‘You are a Valkyrie,’ he shouted, and took her in his arms. ‘No, you are my prisoner. I am a Moorish dey. Please me. Please me!’ He held her close, their bodies slithering against each other, while she caught her breath and her brain tumbled. Because this mood of madness would pass, and then … but if she dared not, then the moment might never come again. She inhaled, allowed her body to slide down his, so that every part of her touched every part of him in turn, dropped to her knees, still pressed against him, and took him into her mouth. His body stiffened, and she almost let him go, then she felt his hands on her head, gently caressing her as he held her close. But she allowed him only a moment, before she moved back, and rose to her feet.
‘Felicity,’ he gasped, his voice thick as he reached for her.
‘Everything,’ she said. ‘Everything, my lord. Do you not wish to possess me?’
He gazed at her in bewilderment as she fell to her knees again, her back to him.
He could not doubt her intention, and it was something he had always dreamed of anyway, but to see her there …
‘I will break your back,’ he whispered, coming down on her with great caution.
‘I will bear you, my lord,’ she promised.
‘I …’ He bit his lip as he caressed her, for the moment out of control.
She laughed, her confidence growing every second, as she reached behind herself to guide him. ‘The other, too, on occasion. But not between you and me, Toby McGann. We have no need of that.’
She felt him in her, huge and growing, filling her more completely than she had ever been filled before. Then his weight did prove too much for her, and she fell to her face on the sand, but he remained in her, as she had hoped and intended, surging to and fro. And bringing her to orgasm as well. She had not expected that, had not intended it, wanted to do nothing more than please him. And suddenly she was gasping and moaning, and when he rolled away from her, was throwing her body across his, using mouth and fingers to bring him back to hardness again.
‘Felicity,’ he gasped. ‘My God, Felicity …’
‘Everything,’ she said, and sat astride him to take him into her again, surging her hips and buttocks to and fro. ‘Everything!’ she shouted. Because here at last was happiness.
*
‘There is news from the east, great one.’ The messenger bent low; he was only one of several men waiting to speak with the Vizier.
‘Then speak,’ Mohammed ben Idris commanded.
‘Hemet Karamanli returns, at the head of a vast army, great one. I have learned that he has been to Constantinople, to the Porte itself, and solicited the aid of the Sultan. This aid the Sultan has granted him, in return for an oath that Tripoli will once again be numbered amongst the provinces of the Ottoman Empire.’
‘How vast is vast?’ Idris demanded.
‘He commands not less than ten thousand men, my lord. Horse and foot. And the Sultan has also supplied a fleet of galleys, able to cross the sandbanks and assault Tripoli from the sea.’
Idris stroked his beard. If his fortunes had seemed to reach a pinnacle in possessing the English girl and defying the American squadron so successfully for several years, since she had been stolen away from him they had steadily declined. Now … ten thousand men, with the backing of the Sultan himself and the support of a fleet of galleys … He had no means of opposing such an army. And defeat would mean execution.
No trace of his thoughts appeared on his face as he gazed at the anxious man. ‘To whom have you confided this information?’ he asked softly.
‘To no one, my lord,’ the man protested. ‘I came directly to you.’
‘That was sensible of you,’ Idris agreed, and looked past him at the other men, waiting against the wall. They were not close enough to have heard. ‘Then do you remain here until I send for you,’ he told the messenger. ‘I will go immediately to the Dey. But remember, not a word to a soul, until we have made our dispositions.’
‘It shall be as you wish, great lord,’ the man promised, delighted to be in the confidence of so mighty a man.
Idris stood up, and all the waiting men dropped hastily to their knees. ‘The audience is ended,’ Idris told them. ‘There are affairs of state.’ He left the room, snapping his fingers to summon his personal chamberlain to follow; the chamberlain had stood at his shoulder throughout the interview, and had heard what the man had said.
The curtains fell into place behind him as he entered his private apartment, overlooking the roof and the harbour. ‘We must prepare to leave Tripoli, Ibrahim,’ he said. ‘Tonight. And secretly. Prepare a small caravan. Six camels. Choose two of my favourite girls to accompany us. But do not tell them that they are leaving, merely that I will see them both tonight.’
