Beyond paradise (19 page)

She nodded, a false smile pasted across her face.

Jervais scowled. If there was one thing that separated Sylvie from most, it was her honest, warm smile which sparkled with straight, ivory teeth and always spread to her eyes. The smile she wore now was glassy. She was being false. He grunted as he departed, and Sylvie knew she had not been convincing. She dropped her forehead on the table and took several deep breaths. She had to find Jacques. He might be dying from his wounds, he might be starving or thirsty or ... It all came back to her now. His strong, bronzed arms holding her as they made love. His sweet brown eyes watching her lips move as though he hung on her every word. His powerful kisses, the way he looked all dressed in ivory with a cutlass at his side. And the woeful story he had told. Oh God,

Elizabeth Doyle

what he had been through. She put a hand to her mouth to stop a gasp. How could she have thought she could leave him behind and forget it all? She could never forget. Not ever.

"Mademoiselle?" Once again, Jervais's commanding voice startled her and made her spin around. He was holding a black cape open.

"Oh yes, yes, thank you," she said, rising so he could wrap it around her. "Thank you," she repeated unnecessarily.

He raised an eyebrow in reply and said, "Come." With a commanding hand upon her back, he led her through a sea of sailors to the upper deck.

It was a sunny day. The sky was a pale turquoise, and the Caribbean winds were welcoming. But for once, none of that made Sylvie long for home. She had only one thing on her mind—getting away from Jervais and finding Jacques. "So that is the merchant ship the pirates captured," she observed, moving to the stern to get a better look. "It's amazing your ship has the strength to pull it. Does it need repairs?"

Jervais was not interested in this mundane conversation. That's why Sylvie had started it. He grumbled, "I imagine it's still functional. We'll turn it over to the authorities and see what they decide to do with it."

"Why not give it back to the captain?"

"The pirates killed him."

Sylvie's stomach lurched. He was the man who had performed her false wedding ceremony. She had seen him, looked into his eyes, and heard his voice. And now, he was gone from the world. Jervais noticed her pallid color, and offered an arm for support. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Oh yes, yes." She fanned herself with her hand. "I just uh ... I... I met him."

"You met him?" he asked disbelievingly. "How?"

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**I, iih . . . I saw the ship after the raid. I saw him there." It was a halt-truth.

He looked at her with simultaneous compassion and smugness. "Well then, you see just how ruthless pirates can be."

And pirate hunters, too, she thought, and pirate hunters, too. There was ice in her eyes, for she would never again listen to his rantings about what others deserved. Not now that she knew what he had done to Jacques. "Yes," she said quietly, "ruthlessness is a terrible thing." They walked on, Sylvie politely clinging to his arm but wishing she did not have to. Jervais seemed to be thinking of something very important to say. Whatever it was, she didn't want to hear it. So she distracted him with another dull question. "There didn't seem to be many merchants on that ship. How many people does it take to sail a ship like that?"

"Oh, uh ..." He scratched the back of his neck in casual thought. "That's a square-rigger, a merchantman, not a very large one. They tend to be fairly slow vessels. They carry a lot of guns but not many men. I'd say, oh ... a dozen or so could keep it afloat. Probably not more than a couple dozen could fit comfortably. Not a lot of cabin space."

"Well, that's not many at all," she said, recalling that the pirate ship had carried nearly a hundred seamen.

"No, it's not. Umm, Sylvie." He stopped walking abruptly and took both her hands in his. He ducked his head to try to force her to meet his eyes, but she would not. She could not. She didn't want him to see what was in her soul. "Sylvie, I wish to speak with you again."

She swallowed hard. "About what?" she asked in a cracked voice.

"You know what about," he said dryly. "Come, don't avoid the topic. I need to know that you heard me last night, that you're at least considering it."

Elizabeth Doyle

"Considering ..."

"Marriage," he finished for hen "Don't toy with me, Sylvie. I need to know your thoughts."

