Every morning when she rose, there would be a fresh container of milk on the doorstep proving the boy had been awake long before she, tending the animals. On the rare occasion she saw him, his small face was a mask of suffering. More than once, she’d caught sight of a black eye or blood on the back of his worn cotton shirt. Her heart bled for them both.
Nicolai arrived in port exactly two months to the day he’d left. He’d sent word ahead that he’d be arriving and as he ambled down the gangplank among the riches he’d procured during his voyage, he expected to see Adrienne waiting for him.
Her absence was noted and he wondered if perhaps she was angry with him for staying gone so long. He spied Jude near the livery, the man’s face was solemn and the hair on Nicolai’s neck rose in warning of bad news.
“Welcome back, master,” the older man said, his features grim as the grave.
“Thank you, Jude. It was a successful journey. Where is Adrienne? I’d have thought she would have been here waiting for me,” Nicolai replied.
“Sir, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Miss St. John has been gone nearly two months, along with the boy Raul. We have reason to believe they were abducted though there were no witnesses,” the man quickly confessed.
Nicolai’s heart stopped for a beat in his chest. Adrienne was gone? Raul was gone with her?
“What makes you believe they were abducted?” He worked hard to keep his voice calm.
“S-she took nothing with her. All of her belongings were accounted for when we checked. They were last seen walking the beach together as they had taken up practice every evening after your departure,” Jude said, stammering through the words.
“Also, Mistress Consuela has bragged to several at the tavern that men had come looking for Miss St. John and she had, quite frankly, sir, given them directions to the plantation,” Jude concluded.
A few of his crew had gathered around him and the overseer, listening.
Nicolai turned to them.
“I want them found,” he roared. “Search every home, every establishment, question every man you run across. Threaten them with death for information on their whereabouts. If you run across one who you suspect is lying, torture them and kill them. Put their heads on a spike as an example to others who think to take what is mine.”
The men scattered, though it was more from loyalty to Adrienne and love for the boy than it was fear their captain would run them through if they disobeyed.
He leapt upon the back of his horse and rode hell bent for leather toward the tavern and in search of a certain Spanish whore.
Not stopping to check in with the establishment’s madam, he strode purposefully up the stairs to Consuela’s quarters. With a sharp kick, the door splintered open, hanging from its hinges leaving a very startled sailor in mid thrust between Consuela’s thighs. The withering look Nicolai shot at the man had him pulling up his trousers as he scrambled from the filthy bed and took off from the room.
Nicolai took a moment to look around, seeing that it hadn’t taken long once he’d withdrawn his support, for Consuela’s quarters and the whore herself to take on the standard appearance of every other prostitute in Nassau. Her clothing was sour looking and soiled, her hair disheveled and unkempt. The room reeked of unwashed bodies, sex, and sickness as the drunken woman heaved herself from the bed, attempting to straighten her skirts and pat her hair into place.
“Nico,” she said, her voice seductive and low. “I knew you’d be back.” Consuela opened her arms. “Come to me, my love.”
He did. Taking three large strides, he entered the circle of her arms and wrapped his hand around the column of her throat, pushing her until her back was against the far wall. She struggled and Nicolai gave her a rough shake.
“Who were the men asking about Adrienne?” he growled, his face inches from hers though the stink of stale rum and vomit assaulted his nostrils.
“I know nothing of which you speak, Nico,” she protested, her voice raspy with panic and the grip he had on her neck.
He shook her again. “Do not lie to me, woman.”
Consuela’s jet back eyes widened with fear as the very real possibility that Nicolai may well break her neck began to take root in her mind.
“Nico, I love you. Can’t we just let that English puta return to her life peacefully and you and I can go back to the way it use to be? Look at me, Nico. I’m suffering since you abandoned me. She isn’t right for you,” Consuela pleaded.
Nicolai’s grip tightened on the woman’s throat. “They took my boy, Consuela. For that alone, I should kill you. Now, tell me who the men were and where they took Adrienne and Raul or so help me God, I’ll have your head on a spike right beside theirs when I find them.”
Consuela paled under his threat for everyone knew how much The Black Wolf adored his adopted son. She hadn’t been aware that the boy had been taken also.
“I will tell you,” she rasped out against the tight hold he had on her throat. “I will tell you everything.”
Nicolai paced his office as he listened to his men recount their interviews with the people in Nassau. Their information corroborated the intel he’d forced out of Consuela. A ship had come from Bombay to pick up a shipwrecked crew whom had been rescued when they were found adrift on the Caribbean Sea around the time Adrienne had been marooned on Serranilla Bank.
The captain and the crew were bound upon the newly arrived vessel for the Carolinas stating their desire to follow through with their original orders to deliver cargo to Charleston.
If they were the men responsible for taking Adrienne and Raul, as Nicolai believed they were, they were long on their way back to Bombay and she was already delivered into the hands of her betrothed.
The fact that they’d taken the boy along with the woman was a point Nicolai couldn’t ignore as he made preparations to set out to rescue them both.
