Devil's Prize

by Samuel Edwards

  Devil's Prize

  by Samuel Edwards

  EXOTIC, BEWITCHING, CRUEL

  She stood before him, watching him with insolent eyes. "Do you find me so unattractive?"

  Ethan's body quickened at her touch. "No," he said.

  Melanie moved closer to him, her strange violet eyes bright with desire. "What are you waiting for, then?"

  Ethan lifted his arms to her. "You devil!" He brought his hand against her cheek in a stinging slap.

  Melanie did not flinch. "You can hit me all you want, Ethan," she whispered. "But you can't deny that you want me. You'll always want me - as long as you live."

  A bold, lusty novel of adventure, passion and intrigue set against the barbaric splendor of the primitive West Indies.

  One

  IT WAS the summer of 1716. New York Town, the second largest community in the New World colonies of King Greorge I, drowsed beneath the hot sun of early afternoon. A few merchants and artisans were strolling on the streets, and only an occasional horseman clattered down the Broad Way, or King's Road. New York was relaxed and content after the long years of war with France, and her residents —wealthy ship-owners and frontier traders alike—were enjoying a new and unexpected era of peace.

  The titans who had rocked the world were gone now. Louis XIV, the tyrant and self-styled "Sun King" of France was dead; England's renowned Duke of Marlborough had retired to his country estate, Blenheim; and his old ally, Prince Eugene of Savoy, was embroiled in the palace politics of Vienna.

  But Europe was far away, and for the past year and a half, ever since the guns had fallen silent late in 1714, New York had been concentrating on its own concerns. The colony was prosperous as never before in its history, new settlers were arriving each month and even the Indian nations of the Iroquois Confederation were quiet. No one could ask for more.

  One person, however, wanted a great deal more. Prudence Courtney was blazing mad as she walked rapidly and with firm step to the Battery, the military fort at the foot of Manhattan Island, so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she was unaware of the stares of the few passers-by she encountered. Those who saw her could not be blamed for admiring her, of course, for she amply-justified her reputation; by any standards she was the prettiest young lady in New York Town.

  The sun played on the black hair which fell in a cascade of curls to her shoulders, bringing out hidden lights that were almost blue. It did not matter that her chiseled features were set in stern lines, that her green eyes were stormy or that her soft, full mouth was grim. She still looked lovely in a costume that did full credit to her straight shoulders, high, firm breasts and tiny waist. Beneath her open pink and white striped jacket, she wore a low-necked white silk chemise; a sheer pink silk scarf was tied around her throat, and her full, pink and white striped skirt swept the toes of her pink kid slippers.

  But Prudence saw neither the ogling stares of strangers nor the friendly smiles of those who knew her. Nothing was going to stop her from giving her future husband a piece of her mind, and it did not matter that most proper young ladies would not have been so bold. Only Prudence's moral standards were proper—her manners, her thoughts and her method of expressing them were very much her own. From the time she had been a little girl, not so many years previous, her parents and tutors had despaired of forcing her into a conventional eighteenth century mold.

  Ironically, it was her independence and refusal to conform that had first attracted Ethan to her, for he too was unconventional. Two rebels surrounded by people who were traditionalists in all their attitudes, they had been thrown at each other, and had separately determined that this romance, foisted upon them by their families, was not for them. But each had been delighted and astonished to find a kindred spirit, with the result that they had fallen in love more explosively, more deeply than was considered appropriate at a time when most marriages were simply arranged on a basis of convenience.

  But there were occasions, Prudence told herself, when Ethan went too far. Ordinarily she sympathized with his stubborn refusal to do anything that bored him, but some-times issues balanced the scales the other way. And if he refused to see the importance of loyalty to his own flesh and blood when it was really important, then it was her duty as his future wife to make him see reason.

  He owed it to her to take her desires into consideration, for in a sense they were as good as married already. Proper young ladies permitted no liberties, even when they were engaged to be married, but Prudence was contemptuous of hidebound codes, and deeply in love with Ethan. In the past three months they had slept together on half a dozen occasions, when her parents had been in Boston or New Haven. Each time she and Ethan had been together she had felt proud when he had taken her, and she had yielded herself to him willingly. She had allowed him to do what he pleased with her, and their mutual frank abandon had held out the promise of a rich and intimate future.

  Until today she had gloried in their relationship, but she could not help but wonder whether she had made a mistake, whether the more rigid standards of her friends and the counsel of her mother had not, perhaps, been right after all. She could not deny that Ethan was neglecting her, and her anger became all the greater when she thought that she had deprived herself of the weapons she otherwise could have used to counter his indifference.

  There was only one way to find out where she stood, and Prudence was determined to bring the issue into the open at once. She was not the languishing type, and she had no intention of suffering in silence.

  Her fury turned toward herself when she saw that her predicament was of her own making, and her back was stiff as she marched to the gates of the Battery and confronted the militiaman on guard. The soldier, half asleep, was leaning against the thick stones of the fort's outer wall, his long rifle propped up beside him.

  "I've come to see Captain Wade," Prudence said, her musical voice crisp.

