The Gypsy Witch

by The Gypsy Witch (EReads) (lit)

  "You wouldn’t want to leave old Duvall without a little kiss first would you, my pretty!"

  "You addled-pated viper! Get your filthy hands off me!" Danielle kicked at him with her free foot only to hurt her cause, for with his other hand he caught her leg and with a vicious jerk she lost her balance and fell, only to be drug down to the bottom of the steps once more.

  He grabbed her arm and roughly hauled her to her feet. Dazed from bumping her head on the steps, she felt herself being pulled back down the corridor toward the cell. Desperately she tried to clear the clouds from her mind. Danielle knew she must keep up the fight. Perhaps they would be called away or tire of her if only she could outwit them. When they reached the cell, he threw her on the straw-strewn floor. The other guard stood over Sir Francis body, lying limply in the corner. Danielle crawled on hands and knees to his side and turned a face of pure hatred toward her captors.

  "You beggardly bastards! What have you done to him?" She screamed. "He is an old man. Are you such strong brave men, that you must beat on someone too old to take up for himself ? He needs medical aid. Bring a doctor, immediately."

  They ignored her words completely and one of the men reached down and grabbed Danielle by the arm and lifted her to him.

  "Get away from me, you murdering filth!" She shrieked. She jerked away from his grip, tearing her dress at the shoulder, leaving more than a modest portion of her bosom showing.

  The sight of her fair skin and rounded breast sent her attacker into a frenzy. He pinned her against the wall and forced his slavering kisses upon her until she thought she would choke. His vile hands were feeling her body and her dress was being pulled from her piece by piece. Suddenly she pushed at his face, kicking at him with her foot as she did. A look of black anger glared at her. His closed fist came from nowhere and struck her on the side of her head. As if someone had drawn a curtain, Danielle felt darkness close about her and she slid to the floor as if dead. She had screamed one word which echoed around the walls of the cell before unconsciousness overtook her.

  ~ * ~

  Scott woke with a start, when Ricardo walked into his cabin.

  "It’s almost time to go ashore, Scott. I have passed out the monks robes and told the men the plans. Mr. Smythe has agreed to stay with a handful of men to sail the ships out of the cove and nearer the island. Let us hope that there are no French ships in the area before we get back."

  Scott stretched his arms, limbering his stiff muscles. He threw his legs off the bunk and stood up. He put his hands into the robe Ricardo was holding for him to wear.

  "It was the biggest one I could find. I hope it covers all of you."

  The robe fit all right only a few inches short. Scott hoped no one would notice.

  "I looked for the ship that brought Danielle and Sir Francis and it seems to have left the area. If I am right and there is a storm tonight, they will not try to land anywhere near the rock prison. Don’t worry so, Ricardo."

  "I’ve often told you that is how I came to be the age I am. Do you still not believe me?"

  "Ricardo, my friend," he put one hand on his comrade’s shoulder. "You would worry if it was just to have something to worry about. Nothing is going to happen. You will see. Would I put the one person that means the most to me on this green earth in danger? Would I take the trouble to get her back only to lose her to a French ship a few leagues from shore? Not on your life, old friend. Not on your life."

  Scott joined the men on the bridge and couldn’t help smiling at the thought of their appearance. They looked so pious, he felt someone should lead them in prayer. Luckily the robes were all large and loose, so they could hide the presence of the small weapons and swords that each man carried.

  He looked at the sky to see how the weather had worsened while he slept. The wind was coming up and the dark clouds kept sweeping past the moon. He frowned as he paused to really pray in earnest. He prayed that the worst part of the storm would wait until he had Danielle and Sir Francis safe on his ship and they were on their way back to England. He prayed she would be all right when he found her.

  After the longboats had taken the ‘monks’ to shore, Scott led them through the thickness of the forest to the outskirts of the village, Avranches. Staying on the outer edges, out of sight of the lanterns burning in the windows of the shops and taverns, he led them around the town to the seaside. There before them stood the prison high up in the air, two miles from the shore. Scott motioned them with one arm to quietly step back from the road and await the procession of the monks.