‘But …’ Ibrahim was nonplussed. ‘The Dey …’
‘Will have to look out for himself. He may be able to reach some agreement with his cousin. I cannot. Hemet knows me to have been responsible for his overthrow, and he will have my head.’
‘The Dey may prefer to accompany you, my lord,’ Ibrahim suggested, ‘when he hears the news.’
‘He is not going to hear the news, Ibrahim. At least, not until after our departure. That would be to cause a panic and he might seek to restrain me here. I repeat, you and I will leave here tonight, with two girls, and two pack camels to carry my fortune. No one must know of this.’
‘The messenger …’
‘Summon him from the audience chamber. Tell him the Dey wishes to question him personally. And when you have him alone, despatch him. Is that understood?’
Ibrahim bowed. Idris was his master, and he acknowledged none other. ‘May I ask where we are going, my lord?’
Idris shrugged. ‘Who knows. Algiers, perhaps. I have friends in Algiers.’
Ibrahim hesitated. ‘Will it be possible for my women and my sons to join us there?’
‘Of course. We will send for them once we are established.’
Ibrahim bowed again. Supposing the Dey did not execute them in anger when he discovered the flight of his Vizier. But his decision was already taken: he could find other women, create other sons — he would never find another master like Mohammed ben Idris. ‘Will you see none of the other messengers?’
‘They no longer concern me.’
‘One is from America, my lord. At least, he has news from that country.’
Idris frowned. ‘Then send him to me. I will see no one else.’
Ibrahim bowed a third time, and withdrew. Idris grasped his beard again, and went to the windows, gazing out at the battlements until he heard the man come in. Then he turned. ‘Speak. You have news of the woman?’
‘I have news from the American agent you told me to contact, great lord. The woman is married, in the infidel style, to a man called Tobias McGann. It is said he is a giant of a man, who can pluck eagles from the sky, and lift horses from the ground. She now lives with this McGann, on an island off the city of New York. The island is called Long, great lord.’
‘Tobias McGann,’ Idris muttered. Toby McGann, he thought. The man at the sight of whom she had fainted. The giant who had marched with Eaton across the desert. And who had burst into the harem, after capturing the East Gate.
‘Are there further instructions, my lord?’
Idris went back to the window, looked out across the roof at the sea. She had stood at those battlements and watched him, and fainted with joy. And now she was his wife. But now, too, he knew where she was — at the very moment he could do nothing about him. Fate was continuing to play tricks with him, as she had done ever since Abd er Rahman had first shown him that pulsing white flesh.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘There are no further instructions.’
The man bowed and left the room.
At the moment, Idris thought, still staring at the blue waters. But when I am established in Algiers, then I will think of you, Felicity Crown. And of you, Tobias McGann. I will have you back, Felicity Crown, if only to watch that body twist in agon
y, hear that voice scream for mercy, as I torture you to death. Oh, I will have you back, if it takes the rest of my life.
CHAPTER 9
Long Island and the Atlantic — 1808 – 12
‘It is a sad business. Truly sad.’ Stephen Decatur leaned back in his chair on the McCanns’ front porch, and took a sip of whisky. ‘Although when was anything connected with James Barron not a sad business?’
‘We have heard nothing but rumours,’ Toby said, ‘which are scarcely credible. You’ll have to explain exactly what happened.’
‘Well …’ Decatur sat up, his lean face intense. ‘I agree it is scarcely credible, from beginning to end. It was scarcely credible that he should have been reappointed to command the Mediterranean squadron, after the puerile efforts we remember so well from his first tour of duty there. He had been agitating for it for a long time of course, maybe to wipe the slate clean, and I guess he has friends in high places. Anyway, he behaved from the start in his usual confused fashion, reported his ship, the Chesapeake, as ready to put to sea twenty-one days before he finally sailed, and had scarce got off Cape Henry when he was approached and signalled by the British frigate Leopard, which had clearly been waiting for him. Leopard claimed that Chesapeake had three British deserters on board, and demanded their return.’
