With One Look (30 page)

Sebastian flew off his mount and rushed to the scene, his long black cape lifting with the wind. The woman retreated in fear, gathering her children around her, watching warily as Sebastian dropped to Tripoli's side. "Tripoli! Dear God, Tripoli!"

The old man lay unconscious. Bright red blood soaked his shoulder and chest but he was breathing still.

"What has happened? Jade—"

"He got shot, mister." The woman glanced up at him. "Me an the children be headin' to the market and we see him laying here. I'se tryin' to figure what to do."

"You don't know who shot him? Did you see anything?" "I ain't seen a soul, 'ceptin' for you. He your man?" "Yes, he had a lady with him—"

"I ain't seen no lady neither. He came to a while ago and alls he says was a Spanish pirate' or somethin' but I ain't seen nobody—"

Sebastian grabbed her shoulders. "He said what?"

" 'A Spanish pirate'—and somethin' bout gems is all. I reckon he got himself robbed." "Gems? Jade, you mean Jade! Did he say 'Jade'?"

"Yes, he says 'bout de Jade and a Spanish pirate—"

Sebastian did not pause. He tossed her a money bag and told her to wait for a carriage a couple of hours down the road. There would be a doctor inside who would tend to

the man. "Mister, I don't need no coin for—" But the man was already on his horse, racing off toward the city.

Victor stood on the platform before the ship construction, discussing the new welding method for masts with John when a young boy raced up and wordlessly, handed him a note before rushing away.

The Black Crest. Hurry! Marie Saint

Victor studied the strange note for a full minute. What? The Black Crest. Hurry? Hurry to what, the Black Crest? Could Marie be in some kind of trouble with Don Bernardo? No, not possible. What then?

He was just about to send someone to obtain a clarification from Marie's house when Sebastian raced up the gangplank. Then he understood Marie's message all too well.

The captain's quarters of the Black Crest were simple and neat. It had paneled wood walls and floor, of course, a long square table in the center, a bed, a trunk and maps, that was all. The orderliness of Don Bernardo's servant waged a continuous battle with the captain's chaotic life, and the cabin showed evidence of both sides. A tossed dagger pinned a torn scarlet curtain over the porthole, the pirate's desperate attempt to stop light from entering one morning during a particularly bad hangover. Small gold daggers stuck in various spots on the wall maps, marking places for reasons long since forgotten. Hanging on the wall, the wine rack held a dozen or so bottles of Maderia, one bottle cracked halfway across, its dangerously jagged edges left unnoticed. Clothes lay in disarray on top of the trunk and the bedclothes were in great need of washing. On the other hand, the floor was swept, the table wiped clean.

Left alone on the middle of a bunk used as a bed, Jade held her knees tight against her with her sore arms, so her body looked like a small ball. She shook uncontrollably, trembling as if she had been left in a snow-covered field during a blizzard, though in reality she had fallen into the hot fires of a certain hell.

She was not helpless. She planned to fight in every way possible. One time Tessie and Mercedes exchanged stories of rape. Tessie told of a women she knew who, in utter desperation, had successfully employed an ingenious pretense to escape a raping and she and Mercedes had unwisely repeated the story to Victor and Sebastian. They had not been amused.

"Rape is a violent act, and a woman has no defense," Victor said solemnly. "A woman should submit without a struggle.”

“To avoid being hurt even worse," Sebastian had nodded.

This made no sense. There was no "hurt even worse." Certainly not death. This was what she counted on. She'd fight tooth and nail; she'd do everything to make the man so angry he would kill her. And if that wretched bastard, who tossed her around like she was nothing more than a feather pillow, did manage to overpower her struggle, she planned to force a ... a seizure. She was not going to be raped, not as long as she drew breath.

Tessie had told her rape was "a scare that chokes your whole inside." Oh, Tessie, yes ...

Rain fell steadily outside. Men rushed noisily about on deck. Blood streamed down her arms from her torn stitches. Voices rose and fell, cursing, shouting orders and sometimes laughing. Hammers pounded louder than the rain. Then she heard that voice—she did not know his name—

along the side of the cabin. She stiffened, then forgot to breathe as the door swung open. With a cool burst of air, he stepped inside. She thought two others followed. She scurried against a wall, warily alert and ready.

