By the Bay (7 page)

Chapter Eight

Having survived the first weeks of trial by teenager, Jillian began to settle into her temporary assignment as high school teacher.
Owen
fired Philippe, saying he deserved a better job than dishwashing, and introduced him to a shrimper friend who offered him immediate employment. Philippe turned him down flat.

Nobody understood why the newcomer turned down a pay increase and more ‘manly’ job, but within a couple of days he had a job at the high school as a janitor and Jillian, feeling a little uneasy, wondered if he was following her around.

She saw him each night down by the bay, standing watch, and wondered when he slept. She’d avoided him night after night, but finally decided it was time for a
confrontation
.

After her mother was safely settled for the night, she went outside, locking the door behind her, a precaution she had not been accustomed to taking, and strolled down to the pier where he stood looking out over the water.

“Expecting someone?” she asked drily.

He didn’t look at her, but his mouth quirked humorously. “It is a possibility.”

She drew in a deep breath. “The bay is too shallow for big boats, but some people think the enemy might have subs out in the Gulf.”

“Subs?” he queried politely.

“Submarines. You know, underwater boats.””

His forehead wrinkled at such a concept and he turned to look questioningly at her. “And who is the enemy?”

“Could be either Germans or the Japanese. After all we are at war with both.”

“I am accustomed to other enemies.”

“Oh yeah, I forgot. You’re a pirate,” she returned
.

He didn’t seem offended, but continued his silent vigil, his focus intent.

It was a quiet, moonlit night, and the bay seemed a peaceful place in a world at war. Jillian heard the news each day, listened to accounts of battles fought and won or lost, but it all seemed so distant, so far away. No one she knew well took part and the battles took place in locations she’d only read about. Here in the valley was a small world, locked away into
a semblance of
safety
.

She was more aware of the man standing next to her. He was slim but
strongly
buil
t
with well
-
muscled shoulders and chest, a more virile and exciting man than any she’d ever known. She closed her eyes, imagining what it would be like to be held in his arms and her heart raced and her breathing quickened.

The war and its realities drifted away from her as well as all her personal worries.

“They are coming,” he said abruptly.

She jerked unpleasantly from her fantasy. “They who?” she asked ungrammatically.

He didn’t answer, but stayed in place, watching the bay. She peered in the same direction, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. It was, in fact, a peculiarly quiet night. After weeks of threatening storms and the tossing waves of the winter season even the Gulf itself
must be
calm.

“They are almost here,” were his next words.

Warning sparkles danced across the surface of her skin as nerves reacted to the sound of his voice and her stomach tightened with anxiety. “I’ve got to get back to Mom.” She turned, meaning to hurry away, but he caught her with one hand and pulled her to him, holding her tightly
to
his chest, his lips against her hair.

“I asked
Florence
to see to your mother for a few days. She’s arranged for women to come in and will be looking in herself.”

She tried to pull away, but he held her tight. “She’ll be safer without you here.”

She couldn’t believe this. “And you expect me to believe Auntie went along with that?”

“I
left a message that I
was taking you to New Orleans to meet my family.”

“Why would you do that?” she questioned angrily, drawing back enough to look at his face. His eyes glittered darkly in the moonlight and his features were set in harsh lines. She didn’t know this man and her heart pounded with alarm.

She heard a steady, approaching splash in the water behind her and twisted enough to look out into the bay. In the far distance she saw lighted fishing boats, but moving steadily across the water came a
low wooden boat with
two
men
dipping oars rhythmically into the water.

She stared, open-mouthed as Philippe held her firmly in place. The men were only yards away and yet they seemed unaware of the two people standing on the pier, watching them approach.

Then, still clinging to her, Philippe stepped to the edge the pier. “Mac?” he called.

Abruptly the lights out in the bay were gone and the sounds of a truck moving down the street about a block away ceased abruptly.

The
water lapped hard up on the sand
and the sense of storm was in the air.

“Yo, Phi
li
ppe,” a deep voice called and the rowers seemed to step up
their
pace so that
the boat
quickly
came to rest
on the water close to them.
“We’re the rescue party. Figured you weren’t going to sit on that sand bar of an island and die.”

“Didn’t seem like a good plan,” Philippe replied. “What about Lightning Jack?”

A chuckle was his first answer and Jillian saw the flash of teeth against dark skin as the other men grinned. “Old Jack, be in the deep briny,” one of them said. A gold ring glinted in his ear.

Pirates,
Jillian thought dazedly.
They really are pirates
.

“We kind of arranged a counter mutiny,” the big man who seemed to be in charge informed them. “Men weren’t too happy with Jack’s leadership it seemed, too handy with the lash and too stingy with the grog.”

The man must have learned his lines from watching Errol Flynn movies, Jillian decided. He only needed a parrot on his shoulder to join the cast of any piracy film.

Letters of marque. Privateer not pirate.
Philippe’s words swam back into her conscious thought.

She just knew she would wake up at any minute and find herself safely in her own bed in the room next to her mother’s.

None of the men in the boat challenged her presence or protested when Philippe lifted her in his arms to carry her on board. Finally realizing that she was being kidnapped, Jillian yelled and kicked and tried to bite, but though she was a
strong
young woman, he effortlessly overpowered her, seated himself in the boat with her in his arms and signaled to the men to depart.