‘That was an act of war,’ Harry McGann growled. He had never either forgotten or forgiven his own impressment off an American ship into the British Navy, as a young man — and when that had happened, America had still been a colony.
‘Aye, well, it is being debated as such in Washington, to be sure,’ Decatur agreed. ‘Debated, by God! After what happened.’
‘You’ll not say Barron allowed them to take the three men?’ Toby was aghast.
‘Worse than that, Toby. Worse than that. He began by refusing the British demand, with the result that the Leopard opened fire. Again, one suspects the Britisher had been out for blood from the start. Well, the Chesapeake was in no fit condition to fight. Ready for sea? Her decks were so crowded with unstowed stores she could hardly load a gun. So what does Barron do? He hauls down the colours.’
‘My God!’ Toby cried. ‘He surrendered?’ Decatur gave a harsh laugh. ‘But that was not the end of the affair. The Leopard refused to accept any form of surrender, continued firing, and then boarded the Chesapeake, and at gun point took several men out of her. She then sailed away, and Barron slunk back into Norfolk to complain, when it was discovered that his ship had suffered only the slightest of damage.’
‘But … we are not at war?’ Toby asked in bewilderment. ‘After, as you say, such an action?’
‘No, we are not at war,’ Decatur said savagely. ‘Congress is demanding apologies and reparations. From Great Britain, by God. They could as well demand an apology from the moon.’
‘And Barron?’
‘Oh, he was court-martialled. The initial charge was one of cowardice. But pressure was brought to bear to have it reduced to one of neglecting to clear his ship for action.’
‘He should have been shot,’ Harry remarked.
‘I agree with you, sir. Instead, he has been suspended for five years, and has taken himself off to France, vowing he will sail under the tricolour. And vowing vengeance, against me, in fact.’
‘Against you?’ Toby asked. ‘How were you involved?’
‘Everyone who had ever sailed with Barron was involved. Rodgers, Hull and I were called to give evidence regarding his conduct in the Mediterranean. Had poor Ned Preble been there, we’d have had Barron cashiered. But Preble … you heard about him?’
‘Yes,’ Toby said sadly. ‘Forty-six is an early age to die.’ Perhaps of sheer disappointment, he thought. Preble had been the finest officer in the United States Navy, but his superiors had been unable to discern his talent.
‘Aye,’ Decatur agreed. ‘Awful early. Well, the other two temporised. I spoke my mind, as I thought Ned would have wanted. As you would have done, Toby.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Toby said. ‘What would I have given to be there. And Barron took offence?’
Decatur smiled. ‘He called me a liar.’
‘What did you do?’
‘He used the words in court, and was reprimanded by the judges. But as he had been privileged, so to speak, I was advised to let the matter drop, and did so. I have not seen him since the sentence.’
‘I doubt you will ever see him again, if he has indeed gone to France,’ Toby said. ‘He will no doubt find the British blowing him apart again.’
‘And what of the British?’ Harry McGann asked.
‘They will continue to treat us with contempt, sir, until we are prepared to face them on the high seas. As will the Algerians. You’ll scarce credit this either, Toby, but your old friend Mohammed ben Idris fled from Tripoli when it was finally retaken by Hemet Kara-manli, and is now in Algiers commanding a fleet of pirates, and proving himself as big a nuisance as ever. But I suppose that scarce concerns you now.’
‘Mohammed ben Idris,’ Toby mused. ‘What a great deal of trouble I would have prevented by chasing him and cutting him down there in his harem. I regret that, truly I do.’ More than you will ever know, Stephen, he thought. Oh, how I regret that.
‘He can never trouble you again,’ Decatur pointed out. ‘And now you have all of this …’ He looked around him. ‘All that a man could ask. And …’ His gaze came back to Toby.
‘Oh, indeed,’ Toby acknowledged. ‘All that a man could ask.’ He got up, went to the door, and opened it. Both Felicity and Elizabeth preferred to remain inside when Navy men came to call — at least until the business of exchanging news and opinions was completed. ‘Will you not come outside and meet Mr Decatur, Felicity? I am sure you remember him. He’s a captain now.’
