The Winds of Fate

by Michel, Elizabeth

“Do not call me that odious name again. God will surely cause you to rot in hell.”

  “God is not always so accommodating, Madame Blackmon.” He smiled down on her with derision.

  She swore beneath her breath and hurried down the stairs ahead of him. He followed her, but she did not wait to let him help her. After several attempts to mount, she stood next to the horse, resting her head against its side, refusing to ask Devon for help.

  “Devon, It’s not what you think−”

  “Enough of your lies.” When she turned to him, he studied her critically, staring into the beauty of her face, defiant tears in her lovely eyes. He reminded himself that she had betrayed him in the worst possible way. Claire’s shoulders sagged for a moment. Devon almost pitied her. He preferred her anger.

  He cast her up onto the horse, letting his palm reach beneath her bottom. He listened to her outrage.

  He held onto her reins. “Remember Madame. If the winds prevail, and we cross paths again, then be forewarned, my dear wife...I will have my revenge upon your person.” He slapped the beast’s flanks and she started, muffling an oath. Devon watched them recede into the darkness of the starlit sapphire night. He mounted his horse and high-tailed it to the stockade. There was much work to do before the first fingers of dawn approached.

  A year passed since that horrible night of the Spanish raid on Port Royale. For Claire, the tides of change reminded her that life was an unknown path marked with its twists and turns.

  In a luncheon at Governor House sat three women and a sea captain caught and released by the Black Devil ready to reveal their tale of woe. The Black Devil Pirate went by many names. Some not so nice, sworn by men in the absence of female company, and others, romantic versions regaled by women. Regardless, his exploits rose legendary, heralding him as the most notorious pirate ever to set sail in the West Indies. However, those from Port Royale more familiar with the pirate captain knew him as the escaped slave doctor, Devon Blackmon.

  “They have the manners of dogs. We were terribly frightened,” said Lady Morton, the dark-haired older woman, speaking about their brush with danger when Spanish pirates had captured them. Claire turned her attention to Lady Morton, an older and still attractive woman, carrying herself with worldly confidence. She remained the one in control over her two young charges that she guarded like a hen with her chicks folded beneath her wings. Her light gray eyes had a very disconcerting trick, when they encountered another’s eyes, looking as if they could see through all one’s barriers. “Dreadful. Until the Black Devil caught up with us.”

  Jane, the prettier of the younger girls spoke next. “He was so handsome and gallant. A chapter out of Sir Lancelot.” The ladies twittering annoyed Claire. She hung on every word.

  Claire looked heavenward. The thought of him sharing a bed with the likes of Anne Jensen and others as his reputation grew made her sick to her stomach. Was love worth the anguish of letting a man close because he desired her then discard her for another? No. She would never be tolerant of sharing him. But maybe what Lily had pointed out the other day was true. Maybe he had nothing to do with the other women. Maybe everything was pure rumor. And maybe, Anne Jensen had thrown herself at Devon that day on the dock.

  If time softened feeling then it also unknotted memory, distinguishing the sharp vivid detail of some moments while others faded into nonexistence. With tenderness, she recalled his smile, when he threw back his head and roared with laughter, the flash of his green eyes, and the furrow in his forehead when he frowned in concentration.

  With heat coming to her cheeks, she remembered the day they spent together in the cottage. His hands, his lips, his mouth, his hot kisses, and smolderingly, strong embrace. He gave her the sense and power of what it was like to feel like a woman. She had played over the scene in her head countless times. The seasons apart had not dimmed the need one bit.

  Grace’s irritating tittering brought Claire back to present. “My heart grew faint with his gallantry. He saved us all from those horrible Spaniards.”

  “You are becoming fanciful, concerning Devon, I mean Dr. Blackmon,” snapped Claire. Lady Morton glanced at her sharply.

  With him out of her life, she had cleaved to a new passion, becoming a woman possessed to find answers to what Mrs. Bennett had shared. If only she owned the lovely plantation. How often she had combed the house for the deed to no avail. Older islanders she had visited had confirmed her father would have left the estate to his offspring. According to Governor Stark, Claire’s father might have provided a deed known as “entail” or a deeding of the property to his heirs upon his death to keep the property from being sold or otherwise alienated. The otherwise alienated meant to protect the property succession by deeding it only to his children. Governor Stark, an expert in English law, warned her, if she found the papers, she’d have to go to England and hire a barrister to prove her father’s wishes. Without a deed, how did she prove ownership?

