“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.
