HF - 03 - The Devil's Own (3 page)

'By God,' Kit said. 'I'll have no more of this. I had thought you a lady, Miss Warner. But it seems you have come to my home only to insult me.'

'Your home?' she inquired. 'Faith, is that what it is?'

'Kit,' Jean begged.

But Kit was already lunging forward. Marguerite saw him coming with an express
ion of incredulity which rapidly
changed to alarm as he seized her arm.

'You'll let me go, sir,' she said. 'I'll stand for no horseplay. You ...'

Her words disappeared in an explosion of breath as he ducked and drove his shoulder into her stomach, straightening as soon as he felt her weight, and lifting her from the ground. Marguerite's legs flailed and her head-dress fell forward as she
kicked and fought, but he was twice her size and possessed twice her strength.

'You ... you pirate,' she screamed.

Jean could not stop himself laughing. 'Well, now,' he said. 'Having got her, what are you going to do with her?'

Marguerite pounded on Kit's back with her fists. 'If you do not put me down, why ... I'll have you flogged.'

'She's a proper scold,' Jean remarked.

Kit was slowly turning round, his right arm holding the girl in place on his shoulder, his left hand grasping her thighs through the endless folds of her gown. He was enveloped in a world of silk and satin and scents he had not suspected to exist, and his brain was bubbling with a desire he had not known he possessed, either; with an anxiety to take advantage of her flying skirts and discover what lay beneath, with a temptation to lower her to the ground without releasing her, but instead to hold her ever closer, to squeeze her so tight that she would become a part of him. But also with a knowledge that he dared not attempt any of these things, that in fact he was already sliding down a slope the bottom of which he could not see.

But she had been inexpressibly rude, and Jean had put his finger on it, with his usual accuracy.

'Aye,' Kit said. 'A proper scold. There is only one treatment for such.'

He staggered across the yard towards the huge water butt which stood by the back door; as water was always scarce in Tortuga and rain provided most of it, this was large enough to swim in.

'You wouldn't dare,' Marguerite screamed. 'You wouldn't dare. Put me down. You ... you ...' her body twisted and bumped on his shoulder, and against his arm. One of her shoes had come off, and this Jean picked up with a grave smile as he followed them.

'Kit,' Susan Hilton called from the doorway. 'Kit? Whatever are ye doing?'

'You'll put that lady down, sir,' Philip Warner shouted.

'Aye.' Kit said. He was standing above the vat and now he threw the struggling girl away from him. She rolled as she spun through the air, kicking as
her skirts rode up, and then
landed in the water with a gigantic splash.

'By God,' Philip Warner shouted, and ran down the steps.

'Kit,' Susan screamed, following him.

'Mon Dieu,'
remarked Monsieur D'Ogeron, smiling.

Marguerite surfaced, gasping and choking, her hair a damp mat on her neck, her gown dissolving into a sodden outer skin, her head-dress a dribble of lace over one ear.

'Don't just stand there,' Philip Warner bellowed. 'Get her out.'

'Of course, sir.' Kit moved forward, checked at the expression in Marguerite's eyes.

'If you touch me, I'll kill you,' she said softly.

'May I be of service, mademoiselle?' Jean inquired.

She glanced at him. 'You can give me your hand.'

He obeyed, and she scrambled up, sat on the lip of the vat to swing her legs over, and slid to the ground, hastily dragging her skirts into place.

'By God,' Philip Warner repe
ated. 'And now, you young whippe
rsnapper ...' the cane twitched.

Kit rested his hand on his sword hilt. 'She insulted Grandmama.'

'She ...' Philip glared from the boy to Susan to his bedraggled daughter. 'And you, sir? Have you not insulted my daughter?'

'I punished her, Colonel Warner. If you wish satisfaction, be sure I'll be pleased to give it you. Jean?'

'Of course, Kit.' Jean stepped forward. 'You have but to name the hour and the place, and the weapons, of course, Colonel Warner. Kit has no preferences. All come equally to him. I do assure you.'

Warner gazed at the two young men, frowning. But he could scarce be expected to put up with two humiliations in one afternoon. Susan decided to rescue him.

'Fie on ye, Philip. Ye cannot really mean to fight a boy.'

'He must be whipped.' Marguerite was still shaking herself in a most unladylike fashion, while water ran out from beneath her dress and dripped from her hair.

'Be sure that he will be punished,' Susan promised. 'Now come, if ye will enter my house, Miss Warner, I am sure I can find ye something to wear.'

'Your
clothes?' Marguerite demanded. 'You'll take me back to the ship, Father, please.'

'Oh, come, Philip,' Susan protested. 'There is a splendid meal awaiting ye. Ye'll not let a children's quarrel spoil our first meeting in forty years?'

Philip Warner hesitated, looking from his daughter to the obviously amused guests. 'It was my mistake in calling here at all, madam,' he said gruffly. 'The wind has gone down, and my foremast is not so badly damaged. We'll put to sea.'

'And my dinner, sir?' Susan demanded, becoming angry in her turn.

'Why, madam, I suggest you and your friends eat it up,' Philip said. 'With the Spaniards breathing down your necks, it may be the last thing you will ever enjoy.' He still looked at Kit. 'As for you, sir, Tony Hilton was ever a spawn of hell, and you've the same cast of character. Be sure the devil will have his own, soon enough. Come, Marguerite.' He stamped down the hill, the soaking girl squelching at his shoulder. The ship's captain bowed towards Susan. 'You'll excuse us, ma'am.'

Susan nodded, and watched them go, before turning to Kit. 'Now, really, I wonder if the child was not right, and after all ye do need chastisement. Ye are a wicked fellow.'

