Ropes were bound around her. The crew snickered. Jarvis and Teakle jeered. The sails were let out. A brisk breeze propelled them out to sea. Abandoned to the horrors of Le Trompeur, her vision blurred as the shore of Paradise grew distant, the tree line shrunk to a stripe of green until the island disappeared into an ocean of blue. If only she could see Devon one more time.
Devon sprinted from the shipyard. Claire was to meet him at noon. She was never late. No one was at the house. He checked the lagoon. Flawed reasoning suggested she visited with Jenny and had forgotten the time. Bloodsmythe and Cookie walked hand and hand toward him. “Have you seen Claire?”
Cookie shrugged. “This morning I gave her victuals to deliver to her uncle and Sir Teakle. I have not seen her since.”
His legs broke out into a run. Bloodsmythe shouted after him. Why didn’t he throw Jarvis and Teakle overboard? He reached the makeshift jail to find the door banging open and left unguarded. He would skewer Johnnie for abandoning his post. A whimper to the rear of the jail raised the hackles on his neck. Johnnie lay trussed like a sausage, a lump the size of a hen’s egg bulged on his forehead. He drew a knife from his belt and cut the boy’s gag and binds.
“Where is she?”
“Jarvis and Teakle are trading her for their freedom by selling her to Le Trompeur. They left hours ago.”
His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach. The great danger Claire found herself was born a result of his negligence. No chance Le Trompeur was still around. He would have left as soon as he had her. Images of what that French son of a bitch would do to Claire flashed through his mind. He raced to the boatyard. “Get theSea ScorpionandGolden Gullready to sail. Now.”
Dooley turned to see if he’d lost his senses. TheSea Scorpionwas hauled up on rollers on the beach ready to be tarred.
Johnnie pulled up short and placed his hands on his knees, his head bowed in gulping breaths. “There’s more, Captain Blackmon. Jarvis told Claire how he hated his brother and paid to have her family killed to get the family’s wealth.”
Bloodsmythe huffed beside him and Cookie clucked. “My dear baby. I knew Jarvis was not to be trusted. I never conceived he murdered Claire’s parents.”
Dooley shook his head. “Six days before we’re ready, sir.”
“Le Trompeur has my wife! Every single man must work around the clock.”
Cookie flapped to the keel of the boat and picked up a bucket of hot tar. “I can wield a brush as well as anyone. We have to save Claire.”
For two days she had baked in the torrid endless sun. Her lips were parched and her skin prickled where burned. Her hair a mass of knots flew about her face and shoulders. She slumped against the ropes and dozed. Sleep was impossible, the discomfort of standing up. At night, she shivered from the wind. Once per day, Le Trompeur gave her water and vulgar suggestions.
The pirates darted lewd glances. They stayed away. Did they fear the Black Devil?
Ropes were untied and she sagged to the deck. Coarse hands lifted her to a small room and bolt slid into place. Would this be where he would rape her? Too weary to think, she lay on the cot thankful from the respite from the sun and sank into a deep sleep. Claire slammed to the floor. The floor pitched high again then dropped into a deep trench. The crack of lightening and roll of thunder and men screaming curses belted above her head. Claire crawled onto the cot and clung for hours. Her arms ached. Would they survive the storm? Water seeped across the floor. Were they sinking? Was this to be her watery grave?
Shaken awake Claire was dragged from darkness up on to a sun splashed deck to be tied to the mast. If only she had a drink of water. Her practical nature had taken over. She refused to wallow in self-pity. That was how one survived the unthinkable. Half way through the day a shadow loomed. Fish oil permeated the air.
“Madame Blackmon?” Le Trompeur offered her a flagon.
Claire raised her head and drank. The flagon lifted. “More,” she pleaded.
“Have you learned to beg?”
“Never will I bend to you,” she rasped.
A cannon blast hit the air. Le Trompeur jerked to starboard.
“French naval ships,” a sailor called from the crow’s nest.
“We have visitors. Run up the French flag,” Le Trompeur ordered.
French naval ships held a straight course. A towering warship came side by side to theMer Un Serpent. A boat rowed between. Dignitaries boarded and Le Trompeur performed an elegant grand host, exhibiting his most sophisticated manners. He bowed to the decorated officer with the white plumed hat. Claire’s fluency in French helped her translate their agreement, an alliance between the pirates and the French navy−to attack the English bastards and send them to hell. War had broken out between the two countries and she was in the middle.
“Who is this woman?” The rotund officer with the white plumed hat plowed through the pirates to inspect her.
Claire raised her head and shook her hair clear of her eyes. “I am Madame Blackmon, the Black Devil’s wife.”
“Sacre Coeur. What madness is this you wreak, Le Trompeur?” His rapid French matched his wild pacing. “We do not want any trouble from her husband and now you have kidnapped his wife?”
Le Trompeur’s face reddened. “She is mine to do with as I please.”
The French admiral jabbed his finger into Le Trompeur’s chest. “This is a diplomatic nightmare. I order you to release her at once, and I forbid you to go anywhere near her. She will be conveyed to my ship. If the Black Devil does not align with us, I will have you executed.”