Sylvie knew she dare not tell him. She did not want to anger him, nor did she want to lie to him. She thought the best course of action was to stall. "It's very difficult," she said, averting her eyes. "I have already made a promise, and yet..." She took a deep breath. "And yet, what you say is true. Etienne is not a good match for me." It was all she could say that was truthful and yet would not anger him. She hoped it would be enough for now.

"And so?" he asked, trying to get her to look at him by moving his face around, "Does that mean you're considering it, or does that mean nothing?"

Sylvie looked up boldly. "It means," she said, her eyes open and honest for once, "that I am thinking about your words and I have not yet decided what to do." How to escape you, she thought privately.

Jervais nodded, clearly satisfied. Truth be told, he would have found a complete change of heart to be suspicious. And a refusal, of course, would have infuriated him, and forced him to use more brutal tactics. That she was thinking was exactly what he wanted to hear for now. "Well then, I will leave you to your quandary," he said, tossing a warm blanket of relief over Sylvie's trembling bones. "Until this evening?" he asked with a courteous bow.

Sylvie tried to look sorry to see him go. "Oh yes, yes. Until then," she said nervously. She watched him depart, her heart thumping madly with the word Jacques, Jacques, Jacques. And as soon as she was able, she ran.

She ran downstairs, past the cabins, and down the stairs to the hold. She dodged boxes of goods and piles of stored weaponry when her nose was assaulted by the musty smell of a room which never breathed. She had to try some of the

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doors, but which one? She knew one room in which he was not, but there were many others. Irrationally unconcerned for her safety, lest a pirate should miraculously break free of his chains and attack her, she tried a doorknob. Of course, it was locked. Why hadn't she thought of that? Somehow, she'd assumed, as tightly bound as the prisoners were, there would be no need for locked doors. But she was wrong. Blast! But surely the keys would hang nearby? Surely the pirate hunters didn't each have a key to these rooms. Surely, there was one set of keys that they all shared, and it would be hanging somewhere convenient.

Frantically, she searched the walls. Her head felt light, her determination thoughtless. All she could comprehend was that she needed to know he was all right. She didn't even have a plan, or a notion of what she would do or say when she found him. She just needed to see him, and nothing would stand in her way—certainly not a missing set of keys. She had no doubt that she would find them. With her irrational determination, she felt she might be able to will the keys to her clutch if that's what she had to do. Compassion was pulsing that strongly through her veins.

At last, she found them. They were on a heavy, iron ring at her feet. It looked as though they had fallen from a hook and been left there by a sloppy sailor. With trembling hands, she tried each key in one of the doors until she found the one that worked. She opened it slowly, peeking in with just the tip of her nose for she had a fear of being grabbed, should one of the pirates have gotten loose. Her heart lurched once again at the sight of them, all tied together in the most unpleasant of postures. Their expressions told the story of men with hard lives, about to meet an even harder death. She closed her eyes against their pain and shut the door. It was the wrong room.

But beyond the next door she tried, she found him. He was alone, isolated by Jervais's particular hatred for him.

Elizabeth Doyle

Sylvie gasped when she saw his face. His beautiful cheekbones, his sensual lips, and his warm brown eyes were all covered in painful, raw bruises. He was so swollen that she wasn't sure he was able to ftilly open his tender eyelids. His wrists were bound behind his back, stretching his elegant arm muscles as far as they could go. He was crouched down, perhaps unable to stand, his head collapsed against the ship's wall. He was breathing heavily through the mouth. Sylvie was so scared to see him in such a state, her first thought was that he might have been beaten out of his mind. He might actually not be himself anymore, might have suffered too much head injury. He just didn't look right.

She knelt by his side, on some level, humbling herself before him. And his swollen eyes opened just enough that she could tell he was exhaustedly peeking at her. "Jacques," she whispered hoarsely, "can you understand me?"

Jacques did not reply at first. His breathing was so heavy that it moved his naked chest. His eyes were only slits behind painful swelling. She wasn't sure he was reading her lips, or that he was even fully conscious. "Jacques," she repeated, "please answer me. I need to know that you haven't been beaten beyond repair. I need to know that you can see me.