  The militiaman blinked at her, so dazzled he thought he might be dreaming. Women were not permitted inside the Battery at the Captain's own order, but the young guard, like the rest of the garrison, remembered that Mistress Courtney had been here once before; she and the Captain had argued so loudly that their voices had echoed across the parade ground to the barracks, and the Captain had made life miserable for the entire command all the rest of the day. However, Mistress Courtney obviously knew what she was doing, and the gleam in her eyes was enough to dissuade a sensible soldier from placing any obstacles in her path.

  And so he merely said, "Yes, ma'am," and hastily removed his hat of fringed buckskin.

  "I know where to find him, thank you." Prudence entered the gate, crossed the parade ground and quickly made her way up the spiral stone staircase of the main turret to the commandant's office at the top. As she mounted the steps she framed her opening salvo in her mind: "Ethan," she would say, "the time has come when you must make a choice. Either you're going to resign your commission in the army and enter the business, as any self-respecting man would do in time of peace, or our engagement is broken."

  The commandant's door was open, and Prudence entered without knocking. But Ethan was not there, and she looked around the empty room in dismay. Then she made up her mind to wait for him and sat down in a hard visitor's chair.

  A beam of sunlight filtered in through a narrow window-slit onto Ethan's desk, and Prudence's classic nose wrinkled in disgust. Ethan had sent word to her that his duty would prevent him from attending tonight's dinner party which her father was giving for the recently-arrived Lord Huntrey, yet the desk was bare. As she had suspected, Ethan was making his alleged duty an excuse to avoid still another social function.

  Prudence was willing to admit that he had been an inspired and inspiring leader in the war, that he had fought with
personal gallantry and courage equalled by few and that he deserved the official commendations he had received. As his future wife she was proud of him and of the adulation bestowed on him by the men who had served under him. But the war was over now, and in his desire to be a nonconformist he was stubbornly turning his back on an opportunity that every other young man in the colonies would welcome.

  Talbot Courtney, Prudence's father, and Robert Wade, Ethan's uncle, were partners in a vast and growing commercial enterprise. Owners of a fleet of merchant ships, they imported molasses in huge quantities from the West Indian Islands and made it into rum in their own Fourth Street distillery, reaping a golden flow of profits that became larger every year. Courtney and Wade had rejoiced when Ethan and Prudence had become engaged—and with good reason. The business would be consolidated in a single family, they had said, and would be safe for all time.

  In the last year of the war, when Ethan had come home on a brief furlough after taking part in the attack on Quebec, his elders had naturally expected him to become a civilian when the conflict ended. Prudence had assumed the same, and no one had been more surprised than she when he had insisted on remaining in the army. He had repeatedly pointed out to her that he held his commission from the King in England's own royal army, not in the militia; he had said that if he remained in the service for a short time he would be sure to receive a promotion to the rank of major, and he had promised her faithfully that as soon as he received his new commission he would retire and would be subject to recall only in the event of a new war. It was important that he be made a major, he had told her again and again, because no man who was colonial-born had ever achieved so high a rank in the army of the motherland.

  But, even though Prudence sympathized with his stand, she could not agree with it. The distinction he sought meant nothing to her, and even the knowledge that it would be a rare honor for someone who had been born in a wilderness cabin beyond Fort Schenectady failed to move her. The time had come for Ethan to put aside empty glory and to begin the work that was to be his life's occupation. At twenty-six he was old enough to settle down. The fact that in the event of a new war, he would—as a major—be second-in-command of all troops raised in the colony of New York meant nothing to her.

  She had been stupid, Prudence thought, not to put her foot down sooner. Be that as it may, tonight's dinner party had created a crisis, as she would tell Ethan the moment he came into his office. As he well knew. Lord Huntrey, one of England's biggest importers of rum, was important to the firm of Courtney and Wade, but he was unlikely to make any long-term contract with the company unless he had assurance that when the partners retired or died their shoes would be filled by a competent executive. It might be catastrophic if Ethan failed to appear tonight.

  A figure loomed in the doorway and Prudence looked up anxiously. Ethan Wade stood in the frame, and as always his presence unsettled her; there was an air about him that no other man could match.

  His face was strong, but there was gentleness in his hazel eyes, and the sensitivity of his lips softened the forward thrust of his chin and the set line of his jaw. He carried his uniform with casual ease on his tall frame, cutting a dashing figure in the scarlet wool coat, blue breeches with gold side-stripes and knee-high black military boots. When he saw her he removed his hard black tricorn hat, and Prudence noted that as always he had scorned a wig in favor of his own dark brown hair, which was clubbed and tied with a plain black ribbon.

  'Well," he said as he hurried into the room, "well. I had an idea you'd be coming here today. You simply won't understand that a fort is no place for a woman." He sounded preoccupied rather than angry as he crossed to his desk, opened a drawer and rummaged around inside.

  Prudence had expected him to try to kiss her; she had envisioned a scene in which he would hold out his arms to her and then suffer the mortification of a rebuff. His indifference was doubly upsetting, so she said nothing.

