Beyond paradise (29 page)

"I will not!" she cried, drawing her cutlass.

Jacques broke in. "Not this time, Sebastien." He nodded to demonstrate his friend had heard correctly. "She's going to fight."

"But.. ."

"But it's her life, too," he finished for him. And Sebastien

BEYOND PARADISE

283

nodded his consent in a way he never would have if Sylvie had offered the same sentiment. There was a respect between them, a respect she believed some may never grant her, no matter how she earned it.

But Sylvie had more immediate concerns right now Within moments, her ship would be boarded, and she had to muster the mentality of a warrior. Somewhere within her easy soul she had to find a hatred fierce enough to lend her sword arm strength. It was a difficult thing to locate, much more difficult in her than in Jacques. But everyone had it, he had assured her, and he had taught her well how to search for it. She closed her eyes and willed her blood to boil, summoning violence from the very spot which was inclined to despise it. She thought about being wrenched from Jacques, never to see him again, and thought about what she would like to do to the person who made that happen. That was where she found her hatred, and that is when her sword began to shake.

The pirate hunters grappled their vessel, and boarded. They were strangers, all of them, and Sylvie tried not to look at their faces. She tried to remember what Jacques had said. "Meat. Your opponent is nothing but meat. If you think otherwise, you will not be able to strike him down." And so she heeded his advice, focusing on the brutal intent of her attackers rather than on the attackers themselves.

The raiders' first instinct seemed to be approaching the pirate men and avoiding Sylvie, as though she posed no threat. But the moment she saw that two had ganged up against Jacques, she joined in the bloodletting. It was Jacques's good fortune, too, because he could not hear behind him, and had not immediately been aware of the second attacker. Somehow, the young attacker sensed Sylvie's approach and turned, blocking furiously with his cutlass just in time to escape her otherwise deadly blow. He was shocked when he saw that the swordsman was, in fact, a swordswoman. But he did not pause

Elizabeth Doyle

in wonder long enough to be killed. He drove into her with fury, and clearly, without thinking. For while he knew they were trying to rescue a damsel, he had never guessed to find her looking more like a pirate than a kidnapped maiden. He did not even suppose that he might be slaying the woman he was meant to rescue.

Sylvie blocked one blow after another. She was outmatched by way of experience, but not by talent. Her coordination was so great that she could instinctively catch his falling sword every time it plunged near her, threatening to slice off a limb. But she had trouble returning the blows with enough speed, and soon found herself in a cycle of perpetual defense. No matter. She decided that the best course of action would be to drop her sword and fight him with her hands and dagger. She'd more experience with these weapons, and did not think it wise to continue with a cutlass. So rather than trying to strike his flesh, which he so skillfully protected, on the very next opportunity that arose, she made a play for the hilt of his sword. Caught by surprise, having never expected her blow to land at that angle, he nearly lost his weapon. She took that instant of opportunity to drop her own sword and move near, too near for a clumsy, long weapon to be of any use.

She punched his nose with one fist, reaching for her dagger with the other. It was tucked in her breeches, and she did not manage to retrieve it in time. He immediately returned her blow, and rather than ducking, which Jacques did not recommend for its rate of futility, she blocked it, deflecting it slightly with a slap so that it hit her harmlessly in the arm. She made another play for her dagger, but failed because of the urgency and quick timing of the battle. It was no use. She would have to fight with her bare hands. He tried to grab her throat, and this was fatal for him. With both hands in the air, his belly was completely open to attack. She punched him

BEYOND PARADISE

285

hard in the gut, and when that doubled him over, she kicked him in the head. He was through. She had won her first battle!

She looked about to see how else she might be useful and saw that there were, in fact, floods of pirate hunters swarming on deck. It looked hopeless for a moment. She was paralyzed by the sight of so many of them. It was as though a dam had been opened and they were rushing forth like water. But she couldn't give up, so she banished the thought that the outcome was decided. Instead, she looked around for Jacques, who was fighting well, despite his constant temptation to see how Sylvie was doing. On many an occasion, a glimpse to his left had cost him a chance at delivering a blow, but he couldn't help it. He cared more what happened to her than what happened to himself. He was currently fighting three pirate hunters, a situation Sylvie was quick to remedy. "I have it, Jacques!" she cried, but of course, he could not hear her, nor take the time to read her lips.

