Love Me, Marietta

by Jennifer Wilde

  “Look, luv,” she said, “why don’t you go to your quarters and—and rest up a while. You can join me at the cottage later on. I’d like to freshen up a bit, and you’re going to need a lot of strength tonight.”

  “That ain’t a bad idea,” Draper replied, trying to sound fierce.

  “Take a nap, luv,” she advised. “Don’t sleep too long, though. I don’t want to get lonesome.”

  Draper shuffled away into the darkness, disappearing in the shadows. Em and I stood by the fountain. The cool night breeze stroked our cheeks.

  “Are you going to be all right?” I asked.

  “I’m going to be fine, luv. After Tremayne, Draper will be a snap. I can handle him easily enough.”

  “It all seems so futile,” I said.

  Em didn’t reply. There was no need to. She looked up at the starless sky for a moment, and then she sighed, straightening her shoulders. Leaves rattled quietly in the breeze. We could hear the guard pacing back and forth, his boots crunching heavily on the rocky ground. We stood there for several more moments, silent. Then Em sighed and passed a hand across her forehead and lifted the hem of her brocade gown and started across the night-damp lawn toward the cottage she had shared with Tremayne, the cottage she would now share with Draper. I moved wearily toward the big house where I would await the pleasure of Nicholas Lyon.

  Was it really any better than a house in Caracas or Rio? I was beginning to wonder. We had escaped that, but had survival been worth it? My spirits were low indeed as I moved down the corridor and started up the stairs to the bedroom. A bleak depression had settled over me, as bleak, as grim as any I had ever experienced. It was not caused merely by the violence I had witnessed tonight, the bloody death that had been so gleefully enjoyed by those who watched it. It was a cumulative thing that had been building for weeks and had finally enveloped me like an impenetrable black cloud.

  Soft lights were burning in the bedroom as I entered. They glowed with a hazy golden mist that washed over the luxury of elegant white wood and Aubusson carpet and mauve and silver hangings. I stepped over to the dressing table and opened the elaborate jewelry box heaped high with gleaming, flashing treasure. I removed the pearl choker with its diamond pendants and dropped it on top of the heap, the pearls glowing, the diamonds shimmering with liquid fires. I began to undo the strands of diamond and pearl that held my hair back, adding the exquisite ropes to the collection and closing the box.

  I had luxury, yes, sumptuous gowns and incredible jewels and a magnificent room, but the jewels, the gowns meant nothing, and the room was a prison. The man who held me prisoner was superbly adept at love-making, was able to summon physical sensations that swelled and exploded inside until I was drowning in an ocean of ecstasy, but these same sensations filled me with self-loathing, seemed a betrayal of myself. He was a cold, inhuman monster who employed a subtle torture that, in many ways, was far worse than physical blows would have been. He didn’t bruise my body, no, but he had bruised my spirit until it was ready to expire.

  I picked up the hairbrush and began to run it through the rich copper-red waves, gazing at my reflection as I did so. The skin seemed to stretch tightly across those high cheekbones. The mouth seemed to droop. The sapphire blue eyes were filled with the same hopelessness I had seen in Em’s. I had given up hope. Yes, that was it. After all this time, I had finally given up hope, and life had no meaning. The last spark had been extinguished, and only ashes remained. Ashes. Cold gray ashes.

  “Miz Marietta?”

  I turned, startled. Corrie stood in the doorway with her sewing kit, an elaborate blue and silver gown draped over her arm. Her soft black hair covered her head like a puffy, cloud, and her lovely brown eyes were filled with concern as she looked at me. She was so small, so frail, so defenseless, yet there was a strength in her I had constantly underestimated.

  “I heard you come in,” she said. “I—I knew Red Nick wasn’t with you, and I thought you might like some company. I wanted to finish alterin’ this gown he brought back—there’s just a little stitchin’ left to do on the bodice—and the light in my room ain’t—isn’t strong enough. Mind if I sit over there in that chair and finish it?”