He replied with a painful nod, but his eyes were far away and he didn't seem able to pay her much attention. Sylvie decided she had no choice but to cut his bonds. Yes, she remembered how much trouble that had caused her last time. She remembered how he'd tricked her into freeing him and then held her hostage. But she just couldn't let him suffer in that painful position, and he truly did not look strong enough to grab her.

"Jacques," she said, "I am going to undo these knots. I'm trusting you not to grab me." She reached behind him and went to work, wincing when she saw the manner in which

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the ropes were digging into his flesh. When she had unbound him, she nearly wept at the sight of the raw lines around his wrists, but she restrained herself. His arms fell limply to his sides, and he leaned forward a bit, relieved to be unbound. He did not try to grab her.

Sylvie knelt before him, her legs tucked under her. There was a glint of regret in her blue eyes. "Jacques," she said gently, k i can only imagine how much you must hate me. I.. . I'm sure I would feel the same way." She thought of the short but intense time they had spent as friends, and as so much more than friends. How he had sent her to the cabin to protect her from the raid, when it was he who needed the protection. It must be painful, she imagined, to see her looking so healthy and so well groomed, a cheerful passenger aboard the ship that was his prison and chamber of torture. Knowing that he had been so drawn to her, that he had wanted her for a wife, she could only imagine the betrayal he must feel. "Jacques, I want you to know I'm going to tell the truth at your trial. I'm going to tell them that you never harmed me, and I am going to beg for mercy on your behalf." She bowed her head in shame. "Jacques, if there were more I could do, you know that I would. I never asked for this to happen to you. I didn't want them to treat you this way. I have no love for these pirate hunters, any more than I have for pirates. I have taken no sides, except that I want to go home. Please don't... don't hate me forever." She looked up into his purple and bleeding face and realized how selfish she was being. All she cared about was how this made her look? Whether he hated her? She put herself in his place and said, "Actually, Jacques, I wouldn't blame you if you hate me forever. It may be that I deserve it—I don't know."

To her absolute astonishment, she felt a hand upon her knee. She looked down and watched his callused fingers graze across her skirt. He gave her one reassuring squeeze after

Elizabeth Doyle

another, through the modesty of her gown. He was still too weak to lift his head from the wall, but he tried to speak. His first attempt came out as nothing but a cracking whisper, so he swallowed, took several more painful breaths, and tried again. "I don't hate you," he said, his voice not at all his own. It sounded chalky and breathless. She could hear his physical pain in it. "I want you to listen to me," he said, and some blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.

Sylvie leaned into him anxiously, blotting away the blood with her skirt. "Yes," she said, touching his tender, swollen face. God, it still looked beautiful to her. "I'm listening, I promise." She couldn't stop stroking his skin, though she feared an ounce too much pressure would send him a shock of pain.

"Sylvie," he said in a voice which implied the threat of tears, "listen to me. They're going to kill me when they bring me to shore." When she began to protest, he strained to lift his finger to her lips and then drop it again. "They are, Sylvie. I'm going to hang." He drew a few more ragged breaths as though they lent him the strength to speak. "I don't want you to speak on my behalf," he said weakly, "I don't want you to do anything. Nothing you say or do will stop me from hanging and you'll just draw attention to yourself. I don't want it."

She found herself saying in a trembling voice, "Jacques, stop talking like that. They're not going to hang you." A hot tear had fallen from her eye, unnoticed.

Jacques saw the fear in her pretty face, and couldn't help touching it. He didn't want to scare her, but he wanted to feel her soft skin in his hand. She did not flinch, but held sure. "Sylvie, I want you to do just what you're doing," he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb, "I want you to just go. Just go."

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"J can't," she said squeezing more water from the squint of her eyes. "1 don't want you to die. I can't let you"

"Sylvia" he said, "you should go now. Go before they catch you talking to me."

"But I'm your wife" she laughed through her tears. "Don't you remember?"