  Failing to procure any evidence, Claire fell into the routine of island life by employing happier diversions. To help with the children left without parents after the epidemic, she set up a small orphanage and school with funds donated by the islanders. When influential people visited the island, Claire always helped Mary entertain, making the event a bright spot for their guests. They left the island praising her unassuming nature, for she put everyone at ease, and boasted of her wit and beauty. Yet something in her life remained missing and she ached for the very part of her that was gone. Devon.

  A thousand times, she wished she could have explained to him about what happened concerning Ames. But her pride had gotten in the way the night of the Spanish raid. Devon sailed off thinking she had betrayed him.

  Claire sat torn. Her good sense applauded Devon’s escape, but deep down her moral sense could not forgive him for many things. First of all he was a pirate. He made his living on other people’s misfortune, stealing and plundering. He was a hunted man, making his living with a band of cutthroats and ruthless brigands. They had grown an ocean apart.

  That thought brought another. Devon in his last moments with her, promised to get even for a betrayal she was innocent of. He held her in contempt and that proud Irish temper of his would seek retaliation. Claire shivered.

  “I for one am quite happy the Black Devil came upon us,” said Captain Smith, the commanding officer of the ship the Spanish had captured. “Taking us by surprise, the Spanish attacked my ship off Rum Cay. The Spanish boarded my vessel, violently beating myself and my crew. I had already revealed where the money and valuables were, despite the fact that there wasn’t much aboard. They didn’t believe me. They dragged my first officer to the bows, bound him hand and foot, and tied him to the bowsprit. As he lay there helpless on his back, the pirates put burning matches to his eyes and the muzzle of a loaded pistol in his mouth, making him confess what money was on board. Since Spain is at an unspoken war with England their behavior started to become crueler. I feared for the ladies. They were ready to set the ship afire and leaving us to our own desperate fate when Captain Blackmon came upon us. I never saw fear struck in men’s eyes as when the Spaniards viewed the rising of the Black Devil’s flag, and his ship coming down hard upon us. My first thoughts were that we jumped from a teacup into a vat of fire for swinging from the deck of the Sea Scorpion onto the Spanish ship swarmed the zeal of a thousand screaming banshees. The ferocity certainly raised the hackles on the back of my neck. Ahead of them all was the Black Devil. He fights like a whirling Dervish. Never have I seen such bravery or sword skill in my entire life. The man is deadly with the sword. What’s more, he has the complete loyalty of his men. They vow to follow him everywhere. After witnessing the spectacle, I’d hate to be on the wrong side of the infamous Captain Blackmon.”

  “The rogue,” said Jarvis. A murderous expression disfigured his face. “The evidence of the rest of his activities states he’s no different than any other pirate who embarks on orgies of rape, torture and plunder.”

 
The women at the table gasped.

  “I’ll remind you, Sir Jarvis. There are ladies present,” warned the Governor.

  “Everything Captain Smith said is true,” said Lady Morton. “We were invited to take our dinner with the Black Devil. His cabin is amazing and richly appointed. He has a fine cook that would rival the best in Europe.”

  “His splendid wit made the evening pass with amusement,” concurred Jane.

  Jarvis thumped his fist on the table, using his innate sense of drama to call attention to himself. “I’d still like to know how he got off this island.” He glared at Claire. “Gold exchanged hands somewhere.”

  Claire sat nonplussed. “Although I do not condone piracy, he saved us that horrid night a year ago. If I had the gold, I would have given it to him.” Claire wanted to bite her tongue championing, Devon. Her uncle infuriated her. Jarvis’s investigation into the escape of his slaves stood based on presumption and he held onto his vindictive memory like a shark with prey meshed in its jaws. The fact that Devon had come to her rescue the night of the Spanish raid at peril to his escape and freedom was selfless. She had seen his compassion in his practice as a physician. Yet everything she had heard about Devon in the last year seemed at odds with what she had known about him.

  “He was a slippery fellow. Seemed to be everywhere that night,” Jarvis maintained. “The rascal burned down a huge chunk of my plantation.”

  “The Spanish torched the plantation,” Claire reminded him.