Raul was for all intents and purposes his son and taking him was murderous offense in Nicolai’s eyes. Even if he was to locate them and Adrienne told him she was content to remain where she was, he’d bring his boy home. If he had to gut every obstacle in his path, then so be it.
Chapter 11
Adrienne’s heart filled with dread when she realized she was with child, even though she knew that it would be impossible for the baby in her womb to belong to her husband. The thickening of her waistline gave testimony that she was farther along than her new marriage warranted.
Part of her rejoiced that there would be a living breathing extension of Nicolai she would be able to hold in her arms and lavish her affection on. But another part, which had grown resigned to the beatings and to the drudgery of her daily life resisted the thought of bringing an innocent child into a miserable household where it would likely be beaten and abused the way she and Raul were.
She would have to tell her husband. There was no way around it and she would pray he wouldn’t connect the time line, and realize as she did, that he couldn’t possibly be the father.
She, herself, had only learned the necessary weeks that would testify to ripeness of her womb as she sat in a sewing circle Miles had allowed her to attend out of duress from the Council of Elders. The other woman, including her mother, whom she’d finally been reunited with, talked amongst themselves of such things as marriage and childbirth.
Her relationship with the woman who’d borne her was almost as strained as her marriage. Emma St. John wanted little or nothing to do with her daughter, preferring to spend her time sourly chastising the other women and reciting scripture through her bitter, pursed lips.
Adrienne quickly grew accustomed and grateful for her mother’s indifference and wished wholly that Miles would also grow bored of her. But he never seemed to.
Every night, he’d mount her and once he’d reached his completion, he’d berate and hit her, blaming Adrienne for his need of her body. The last thing she wanted to do was tell him of her pregnancy, but left without any other option, she steeled herself for his r
eaction.
Adrienne prepared his favorite meal of roast lamb and potatoes carefully; paying special attention in making sure the meat did not dry out as she cooked it. When he came in from his day at the meeting house, where he wiled away his time with the other deacons and aldermen, she had the supper dishes on the table awaiting, as was expected.
Wordlessly, he sat down and waited for her to serve him. There was no gratitude for the perfection in which she’d learned to roast the meat or the efforts she went through to ensure everything was to his liking.
After preparing his plate, she served herself, sparing a thought to Raul and the other stable hands who lived on scraps from the meals she and Miles ate. Because of this, she only took small portions in order to provide them with more food than they would normally have if she ate heartily. The resulting effect was significant weight loss, which thinned down her natural curvy frame, causing the homespun dresses she wore to hang from her body.
“Husband,” she started, timid in her approach. “I must talk to you about a matter which has made itself known to me.”
Her speech was careful in its deliverance, knowing now that her husband preferred difference and a humble tone any time she addressed him.
“What is it?” He asked as he cut a piece of lamb with his knife. The irritation in his voice was unmistakable and Adrienne’s stomach twisted. By now, she had learned to tell how the differing timbre of his voice could hint at the severity of the blows she would later receive.
“I have discovered that I’m with child.” She cast her eyes demurely down towards her untouched plate and awaited his reaction in the silence that stretched between them.
The backhand knocked her from her chair and she scrambled to huddle near the corner of the room, seeking the scant protection the walls might afford.
“You’re with child, you say?” He shouted. “With child after a scant month and two weeks of marriage?”
“Yes,” she whispered, attempting to shield as much of her body as possible.
He reached down and wound a hand in her long hair. “Do you think me dull-witted, woman?” He shook her by the grip he had on her tresses.
“No,” she cried. “No, I do not!”
“Then you know full well I’m aware it cannot be mine. There has not been enough time for life to make itself known.”
His hand came down hard on her face and she saw stars as her ears rang from the force of the blow.
It was possible for life to have started by his attentions, she was well aware, but the fact that she’d known for a few weeks that she carried Nicolai’s babe was a moot point. She could not argue with her husband’s believed superior knowledge of a woman’s body as it would mean further beating.
She hadn’t had her monthly flow since before she’d been marooned but her husband hadn’t inquired information regarding her last menses. She’d wrongly assumed he was ignorant of such things as most men were.
He pulled her up by his hold on her hair, slapping her again, uncaring of her cries of pain as he did so.
“You will not saddle me with Satan’s spawn,” he growled, continuing to pummel her with one hand while he held her with the other.
“Please,” she begged, sobbing. “It is your babe you endanger.”
She knew it was not, but hoped he would cease his punishment out of fear of killing his unborn child.
“Do not continue to lie to me, whore,” Miles said through clenched jaw as he drew back his fist and planted it in her lower abdomen with enough force to drive the breath and strength from her body.
Pain seared low in her womb as she collapsed on her knees unable to remain upright. He released her hair but continued to beat her about the head and shoulders while she curled into the fetal position to protect her midsection from further harm. He shouted obscenities as he did so until finally, his voice was hoarse and his hands were tired.
Delivering one final strike that caused her to lose consciousness, Miles returned to the table, sitting down roughly, he finished his meal as though nothing had happened.
They were less than ten kilometers from the port of a small Spanish settlement in Florida when a ship guarding the harbor fired upon them. Nicolai spied the approaching vessel flying the Spanish flag just before the first cannon narrowly missed the mark of the hull of his ship.