  They did not have long to wait before a long line of men in similar robes to theirs passed them by, heads bowed, deep in prayer. As the last of them passed, Scott and his men fell in behind them. They copied the monks attitude with bowed heads, trying to look as if they were brothers of the same order as those ahead of them.

  Scott watched how the leader of the monks would weave in and out across the sand, never hitting a bog of quicksand, yet appearing never to look up to see where he was going. Although his head was bowed, Scott watched the procession closely out of the corner of his eyes. The wind was getting stronger by the time they finally reached the island and Scott had a trying time keeping his robe together so as not to show the guards the weapons hidden underneath.

  A consumptive looking, small framed man stood aside to let them enter the prison gates, coughing in spasms and doubled over in pain. Once inside the prison doors, Scott held back as the monks went forth into the chapel. He motioned for his men to follow as he quickly stepped out of sight and went down the corridor that he knew must lead to the dungeons below.

  Even with the heavy robe covering his clothing, Scott could feel the damp and the chill start to seep into his bones the deeper they went. He and his men moved as one, as if on tiptoe, silently walking on the cobblestones, ever deeper into the rock beneath the church. He could hear the sounds of dripping water and knew they must be at sea level for it to be so damp. Descending the stone steps into darkness, he could feel the walls wet with the slime that thrived in places that never saw the light of day.

  Upon hearing loud voices, raised in drunken laughter, he held out his arm to halt his following. Then stealthily he crept closer to the curve in the corridor that opened up into a larger room of disorder. There were two men setting at a crude wooden table, drinking ale out of huge tankards and playing cards. He could hear the moaning of the sick and dying in the cells on the other side of the men. Another corridor would lead to the still deeper crypts in the dungeons below.

  Scott felt his blood turn to glacial ice as he smelled the stench of this living hell and knew the fear that Danielle must be feeling at this time. He motioned to Ricardo with his head, and the two crept closer to the two gaolers. Scott quietly moved to the other side of the room where he could be behind the man on the far side of the table. When he nodded, they both moved to the undefended backs of their opponents at the same time.

  With one knock on the head, from the butt end of his pistol, his man silently fell over onto the table, unconscious. He looked up to see that Ricardo had done as well, except that a dagger was sticking out of the back of the man in front of him. Scott watched him take the blade out the man’s back and wiped it on the man’s dirty sleeve, before putting it back into his scabbard. Scott left the room and Ricardo followed. The rest of the men had gone on down the passageway to clear a path for them.

  By the time Scott arrived at the cells all the turnkeys were either cowering in a corner, unconscious, or dead. Scott swiftly moved from door to door of the cells calling her name.

  "Danielle!"

  When he received no answer in these larger cells, he proceeded down lower to the smaller dungeon.

  He passed the carcass of what was at one time a man. His dismembered body lay in quarters on a wood block. They had not bothered to remove the remains. The blood had congealed where it ran down the table legs in large puddles on the dirt floor. Scott knew the man had not been long dead because there was
not the odor of an old body beginning to decay. Bile rose in his throat as he turned away.

  "Scott!" He froze. It was Danielle’s voice and a wrath of huge dimensions filled his being, turning his blood to ice. He would kill every man standing in his way and he would tear this place apart stone by stone.

  "Danielle! Answer me! Where are you?" He moved quickly wishing she would call once more so he could tell the direction of her voice.

  The last cell door was standing open and Scott glanced within and felt his blood turn boil. There in a dingy corner were two grim turnkeys bending over the unconscious figure of Danielle.

  Scott bellowed with the rage flowing through his every pore. They had dared to touch his wife. It would be the last thing they would every feel. He grabbed the skirt of his robe and flung it around one arm. With the other he pulled his sword and charged into the cell.

