The Winds of Fate (28 page)

Even Claire knew such a breach in trust among normal society lay grievous. But among pirates, she could well imagine the deadly results of such a transgression. She gauged the objections. Anger rose like a swell.
Divide and conquer
. Devon’s brilliant stroke of genius, hastened mutiny on the
Mer Un Serpent
. Why should she expect different? Weren’t they all cutthroats?

Le Trompeur’s eyes flashed. “That is an unpardonable insult.”

“I hope I am not obscure,” Devon said icily. “I am contemplating the irony of your name, Le Trompeur. Does it not mean ‘the deceiver’?”

Le Trompeur jerked Claire forward. “Perhaps we should ask the woman who she desires to choose.”

Devon glared at her. Disgust curled his lips.

Claire seethed her contempt. “You’re all unworthy specimens of humanity. Why should I care?” She tried to pull her arm away from the French pirate. Devon’s eyes slid menacingly to where the French pirate held her fast in his cruel grip then to the tear in her bodice. For a brief second, she saw a tick in his jaw, and it gave her hope.

“I will not give up the woman,” shouted Le Trompeur.

“Do you hazard to breach the articles again over a mere woman?” Devon scoffed. “I believe your problems surpass the fuss over her. I will pay you well. What say you the price of these pearls?” Palm open, he
displayed the pearls to the greedy eyes of Le Trompeur’s men, men who had been denied their full share from their captain, a monstrous act.

The first mate plucked a pearl and examined the lustrous gem. “It is beyond compare.”

Devon laughed. “Taken from a ship in the South Caribbean Sea. Worth exactly thirty thousand pounds. My half of the prize of the
Golden Gull.”

Le Trompeur glared. “Why is the woman so important to you, that you risk my wrath?”

“The woman?” Devon strode up to her and looked her up and down like a piece of meat. “She means nothing as I have already said. Except for the sum of eleven pounds, my exact worth which is what she paid for me two years ago on a dock in Port Royale. For that I have a score to settle.” He threw wide the handful of valuable pearls.

And with that motion, the spark of hope extinguished as the pearls clattered to the deck and the rush of pirates to scoop up their prize. Her hands balled into fists, to be bought and sold.

“My payment for the woman.” His eyes glinted over her face, his tone scornful. “I believe more than a fair and honorable bargain.”

“Bloody Hell. It is settled with satisfaction to all,” shouted Le Trompeur’s officer.

The French Captain gave his lieutenant a fierce blow, sending him sprawling. He drew his sword and cast Claire behind him. “I am beyond tired of your empty threats, Captain Blackmon.”

Devon’s sword flashed. “I do not fight to lose. I never have. You’ll be swimming with the fishes soon enough. The articles provide that any man of whatever rank concealing any part of a prize, be it of the value of no more than a farthing, shall be hanged at the yardarm. It’s what I intended for you in the end. Since you prefer a fight, I’ll be indulging you.”

The blades rang together in a fierce clash, men backing away to allow them room. Devon took control of the blade and forced Le Trompeur back, as he parried three swift attacks, one after the other. The French Captain fought well, fluid in his strokes, but
Devon had the endurance. Claire noted Le Trompeur tired. His brow sweated. His foot slipped on the deck. Devon ignored the advantage and paused, letting his enemy regain his balance. When Le Trompeur found his feet, he lunged forward with all his might. Claire screamed. The impact of the blade would sever his shoulder. Devon danced to the side. Le Trompeur’s sword sliced Devon’s shirt.

Devon glanced with indifference at the blood on his own sleeve, and up to his French brethren. “Shouldn’t you be begging for clemency?” he laughed sardonically.

“Not when you are dead, you son of an Irish whore.” Wildly Le Trompeur lunged, his attack vicious. Steel against steel clanged. Shouts from the crew became silent. Devon caught the blade with his own, and held it into a stalemate. They faced each other. “When you are dead, I will spit on your grave.” The Frenchman’s weight surpassed Devon’s throwing him off balance. He tripped and fell to the deck. Claire’s heart froze. Le Trompeur’s blade followed him and would have gone through Devon’s heart. He rolled to the side. On his feet again, Claire saw a fury on Devon’s face she had never witnessed. He parried, knocking the weapon easily from the Frenchman’s hand and brought his own point down and to the side so that he could close the distance. He struck Le Trompeur across the throat with his forearm, and followed him to the deck.

