The Winds of Fate (32 page)

He took his feet off the bed and leaned forward. “We could be together, Claire−”

If only she could accept him. “And what do I receive? A hunted felon. A pirate with no chance for a home and family. Always on the run, looking over the next horizon, never knowing if it will be your last day on earth. Do you think that is the kind of life I desire?”

“I could give you riches. All that I am, all that I have gathered is for you, Claire,” he said with heartrending tenderness.

She shook her head unable to bear an intimacy completely at odds with her moral compass. “I can take nothing from you, knowing you have stolen every bit of it. Knowing you have caused hardship for those who had the ill-fated misfortune to cross your path. Knowing that blood lies on your hands.”

It was if she struck him. Naked pain flashed across his handsome features. Her words wrought feelings usually foreign to him, and born entirely of anger and regret, emotions that would render unreasonable the most reasonable of men. Instead, he surveyed her as though she were lost to him, the remaining link to their relationship in tatters.

Her sorrow was a huge painful knot inside. Tears welled within her eyes, her misery so acute that it was a physical pain. If he were to be captured, she could not face his death. She had to harden her heart.

It is the end
.

His voice filled with anguish. “Then I bid you goodbye, Madame. You will have full reign of my ship. We must careen for repairs for a short time until I can put you safely to a port where you can secure passage to England, and a far better life than I can provide.

He paused as if waiting to hear some final word of protest from her lips. In that split second, she saw the torment once more cover his countenance, bringing a deep, cutting pain to her breast. She wanted to stop him to tell him it was all a lie, to caress his handsome face with her fingers. But the reality of what could be could not be. She started to speak, but when she looked up his expression turned taut and forbidding. “Madame,” he bowed. It was as if a curtain fell. All emotion passed from his muted voice. “This will be the last we speak.”

She refused to look at him, to let him see her tears. She heard the soft click of the door close quietly behind him. She covered her face with trembling hands and gave vent to the agony of her loss.

The force of her rejection slammed into Devon. The sting of her words, and the best thing about his cursed past, and the only hope of his impossible future, to find him so lacking and contemptible. He climbed
to the waist, his men chanting on deck during their night watch. They stopped and stared at him.

“Why are you lying about, you dogs? Heave too.” He vaulted up the mainmast, climbing higher and higher, sprinting up the rough ropes with a burst of speed he knew caused by his own wretched vileness with the female he left in his cabin.

How he had wanted her for so long, to be with her, waiting for some godforsaken miracle to bring them together. And when that miracle happened, it wasn’t good enough. He was damned in her eyes, a soulless wretch ready for the dung heap of humanity.

He climbed over narrow ropes, when close to the top Abu Ajir settled beside him. He brushed the bird away. The crow settled on the mizzenmast and cawed raucous rebukes. Devon looked above, the canopy of lonely stars his companions, the darkness swallowing him, and the wind beating at his face. His lips curled as his hands balled around the ropes. He hung precariously. He didn’t care, his insides scraped raw from her judgment.

He had dared to foolishly dream, one day he’d break away from it all...of finding a normal life, a life with her. Yet the vagaries of life were as wide as they were severe. He didn’t have any choices. He had traded the long soulless death of a slave for the freedom of a wanted man, a cursed man, his chosen path to navigate the open seas as a thief and pirate, carving out an existence on the underbelly side of life.

Early on he had established his own codes, honorable as they were, still a far cry from the Brotherhood. It took a tight rein and his force of character to keep them in place. There existed somewhere in his brain−or perhaps in his heart−some memory of a moral or two. All this he had done for her, but to no avail.

Devon tried to convince himself that it was a desire for revenge that had sent him sailing into Le Trompeur’s ship, carrying so much canvas that any sane man would question his recklessness. Fatigued, emotionally as well as physically, he needed sleep. It would elude him. He lowered his head against the rope, letting the roughness saw against his forehead. The abyss that separated them remained impossible to navigate.