  “Of course not, Corrie.”

  She moved over to the chair and set her sewing box down on the table beside it. She took out scissors and thimble, needle and thread and spread the gown across her legs, silver and blue folds spilling over the carpet. I continued to brush my hair, in no mood to talk. The long, frightfully sharp scissors flashed as she deftly snipped at threads. Putting the scissors aside, she threaded her needle and began to resew the bodice, making tiny gathers in the cloth. Her head was bent. Her eyes were lowered in concentration. Pale gold light streamed over her shoulder as she worked.

  “You’se—you are low,” she said quietly.

  “Yes, Corrie, I’m low.”

  “You mustn’t be, Miz Marietta. Things are going to work out.”

  I put the hairbrush down and, tossing my head, shook the waves away from my temples. “I wish I could believe that,” I said.

  “It’s been hard,” she continued, “but we’re still alive.”

  “Yes, we’re still alive,” I replied. My voice was flat.

  “Lotsa good has happened,” Corrie’s voice was low, soothing. “I can read now, at least if it isn’t too complicated with a lotta big words. I can spell my name and write lotsa other words, too.”

  “You’ve done very well, Corrie.”

  “When we get back, I—I’ll be ready to take my place in the world, just like you told me.”

  I was too dispirited to reply. Corrie made another delicate stitch, the thimble shining on her finger. She shook the bodice and held it up to examine it, then frowned slightly and continued to stitch. She still had faith. She still had hope. Em and I might have given up, but this lovely child still believed we would leave the island and safely return to the civilized world. I didn’t want to discourage her, and I knew that in my present mood anything I might say would be bleak. Straightening the sleeves of my bronze satin gown, I turned, the skirt belling.

  “I think I’ll take a walk in the gardens,” I said, trying to sound casual. “You go ahead and finish your work, Corrie.”

  She looked up apprehensively. “Will it be all right?” she asked. “If he came back and found me here—”

  “Nicholas won’t be back for some time,” I assured her. “I imagine he’ll be occupied for most of the night.”

  I left the bedroom and went slowly down the stairs, running my hand along the polished banister. My skirts made a soft, silken music as I walked down the narrow back hall and stepped outside. The flower beds were ragged in the moonlight, the large shrubs casting long shadows over the pathway leading toward the enormous trees that grew in back, near the wall. I shivered a little in the night air. It seemed much cooler than it had earlier. I really should go back in and fetch a wrap, I thought, folding my arms around my waist.

  I strolled past the shrubs and moved under the trees, the limbs spreading out overhead, creaking faintly in the breeze. It was very dark here, very few rays of moonlight penetrating the canopy of leafy boughs. Shadows shifted and moved at my feet, great nests of shadows shrouding the wall. I paused beside one of the trunks, and as I did so I heard a heavy thud that sounded like something dropping. I turned toward the sound, but I could see nothing. I put it out of my mind, leaning against the trunk, shivering.

  I stood there for a long while, listening to the night noises, the rustle of leaves, the creaking of boughs, the sleepy twitter of a bird, and I had the feeling someone was watching me. It was foolish, of course. I paid no attention to it. I stared into the darkness, wondering how much longer I could endure. How much longer would it be before I broke completely, just as he wanted me to? I had endured and endured, it seemed. Somehow, in the past, I had always found strength to go on when one treachery followed another, when hope gave way to despair and joy turned into anguish and grief, but the reserve
s of strength had all run dry now, and I no longer had the will to fight.

  The air turned cooler still. I was shivering badly, my arms and shoulders freezing. I turned to go back inside, and it was then that I saw the man standing a few yards away, looking at me. I clasped a hand to my heart, so startled I almost fainted. A scream welled in my throat. He leaped forward, grabbed me, and whirled me around. A strong hand clamped over my mouth, jerking my head back until it was tilted against a wide shoulder.

