Beyond paradise (28 page)

Elizabeth Doyle

tance, for someone to cry out that this was madness, but his bitter crew was still climbing aboard, filing past him in silence, as though their wish had come true, and he did not exist. He returned his gaze to Jervais, whose arms were crossed firmly and whose black eyes did not wander. "But this is insanity," he said in a near-whisper, trying to object without seeming to start a fight... which he would undoubtedly lose. "You can't simply keep her. She has been sworn to me. My family will—"

"Your family is not here," said Jervais. "There is no one here but us. And I have told you what I intend to do. What do you have to say of it?"

"Well, I. .." He glanced down at his sword, mourning that it was purely ornamental, while Jervais, though currently unarmed, looked like a walking deadly weapon. "I will not let her go," he said bravely, though his voice was only a squeak.

"Why not?" he demanded. "It seems you have plenty of other... company." He reminded Etienne of his countless conquests with one lift of his eyebrow.

Etienne frowned mightily and scratched his beard. "I have enjoyed others, it is true. But none of them are like Sylvie! I want her! I demand her! I—" He cowered under Jervais's threatening gaze, and added in a whisper, "I can't stop thinking of her."

Jervais saw the sincerity in his eyes, and it troubled him. In fact, it made him break from his menacing gaze and blink rather reflectively. It had never occurred to him that Etienne actually had feelings for his bride. "Do you mean to tell me that you love her?"

Etienne flushed, and at first bowed his head as though love were a shameful thing to confess. But at last, his nod was clear. "I believe I do."

Jervais threw down his arms and spun around. "Oh, this

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is just wonderful!" he snarled to the sky. "This is just. . . men, tell me!" he called angrily, "is there anyone on board this ship who is not in love with Sylvie Davant? With how many men must I compete for this woman?''

There was some cheerful and teasing muttering. "I love her a little/' said one.

"1 thought she was pretty," said another.

"Now that you mention it. . ." came a voice.

He silenced them with a raised hand. "All right," he said to Etienne, "we'll let her choose." The confidence in his gaze was unmistakable. It was true that Sylvie had run from him, had rejected him brutally. But faced with no other choice, would any woman choose a weakling and a womanizer over himself? He thought not. "What do you say? You remain on board, we hunt her down, and then she chooses. If you win, I bring you both home. If I win, you make the announcement to her parents. What do you say?"

Etienne swallowed fiercely. It was a cruel gamble. He had never thought to ask himself how Sylvie actually felt about him. He had never thought to care. He liked to think she would choose him, but. . . well, of course she would! A new confidence lit his eye. He was wealthy, he had been chosen for her. Why, marrying a humble pirate hunter would be a disgrace. What woman would rather struggle all of her life, and face the scorn of her family and country, than be married to a handsome gentleman like himself? It was nonsense. Jervais had dug himself into a terrible hole, and it would be most embarrassing for him when he emerged. "I agree to the challenge," he stated.

Jervais grinned mockingly at the unfounded confidence in his opponent's eye. "Very well," he said. "May the best man win."

"Indeed."

Elizabeth Doyle

Jervais rested with his arms folded behind his head. He couldn't sleep. He kept thinking of her, and the knowledge that another man truly wanted her made his craving that much stronger. He thought he would die if he did not reach her. Feelings of adoration were confused with feelings of intense fury, for she had left him and broken his heart. Why had she done it? He had gone over it in his mind a thousand times, but still fell short of an answer. He liked to think she had taken pity. He liked to imagine she had merely been moved to help the pirates, and that they had taken her by force the moment she had cut their bonds. Perhaps his crew had been mistaken about the turn of events. But he wasn't at all certain. Deep inside, he feared that she would never have accepted his offer of marriage, even if she had not pitied the wretched pirates and been dragged away. He feared she'd never had any intention of responding to his advances, and had been misleading him all along. He feared that at some point in his life he had taken a wrong turn and become unlovable.

This thought he brushed quickly from his mind and returned to the more familiar feeling of rage. He would make her pay for her disobedience. He had told her not to go near the pirates, and if it were the last thing he did, he would teach her to comply. She had scared him one too many times now, and wounded him deeply by her betrayal. It had to stop. He loved her, and once she had been retrieved, once she was confined to his cabin where she belonged, once he had shown her the error of not loving him and made her choose him over Etienne once and for all, he would teach her a lesson she would never forget. He would break that woman. He would do whatever it took ... whether it was thrashings or... or... he closed his eyes painfully. He didn't mean to be

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cruel. He just couldn't accept the powerlessness of a love unrequited. There had to be a way to show her that loving him was the right and reasonable thing to do. He just had to win her back.