D'Ogeron burst out laughing. 'Really, Susan, I must take issue with you. Was he not defending you? I say good riddance to Colonel Warner. As for your splendid dinner, it will mean the more for us. And who knows, your friend the colonel may have been right.'

'Prophetic words, Bertrand,' Susan remarked. They stood together on the front porch and watched the sails, at least a dozen of them, and still several miles off. They had come round the north-east corner of Hispaniola, to catch the fair wind which invariably blew over the islands.

D'Ogeron chewed his lip. 'It will be no laughing matter, Susan. You must get ready to leave.'

'I have never left before.'

'I have no soldiers, and few ships. I have ...'

'Ye have several hundred seamen who habitually make their living by robbery and murder,' she interrupted. "Will they not fight for their home?'

'This rock.? Already they are manning their ships.'

'And ye propose to go with them?'

'There would seem to be no alternative. Maria, and the children ... we cannot remain here and be murdered.'

'Ye are far more likely to be murdered at sea, Bertrand,' Susan said sternly. 'Shall I tell ye what the Spaniards will do? Exactly as they have done the last four occasions. They will sail past the harbour, they will fire two or three broadsides, and they will cut out any vessels at anchor and set fire to them. So I agree it's a good idea to send the ships to sea, but with no more than skeleton crews.'

'They landed once,' D'Ogeron pointed out.

'Indeed they did. I watched them from this very verandah. They put two hundred men ashore. And Tony withdrew up this hill, and lined twenty men with muskets along that ridge. The Spaniards looted the town and came up the hill, and Tony gave the order to fire. One volley, that was all it took. I think three of the Dons were actually hit. But the order to evacuate was given. Why
should
they risk their lives to seize a rock like this? What value can it be to them?'

D'Ogeron sighed. 'Those were raids, Susan. This is war.'

'Then treat them as enemies in superior force and negotiate a surrender.'

'And you think they would honour a negotiation with pirates?'

'Now ye are contradicting yourself,' she laughed. 'If it
is
an act of war they must deal with us as French subjects.'

'You are a stubborn woman,' D'Ogeron said. 'I have given the order to evacuate. If you are coming, you have half an hour to get your things.'

'This house, this body, are my things. I am staying here. But ye have my permission to leave, Kit.'

The boy stood in the far corner of the verandah, Jean at his side. They were sharing the use of a telescope. 'We will fight them, Grandmama. Have you not told me often enough how Edward Warner held St Kitts against thirty Spanish ships, with but twenty Irishmen at his back?'

Susan smiled, her eyes misty. 'And half a dozen women,' she said, half to herself.

'My God,' D'Ogeron said. 'St Kitts is ten times the size of Tortuga. There are forests in which to hide, mountains up which to escape. Oh, Monsieur Warner was a great man, as great, perhaps, as his brother is small, hut circumstances were in his favour. The Spaniards could scour this entire rock from beach to beach in an afternoon.'

'All the more reason for them to leave without wasting time,' Albert DuCasse said. 'I will stay. Jean, you will help me move the main part of our goods up the hill to this house. If you will permit me, Susan.'

'Of course. Kit
, you will help Monsieur DuCasse
. Helene, shall we not make up most of the spare beds? Faith, it will be like turning back the clock to have the house full again.'

D'Ogeron stood at the top of the stairs, his hands op
ening and shutting helplessly. ‘I
have the power to command you, madame. Your own husband insisted that the Governor has that power.'

'But ye'll not use it on Susan Hilton, Bertrand. Now be off with ye. We shall look forward to your return.'

Brave words. She wondered that she was not afraid. For the moment was close at hand. The rumble of the continuous firing still seemed to filter up the hill, and the dense clouds of black smoke still shrouded the ships; the wind had dropped, and they had had to be towed into position by their boats, the same boats which were now rowing for the shore, each carrying a crew of glittering pinpoints, seen from above. But she had seen such pinpoints before.

She had seen such destruction before, as well. The town looked like a scattered antheap. At best it had always been a haphazardly derelict accumulation of shelters, with D'Ogeron's house and the DuCasse warehouse looming large just because the others were so ramshackle. Now only a few walls stood, and the single street had disappeared beneath crumbled stone. There was little fire; one shack burned quietly to itself. In Tortuga there was little to burn.

But the Spaniards were, after all, landing.

Was that a cause to fear? What could they do to her? As a girl she had been taken by the English, when Papa, that mysterious, lecherous, wild, romantic and apparently villainous old chieftain, had fallen in the doorway of the single tower he had called his castle.
That
collection of pinpoints had torn the virginity from between her legs and those of her sisters, before placing her in a rotting hulk and sending her to sea. In St Kitts she had been held up to auction, and bought by the Governor as a servant. And when she had caused the Governor's son to fall in love with her, she had been whipped, standing naked between two stakes thrust into the ground, while the entire colony had looked on. For permitting that to happen she had despised Edward Warner; for rescuing her she had worshipped Tony Hilton. Yet Edward had been only a boy, then, and Tony already a man. As Edward had grown, there had been nothing to choose between the pair. Was any woman so blessed as to have known the love of two such human beings?

It had not allowed an end to struggle. With Tony and Edward she had fought the other colonists; with Edward she had fought the Dons in that memorable campaign which had become a legend; and with Tony she had gone to sea, and fought the Spaniards again, before coming to rest on this rock.

And as she had truthfully told Bertrand D'Ogeron, even since then she had fought the Spaniards on four occasions. She had watched her husband die, remarkably in his bed, and she had watched the battle-torn bodies of her two sons brought ashore, to be buried in the little cemetery behind the house, alongside their wives. Life on Tortuga was a short, violent business. Except for Susan Hilton, who had survived them all, and was now acknowledged by them all; first lady of the lowest society in the world.