He actually smiled, though it pained him to do so, and his eyes were still narrow slits. "Yes, I remember," he whispered, fingering her lips as though she truly, even at that moment, belonged to him. Or perhaps he was reflecting on what he could have had. She wasn't sure. But he said, "Just remember not to tell anyone about that, and you'll be fine. Nobody has to know. There are no witnesses left."

"But you were so determined," she said, trying to rekindle his passion for life. "Don't you remember how you dragged me to that ceremony?"

"That was when I thought 1 would live," he said on a breath. "Now that I know I'm through, I just want you to move on and be happy."

She shook her head emphatically. "If what you say is true, if they are truly going to hang you no matter what I say, then I cannot walk away."

"Sylvie," he said, though the strain of conversing was beginning to wear on him. "You're such a nice person. You have a bigger heart than I—or anyone else I know." He grunted, holding his ribs as he shifted against the wall. "Don't waste it like this."

"You're not a waste," she begged him to believe.

"I didn't mean that," he assured her, fingering her hair. "I only meant that this is my destiny. I was born deaf, with parents who didn't want me, and in a world where asylums and pirate ships are the only places for outcasts. There's nothing you can do for me. But there's a lot out there for you. I want

Elizabeth Doyle

you to have it all and let my life run its course. I promise you, I'm not afraid." This he added with a look of reassurance that was difficult to muster through his pain. "Now that it's here ... it's strange but... I'm not afraid to die."

"Jacques," she said, clutching his strong hand, "I—" She didn't want to go too far, didn't want to use a phrase she did not mean. But this much, she wanted him to know. "You have touched my heart."

That took him aback somewhat, for he wasn't sure he had ever "touched" someone before in his life, certainly not someone as fine and feminine as Sylvie. "Go," was all he said.

But she couldn't. "Jacques, I want to help you."

"There's nothing you can do. Go."

"But I—"

"I'm already a dead man," he said. "I don't wish to depart with your damnation on my conscience."

"Maybe they won't..."

"Sylvie, they're going to kill me."

And to that, Sylvie replied in the most vulgar fashion she had ever replied to anything. "The hell they will!" She rushed from the storage cell with the deadly determination of a woman fighting to save her heart from ruin.

Nineteen

It was after dusk and Sylvie had never been so determined in all of her life. Her heart seemed to pound the words, this is right, this is right, this is the right thing to do. Her hands were steady and hot, her jaw tight, and her eyes so biting that even Jervais had retired without troubling her for another round of questioning. She had never before felt so capable and daring as she did that night, wrapping biscuits and fish in cloths. Knives and guns she found in the hold, just laying about in case someone needed them. Well, she did, and she privately thanked the sailors very kindly for their assistance as she tucked them in her drawers, in her stockings, and in her trunk. Jacques's trunk, that is. She had not rummaged through the contents, for she would not have wanted someone to intrude upon her own privacy in that way. But she had watched Jervais carry it below deck after the raid, and knew exactly which one it was. She added to its contents with care and respect, never once examining what lay beneath her own additions.

The stars were gone and the night was black. The crew

Elizabeth Doyle

was nothing but a skeleton of its usual self. She observed the night shift with a cynical smirk. The sailors were more interested in swapping stories about women they had tricked into love than they were in making sure the ship headed home. "Excuse me, gentlemen," she said, arms clasped primly behind her back, "I wonder if you could help me with my trunk."

They observed her femininity with both disdain and longing. Interrupted from talk of foolish women who would bed them on trust, it was strange to be confronted by a real woman, a woman who would know that most of their stories were only tall tales. It made them visibly awkward. Fortunately, they all knew that the captain had his eye on her, so at least they did not consider tormenting her with their foul mouths and crude observations. "Your trunk?" one of them grumbled through his grizzly beard, spraying her with the scent of rum on his breath. "Do we look like gentlemen to you? Carry your own trunk." He laughed heartily at himself, and soon, his crewmates joined in.