Twenty-eight

Sylvie was finally learning to use a cutlass, and as Jacques had guessed, she was very gifted with it. He did not teach her fencing, but only the straightforward, brutal motions of a cutlass-wielding pirate. It was tricky business, showing her how to block without actually risking serious bodily harm. But he got better at inventing exercises as they went along, and soon, he was sure, they were playing a very safe and effective game of learning. His eyes were always aglow with delight whenever they practiced. His hair shone flaxen in the sunlight streaming through a porthole, the short parts stuck to his hot, moist face, glowing rosy with exercise and excitement. "Hold your cutlass a little lower," he warned her breathlessly. "That's right. You don't want to take high swings. It's too much exertion for nothing. There you go. Good work. Excellent. Ahh! You got me." His grin broadened every time she got the better of him, for it made him feel a worthy teacher.

"I think I have a knack for this," she told him, her face looking rounder than usual, thanks to the hair that was pulled so tightly in a braid. "I really think I was given a talent."

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He loved to see her smile when she said that. He loved to see her excel. For he was not a man who wanted a woman lesser than himself, but to see the woman he loved taste the sweet juice of success. "I agree," he said, "but I think that's enough of the swords for now. They're a bit dangerous for horsing around. Let's go back to using our fists." Completely out of breath from their romping, he gently sheathed his cutlass, untied his sash, and dropped the weapon tenderly to the floor. It was a joyous feeling, that of working up a healthy sweat, and taking a few moments to breathe in the sunny, moist air, watching his red-faced lover do the same. He scruffed up his hair and thought, / didn f t think this would ever happen to me. I didn't think Id ever have someone.

"What's the matter?" asked Sylvie, still swooshing her cutlass this way and that through an imaginary enemy.

"Nothing," he said. He watched her dance around with her sword, looking so delicate in stature and so competent and determined at the same time. "You look beautiful," he said, thinking what a joy it was to be able to say that aloud and not fear she would laugh at him.

Sylvie sheathed her sword and grinned at him. She swaggered to his side and kissed him full on the lips, saying, "I always feel beautiful when I'm with you."

He returned her smile, then bent his head and fiddled with his sash. She loved to watch him move. She had found him handsome the very first time she met him, but her attraction had only increased with love. Everything he did attracted her. Even fiddling with his sash seemed a very appealing act, as she watched his slender arm muscles move about and his strong hands rearrange his weapons. "Are you ready to learn how to shoot?" he asked her. "Ready for a lesson in marksmanship?"

"Yes," she said, quite eagerly, "but Jacques."

"Yes?"

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Her eyes were soft and thoughtful. "I'm scared."

That surprised him. "Of guns?"

"No, no, not that." She touched his arm and gave his hard bicep a tender squeeze. "I'm afraid that we won't make it to Pans."

He swallowed uncomfortably, but his reply was optimistic. "Well, we're in the best spot we've been in yet," he said. "If we were going to be caught, the best chance of that is behind us."

"I know," she answered heartfully, "but I want it so much now. My hopes are so high, and there is still such a long voyage ahead, so many things that could go wrong."

There was a comforting brotherliness in his nod. "I understand. I'm feeling somewhat the same way. It's hard." He wrapped an arm about her shoulders. "But I suppose there's nothing we can do but keep moving forward, hoping we make it." He shrugged. "It's not much consolation, I know. I wish I could say our worries are behind us."

"Jervais's ship is faster than ours, isn't it?" It was a brave question because it reflected both of their worst fears.

He laughed uneasily. "Just about any ship is faster than an old merchantman. We're probably the slowest thing on the ocean right now."

"And there's no chance of our finding a faster one?"

"Finding one? Surely. But stealing it?" He shook his head. "We have a tiny crew. We're lucky we didn't lose the last battle. The last thing we want is to start a new one."

Sylvie bowed her head. "I'm just so afraid they'll catch up to us."

"Well, they can do that, there's no doubt. But they'd have to happen upon us first. And that's the real trick of the matter. It should take them some time to realize we've completely fled the islands. And when they do, they'll have to guess our precise course. And don't forget," he added, feeling even

Elizabeth Doyle

more hopeful himself as he spoke, "that we've changed vessels. Even if they saw our sails in the distance, they may not know who we are."