The French Captain laid beneath him, struggling for air, Devon’s knee in his stomach and an elbow at his throat. The final recognition rose in Le Trompeur’s eyes, the comprehension that he had lost, and this was how he would die. Devon drew his sword arm up and down through his shoulder.

Devon stood, holding Le Trompeur pinioned to the deck. The Frenchman gasped for breath.

“You will survive, unfortunately. You should be thankful for my surgeons’ skill. The wound is clean through. Give the orders surrendering the
Golden Gull
and its prisoners unmolested. We do not desire any needless bloodshed to your crew. For my charity, I will let you live, although you do not deserve to. The articles between us are over. Do
not cross my path again. I will be less charitable. If you wish to entertain more foolishness, you and all your men will die.”

“Go to hell. Take the
Golden Gull
. It sinks as we speak.”

“Dooley,” Devon called his shipwright.

“Aye, Captain. I’ve given her a look over. I can keep her a float.”

“Well enough,” said Devon. “Now get this filthy cur from my presence and make haste with your departure before I change my mind.”

Claire surveyed the French crew, weighing the gravity of those commands. Awed by the Black Devil’s benevolence in saving their own necks, and hatred for their own Captain, they made haste to remove grappling hooks and unfurl a sea of sails.

Devon could have killed Le Trompeur. Killing her would be a mere nothing.

Lord, save me
, Claire prayed with every sickening second. He was her terror now. With easy grace, he picked her up and swung her over onto the deck of the
Sea Scorpion
. She was powerless, completely at the mercy of this mass of muscle and power who had vowed his revenge upon her.

Devon put Claire down, his focus on Sir Jarvis and Sir Teakle. Neither of the two worthless cads had come to her assistance, worried about deliverance from their own peril. Jarvis trembled, recognizing the vital and healthy, well-armed pirates standing before him were the ragged, unkempt starved creatures enslaved on his plantation.

“It is not often we have such esteemed guests. Won’t you sit down and visit with friends.
Old friends
,” gestured Devon to Sir Jarvis and Teakle who looked wildly about them. “We scarcely dared hope to meet again, but here we are all amiable and cozy.”

“I prefer to stand,” said Jarvis, his hostility and rancor evident.

Devon stepped beneath the bright lantern light. “I’m inclined to hang you and at the very least, flay you alive. What say you, men?”

Sir Jarvis’s eyes bulged. “Have mercy!”

“Was it mercy you employed on your slaves?” Devon asked.

“Give me five minutes with the yellow-bellied bastard, enough to splice his bleedin’ gullet,” growled Bloodsmythe. “At the very least, ye should hang him. It’s the wise thing to do along with the fop.”

“Please have pity,” cried Sir Teakle. “Jarvis is the one with crimes against you.”

“Shut-up,” shouted Jarvis.

Devon stood in front of his long-time nemesis. “You have wreaked a great deal of wickedness and cruelty in your days, and I want this to be a lesson to you, a lesson that you will remember.” From the corner of his eye, Devon observed the shocked look on Claire’s countenance, halting him. Why should her opinion bother him? Silence slid around them, broken by the sound of the wind against the sails.

With barely an audible whisper, Claire said, “Your quarrel is with me.”

In spite of all the time he’d spent eradicating her from his mind over the past year, that husky voice fell on his tortured, lonely soul like rain on parched earth. But it was that thought of her over the last year that motivated him to remain civilized, holding himself above the normal pirate corruption.

“It is not human to be wise,” said Devon. “It is more human to err, though even more exceptional to err on the side of mercy. We’ll be exceptional though. I’ve no stomach for cold-blooded killing. Pack them into the hold and let them go to the devil.”