Sylvie was neither troubled nor discouraged. She swung girlishly from side to side, holding her hands behind her, and said, "You're quite right. I'll go get Jervais and have him help me. Will he mind being awakened? I'll explain you were all too busy—I'm sure he'll understand."

They all stopped laughing at once. "Wait!" they cried as she threatened to walk away.

Sylvie turned expectantly toward them with a smile. "Yes?"

"We uh . . . we can help you with that trunk." A couple of them flexed their arms. Sylvie observed this with exaggerated appreciation.

"Oh my, yes," she said. "You all look very strong. I'm sure you'll be able to lift it just fine. Are you sure, though? It's very heavy."

"Oh, it won't be too heavy for a bunch of burly sailors like us," they grunted and chuckled.

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Too true. Too true. Now, if you'll just follow me this way, it's in the hold. 1 think . . . yes, I think I'll need all of you. I actually have a number of trunks."

"Well, darling, someone's going to have to sail the ship, unless you mean us to tie the rudder."

"Would you, please?" she asked with gentle imploring. "I feel just awful asking, but it will only be for a moment."

"Darling, there's more than enough manpower here to carry your trunks." One sailor flexed his agreement. "We'll make a couple of trips if we have to. Baudier, you stay here."

Sylvie sighed. Poor Baudier. Oh well, no one could say she hadn't tried. She led the men below deck with gentle smiles of reassurance. 'They're in the hold," she explained. "Jervais meant to bring them to my cabin today, but I suppose it slipped his mind. Let's see now ..."

"Which one is it?" one asked, inspecting Jacques's trunk.

"Oh no, they aren't out here " she said lightly. "They're in there."

The sailors followed the imaginary line thrown from her finger and found that it landed on a door. "Your trunks are stuffed in there with the prisoners?" asked one.

Sylvie shrugged. "Another reason I didn't want to try to retrieve them."

Scowls were passed all around. "All right, mademoiselle, we'll handle this." The men moved to the door, just before Sylvie grabbed the key ring.

"I'll open it for you," she said, smiling. She checked each key until she found the right one, and then let the door swing free with a creak. "There we are."

Some of the men marched in, but others peered fearfully into the darkness. "Hand me a lantern?"

"Yes, yes," said Sylvie. "Go on in and I'll fetch you a lantern. There you are. Very good. A little farther. Perfect." She slammed them in with the prisoners and locked the door.

Elizabeth Doyle

Annoying pounding made her block her ears irritably. But she soon had to free her fingers for her next task: finding the key to Sebastien's cell. She had located him earlier in the afternoon, tied to a group of his friends, and a few other men Sylvie did not know.

"There you are," she said, resting the lantern on the floor. "Come, we don't have much time. All of you—when I cut your bonds I want you to run upstairs to the main deck. There is only one man up there now. You'll have to get rid of him, but I do ask that you don't kill him. I'm giving you some weapons to help you subdue him. Now, do you remember what I've said?" she asked as a scolding mother. "Do not kill him. You owe me that much for setting you free."

The pirates were too stunned to nod.

"Now, once you're on deck," she went on, "you'll find that I've filled a lifeboat with food and weaponry. Take that lifeboat to the ship in tow and wait for us there. Jacques and I will follow. We won't have much time, but as soon as we're able, we'll cut the grappling cords and be off. Jervais said the ship still sails. So have you got those instructions? Oh yes, and bring that trunk." She pointed at Jacques's chest. "Now, go!" she cried in a loud whisper each time she cut one of their bonds.

One of the pirates hesitated. "My leg," he said. "It is wounded from battle—I don't think I..."

"Oh, stop whining," she snapped. "Go!" And somehow, her scolding gave him the strength to run.

Sylvie wasted no time in moving to Jacques's cell. She knew that eventually the sailors' pounding and shouting would awaken their sleeping comrades. She turned the lock with some trepidation, fearing that she might find his health had worsened, that he might be unconscious or ... worse. "Jacques?"

She saw a glint in the darkness that she knew must be his eyes, but of course, he did not hear her, and did not respond.