"But they can overtake us, even with our lead."

"Yes. But Sylvie, there's nothing we can do except wait. All the worrying in the world won't change what is to come."

"I know that, but.. ."

"I know," he said, cradling her to his side, "I know, I'm the same way. I wish somehow that worrying could help." They both chuckled nervously for a moment that somehow ended in a kiss. She tilted back her head ever so slightly as his parted lips stole a taste of her own. He released the rapture with a smile. "I love kissing you."

"I know," she said, "and if you had any idea how much I love being kissed—" She grinned broadly, falling into a friendly, hopeful embrace. A stream of sunlight caught them in a moment of silent prayer, their arms wrapped tightly around one another, Sylvie's head finding solace in the hollow of his warm, masculine-smelling shoulder. Dust, splinters, and the color brown nestled them snugly beneath the waves. They finally, truly, felt like husband and wife.

"Could they be wrecked?" asked someone aboard Jervais's ship, the moment they saw the merchantman rocking helplessly and emptily against the waves.

"Or captured?" suggested someone else.

"Perhaps they escaped in their lifeboats."

Jervais's eyes were narrow and his ears all but closed. "It's too far to reach shore in a lifeboat," Pierre told him, and Jervais nodded his agreement.

"We'll board the vessel," he said. "There may be some sign of them. They may even be hiding." His arms trembled nervously as he crossed them, for he could not bear to think

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that they had all been killed. For the majority of them to be killed, he would rejoice. But if anything had happened to Sylvie ... He prayed that if he discovered they had fallen ill with some sea-spread disease, that he had come in time to save Sylvie from certain death. For one moment, the thought even appealed to him. If she were ill and helpless, it would make her all the more likely to choose the strong pirate hunter over the weakling who would struggle even to carry her to her cot. He closed his eyes, wincing at himself. Stop that. He scolded his selfishness. Stop that. Pray that she's in good health. It took some doing, though, because Jervais was a man caught in a constant battle between what he knew was right and what his ego demanded.

Etienne, overdressed in his fine wig, plumed hat, and well-polished shoe buckles, wanted to know what was going on. Ever since he'd boarded Jervais's vessel he'd had the distinct feeling of being left out, almost as though nobody respected his opinions or considered him a true commander of a vessel. "Well," he asked, patting Jervais on the back, "what have we decided?"

"Don't ever touch me," said Jervais, not even deigning to turn as he spoke. "If you ever pat me on the back again, I'll..."

"My mistake, mine only." Etienne threw his hands in the air, gesturing a retreat. "But what is the situation? Shall we discuss it, man to man?"

Jervais cut him a biting look from the side, but resisted the urge to remark about Etienne's manhood. "We are boarding the vessel," he said dryly. "It appears they have abandoned it, been captured, or have fallen ill. It looks empty from here, but we'll soon find out whether that is the truth."

"Ahh, very good, very good thinking. Clearly, we should board the vessel. That's what I would have said."

Jervais's teeth were grinding like stones. He couldn't imagine how Sylvie—or anyone else, for that matter—would ever

Elizabeth Doyle

agree to spend day after day after day with a man like that. It amused him to think that the best way to insure he himself was her choice, was to lock her in a room with Etienne for an hour and make her listen to his chatter. "Why are you smiling?" asked Etienne.

"No reason. Why don't you get below deck? There are a lot of useful things you can do there like, get out of my way, for example."

Etienne laughed at the joke even though it was at his own expense. "That was funny," he said. "Very amusing."

Jervais's eyes darkened. "I wasn't joking."

Etienne overcame his fear of Jervais just enough to tighten his jaw. "Well, surely you don't think I am going to huddle under the waves while you investigate. I'll have you know I am just as much a part of this rescue as you are, and I shall see to it that Sylvie returns safely. Now, if there is a ship that must be investigated, I would like to be the first to step on board." He sniffed proudly, as though enjoying the smell of danger.

"What if they are hiding?" asked Jervais. "And they are merely waiting for us to board so they can leap out and attack us?"

"Well, I didn't mean the first one on board. I meant that I would like to be in charge of observation. I would like to be ... to be there after our servants have made sure the area is secured."

"We have no servants, only crew. But I'll pass along your sentiment. I'm sure they'll appreciate it. Men!" They all turned, for much to Etienne's agitation, it seemed they listened intently to every single word that came from Jervais's lips. "Our guest would like to observe you while you risk your lives boarding that ship. Is that all right with everyone?"