  “The man is like his reputation,” Governor Stark snapped his fingers for emphasis. “He can disappear like a wraith through thin air.”

  “I for one discount this nonsense. Everyone in the Caribbean is talking,” Jarvis grumbled.

  “And why not?” said Captain Smith. “His exploits are legendary. Doesn’t his fame run like ripples before the breeze across the Caribbean Sea? All the heads of Europe are betwixt and between about his activities, yet underneath there is secret admiration.”

  “Bah! What about that French pirate? Jarvis snarled. “Is not Le Trompeur the curse of the Caribbean, the greatest scoundrel among the Brethren of the Coast? Is he not the deadliest with the sword, trained under French masters? I’d pay good gold to see the Frenchman plant his sword tip through Blackmon’s heart. As for myself, the gibbet is high and hungry. I would love to see the Black Devil dance as he hangs.”

  “I doubt that will occur,” said Governor Stark. “Blackmon and Le Trompeur belong to the brotherhood, a pact between the two rascals, agreeing to back each other up. A very powerful alliance. The governor from Tortuga gives his rubber stamp on their union.”

  “And the Governor of Tortuga is as much a pirate as those blackguards, giving them safe-haven in his private Sodom and Gomorrah,” spat Jarvis.

  Jane put her nose in the air. “I can say, Sir Jarvis, Captain Blackmon’s code of conduct was nothing but benevolent and gracious. He saved our lives and treated us with dignity and respect. For that we are grateful.”

  “He was so handsome and romantic. He gave us back our jewels, saying we were too pretty to be without them,” Grace sighed.

  Claire dropped her teacup. “Of course, I am sure he woos every woman when given the chance.” She was not surprised by the silver-tongued devil’s flattery. Had she not been a recipient of his fawning as well?

  Lady Morton slanted her eyes to Claire. “Do you know of him perchance?”

  Governor Stark laughed. “She owned him.”

  Claire’s heart sank. All three women and Captain Smith turned to her, their eyebrows raised. Heat rose to her face. “I-I took pity on him when I saw him auctioned on the dock and because−he was at odds with my uncle that day, I decided to intervene.”

  “Praise providence. For if you had not done that, our fate would have been dire,” said Lady Morton.

  Claire glanced at Jarvis who stewed with hatred of his escaped slave.

  “I understand the Black Devil thanks his victims for their contributions,” commented Mary. “Very polite. A gentleman pirate they say.”

  “It is true. Women swoon at his name. He thanked me for my ship’s contents,” said Captain Smith.

  “The thieving dog.” Jarvis turned on the captain. “Are you sure your adulation of this miscreant is not misplaced?”

  “Since my life and the lives of the ladies and my crew had been saved from those Spanish devils, I consider myself ahead,” said Captain Smith, undeterred. “From what I have learned when the Black Devil captures a ship, he takes its contents. If there are Englishmen aboard, they’ll be put upon an island where they’ll be picked up by English ships. Women at risk are dropped off at a port. I should mention these same Spanish pirates that attacked us hit an English merchantman six months ago. All the men but one survived to tell the tale. Three women who had the misfortune of being aboard suffered a brutality I cannot describe. They died.”

  “Mother of God.” Lady Morton crossed herself.

  “What I find most remarkable about Captain Blackmon,” continued Captain Smith “is that he has numerous experienced seamen on board. Many had served on Men-O-War as well as merchant ships. I had an interesting conversation with his navigator.”

  “His navigator?” Lily asked. “Was his name Robert Ames?”

  “Why yes. Very nice officer. Took the time to show me about. A real gentleman. Son of an Earl. Bad business what happened to him with Monmouth. He sided with the Duke against the King and was imprisoned.”

  “Is he-is he in good health?” Lily waited, her lips trembled.

  “Very good health, Miss. Do you know him?”

  “I-I worked with him in the hospital during the plague. It was our only acquaintance.” She fell back into her chair.

  “I believe our Black Devil is a very wealthy man,” said Captain Smith. “Some say his treasure is buried somewhere in the Caribbean. It is said he has a secret uncharted island he won in a turn of the cards. As the story goes, his opponent didn’t see eye to eye. A sword fight erupted. Captain Blackmon won. Some say there was also a woman involved, but who knows.” He shrugged. “The legend adds to his mystery.”

  “You bleat with the fanciful musings of a woman,” scorned Jarvis.