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"Jacques!" she cried in a whisper, kneeling by his side. "We're escaping. Please come." She went to work on what was left of his bonds with fingers that trembled violently. She had not been afraid until that very moment, when she suddenly realized she wanted him freed more than she wanted anything else in the world.

"What are you doing?" he grumbled in a voice that was scratchier than the splintered walls.

"We've got to go," she said, her lips close to his face so he could see. "We're taking the merchant ship."

"What do you mean we?" he asked groggily.

"I have to go with you," she said. "They'll know I've helped you escape, and my life, too, will be forfeit." Frantically, she finished untying the last of his ropes.

"I can't let you do this."

"You have no choice. I've already locked up the nighttime crew. When Jervais finds out, I'll be dead unless we're gone."

"What do you mean 'locked up'?"

"I'll explain later. Come, we don't have much time."

"Sylvie," he said, refusing to rise when she tugged at his arm, "Sylvie, why are you doing this?"

She had hoped he'd be a little more exuberant and grate-fiil. But if he wanted to waste time asking questions, she supposed she didn't mind answering them. "Because I care more about you than you do," she said. "I can't let Jervais beat you and I can't let you hang."

"But Sylvie," he implored lazily, "I don't want you to sacrifice yourself like this for my sake. I don't want it."

Her lashes flung high and she glared at him. "I am trying to do something decent here, and we are running out of time. Come!"

He rose, but before he stepped from his cell, he caught her chin in his palm and looked down at her. It gave her shiv-

Elizabeth Doyle

ers to see his warm eyes gazing at her as though she were something he treasured. "Are you sure, Sylvie? Are you sure you want to do this?"

She nodded and spoke in a low voice. "If God had not wanted you freed, He would not have let me see your suffering. I cannot sit still and watch."

For the first time, it seemed real to Jacques that he might be able to accept this offer of escape, that he might yet live. He tried to keep the adrenaline from clouding his thoughts. "How can I ever thank you?" he asked, but it was not a rhetorical question. It was a calm request.

"Take care of me," she replied. "I'm trusting you to look after me because I don't know anything about life at sea."

That was as easy a request as he could have hoped for. He smiled his understanding, and noticed the genuine fear lurking in her face. Surely she was a creature of heaven and not of earth. Surely, there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe and happy after she had risked her life for a worthless soul like his. "I'll guard you as though you were my wife," he promised, tracing her lips with his finger, "because remember, that's exactly what you are. Come." He pulled her behind him in a mad dash for the stairs.

"Wait! You don't still think ... that wasn't part of the

oh lord, we should have talked this out before I freed you. Blast it all."

Twenty

Sylvie let the wind blow her reddish hair into a tangle. Droplets of ocean splattered on her face, and the oily sky seemed to beckon her to sail the length of its endless expanse. She threw back her head and crowed with delight, knowing that from then on, she was free to scream with all her might. The ocean didn't mind. Jervais's ship drifted further into the distance, its shorn grappling ropes dangling awkwardly behind. By the time a cannon ball fired, she and her new creW-mates laughed at its feebly distant flame. "Oh, how cute!" she cried. "They're trying to scare us!" She stuck out her tongue like a little girl. "We did it!" She threw her arms playfully around Jacques, who was glad to lift her off her feet and spin her around. "I can't believe we did it!" she shrieked the moment he put her down. "I can't believe / did it! I made an escape plan . . . and it worked! Can you believe that? Me! Me!" She pounded giddily on her breast bone. "All of you tough pirates here, and you needed me to save you! Ha!"

He was grinning just as broadly as she was, his bronzed

Elizabeth Doyle

face glowing under the glint of the moon, his brown eyes narrow with boyish affection. The red-haired Pierre and the raven-haired Sebastien had been rowing, but now the sails were adjusted well enough to take them on their way ... far away from there. "That was quite an escape," Pierre congratulated her. "We are certainly in your debt, mademoiselle."

"Just call me Sylvie," she grinned. "We're partners now. It's time to be friendly." She laughed at the ridiculous image she conjured in her mind—herself, an outlaw.