When she'd caught his eye, she signaled him in that private language they had studied so hard together and caused him to nod as he drove in for a blow. She grabbed one of his assailants around the neck and hung there. Jacques nearly cried, k 'Don't do that! That's a poor way to fight! Just get the Adam's apple!" But he really didn't have time. He was barely holding his own. Sylvie tried to strangle the pirate hunter with all of her might, sweating and burning red in the face. Then, suddenly, she felt a strange tap on her shoulder. A tap! She turned her head, and that moment of distraction cost her a victory, for unconsciously, she had loosened her grip and the pirate hunter broke away. She landed surely on her feet and whipped around to see who had distracted her so. She saw the color black.

"Jervais?" she gasped.

It took her a moment to recover from the shock of seeing

Elizabeth Doyle

him, then finally set forth with a punch. But he caught her arm, being a more skillful fighter than even his crew, and looked at her darkly. "What are you doing, Sylvie?" His voice was so calm and patronizing, it was as though there was not a battle going on all around them.

"Let us go!" she cried. "Just let us sail away!"

"What the hell have they done to you?" he asked disgustedly. "What are you wearing?"

Sylvie looked around her for help, but to her misery saw that the fight really was over. Truly, it had been over before it began. Their tiny crew was no match for Jervais's, and she nearly wept as she saw the pirates being wrapped in rope. "Jacques!" she cried, as a sailor bound his wrists behind his back. He looked calm and accepting, if annoyed.

He smiled weakly in her direction. It was all he could do. The sailor yanked the knot particularly tightly, making him wince. But still, he smiled and mouthed, "I'm sorry. It'll be all right."

She screamed and tried to run to him, but Jervais stopped her. "What's the matter with you?" he asked. "Who made you fight?"

She tried to break free of his grasp, but he was huge. She might as well have tried to knock over a mountain. "Nobody made me fight!" she yelled. "I don't want to go with you! Stop it! Just let us be!" Her eyes were tearing up in her pain and rage; her face was swollen red.

Etienne arrived just as soon as it seemed the coast was clear. "There she is!" he cried. "I knew we would find her!" Sylvie closed her eyes. Seeing him was, if possible, even worse than seeing Jervais. It was an instant reminder of what she would be sent home to, and an instant end to what had been a fantastic dream only hours ago. "Young lady, you are in a lot of trouble!" he cried, wagging his finger at her.

BEYOND PARADISE

287

"Be quiet!" she and Jervais yelled at the same time.

"Now, tell me," said Jervais, shaking her by both shoulders, "what is the meaning of all of this? What are you doing? Why did you run from my ship?"

'Let them go!" was all she could cry out. "Jervais, please!" She writhed this way and that, but could not escape his overbearing grasp. "Please!" She was nearly weeping now in her rage and despair, and she did not care that he saw it. She didn't care what he thought of her, or what anyone in the world thought of her, for that matter. She wanted to throw herself overboard. She wanted to be eaten by sharks. She just didn't care.

Jervais grabbed her by the shirt. When she tried to break free by letting the cloth tear, he grabbed her arm instead. Etienne followed behind them, crying, "Wait until we tell your parents that we found you dressed as a man, pretending to be a pirate!"

"Be quiet!" she and Jervais yelled once again.

Sylvie was led to her cabin with her eyes closed. She forced Jervais to lead her in that way. She didn't care that she bumped into things or that he had to keep helping her back to her feet. She would make it as difficult as she possibly could. There was not a cooperative inclination in her veins. "I'm locking you in your cabin," he informed her, shoving her roughly into the quaint little room she remembered so unfondly. "Put on some decent clothing. Women will dress like women on my ship."

She was sobbing angrily, her face so hot, she didn't even look like herself. "I'll not change my clothes for you," she said, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Put me in the brig with the rest of the men. That's where I belong."

Jervais scowled at her so sharply it felt like a slap. "You'll put this on," he said, shoving a pink gown at her, "and you'll

Elizabeth Doyle

put on your damned corsets, and you'll put a smile on your face and you'll act like a lady. If you don't like it, I'll be happy to change your clothes^/or you!" he shouted.