  “Easy, lass,” a familiar voice crooned. “I’ve come a long way to get you out of this mess, and I don’t want you mucking things up by screaming your silly head off.”

  Nineteen

  He held his hand clamped firmly over my mouth while shock and dismay and a wild surge of conflicting emotions swept over me. After a moment, very cautiously, he removed his hand and took hold of my shoulders and turned me around so that I faced him. He gripped my upper arms, supporting me, and I would surely have crumpled to the ground if those strong hands hadn’t held me. In the hazy darkness I could barely see his face, merry eyes, a slightly twisted nose, the wide, full mouth grinning saucily as though this were a delightful prank.

  “Are you goint to faint?” he asked.

  “I’m not sure,” I whispered.

  “Go ahead. I’ll hold you. I’m terrific with swooning females.”

  “I’m not going to faint.”

  “Pity,” he said.

  “How—”

  “You’ve got dozens and dozens of questions,” he interrupted. “It’s only natural. I’ll answer ’em all eventually, when we’ve time, but for now all you need to know is I’m here, and ten of my best men are at this moment loading every ship in the harbor with explosives, plantin’ explosives in the warehouses, too. In half an hour we’re going to have a terrific fireworks display.”

  “Jeremy—it—it’s really you.”

  “It’s me, lass, in the flesh.”

  “I feel like I’m dreaming. It can’t be true—”

  “It’s true,” he assured me, his voice tender now, oh so tender. “You’re not dreaming, Marietta.”

  I started to cry, and he folded me to him and held me close, gently stroking my head, murmuring soft words that were mere music, making no sense, making my heart turn over. I wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders and held onto him with all my might, afraid he would dematerialize and I would wake up and discover it had all been an illusion. He was wearing a buckskin jacket. I could feel the strong, soft leather under my fingers, could feel the fringe swaying as he rocked me slightly, his right arm a band of steel holding me, drawing me closer as his left hand continued to smooth my hair. I felt his warmth, his strength, that tall, muscular body supple and relaxed. I cried for several moments, my face buried in the curve of his shoulders, and after a while I finally looked up and he smiled and brushed my tears away.

  “I—I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to give way like that.”

  “It was my pleasure, lass. Weak, defenseless females are my specialty.”

  “I’m not weak.”

  “I know. You’re strong, one of the strongest, bravest women in all the world.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it, lass. Are you all right now? Are you going to fold up and sink to the ground?”

  “Just let me hold on a little longer.”

  He nodded, and I clung to him and closed my eyes and let the conflicting emotions swirl, reveling in the luxury of his strength, those protective arms enfolding me. The boughs creaked quietly. The leaves rustled. Jeremy Bond smelled of leather and sweat and dirt, and it was the sweetest smell on earth, a pungent, virile musk that filled me with euphoria. I tightened my arms over his shoulders, and he chuckled and squeezed me so hard I was sure I would snap in two.

  “You came,” I murmured.

  “Did you ever doubt I would?”

  “You—how did you—”

  “I returned to New Orleans to discover you’d already left for England on The Blue Elephant,” he said quietly. “My heart was broken, of course, and I vowed I’d go to England after you and tear you out of Hawke’s arms and take you away with me, but things kept coming up. There was a job I had to finish, then another one. Three weeks ago I ran into your friend Will Hart in a rather sordid establishment in New Orleans. I lugged him out into an alley. He had some interesting things to tell me.”

  “He—”

  “I know, lass. He told me everything. He was in considerable pain as he did so, I might add. I’m afraid I broke his arm before I finally got the whole story out of him—tore it right out of its socket, I fear, just like you might tear a drumstick off a roast chicken.”

  I shuddered. The muscles of his right arm grew tauter, drawing me closer to him.

  “I finished him off, of course, took a great deal of pleasure in crushing his windpipe with my forearm. I dumped him behind a pile of garbage, and then I gathered up the best men I could find. One of ’em owns a small ship, no bigger than a tug, really. It’s anchored three miles down the coast, in a secret cove. We rowed the rest of the way to the island. The boats are waiting down on the beach for our return to the ship.”