P
aradise
. The crew breathed it in shouted reverence. An island of grace and beauty magically soared from the ocean. From its shore rose rugged mountains of rich forests undulating in waves of verdant green. A veritable Eden. Claire stood awestruck, taking it all in, an impulse to be free.
Paradise
. There truly remained no other word for this creation of heaven on earth.

Sails lowered, the crew lined the bulwarks and rigging, impatient as stabled stallions. The
Sea Scorpion
glided smoothly through sparkling turquoise waters of a hidden bay where rhythmic sounds of gentle surf beat upon a crescent of golden sand.

“Stand clear of the starboard chain. Let go the starboard anchor.”

Several men dove into the water. Claire envied them, their quick graceful arcs, swimming eagerly to shore. She longed to join in their excitement, but waited until rowed to a dock.

Seagulls floated and basked above an excited group of people gathered to see the Black Devil’s return. Claire looked about, waiting for someone to tell her where to go. The comings and goings of pirates pushed her off the dock, carrying her onto the shore. She floundered, standing there all alone, a miserable outcast, everyone going on about their business, paying her no mind. She tried to drum up a cheerful thought, but even that eluded her. Cut off from everyone’s general excitement and news gathering, Claire pushed the toe of her shoe through the sand, drawing little circles. Cookie and Lily were several days behind on the
Golden Gull
. Devon had out sailed them.

She stood on the beach for as long as she could stand the hot sun. No one had made a move to tell her what to do or where to go.
Not Devon, busy with his ship, letting loose an array of commands. The strain of the continuing silence between them wore on her frayed nerves. Frustrated, she moved down the beach to a patch of shade beneath a palm tree. Abu Ajir settled on a limb and cawed a cheerful greeting. The fact that the only welcome she’d received came from a crow filled her with bleakness.

“He’s an unusual fellow,” remarked a soft feminine voice.

Claire swung around to see the author of that voice. A pretty and very pregnant young woman with blond hair and cornflower blue eyes smiled.

“That he is,” Claire said. It was the first feminine company she’d had in a week and the only greeting entering the island.

“My name’s Jenny.” She bobbed a curtsy then directed her gaze to the men busy with their work on the ship. “It looks like they’ve forgotten you for the time being. Why don’t you come and visit with me?”

She looked so young and so nice that Claire could not refuse her hospitality. Beneath spreading boughs, Claire followed the barefoot girl up a sandy path, arriving at a little white hut hidden among a copse of trees. Inside the air was cooler. Jenny motioned for her to take a chair.

Claire removed her bonnet. The interior of the cottage was swept clean and polished. Shiny copper kettles hung from the ceiling, a broad table graced the center of the room and the delicious scent of stew simmered from a fireplace. Claire sighed.

Safe. Sound. Secure
.

“My Wolf captains a ship for Captain Blackmon,” she volunteered proudly.

“I see,” said Claire, but she really didn’t see, and the confusion on her face must have showed because Jenny laughed.

“You’re probably wondering how I got here. My ship had been captured by pirate, Captain Silvers, my mistress ransomed and me-self only a servant with no means, saved to be bartered and sold. In a tavern in Tortuga, Captain Silvers fancied himself to deflower me in front of all the pirates. I was so ashamed.” Jenny halted.

Claire put her hand on top of Jenny’s to comfort her. It could have been that way for her with Le Trompeur if Devon had not rescued her.

“Silvers ordered his men to hold me down on a table. I cried for help. My eyes fell on a huge Titan of a man. Wolf they called him, although he looked like ten wolves put together. He saw my misery, and in my mind’s eye, I saw a decent man. He offered a great sum of money for me. But Captain Silvers would have none of it. Then Wolf cleared a path to get to me, picking up men throwing them across the room like a Goliath heaving whole trees, his strength nothing I had ever seen. I was terribly frightened for him for he was outnumbered. It took fifteen men to hold him down, and still he fought. I despaired he would die.

