out how to do it yet."

  "You mean you will keep her as your mistress?" Don Miguel asked, surprised.

  "Of course. As you said, I would be a fool to give her up."

  "But how do you propose to accomplish this? I was under the impression that Bettina Verlaine expects to be your wife. Her mother also expects this."

  "Yes, well, the mother must go, leaving Bett
ina in my care. Then it will not take long to bed Bettina, and afterward I shall explain why it is impossible for us to marry."

  "You are a libertine, Pierre," Don Miguel laughed. "To have all the advantages of a beautiful wife, without the entrapment of marriage."

  "Well, this is not how I wanted it to be. I wanted Bettina for my wife. I could have made her a queen if only—if only this man Tristan had not forced her to be his whore!"

  "It is ironic that this same man has affected both of our lives, and yet neither of us has met him," said Don Miguel.

  "Then you truly have no idea why he searches for you?"

  "No, I have spent many sleepless nights trying to un­derstand why he looks for me. I have been told he is a young man, with blond coloring, and extremely tall. At first I thought he might be a bastard that I never knew of, but the more I learned of him, the less likely that notion was. I just do not know."

  "You said he is young?"

  "This does not suit your ego, eh?" Don Miguel chuckled. "But what does his age matter? I doubt Bettina was treated compassionately by him. Pirates are a ruthless lot. I should know; I was one myself in my youth."

  "You never mentioned this before!" said Pierre, as­tonished.

  "It was a long time ago, and very few people know of it. I fell in with a bad lot, and we took to raiding for the sport of it. And since raiding was also profitable, I continued my—ah—somewhat enjoyable career for quite a few years. But I have mended my ways now— it is best forgotten."

  "Well, your secret is safe with me."

  "That does not worry me, but this Tristan does. Until tonight, I always assumed that he merely wanted to find me to settle some debt or the like. But thanks to your Bettina, I now know that I have a dangerous enemy. That map she spoke of, why did she give it to you?"

  "Ha—she wants me to go to the island where Tristan took her to rescue her old servant, who is still there, and to kill Tristan." Pierre laughed contemptuously. "She wants revenge for what he did to her."

  "She is a spirited girl—I would not have guessed it from our meeting tonight. But why not give me the map, and I will save you the trouble of doing what she asks."

  "I burned it."

  "You what?" Don Miguel exploded.

  "I had no intention of going there—my ships are not armed for battle, my crews are not soldiers. I planned

  to tell Bettina the map was lost, and that would put an end to it. But why do you wish to go there?"

  "I am not a man to sit and wait for my enemies to find me. I must find Tristan first."

  "Bettina came here on a merchant ship. The capitaine would know where this island is—it was he who gave Bettina the map," Pierre said.

  "Is he here? Is his ship anchored in the harbor?" Don Miguel asked hopefully.

  "Bettina was merely put ashore. But I will ask her the name of the capitaine and his destination in the morning, if you still wish to find this pirate before he finds you. But in my opinion, it is a foolish venture."

  "It is not you whom this man wants to kill, so find out what you can. I could live out my life without Tris­tan's ever finding me, but I cannot take that chance."

  Even after the two men had gone to bed, Bettina still stood transfixed outside the drawing room, leaning against the wall. The conversation between the two men kept going through her mind. She felt so cheap and used, and Pierre was despicable! To think that he in­tended to make her his mistress and was going to lie to her about the map! He planned to get rid of her mother, and then he would force her to submit to his will or no doubt throw her into the streets!

  Bettina shivered despite the warmth of the night and quietly tiptoed back to her room. She was angry. Yes, she was definitely angry. She wanted to tell her mother what she had overheard. She wanted to leave this house right away. But it was late, and her mother was prob­ably asleep already. Bettina would have to wait until morning to put an end to Pierre's loathsome plans.

  Were all men so ruthless—taking advantage of wom­en because they were weaker? Bettina hated to think of what would have happened to her if she had not chanced to hear Pierre and Don Miguel talking. But she had, and she and her mother could take lodgings in the town tomorrow.

  Bettina suddenly remembered Madeleine. She still had to be rescued before they could return to France. But Don Miguel de Bastida was going to go to Tristan's island. Of course! She would send for him and have her mother commission him to rescue Madeleine. He would kill Tristan on his own, so Bettina need not feel guilty about his death. So Tristan would die, Don Miguel de Bastida would be paid for something he would have done anyway, and Madeleine would be rescued. Yes, it would all work out perfectly.