That was the last word on the subject. His crew mumbled their dissent, but by virtue of his authority, they obeyed. Jarvis and Teakle were wrestled none too gently, induced with a musket prod or two, to the decks below.

Claire pressed a hand to her mouth, dangling inches from complete despair. She was in the most foreign of all places, among pirates, with no inkling how to get out of her dilemma. Devon swiveled and strode to her. He loomed over her, his form blotting out the lantern light. She returned her sizzling gaze to him. A streak of rebellion surged in her. “Dr. Blackmon, or Black Devil, or whatever you call yourself, if you will excuse me?”

He grabbed her arm. Her courage fled in a tide of panic.

“Ah, but Madame, I cannot.”

Claire pushed away from him, startling him and throwing him off balance.

“Faith, where will you go?” he taunted and waved his hand over miles of endless sea.

His gesture infuriated her. “As long as it is as far away from you as possible.”

“It is a pleasure to serve a helpless female in a matter of such distress.” He placed his hands on his hips. His casual, dispassionate appraisal of her struck more fear in her heart than any open threats of violence could have.

“I was in no matter of distress,” she responded with hearty bravado. “When you arrived, I-I had quite competently taken care of the matter myself.”

An ebony eyebrow arched high. “Your ship had been captured by Le Trompeur. No one aboard to assist you. The worst of unsavory pirates ready to leap upon you when Le Trompeur finished with you. Pray tell Madame, what matter of weapon did you hold? Were you merely going to stare them down? I stand here quivering and shaking at the thought of so much power.”

Claire raised her chin up a notch. “Le Trompeur was nearly crippled when I hit him with my knee.”

“And you think a man like Le Trompeur would forgive such an affront? Faith. It seems the moment for both danger and gratitude are gone.”

“Indeed to thank a pirate, a man in my esteem much lower than a slave.”

From the ferocity of her insult, Devon stiffened as though she had struck him. “Look about you Madame,” he warned.

She dared to glance at the whole lot of them. They were a motley wild group of men, menacing, silenced by her slur to their captain. Many she recognized from the Jamaica plantation. “You are still in danger. Once they were slaves beaten to an inch of their lives, laboring to death under your uncle’s heavy lash. They have long memories.
Perhaps you should learn to bend in the midst of a heavy wind? It might be the best course of action.”

He offered her his arm.

She stared at the canvas sails, billowing overhead, refusing to take his arm. Tread lightly, a warning voice churned in her head. She turned her gaze on him. The formidable control in his face, so familiar, was back in place. She endured his inspection of her. Shattered dreams of freedom evaporated with Devon’s long sought for revenge. With every second, the tension between them wound tighter and tighter, a tension heavy with her fear and his unrelenting purpose. And something else she didn’t want to acknowledge. The sexual awareness that always quivered between them was almost tangible as the lantern light upon their faces.

“Will you take my arm, madam,” he asked her again.

Didn’t he nearly kill Le Trompeur? Didn’t his giant ship appear out of nowhere to intimidate the French Pirate? He stood in charge of this crude bunch and the manner of man he’d become mirrored his reputation. He was a cold pirate, famous for his recklessness and daring.

“I find myself less than delighted with your hospitality.” And provoke him she did. He caught another insult in front of his men and his annoyance melted into a snort of laughter.

“Do you, by God!” Devon picked her up and heaved her across his shoulder, striding across the deck. Shrieking and kicking, he slapped her on the bottom. The men fired a rousing ovation as his head appeared over the bulwarks.

“No one ever dares talk to the Black Devil that way without paying the consequences.” hooted one of his pirates.

“Rouse all hands! Make the bars and cast off lines. We are off to careen and repair,” Devon shouted and swung her around and down the companionway. Up sprang another round of thunderous cheers as Devon carried her away.

He kicked open a door and dumped her unceremoniously onto a bed. Claire scuttled like a crab onto her backside, watching him. Did
he mean for her to stay in this cabin−alone−with him? She remembered his look of scorn upon her in front of the French pirates, and even now, he looked at her with contempt.