The two men set trays on the table while Don Bernardo tossed his hat and canvas cape over the trunk. He stood with feet apart and arms on hips looking at her with a bright gleam in his dark eyes.

"Look at her! Nolte's whore in my bed! Leave me. I want to enjoy this alone."

Amidst laughter and lewd comments, the men left quickly. Don Bernardo strode over to the wine rack, pulled down a bottle of Madeira and took a seat at the table. He had many lusty appetites: wine, wenching and killing ranked only after eating. She heard the bottle being uncorked, heard the man take a long draught before he slammed the bottle back on the table. She smelled the stew. He served himself a healthy portion of it as he said: "Take off your clothes, wench."

Jade was about to deliver a flat, firm no when she grasped the means of her first attack. "May ... may I have some food first? I'm so ... so hungry."

"Come and get it."

Jade stood to her feet, steadied herself for a moment, and directed by his voice, she stepped timidly forward till she reached the table. Don Bernardo watched her hands, trembling, feel their way across the table till they touched a chair. He waved a hand in front of her face.

"Madonna, you're blind as a bat." He laughed, "Blind, comely and scared! Wench, I'm gonna like you."

She tried to ignore him as she assumed a chair. Don Bernardo took the bowl to his lips, drained the contents, and after wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he filled the bowl and handed it to her. He took another swig of Madeira before his fingers began tearing off pieces of the roasted duck.

Now for the hard part. Jade lifted the bowl to her lips and with a grimace; she swallowed and swallowed, neither tasting nor chewing, and she did not stop until the bowl was empty.

Immediately, she felt the desired effects; her stomach turned in violent protest.

She was going to be sick.

A dark brow rose, a grin followed. He was a bit surprised by her hearty appetite, more surprised when she stood up and reached an arm to him. With a chuckle, he slid his chair back and

then pulled her across his lap. Not a second too soon. Just as his hands came to tear at her clothes, she threw up all over his beard, chest and belly.

"Jesus! Bloody Madonna!" He jumped to his feet, throwing her to the floor. He cursed and yelled, desperately trying to rid his person of her mess.

Jade offered no apology.

Plainly disgusted, he stormed to his trunk, tore off his shirt and, seeing there was no dressing water, he grabbed a cloth and left the room in a huff of fury.

Jade desperately wanted to yield to the hysterical laugh that threatened, but she did not fool herself; it was only the beginning. Fear pounded in her breast and after recovering somewhat, she stood to her feet and felt over the table for the bottle of Maderia.

She poured some to the floor to rid the neck of the bottle of his spit before lifting it to her mouth. She swished the sweet wine around her mouth and spit it out on the floor. She felt hurriedly over the food, stuffed whatever she could into her mouth, swallowing it all whole. It had worked once and she would do anything, anything that worked. She washed it down, than drank and drank until she felt violently ill again.

She flew into a frenzy. The devil himself could not have orchestrated more havoc; she threw the duck toward the door, dumped the remaining stew on the floor and then cracked the bottle over the table. Braced and ready, holding the jagged weapon, she backed against the wall and waited.

Sufficiently recovered but still grumbling, Don Bernardo swung open his door. Using all her strength, she aimed at her best estimation of the target and fired. The jagged bottle slammed against the side of his face and neck and he uttered a startled howl of shock before it crashed to the hard wood floor.

Don Bernardo wiped his wound and stood for several dazed moments staring at the blood on his hand. His gaze fell on Jade, cowering against the wall. His huge body billowed like a sail in the wind. He took one dangerous step forward. His foot crunched into the duck hide, slipped from under him, and he fell with a thunderous thud.

Jade, fighting hard to hold back another bout of nausea, didn't know exactly what had happened, only that something had. She listened, waiting like a trapped mouse, but for several threatening moments there was no sound past the pounding tide of her pulse and the labor of her breaths.

It was a great effort to lift himself from the mucky pool of stew, but he did. He did not bother to wipe himself off this time. Rising on all fours, he looked up at his victim, and unbelievably he chuckled. The deep chuckle grew to a growling roar of hearty laughter.

Only Nolte's whore could do this to him.