There was a great deal of laughter, enough of it to make

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Etienne flush. "I see no cause for laughter," he said through gritted, crooked teeth.

"No, I didn't think you would." Jervais patted his back in the exact manner in which he had just instructed Etienne not to, and passed him by.

Within minutes, a small band of pirate hunters had boarded the ghost ship, and were scurrying through it, swords and flintlocks in hand, just in case it was a trap. When they found a pirate, bleeding and moaning on a lower deck, they called out to Jervais. "Captain! We've found one!"

Jervais wasted no time in leaping on board, with Etienne running frantically behind, more or less riding on his shadow, using his body as a shield in case of attack. He approached the dying pirate like a heartless king before a belittled subject, his black cape blowing around him. "Where is Sylvie?" he demanded, but the pirate did not speak French. "Do we have a Spanish speaker?" Jervais called impatiently. "Come! There must be one!"

A young man stepped forward and was immediately shoved to his knees by an impatient Jervais, who spat, "Talk to him."

"Please," said the pirate to his interpreter, "I need water." He made several attempts to swallow, coming up dry every time. "Please."

"He says he needs water," the young crewman announced.

"Well, tell him I'll give him water just as soon as he tells me where Sylvie is" It was a lie, of course, and the fuming expression on his face related just that. He planned to kill every pirate on board just as soon as he found his lady.

"He says he doesn't know what you're talking about."

Jervais stepped on the pirate's hand, causing him to cry out, dry-throated as he was, begging to be let up. "Ask him whether I've refreshed his memory."

The boy did some muttering, then announced, "Nay, sir. He says he has no idea who Sylvie is."

Elizabeth Doyle

"Ask him where the young lady that they abducted happens to be." He squinted bitterly at the fibbing pirate scum under his foot. "That her name is Sylvie, he might have guessed."

The boy spoke to the pirate and then announced, "I'm sorry, sir. He says he has not seen a young woman. Says he fought the crew of this ship and was left for dead. Says they stole his own vessel, but that he was unconscious at the time and did not see any woman."

Jervais felt a pang of excitement and relief. Sylvie was not dead—she had merely changed vessels. "Ask him what his ship looked like. Ask him about the shape of the sails."

He could barely stand still while the young boy relayed this question and then described the answer. He was so impatient that when the boy added, "And he says he desperately needs water," Jervais spit in the pirate's face and said, "There's your water." He strolled away like the commander he was, his cape flowing behind him, and called, "Men! Get the hell off this vessel! We don't have much time! Hurry!"

The boy hated to leave the thirsty man's side. It seemed so cruel. But then, his captain's cruelty, he knew, came only from the same heart that made him so steadfast and, at times, even righteous. So he forgave Jervais's rudeness and sought a cup of water on his own. "Come," he said to the dying pirate, "we'll bring you on board. Take my shoulder. There you go." And he led the poor thing on deck, for they had spoken to one another in the same tongue, and that made the pirate human to him, for nothing is more bonding than sharing words.

"Men!" Etienne called just as Jervais prepared to speak. "We are going after Sylvie's new ship!"

Jervais cast him a glance of bitter annoyance. "Well, it's true," said Etienne. "We are going, aren't we?" In reply to Jervais's unceasing glare, he added, "And, of course, as cap-

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tain, you'll be the one to announce it, I suppose. Do go on. Please." He straightened proudly and called, "Jervais has something he wants to say to you all! Please listen." He cleared his own throat in anticipation.

At last, Jervais turned to his men. "Go!"

Twenty-nine

Sylvie awoke one morning in the arms of her lover, the man she would soon call her husband, and smiled. The sun was shining on their bed, blessing them as a pair that was acknowledged, it seemed, even in the heavens. She didn't care that her hair was tangled and knotted, nor that her face was wrinkled from sleep. She kissed Jacques's handsome, bronzed jaw and stroked his short, soft hair. His eyes opened, first with annoyance, then with love. He smiled at her and sighed. She was such a beautiful sight in the morning light, so fresh and natural, as a woman was meant to be. She had no false adornments, no jewels, no makeup, nor even a fine gown to hide what nature had made perfect. He had never seen such bright blue eyes in all of his life. How many times could he notice them, and still be amazed? He looked forward to seeing whether, twenty years from now, that blue would still intrigue him.

"You need to scrape your chin," she teased, rubbing her knuckles back and forth along his stubbled jaw.

"Mmm," he said, "would you like to do it for me?"