“Captain Blackmon swaggered in as calm as you please and ordered everyone to stop. His quick wit saved many. He challenged Captain Silvers to a game of cards, betting his ship for me. Silvers had his eye on the
Sea Scorpion
, consumed with the superstitious notion that the ship divined power. Captain Blackmon played to his greed. I prayed like I never had in my entire life. Captain Blackmon won my freedom. Silvers resented it. Captain Blackmon obliged him with further play. Silvers put up Paradise, his island for collateral. Wolf edged closer to me. He grabbed my hand. I knew I was his the moment he made contact.”

Claire swallowed. Devon had held her hand in the gaol. Everything was expressed in that hand of his.

“At the turn of the next round of cards, Silvers lost again. A war broke out. Swords clanged. Pistols fired. I don’t remember much except Captain Blackmon pressing his sword against so many, creating a barrier for us to escape. Wolf yanked me through the crowd, using that big club of a fist of his to whack everyone out of the way. The Wolf is my love and my heart. Captain Blackmon found a preacher to marry us. We are grateful to him for helping us.”

A little stab of jealousy touched Claire’s heart. Jenny had it all. A home. A man to love and care for her. A child soon to love. A family.

Bloodsmythe arrived. “It’s time to take you to your quarters.”

Claire smiled to Jenny, thanking her for her hospitality. She had no idea where she would be placed. She had seen her uncle and Sir Teakle escorted off the ship, ghoulish creatures, slimy and dirty from their captivity in the hold, but otherwise sound. Mumblings of pirates indicated they were to be housed in a jail of some sort. Had Devon assigned her the same such quarters?

Under shady palms, she followed Bloodsmythe. Never had she met a man owning an economy of words and chronic frown. They surfaced from dense foliage, and Claire blinked from the bright light of day. Her hand flew to her chest. A small town emerged. Little white huts of mortared coral blocks dotted both sides of a street with tended vegetable gardens tilled from rich volcanic soils. A blacksmith, a general store, and other tradesmen convened on the farther end of the settlement. A team of mules dragged a wagon of fresh cut lumber. Although primitive, the town was a miracle of enterprise carved out of nowhere.

Claire stood dumbfounded. Weren’t pirate enclaves given to corruption, filth, inhabited by drunk, greasy adventurers who gambled, womanized and fought? Gone were the anarchic undertakings and ruffian indiscipline that she had heard prevailed in Tortuga. The settlement stood dignified and prosperous.
Hopeful
. In all respects…a place with a future. Was the colony owed to the strict obedience and submission to their leader, Captain Blackmon?

They plunged into the forest on the opposite end of town and up another steep grade. Claire followed and never complained. What kind of prison had Devon arranged? Is this the face of bitter herbs, the laudanum of her spirit? Her hair fell lank. Her dress matted to her body. If only she could have a bath and something to eat. No probability of that. They headed so far away from town. Would she be locked up in remote isolation and forgotten? Was she considered that much of a danger?

Devon would take great delight in subjecting her to discomforts and terrors. If the last days of their voyage gave any indication, that was exactly what he intended. She straightened her shoulders, refusing to succumb to weakness or fatigue. A papaya thumped to the ground.
Claire snatched it up. At least the sweet fruit would give her sustenance. She had no idea when and if she would be fed.

Claire tripped on a vine and yelped. She righted herself, picked up her skirts and ran to catch-up with her guide, the precious papaya clutched to her bosom. Sweat ran down her back. She was about to ask Bloodsmythe how much farther when they surfaced from the trees.

“This is where you will stay,” said Bloodsmythe.

Claire gasped.

Had she tumbled down a hole to a place where nothing was as it seemed? Claire jerked her head back. The house, a dazzling white where the afternoon sun touched it, posed majestic, the front side facing seaward. A colonnade of slender arches followed along the sides and front with a second floor terrace hosting an open row of French windows.