  “Nevertheless,” said the sea captain, steadfast from insult by a peer of the realm when his admiration held for a sole pirate captain. “I understand he was a doctor as well. An interesting combination. A pirate and a man of letters.”

  “He was a very good doctor,” admitted the Governor. “And I have suffered with my rheumatism since his departure.”

  Lady Morton stirred cream into her tea, “One of the crew members believes the Black Devil named his ship, the Sea Scorpion for a woman.”

  “How romantic,” said Grace, clasping her hands to her bosom. “To be named for a ship by such a man.”

  “It’s an odd name for a woman,” scoffed Claire.

  “I thought so too.” Lady Morton held her head high. “However, I love a mystery, and Captain Blackmon, despite his outward casual appearance is a closed book. With that perfect enigmatic fodder sitting before me, I could not curb temptation. One evening, I grew bold enough to ask the Captain the meaning of his ship’s name. I went around the subject a hundred different ways. My objective became a game, but I think I came close, maybe too close at times. He would smile then get moody or flash those green eyes at me. I see revenge in those eyes. I said to myself, a woman has burned him. I wonder if that is what motivates a man like that.”

  “I think you read too much in the man,” said Claire. “You were distraught going through such trauma. Fanciful tales filled your head.” Lord, had she said that? She sounded like Jarvis.

  “No. I felt safe in his company, and I believe, I did guess on a couple of points. The stars in Scorpio, I mentioned to him are clear and bright, illustrious, marked for their true beauty as a woman would be. Then there is the matter of the tail which I initially thought was meant for him, dangerous and deadly. I studied the Black Devil and said to myself that wou
ld be too obvious. He is a more complicated man. I pushed further. I asked if the tail might have been symbolic for a woman who had betrayed him. I can tell you that for a single second, I saw flash a murderous look on his countenance. His reaction told me, I was dead on. After that, he excused himself from the table, and I did not see him until the next evening. For me his evasiveness was telling, confirming my suspicions. Ever since, I have been wondering who that woman might be. Was she a lover?” Lady Morton shrugged. “I guess I’ll never know.”

  “You have foolish notions,” Claire said, starting to panic. She remembered a dark, starry night in the Governor’s garden. Devon had told her about his fascination for the constellation Scorpio, and the stars he compared to the meaning of her name, clear, bright and obvious. Was the woman he named his ship for−her? A tremor rolled down her spine. If he ever got hold of her, his retribution would be swift and merciless. Claire took a sip of tea to calm herself. Ridiculous. Hadn’t Port Royale’s defenses quadrupled in size and strength since the Spanish raid? She was safe, far-away from him. Didn’t he pirate in the distant ends of the Caribbean? His last words haunted her. If the winds of fate prevail, and we cross paths again, then be forewarned my dear wife, I will have my revenge upon your person.

  Claire drummed her fingers on her chin then seeing Lady Morton eyeing her with suspicion, she stopped. Did she look obvious?

  “The Black Devil is to be admired,” maintained Captain Smith. He has made an enterprise of pirating, operating a squadron of ships. How he obtained them is even more remarkable. Mr. Ames recanted how they made a mass escape from Sir Jarvis’s plantation into the jaws of starvation. Mr. Ames, the navigator had been on the cusp of death due to a beating he received and unable to navigate. They remained adrift for days until rescued, unfortunately into a new slavery by Spanish Pirates. Since there is no love between the Spanish and English, they would have been killed outright. But the wily Captain Blackmon boasted of their specialist skills, for you see, the capture and forcible detention of skilled men is a regular feature of pirate attacks. Thrown into the hold and left to rot for the time being, Captain Blackmon insisted of his value as a ship’s surgeon and that of his ship’s carpenter. Since the Spaniard’s needed a surgeon, and their ship’s carpenter had expired, their captors relented. Captain Blackmon made a draught, passed it off to his carpenter who laced the Spaniard’s rum portion for the evening. When they fell asleep, Captain Blackmon released his men from the hold and took over the Santa Margarita. You can imagine the Spaniards’ chagrin when they awoke, bound in chains to find their situation reversed. Ames’s fever broke and they now had use of a navigator. After putting the Spaniard’s ashore on an island, Captain Blackmon, sailed off on his newly acquired forty gun ship that he renamed the Sea Scorpion.”