  Sometime in the middle of the night, Bettina slow­ly drifted out of sleep. She could hear rain on the veranda and assumed the storm had just started. With reluctance, she crawled out of bed and made her way to the French windows, for the air was quite chilly now and she had left the windows open. The room was completely dark, and the rain muffled all sound.

  Luckily, there was no furniture between the bed and the windows to trip over, but before Bettina was half­way across the room, someone grabbed hold of her hair and she was pulled back against a sopping-wet body. She parted her lips to scream but was rewarded with a dry rag shoved in her mouth. Her arms were secured and quickly tied behind her back, and before she could spit the gag out of her mouth, another strip of cloth was placed over her mouth and tied behind her head, pulling her hair in the process. She tried to run forward, but she was pushed to the floor and her feet were secured tightly with rope.

  Bettina was sick with terror. It must be Antoine Gautier, though she had done her best to forget him and hadn't imagined he would be crazy enough to kid­nap her from the comte's plantation.

  He had left her lying on the floor for a moment, but now he was back, leaning over her. A few drops of water fell onto her face from his wet hair, but she couldn't make out his features in the darkness.

  "Sorry to have to tie you up, little one, but you've been a bad girl and I'm through taking chances with you. It's raining pretty bad out there, so I'm going to roll you up in a blanket. Though why I should be so considerate after what you've done, I don't know."

  Outrage exploded inside Bettina's head. What was Tristan doing here? He would have to have left the island within a day or two of her escape to appear here now. He should have searched the island for days, weeks —why hadn't he? And why had he come for her— why? He would have brought her to Saint Martin in another month or two anyway.

  He rolled her up in a heavy blanket, and after making sure she could breathe, he picked her up and quickly carried her out the French windows. She could hear nothing except the rain as he walked along the veranda and then down some steps. She could feel drops of rain hitting the top of her head, and her feet were getting wet, but when he stopped and set her on her feet, she could no longer feel the rain.

  "We will wait here where it's dry until Jules comes. We searched separately for you to save time. We have to get back to the ship before dawn, and I had a hell of a time just trying to find this place."

  Bettina cursed whoever had given him the directions to find her. But when she was found gone in the morn­ing, her mother would realize what had happened and would insist that Pierre come after her. Her mother would do whatever was necessary to rescue her daugh­ter.

  "Tristan, I found her."

  "I don't know whom you have there, Jules, but it's not Bettina. I have her right here."

  Tristan had his arms wrapped around her, forcing her to lean back against his chest.

  "But I lit a candle as you suggested. This one has long white-blond hair," Jules replied.

  "I did the same, and I tell you this is Bettina," Tris­tan returned with growing impatience.

  "Did you see her face?"

  "No, but—" He paused, and Bettina could feel his arms tighten around her. "Blast this infernal darkness! We'll take them both. There's no more time to dawdle —I want to be out of
these waters before the ship is sighted. Whoever the other one is, one more woman on our island won't make any difference."

  Bettina tried to scream out, but no sound escaped her lips. She knew that Jules had captured her mother, too, but there was nothing she could do about it. Oh, God, now how would she be rescued? Pierre didn't have the map anymore. And Tristan said he was through taking chances with her. What did he mean by that?

  Bettina was lifted from the ground, and Tristan threw her over his shoulder. He started walking fast, half-running. Soon, her arms hurt and her feet were cold, and she felt a growing frustration at not being able to move her limbs. Tristan hadn't had to tie her up, she thought resentfully, for his strength had always over­powered hers. He had tied her up like a runaway slave just to humiliate her.

  Wet branches and leaves brushed against her bare feet, and the rain still poured down in an angry torrent. Her stomach ached from being bounced on Tristan's shoulder, and by the time he finally stopped, the rain had soaked through the blanket.

  Tristan bent her legs and laid her down, and she knew from the rolling motion that she was in a small boat. The boat rocked more when Jules climbed in, and she sensed that her mother was laid down beside her. In a very short time they would be aboard the Spirited Lady, and once again she would be completely at Tris­tan's mercy.

  Bettina felt a growing sense of dread and desperation, but she was helpless to do anything about it. Her mother must be terrified. Jossel would have overheard the con­versation between Tristan and Jules, just as Bettina had, and she would know where they were being taken— and by whom. But Jossel didn't know that Pierre had destroyed the map. She didn't know that there was no one to rescue them.