"Or me!" cried Etienne.

"Be quiet!"

Sylvie was locked in her cabin, as promised. And all she could stand to do was beat on the door. "Let me out!" she yelled, nearly enjoying the way it felt to bruise her fists against its wood. "Let me out, you bastard! Let me out!" She finished with a cough of sobs, licking her tears from her lips and swallowing them hard. Then she returned to her pounding. "You bastard! I hate you! Do you hear me, Jervais? I know you're out there! I hate you!"

Nobody came to her rescue for hours on end. And after a great deal of time, she got tired of pounding, and simply threw herself facedown on her bed. She couldn't live. She couldn't go on without him. She would not suffer through this—she would rather die his lover than live as someone else's. And if that's what she had to do ... so be it. Every time she allowed her mind to leave the room, she was forced to imagine that he might already be dead. Jervais may well have hanged them all by now. She had no control, so long as she was stuck in that cabin. Anything could be happening. Curse them all! Curse all men for treating her as though she were a toy. Curse them for not seeing her heart, or not caring. She smashed her hands into her head and pulled hard at her hair. Oh, Jacques. I fear I cannot save you this time.

Jacques was thrown into the brig with the rest of the pirates, his arms roped painfully behind his back, forcing him to lose his balance and stumble more than once. When the hunters closed and locked the storage room they used as a brig, he could see nothing. There was not a porthole or a Ian-

BKYOND PARADISE

289

tern. It was complete darkness. But he didn't care what would become of him. He felt no fear for himself at all, but only for Sylvie. He would tolerate the dank floor, the wretched, moldy smell, and the doom which awaited him. If only Sylvie would not have to suffer by knowing what had become of him. He did believe in her love, and knew that it would kill her, as it would have killed him if their fates had been reversed.

The door opened after several hours had passed. The light was blinding, especially to one whose eyes were as sensitive as Jacques's. But he stared right into it, hoping beyond reason that he might see Sylvie on the other side of that door. Naturally, he did not. He saw only Jervais, standing in all of his black clothes, not quite well-tailored, for he was not a man of elegance. His massive presence was imposing, but Jacques did not fear him. He hated him too much for that. Somehow, when Jervais signaled for his crew—his slaves, as Jacques saw it—to retrieve the fair-haired pirate from the brig, he was not surprised. He had suspected Jervais might want to have a word with him. He had learned enough from Sylvie to guess that the pirate-hunting bastard was in love with her.

"Bring him to my cabin," Jacques saw him speak. And that did give him a bit of a startle. His cabin? This must be serious. Surely, Jervais was a man so overwhelmed by his prejudices that he would rarely allow anyone who had been labeled "pirate" and "prisoner" to set foot in his private quarters.

Jacques rose before the sailors could grab him, allowing them to lead him forth with ease. But his eyes fell directly upon Jervais and did not wander. With a malicious squint, he let Jervais know exactly what he thought of him, and that he would never be afraid. He could torture him, and then hang him, and it would neither stir fear nor undo his hatred. Jervais had to return the evil squint with a pang of respect.

Elizabeth Doyle

Jacques was a man of his own heart in one way—he was strong. That was something he admired in anyone, even a villain. Ruthlessly, he closed the heavy door behind himself, leaving the remaining pirates in miserable darkness. They had not even been offered water for their thirst or wounds.

Jervais followed the young pirate and his captors into the cabin, where he instructed the sailors to leave him and the prisoner. He offered Jacques a chair. When the door was closed, he even cut his bonds, to show that he was not afraid. Jacques did nothing in reply. He merely let his wrists fall to his sides, then he leaned forward casually, resting them against his knees. He still looked at Jervais with a calm hatred that was unmistakable. "Snuff?" asked Jervais, holding out a silver canister.

Jacques sensed the offer was a mocking one, and waved the canister away.

Jervais put it back on his shelf and poured himself a glass of wine. "I'd offer you some of this," he said, "but somehow I suspect you'd rather have water. Here." He handed Jacques a flask, and as much as Jacques hated himself for it, he found that he could not refuse. He was thirsty from minor blood loss and sweat. He gulped down every last drop in one breath and then was calm enough not to toss the flask against the wall in a childish show of anger. He just placed it at his feet and said nothing.