"I'm going to kill you, little girl." Footsteps approached. "The devil be damned, I am going to stick it to you till your innards spill over my rod and—"

She never heard the rest of the barbarian's savage threat. She felt his hand reach her person and she was so sickened and frightened, she threw up again.

With another startled howl of rage, Don Bernardo tried to step back but received her message over the whole of one leg. A deadly fury filled his small dark eyes as he raised him arm back and hit her hard across the face. The blow knocked her to the floor. Pain shot through her head but she scrambled away. A callused hand snaked around her throat, pinning her to the floor. She screamed as a knife pierced her skin, then ripped through her shirt, down her front. The sharp blade scraped her skin.

She held perfectly still.

The knife cut a neat line up her chemise. She knew she would die now.

But he abruptly lifted from her to remove his breeches.

Don Bernardo had just pulled his shirt off when he heard a low growl, a bark. He looked down to see Jade on hands and knees, hopping around the cabin, crazed, barking like a dog. His eyes first widened, then narrowed. What the hell was this? Screaming and crying he could fathom, but barking like a dog? He didn't get it. Was she trying to threaten him? Or was she crazed?

Frantically, Jade shook her head back and forth, growling, barking, her hand scratching the floor as if warning of a charge. After watching her ridiculous theatrics a few moments, he suddenly wanted a drink and wanted it bad.

With a fresh bottle of Madeira, Don Bernardo took a seat and studied the crazy woman. It was the smartest trick she might have pulled, for Don Bernardo lost his violent rage, a fury that surely would have killed her. It was gone. Three-quarters of the way through his bottle, he finally concluded that it was no ploy. She was mad. The little girl had lost her wits.

Well, what the devil did that matter?

Jade, more than willing to continue in this manner, might have done so for another hour, but Don Bernardo, frustrated, having no patience, finished his bottle and stood up to go to her. Her barking stopped as his hands came around her, lifting her into the air. He threw her over his shoulder. Jade kicked and screamed and her fists pummeled his back, but these tactics hardy deferred the bearlike man from his purpose.

Jade was about to be thrown to his bed when she let him have the next-to-last trick. Don Bernardo froze and felt the hot urine spread over his chest, soaking him through and through. The cursing that followed sounded so loud, it was rendered blissfully incoherent. But she had done it, she had been successful. Don Bernardo reached a point of such frustration, rage, and disgust that he could not have had her even if he had wanted to.

Which he wasn't at all sure about now.

Jade did not understand what happened next. She was still on his shoulder, being carried swiftly from the cabin. With an effortless shrug of his shoulder, he tossed her over the side of the ship. Never in the whole of his forty-three years had he ever enjoyed a woman's scream more, stopped by the splash of water.

When she didn't surface, Don Bernardo ordered one of his men in after her. If she hadn't been Nolte's woman, he'd have been perfectly content to let her drown, but when he thought of Nolte, he changed his mind. He wanted her at least once. After ordering another to clean up the mess in his cabin, he chuckled and left in search of his mates to tell a tale no one was going to believe.

It had happened four years before. Riding up from port to town, Victor and Murray approached Moran's tavern, a favorite watering hold of Victor's crew. Old man Moran sat on the steps crying, his face buried in weathered hands. They dismounted and asked what had happened. Moran couldn't utter a sound. He motioned inside the tavern.

Victor pushed through the swinging doors and stood staring at the chaos: tables and chairs knocked over, shattered bottles and glasses, foodstuff and rubbish strewn over the floor. Bullets have been fired into barrels of Madeira and ale behind the counter; liquid still spilled out onto the floor. A man lay dead in the middle of the room; he had been stomped in the chest and face repeatedly, the work of ruthless barbarians.

Scanning the scene of the massacre, Victor's gaze finally stopped at the far corner of the room. He had to force himself to approach. He had only met the young girl once, while she was

home for the holidays to visit her grandfather. Moran was showing him a horse for sale and had introduced the shy thirteen-year-old.

"They will be fighting for my little Marianna soon, no?"

Indeed, the young girl had showed promised of becoming a pretty maid. Victor, with a smile able to charm young and old alike, had kissed her hand and asked if she might wait for him. She first blushed, then a hand reached to smooth her long brown hair, woven into pigtails; sparkling brown eyes boldly lifted to him and she giggled before running quickly away....