  At Scott’s roar the smaller of the two men looked over his shoulder in fear. Upon seeing Scott charging like the devil himself, with rapier in hand, the man jumped to his feet. He shouted a warning to his friend, drawing his sword at the same time. Before it had completely cleared the scabbard his expression had changed to one of severe pain. Scott had run him through.

  When Scott withdrew his sword the body crumpled to the ground, staring unseeing into space. Without hesitation Scott turned to the other assailant, who by now was on his feet, sword drawn, ready for combat.

  Scott raised his sword, pointing it at the man a few feet in front of him. He spoke gruffly, his hatred spewing forth.

  "You signed your death warrant, when you dared to touch my wife! Look at her because it is the last sight you will see before your eyes feast on the fires of hell!"

  With ferocious intent the giant privateer began to clash swords with the man who had tried to wrong Danielle. The swords clanking together sent sparks into the room and the noise echoed around the walls of the cell. Scott forced the man backward until he was against the damp wall. Scott was only playing with him, not wanting him to find death too soon. It was a way to purge himself of the hate and disgust that filled him. But he knew that time was important so with a mental shrug he ran his sword directly into the man’s heart. He jerked it away and dropped the sword on the floor with a clank, as he went to bend over the woman on the floor.

  "Danielle," he breathed, lifting her up into his arms. "Oh God, Danielle." Unconscious still, she lay on the floor quiet as death. The sight of her on the filthy floor nearly wrenched his heart from his body. He felt her breath touch his neck and knew she lived. He shook as if from a chill at the thought of losing her. His eyes moved over her. Her coal black hair was all around her shoulder in disarray. Her dress, almost completely ripped off her was as dirty as the ground she lay upon.

  He kissed her forehead and groaned, rocking her back and forth. "Oh, my love, speak to me. I am here now, you are safe."

  Her eyes opened. She had heard his words and knew she was in her husband’s arms. "It’s about bloody well time," she whispered.

  He leaned back and gazed into those wonderful fiery eyes. She was all right. He could breath normal again. He laughed loud. He bent and kissed her gently on her mouth. "I love it when you snap at me, gypsy. But let’s get you out of here before we continue this conversation. "

  "I didn’t snap at you." She sat up, trying to smooth her hair away from her face and felt embarrassed for Scott to see her this way.

  He pulled an extra robe from under his own and draped it reverently around her shoulders. He then grabbed his sword and put it back in its sheath. He picked up his wife and gently carried her cradled in his arms, back into the other room.

  "I can walk, love" She kept staring at his face, not closing her eyes in case he would not be there again when she opened them. Her arms were around his neck holding on to him, feeling his strength surround her with safety.

  At the doorway he met Ricardo coming to give him aid. "Is she all right, Scott?" he asked before he noticed her eyes wide open and a smile on her face. He turned again to Scott. "They have not harmed her?"

  Scott glanced down at his wife. She shook her head and lay her cheek against his chest.

  "They are no longer alive to harm anyone. I made sure of that. I haven’t had a chance to look for Sir Francis yet, Ricardo. Check out the cells, I’m not letting this woman out of my grasp again."

  "Aye."

  Ricardo re-entered the cell. At first glance he could see the dead turnkeys on one side of the room. The other side was in darkness. He turned back to the door and reached outside and grabbed a torch from the wall standard and stepped back into the room.

  He swung it high above his head and looking into the once darkened corner. There the shapeless form of Sir Francis was sprawled face down upon the floor. He rushed to the man’s side and fell to his knees. He turned him over onto his back and heard the faintest moan coming from his lips.

  "Gracias a Dios, you are still alive." Ricardo placed the torch in the wall and lifted him from the floor and carried him outside the cell into the light.

  "He is still breathing," he told Scott at the question on his face. "I must take him into the fresh air."

  "Motherless dogs!" Scott spat. "I wish they were alive so I could kill them all over again!"

  David Fitzwater looked at the pale face of Sir Francis and saw his head move and his eyes start to open. "He is regaining consciousness, captain. We must hurry now. It is almost time for the monks to return to the shore."

  Scott nodded to David and started for the stairs with Danielle, pausing on the first step, he turned back.