  I straightened up, letting go of his shoulders. He released me and moved back a step or two. I was composed now, even though my heart still seemed to leap, even though it all still seemed like a dream. I took several deep breaths, and when I spoke my voice was surprisingly level.

  “How did you know I would be on the island? How did you know I wouldn’t be in some squalid crib in Caracas?”

  “I knew Red Nick wouldn’t let a beauty like you get away, lass. I knew he’d appropriate you for himself. Are you steady now? Able to function without falling to pieces?”

  “I’m all right,” I replied.

  “Sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Good. We don’t have a lot of time. I’ve got to plant explosives in the armory—you’re going to have to show me where it is—and then we’ve got to hightail it down to the beach. My men’ll meet us there, and we’ll be on our way.”

  I could feel the cool night air on my bare shoulders and arms, but I was no longer shivering. I paid no attention to the cold. Only a few moments ago I had been as low as I had ever been in my life, had given up all hope, weak, finally defeated, and now I felt strength and resolution charging through me like new sap. I was renewed, revitalized, filled with a fierce determination and eager for action.

  “There’s a guard,” I said, “and the armory’s attached to the barracks. There’s a side door, but it’s locked.”

  “I’ll take care of the guard.”

  “And the lock?”

  “I’ll pry it off.”

  “And make such a racket every man in the barracks will be down on you, no doubt. I’ll unlock it for you.”

  “How’re you going to do that?” he asked.

  “Wait and see. I’ll have to go back inside the house, and I’ll have to stop by one of the cottages.”

  “I’m not letting you out of my sight, lass.”

  “I’ll do it while you’re setting up your explosives,” I continued, ignoring his remark. “You needn’t worry about Red Nick. He’s down at one of the canteens. There are two other women who’re going with us. A girl, Corrie, and Em, a friend of mine.”

  “I guess we can manage two more,” he said amiably.

  “And I’ll have to change. I can’t go tearing through the night in bronze satin.”

  “You’ll have to be quick about it, lass.”

  “And there’re my jewels.”

  “Jewels?”

  “I’m not leaving the island without them,” I said firmly.

  “Ah,” he said, chuckling, “you are feeling better. The old spirit’s returning. Sure Red Nick’s not going to pop in on you while you’re changing your gown and restyling your hair?”

  “There’s no one in the house besides the servants.”

  “All right then, but first
the armory. Just let me fetch the explosives. I hid ’em behind a tree. We’ll meet back here. There’s a rope hanging over the side of the wall. I climbed up it, swung into a tree, dropped to the ground. When I saw you strolling about, I couldn’t believe my luck.”

  “Get your explosives,” I told him. My voice was impatient.

  Jeremy Bond chuckled again and hurried into the shadows, returning a moment later with a bulky package wrapped in oilskin. I led him through the gardens and around the side of the house, keeping in the shadows as much as possible. As we cleared the side of the house, the moon came from behind a bank of clouds, silvering the lawns. I took Jeremy Bond’s hand and led him quickly across a patch of bright silver to the protective darkness beneath a tree. We paused for a moment, then dashed toward another tree, the fringe on his buckskin jacket flying. I saw the guard pacing near the gates. The windows of the barracks were open, pools of yellow light spilling out.

  “How many men in there?” he asked.

  “Twenty or so,” I replied.

  “Christ!”

  “They’re gambling and drinking rum. If you’re quiet about it, they won’t hear you. The guard’s out of sight now. Come on.”

  We passed Em’s cottage and soon were hidden by the shrubberies growing near the armory, the same shrubberies under which Em and I had hidden the guns and ammunition we had stolen. As I led him cautiously toward the side door, I could hear rough voices and hearty laughter as the men in the barracks played cards and consumed their rum. Jeremy Bond shook his head in despair when he saw the lock on the door. I shoved him out of the way and removed a hairpin.