  Ethan removed a spyglass from the drawer, took it to the window and then carefully and methodically surveyed the harbor from Long Island to New Jersey. He remained silent for a time as he concentrated on his task, but at last he spoke absently. "You know I wouldn't disappoint Master Courtney and Uncle Robert if it could be avoided. But it can't. So be good and go back home, will you, Prue?"

  His condescension was too much for her. "Don't you dare patronize me!" she exclaimed, clenching her fists.

  "You know I wouldn't do that." He continued to ignore her as he lowered the glass and stepped out of the office into the narrow corridor beyond. "Mr. Davis!" he shouted. "Supply all guns with shot and powder."

  A man answered, "Very good, sir!" from somewhere in the fortress.

  Prudence, sure that Ethan was being deliberately rude to her, made an exasperated sound, and he turned to her, controlling himself with difficulty. "I'm acting under emergency orders from Colonel Adkins," he said, biting off his words. "New York is about to be attacked by an enemy."

  "Really! We're at peace, and we haven't an enemy in the world. I suspect the Colonel is playing a joke on you." Even as she spoke the words they did not ring quite true, for she knew that the Colonel, the commander of all four hundred of the King's troops in the colony, was the last person on earth who would treat Ethan with humor. There was no love lost between them, for Adkins had the English professional military man's lack of respect for any subordinate who had been bom and raised in the New World. However, having expressed herself, she was not going to back down, and she glared at Ethan defiantly.

  His temper soared; he lifted his spyglass, and for an instant she thought he would strike her with it. "I honestly don't have the time to give you a long explanation," he shouted. "You can believe what you please. But if you've had anything on your mind today other than picking a quarrel with me, you must have heard about the freebooter!"

  It so happened that her parents had held a long discussion at breakfast today on the activities of a buccaneer ship from the West Indies that had been conducting a series of hit-and-run raids up and down the length of Long Island. They had, according to her father's lurid account, attacked Westhampton three days before, had burned half the town to the ground and had escaped with a mass of silver and other valuables. But the very idea of a pirate vessel launching an assault on New York was preposterous, and Prudence said so.

  Ethan shrugged, returned to the window and again scanned the horizon with his spyglass. "The ship was last sighted off Sandy Hook," he said curtly, "and from the reports we hear on her behavior, it's probable that the pirates will strike here next."

  His failure to look at her increased Prudence's sense of frustration. "If they're really going to attack us," she said triumphantly, thinking she was scoring a point, "where is Colonel Adkins? Why isn't he here?"

  "Why? For the usual reasons." Ethan turned away from the window, and there was withering scorn in his eyes as he spoke of his superior. "He's busy looking after himself instead of his job. He's simply ordered me to repel the freebooters with a garrison of eighty men, and he's given me no reinforcements." Reminded of his duty, he frowned impatiently. "I'm really terribly busy this afternoon, Prue. I'll tell you all about it some other time."

  Prudence realized that he was under great tension, and that his curtness was justified, at least in part. She was making his task no easier by burdening him with her presence when he was trying to perform his duty. Before she could express her thoughts, however. Corporal Fuller burst into the room.

  "Captain, sir," the militiaman declared breathlessly, "a fishing skiff has just landed and the men on her say that the freebooter is off Staten Island and heading this way!"

  "Sound the call to stations, Fuller!" he commanded. "Tell Lieutenant Waterford to man all guns. And send Lieutenant Greer and Mr. Davis to me immediately!"

  "Yes, sir." The Corporal saluted and withdrew.

  Ethan looked around for Prudence, but she was gone. And with the raider approaching the town he could not follow her; he was charged with th
e full responsibility for driving the pirate vessel back out to sea or sinking her, and he could not desert his station now. The lives and property of the citizens of New York were in his keeping, and Prudence would have to wait until he was free to come to her. Buckling on his sword, he found a small measure of consolation in the fact that she now knew he had not invented the story of an imminent freebooter attack.

  It was dusk before the pirate ship sailed into view off the Battery, and by that time all New York was in an uproar. Town criers had gone from door to door, urging citizens to defend themselves, and the result was one of confusion. The timid fled north to the forests of upper Manhattan Island, some taking with them whatever household goods they could carry; those who found safety in numbers gathered at the churches and on the lawn of the Governor's mansion. But the vast majority, remembering the none too distant war days when Indian attacks had been an ever-present danger, barricaded themselves and their families in their homes and, armed with rifles, muskets and even clubs, awaited the assault.

  The full burden of beating off the raiders fell on Ethan's shoulders. He stood now at the window of his office, from which he had an unobstructed view of the enemy craft as it moved slowly up the harbor. Beside him was Corporal Fuller, armed with two flags which would be used to signal the Captain's instructions to the cannoneers, whose guns were located in two turrets, one on either side of the central tower. And directly behind Ethan stood Ensign Abijah Davis, the most intelligent of the junior officers, who whistled softly to himself as the ship, a black flag fluttering from her masthead, inched closer.

  "She's big. Captain," Davis muttered, "bigger than any of the reports have led us to believe."

  Ethan peered hard at the vessel through the gathering twilight. "She has at least twenty-eight guns, Abijah. Maybe thirty-two."

  "What in damnation are we going to do, sir?" the younger officer asked.