Stunned, Jillian stared back at the shore. There had been protests that Port Isabel should be in blackout like they were in London with all traces of light shut down, but so far the residents had laughed at the idea that enemy subs might find their way through the waters
.
What could they want in Port Isabel?

But tonight all light was gone and she couldn’t even see the outline of buildings. In the darkness, Port Isabel looked as she might have in olden times before the light house was built and the little community called Point Isabel
grew around it
.

She began to shake from shock and the chilly cold that e
n
compassed her as they moved through the water of the bay. Feeling her tremble, Philippe held her close, wrapping his arms more tightly around her. “This is Jillian Blake,” he told the rowing men, “Who is about to become my wife.”

She heard one man still a sudden burst of laughter, felt the quick glances of
the other
before
he
looked away. Jillian felt the stirring of anger. What had come over this man whom she had been just learning to like? “I don’t remember saying yes to your proposal, Mr.
de Beauvois
!”

He ignored her. He totally ignored her, instead engaging the big, frightening looking man who seemed to be in charge of the rescue operation in conversation about winds and sails and other things she knew little about.

Numb with cold from the wind-blown spray that blew across them, she saw the futility of struggle and determined to wait for the right opportunity to escape. Out here in the middle of the bay was obviously not the time, nor as they found their way through the narrow waterway that led
past
the island and to the open Gulf on the other side.

There awaiting them was a tall sailing ship and as they boarded, a cheer went up from the men on board. Philippe greeted his men with a nod and a smile, a figure of dignity and reticence, not one of the men, but leader of them all.

“Captain! Captain! Captain!” they shouted.

He didn’t have to shout back to be heard. They went silent to hear as his deep voice carried to them. “Not captain yet,” he said. “Mac here is still captain until I say otherwise.”

The big man frowned at him. “Not me, Captain, I be first mate and proud of it.”

“Only the captain of a ship can perform marriages, Mac, until you do that service for me, I will be your first mate.”

The big man roared with laughter, th
a
n he turned to indicate her with a wave. “This be Mistress Jillian Blake,” he said, “soon to be bride to Captain
d
e Beau
vois
.”

As another cheer went up, Jillian stared in horror at Philippe. “I don’t think being captain of a pirate ship counts!”

“This is necessary,” he whispered in her ear. “To keep you safe.”

She looked around at the men devouring her with avid eyes and shut up.
Nobody had to tell her that her safety in this crowd totally depended on Philippe’s ability to protect her and, for right now, he seemed to be in charge.

He took her to a small cabin where she was left alone to change into dry clothes, pants and a shirt provided by a young boy who was a member of the crew, and given a comb to unsnarl her wet, windblown hair.

You always wanted adventure
, she told herself.
Here it is!
Somehow it didn’t feel anything like what she’d imagined and nagging constantly at the back of her mind was her worry about her mother. Aunt
Florence
and Uncle
Owen
would take care of her, she knew, but even though she had been forcefully pulled away, she still had a sense of having abandoned Mom.

The sun just peeked over the horizon as Philippe led her back on deck, spreading a thin light across still choppy waves.  In spite of the uncertain wind, the schooner was racing with the wind, its sails billowing above them and
unfamiliar flag
waving in the air. She looked for the traditional jolly
roger with its skull and crossbones, but it was no where to be seen. Privateer, Philippe had said. Not pirate. She still wasn’t exactly sure what the difference was.

She had to cling to the rail to steady herself and felt a certain queasiness produced by the ship’s rocky motion. Philippe looked very different than he had back in Port Isabel. His face was
adorned
with a
short
beard and he was dressed in a fitted jacket, tight-fitting pants and elegant boots. Most noticeably he wore a sword at his side.

He didn’t look anything like a dishwasher, but did show a considerabl
e
resemblance
to
Errol Flynn’s screen version of a pirate, elegant of figure and extremely masculine in a way that made her heart flutter.

Sadly she felt she was hardly at her best in her loose fitting cotton pants and blousy shirt and not even a lipstick to brighten her face, but when Philippe smiled down at her, his look seemed to say that he at least thought her beautiful.

Even though she’d had no sleep, she felt refreshed and able to think more clearly this morning. A quick survey showed her that they were
rapidly
moving away from the coast and even the island barely lay in sight. At this time of morning, she would have expected to see a few fishing boats out in the Gulf, but instead the sailing vessel was alone in choppy green waters that made her feel uneasy about the weather that might lay across their path.

Most of the men were at work, sailing the ship, but half a dozen gathered around her and Philippe and the big man who she’d heard referred to as Bloody Mac,
the man who
was to perform the unorthodox ceremony.

Nobody seemed to have ordinary names like Bill Smith or Jerry Brown. She heard Slash, Bones, Bonny Jim and Pony, as well as a number of French names that she couldn’t
pronounce
. Well, she was about to become Madame
de
Beauvois and no doubt no Frenchman worth his salt would recognize the way she would say her own name.

If this marriage had any legal status, which she doubted. The main thing was that this boatload of pirates thought it legitimate and left her alone as their captain’s wife.