‘Captain Decatur.’ Felicity advanced from the hall, her hand outstretched. ‘I could hardly forget you.’
Decatur gazed at her, taking in the swollen belly, then looked at Toby. ‘My most hearty congratulations to you both.’
‘We mean to call him Stephen,’ Toby said.
‘And I am most honoured by the thought.’
‘You will be staying some days, I hope, Captain Decatur?’ Felicity asked, sitting beside him.
‘Alas, Mrs McGann, I must return south tomorrow. I have a ship to take to sea.’ He looked past her at Toby. ‘And how I wish you were sailing with me, Toby, as my executive officer.’
‘How I wish I was too, Stephen,’ Toby agreed. ‘How I wish I was.’ He glanced at Felicity, saw the cloud which had crossed her face. ‘But I doubt I would be able to tear myself away.’
*
So, Felicity thought, happiness was not to be had simply by wishing it, and providing it. As she watched Toby looking at Decatur’s uniform, on the morning of his friend’s departure, her heart constricted as it had not done for three years. It was as if her husband had a scar across his personality which refused to heal, and could awaken the wound within to pain at the slightest touch.
Yet even deep wounds must heal, she told herself. Since that day on the beach, when the rolling storm had encouraged them to consummate their love, she had known nothing but happiness. Out of it, if not on that very day, had come the growing life in her womb. But out of it had come so much more than that. A growing intimacy with her husband, and because of that, with her parents-in-law. The McGann farm was a happy place. It had always been so. Now, she felt and hoped and prayed, their acceptance of her had made it happier than ever before.
As for Edward Preble, and Stephen Decatur, and Isaac Hull, and John Rodgers, and even James Barron, it was good for Toby to have known and fought beside such men: they had shared in moulding his character. But it was even better that he had turned his back on the sea, except as a hobby, and assumed the responsibilities of a landowner … and a father. For Stephen McGann was born on 6 April 1808, only a few weeks after Decatur’s visit, to the universal joy of the family. It was an event Felicity had refused to fear. However far removed she might be from doctors and
midwives, she was secure in the reassuring experience of Elizabeth and Jennie, who performed all the necessary functions with total confidence.
The labour was longer than she had expected and more painful, and left her exhausted … but the discomfort was more than compensated at once by the wail of the babe and the enormous comfort of having him placed in her arms, and then by watching the utter delight of her husband. Toby was transported, and Stephen was hardly two months old when he was being given a fishing line to handle, as well as a pistol, and being taken out on the Sound to get the feel of the fresh air on his face, a layer of salt on his skin. Felicity did not protest. That Stephen was what Toby so clearly wanted was enough for her — if it would replace the memory of the Navy.
She fed the babe for a year, and loved doing so, but she loved even more the ability to resume sexual relations with Toby, again to experience the joys they had so tardily discovered together, he for the first time, and she with even more wonderment because where in Tripoli she had supposed such desire was an outcome of perversion and sexual domination, she now realised how marvellous it could be when it was the result of love and mutual lust and shared intentions. She bloomed, and became pregnant again. Jane was born in January 1810, and Hannah at Christmas of 1811.
‘You are blessed by the goddess of fertility,’ Elizabeth said proudly. ‘I never was.’
‘But you were, Mother,’ Felicity insisted. ‘Save that the goddess of fertility crammed all of her gifts into the single body of Toby.’
‘To make two women very happy,’ Elizabeth agreed.
And not only two women, Felicity thought. It was in Toby’s nature to lead, and he possessed an utterly tireless character. Harry McGann had necessarily been limited by his shattered leg, and as it had also been in his nature to lead, rather than drive, he had kept his acreage to an extent he could personally oversee. Toby intended nothing less, but with his powerful muscles to rely on he soon increased the farm by a third, himself walking behind the plough, while he employed two additional hands, a man and wife, to help with the milking and the reaping, as well as a nurse for the children, to allow Felicity more time to go sailing with him whenever the mood took him, which was often enough.
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