  "What have you done with all the guards, Mr. Fitzwater? Are any still alive?"

  "Aye, Scott, a few."

  "Good, put them into the cells and release all the prisoners, then throw the damn keys away! See how they like being locked up for a while." He started to turn away and stopped, looking back at the young man. "Offer our ships to any Huguenot that wants to leave this God forsaken country. We can take them to England with us."

  Danielle looked with surprise and the man she loved. Her heart warmed at his generosity.

  "Aye, Captain, with pleasure," responded David.

  He felt a hand on his cheek and looked down at Danielle, looking lovingly into his eyes. "Thank you, my love."

  He ignored her and moved swiftly up the stairs and down the long corridor, hoping to get to the chapel before the monks had finished their prayers and started to leave. He rounded the last bend in the passageway, before reaching the chapel door, and was met face to face with the skinny officer that had been at the gate when they had entered.

  "Halt there! What are you doing in this part of the prison. Haven’t I seen you before?" he spoke to Danielle.

  Scott bent down and put Danielle gently on her own feet to stand beside him. He needed his hands free for what he was about to do.

  Le Comte de la Grange stared first at Danielle, her eyes shooting spit and fire at him, then to the huge man in monk’s robe. There he saw his own death flashing before his eyes.

  "That you have, you vile abuser of women and old men!" said Scott, as he swished his robe open in one quick movement drew his pistol to point it at the opponent before him. "And it was the biggest mistake of your wretched life to have taken my wife and think in your evil, warped mind that you had that right. You will never harm anyone again!"

  "Scott, wait!" Danielle screamed, clutching at his arm. "He is Le Comte de la Grange, your father! You can’t kill him in cold blood!"

  Both Scott and the count stared at each other in shock. Scott was the first to compose himself.

  "So this mangy little weakling is my father. Thank God, I must have taken after my mother’s side of the family."

  He bowed toward to man. "Let me introduce myself to you, before I kill you. I am your bastard son, Scott Dominion, at your service."

  He watched comprehension dawn of the count’s face. "Jenny… I didn’t know. I had no idea."

  "And you didn’t bother to find out eith
er, did you? Draw your pistol, old man, for you are about to die, and my wife wants you to be armed."

  At that moment the count was caught in one of his coughing spells, grabbing his handkerchief and filling it with the blood from his mouth.

  "Scott, if you love me at all, do not kill your father. How could I ever tell your son, that his grandfather died by his father’s hand. You mustn’t do it. Can’t you see? He is a sick man and cannot live long anyway. Let him die a natural death. Please, my love. The thought that he’d had you for a son will be torture enough in his last moments."

  Scott looked away from his father with disgust, to stare into the dark gypsy eyes of this petite woman who had tamed his hatred to such an extent. If you love me at all, she had said. For her he would do anything. His revenge was nothing compared to his love for her.

  "For you, my sweet. If you want this dog to live, then so be it. We will never mention his name again." He turned to Ricardo, who had just approached from behind them. "Have one of the men lock this man in one of the dungeons that is empty. Danielle and I will go and meet the monks."

  Danielle was thankful that Scott was at least saving his father from being murdered by the released prisoners. His showing this much compassion made her feel so proud inside.

  They arrived just in time to catch the end of the procession and walk slowly back across the sand as the tidelands began to fill back with water. Rain had just started to pelt down on them with a vengeance as they arrived on the firm dirt of the mainland, the rest of the men following quickly behind.

  Scott felt Danielle tremble with exhaustion and bent to swoop her into his arms. He stopped only once to look back upon the ghastly prison, where he had said hello and goodbye to the man that had caused him years of hatred, before he stalked down the beach to the waiting longboats.

  Ricardo, helping Sir Francis into the same boat as Danielle and Scott, leaned over to pat her hand, holding tightly onto Scott’s arm.

  "I’m glad we were in time, little one. Had I known you would run us this merry chase years ago, I would have chained you to Scott’s side."