Elizabeth Doyle

"I'm afraid I'd cut your throat."

He laughed out loud, his chest shaking the bedsheets. "Well, if you're afraid of it then I suppose I should be, too."

She watched him laugh, thinking she had never seen something so delightful. With a loving kiss upon his brow, she said, "I adore you, Jacques. I really do. I never even dreamed I would feel this way about someone. I can't even imagine waking up in the morning and not finding you by my side. It wouldn't be worth rising."

He took her hand, wishing he could think of something equally romantic to say, but he couldn't. He just kissed it and sighed contentedly.

"How long before we're in Paris?" she asked. "How long before this is all behind us and I can stop panicking?"

"A long time," he told her. "Still a long time."

"Do you know?" she asked, eyes alight. "I almost think we're going to make it? I'm surprised to hear myself say it, but I really feel it now. I feel that we're close, I feel that we're safe. I almost think I can see it now—you and I strolling through the gardens, visiting the ballet." She grinned at the ridiculously quaint picture she was drawing. The sun brushed her cheek with some orange.

"I hope you're right," was all he said in reply. It was not what she'd hoped he would say. She wanted to hear that his instincts were telling him exactly the same thing, but he would not give her that assurance. So she snuggled into his arms and sighed, resigning herself to being the only one who felt hopeful and secure. I'm sure of it, she told herself, playing a dangerous game of creating intuitions to suit her fancy. I'm sure we re going to make it to Paris. I just know it. I can feel it in my bones. I am sure that God is telling me it is so. She let the assurance warm her bones.

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Unfortunately, it was a cruel streak of irony which ruled her fate on that day. For it was the very day on which her ship was attacked. She was in the midst of a fighting lesson when it happened. There had been nothing further from her mind than the possibility of being hunted down at that very hour. She had been playing like an eager prodigy with her cutlass, trying her best to impress and outdo her teacher. The cries from deck summoned them both to the business of the day. After taking a great deal of time to fully comprehend Se-bastien's message about the ship that had been growing nearer, and the likeness it bore to Jervais's, she realized the time had come. And her initial reaction was not one of panic but of sheer depression. She dropped her head on Jacques's shoulder, startling him, for he was in a most anxious state. And she shook her head back and forth against his shirt, asking, "Why? Why did it have to happen? Why couldn't we just have made it? Why?!" She crossed her arms and kicked the ship's rail, furious at fate.

Jacques knew just how she felt. Though the oncoming battle made his hand twitch lustfully for his cutlass and sent adrenaline rather than sorrow shooting through his veins, he understood exactly what she meant. It was infuriating. Chance and justice seemed to be polar opposites. But to see her so miserable made him even more determined to win this battle, to make sure that nothing happened to upset their plans. He didn't know exactly how a handful of pirates could ever hold up against the likes of Jervais's crew, but somehow, he had to make it work. He could not let Sylvie cry. He could not let her life come to an end in this way. For truly, he knew that just as he and the men would be hanged, Sylvie's life, too, would be destroyed. Even if it were believed she'd been kidnapped and was held as innocent, she would be sent to that horrible fiance of whom she had told him so many times, and she would be forced to care for him and bed him

Elizabeth Doyle

and bear his children. It would be the death of her. A small death, a humble and unheralded death, made lonely by the absence of mourners. He knew it, because after the love they had shared, living on after parting would have been the death of him, too. Fortunately or unfortunately, he knew that living on in sorrow would not be an option for him.

"Should we fight?" asked Frangois, looking as one who really would rather surrender.

"We've got no choice," said Sebastien. "If we don't, they'll hang us. Come on. Hopeless or not, we've got to do it."

"I'm fighting, too," Sylvie informed Jacques. "This is my freedom, too. I have a right to defend this ship."

His agreement surprised her. "All right," he said, stroking her cheek with a thumb, "I have to say that seems fair." His nod and the moist brown eyes that beamed with pride only added to his words. She knew that he had faith in her talents, and that he believed her a human being with the right to defend her own life. It nearly made her weep when she thought of what Jervais would have said in contrast.

There was a lot of hurrying and gathering of weapons. Cannon fire seemed the tactic of choice, as the merchantman was stronger in weaponry than in fighters. But Jervais's ship only drew nearer and nearer, and reloading the cannons was so time-consuming, everyone knew it could not be done quickly enough to ensure there being no man-to-man battle. "Sylvie, hide!" cried Sebastien, loading his pistols with trembling hands.