“Man the guns,” he shouted to his crew as he moved port-side for a better view. The ship was gaining on the Chameleon. From the looks of the artillery on the opposing vessel, he and his crew were outgunned and outmanned.
He cut a sharp look towards Cooper and Damon.
“Lower the lifeboats starboard aft and prepare to evacuate the ship. I’m going to allow them to overtake us.”
“Nicolai, are you insane?” Damon shouted over the roar of cannon blast.
“If I allow them to take me, I can ensure that you’re alive to rescue me. Go now, so that you can assist me should I need it,” he told Damon.
Both of his officers still hesitated and Nicolai knew time was running out.
“Get out of here,” He barked. “If they hang me, at least make sure you free Raul from the hands of those puritans.”
Sparing their captain one last look through the haze of gunpowder, Damon grabbed hold of Cooper’s shirt to move him forward as he and several other men filed into the lifeboats. Together, they worked at lowering them over the edge on the opposite side of the ship, unseen by the attacking vessel.
Nicolai shouted for another round of mortars to be fired as he took his place at the helm, positioning the Chameleon in a way that would ensure his escaping men would remain hidden from view.
He vowed to give the approaching Spanish Galleon a battle worthy of distraction so that Cooper, Damon, and the others could get safely away, masked by the surging waves of the Atlantic. One by one, his crew stole over the side until it was only he.
Within moments though logically Nicolai knew it was much longer than it seemed, grappling hooks were digging into the starboard of his ship as gangplanks were deployed in an effort to board his vessel.
Ignoring the acrid smoke of gunpowder filling the air, Nicolai withdrew his cutlass, laying it near the helm so his surrender was evident.
Adrienne turned her head into the pillow and sobbed as the woman attending her wrapped the small bloody mass in a cloth and carried it from the room. It had taken her a day to pass it; a day filled with agony and intense pain. The blood had started in the night after she’d pulled herself from the floor and had carried through on to the next day when her husband reluctantly went in search of someone who knew how to handle these matters.
Goodwife Kinnon appeared shortly afterward with a tea she urged Adrienne to drink. Five hours later, the blood flow had increased and the would-be baby was flushed from her system on to a scrap of lambskin, which she now watched the woman carry away. It was nothing more than an unrecognizable large clot, but the ache it left behind was a testament to what this pregnancy had meant to her.
Stuffing her knuckles into her mouth to muffle the sound of her tears, Adrienne curled into a ball against the pain. The moment she was well and able, she vowed to herself, she would take Raul and they would escape by any means necessary. She could no longer live this life and law or nay, she would die before she was forced to.
Closing her eyes, sleep overcame her, taking her far from the dreary Carolina colony and back to Nassau where she made love to Nicolai on the beach as the waves crashed around them. Only in slumber was she happy and felt love. As she dreamed of her pirate, tears sorrow and grief turned to ones of joy and reunion.
Nicolai sat on a lone stool, elbows resting on his knees as the guard pushed a bowl of thin gruel through the bars of his cell. He’d been here a handful of days and had quickly learned that the Spanish didn’t immediately hang pirates, but rather thumbed their nose at English law mandate, preferring to torture the captains of the outlaw ships for as long as possible.
So far, he’d been stretched on the rack, pressed,
and held in the stocks while the residents of the settlement pelted him with rotten fruit and vegetables. He’d had to relocate his shoulder by slamming it up against the stone walls of his prison.
Still, it was all preferable to death and he had to admit that the Captain of the Guards was a master at stopping the torture just before the point of causing irreparable harm. Daily, the man promised there would be a time in which the torture would continue until he was dead, but as it were, he was alive for the time being. Keeping the prisoner wondering when that day might be was another form of punishment in itself, Nicolai mused.
The sun was setting and the guards were preparing to rotate their shifts. Nicolai had spied Cooper milling around the settlement, posing as a trapper. He stayed far from the gaol where Nicolai was held, but close enough so that his ship’s captain would know he was there. Nicolai suspected the rest of the men were hidden in the woods and swamps which surrounded the village.
It was important to appear as if he were weakened and in no condition to fight in order to keep the guard’s suspicions down, so clasping a hand to his side, he hobbled to pick up the hunk of stale bread and bowl of watery hominy he’d been given.
He found the Spanish staple to be unpalatable but attempted to spoon the substance into his mouth, his stomach rumbling for something more nutritious and filling. Filtering the stagnant water he’d been provided through his teeth, he ate and drank in silence, watchful of the scene outside of his cell.
When darkness fell and the village quieted for the night, he heard a rustling near the entry to the makeshift prison the Spanish had erected. The quiet thud of a guard hitting the hard packed ground outside was barely audible and had Nicolai not been listening for it, he’d have never heard it. It was followed shortly by another soft thud, indicating the second guard had been dispatched as well. Keys rattled and the gate to his cell swung open. Nicolai moved from his position on the stool and silently walked out.
“It’s about damn time, Stiles,” he whispered to his quartermaster.
Black Wolf Page 12
