“Since you have been so kind as to warn me, I will do the same. I will retaliate. Believe me.”
He laughed, a full-bellied sound. “When I get through with you, you will have more to worry about than some sneaking woman’s revenge. I suggest you begin now, by turning your mind to what I plan on doing with you when this voyage is over.”
It did not bear thinking of, and she did not intend to try. “I suspect, if I am patient, you will tell me.”
He shook his head, his expression obscenely benign. “No. You will decide what will be the outcome. If you are … accommodating, if you show a proper eagerness to please in the next week, then I may install you as my mistress and you will discover how generous I can be. If not, then you will still perform according to my desires until I tire of the sport. Afterward, it will be entirely fitting, I think, if I turn you over to the military authorities. You are still wanted as a Confederate courier.”
“How can you know that … unless—?”
“Quite right, my dear. It was I who overheard your charming conversation with Sara Morgan. It was I who informed against you.”
“But, why?”
“I told you once, I think. You deserved to be punished for what you had done to Franklin, and it pleased me to think of you in a northern jail. At the same time, my passing of the information served to pave my way for a return to the Union. It was a neat arrangement, but a painful decision, since I much preferred to inflict the punishment myself. Your escape was a relief, since you had served my purpose and were still available for my ends.”
His words raised echoes in her mind. Franklin, that night so many months ago, had babbled of punishment, and in his eyes had burned the same avid anticipation. What twisted thing in the minds of both men caused them to find pleasure in the prospect? Was it born in them, or had it been taught in brutal lessons?
“Your son tried to impose his will on me, and he is dead. Doesn’t that trouble you?” The implied threat was weak, but all she had as a defense. The amazing thing was that, for the first time, she could speak of it without the immediate stab of guilt.
“You mean aren’t I afraid you will serve me the same? Hardly. Franklin was no match for you in anything save strength. I am.”
It might well be true. He was between her and the door, watching her, parrying her attempts to disturb his equilibrium. Even when he had struck her, he had made no move to encroach further. It was as if he toyed with her, confident of his ability to control her, in no hurry to end her mental torment by physical action. In the meantime, her resistance excited him. The more frantic she became, the more farfetched the defense she drew on, the greater his pleasure would be in subjugating her.
She sent a swift glance around the cabin. It was very like the one on the Lorelei, except that it was more cramped, with a single spindly chair at the small table that sat in the corner behind Nate, opposite the bunk. It was also less well kept. Dust and salt grime coated every surface, and the wood table was stained with the grease of former meals.
In an attempt to undermine his confidence, she gave him a scornful glance. “You failed once to take Ramon into account,” she said, her smile scathing. “It’s a pity you are making the same mistake again.”
“Cazenave’s ship was just in, low on coal. Even if he could get immediate access to reloading, the delay before he misses you will give me a head start he can’t hope to overcome.”
“Low his ship might be, but I have little doubt he will gamble on catching you before the store runs out.”
“In an ocean thick with federal ships? It would be suicide.”
“I doubt he will stop to count the risk. As for when he will learn I have been taken, he will hear it soon enough from Largo.”
His loose mouth curled in mocking amusement. “The boy who ran away?”
“It may be he ran to find help.”
“A wharf rat like him? He ran to save his skin.”
She affected a shrug. “Believe it, if it makes you feel better.”
“You think I’m afraid of Cazenave?” he demanded.
“I think it would be wise. I think, were I you, I would be on deck watching my wake to see if his ship was steaming after me.”
He gave a short laugh. “Such a dreamer. Well, let me open your eyes.”
Catching her wrist with hard, stubby fingers, he dragged her from the cabin and out onto the upper deck. Ignoring the side long glances of his officers and crew, he pulled her toward the stern. Lorna saw the quick grins the men exchanged, heard the ribald quips and laughter, and knew instantly what they thought of her. To change their minds, to enlist their aid, would require more time than Nate Bacon would allow her.
At the aft railing, he hauled her up beside him, but directed her attention to a gray bulk there, instead of to the water. “Take a look at this,” he said. “Damned if I wouldn’t just as soon Cazenave did come chasing after you like a hound after a bitch. This beauty would give him a warm welcome in your place.”
He reached out to thump the shining metal barrel of a gun. Lorna had never seen one, but she recognized it from descriptions she had heard. It was a long-ranged, rifled Parrott gun. Most commonly used as a bow-chaser by federal ships in pursuit, it was deadly in its accuracy and more dreaded by the blockade runners than a broadside of cannon.
“Why,” she said, raising her gaze to his gloating face, “this makes you a pirate.”
“By the lights of some. I looked on it as insurance, when I planned on running the ship.” He lifted a massive shoulder. “I’ve never been one to let a little thing like legalities stand in the way when there was something I wanted. In this case, gold.”
“But, your men will be tarred with the same brush, will have had to pay the supreme penalty, if you are all caught.”
“They didn’t have to sign on. And, of course, I myself have no intention of sailing in the ship on her runs. I’m not so big a fool.”
Compared to this man, Ramon was the soul of honor. She had been wrong to judge Ramon so harshly. At least he had wanted money for a purpose, to regain his heritage, to right a wrong, not just for the power of wealth. “You may have trouble getting rid of it when you sell your ship.”
“I doubt that. The North is not so flush with arms that they will turn down such an effective weapon. I shouldn’t wonder if I make a profit on it.”
“You would sell it to be used against other blockade runners? What a revolting man you are!”
“And what a sharp-tongued bitch you are. For that I think I will have you get down on your knees and…” and he continued, in detail, with the punishment he thought suitable for her error. Sick to her soul, she looked away, toward the spreading wake of the ship and the broad expanse of the ocean beyond. He ceased speaking, jerking her around and waving toward where the faint, low-lying mass that was the islands already fell away behind them. “Do I make you ill? Do you long for rescue? Go ahead and look. Look good. Do you see any sign of a ship? Do you see any sign of your lover steaming to save you?”
Her eyes were, perhaps, more used to scanning the wide stretches of water than his, more used to spotting the federal frigates as cries of “Sail ho!” rang from the crow’s nest. On board the Lorelei, the sighting of a ship was worth fifty dollars to the first man to shout a warning, and it had been a game to while away the long hours, as she tried to see if she could better the men on watch. Now, her gaze roved the horizon, straining against the orange glow of the setting sun. Suddenly, her vision narrowed. Her hands tightened on the railing.
“Yes,” she whispered, then said louder, “Yes!”
Nate seemed to swell. He flung her from him, so that she snatched for the railing to keep from falling. He slewed around. His jaws clamped and belligerent, he grabbed for the rail also and spread his legs to keep his balance while he mounted foul oaths. He ground out a final word. “Where?”
She pointed in silent triumph, then stood watching as the sails she had sighted, with the stack pouring smoke between them, c
ame onward, resolving with amazing speed into masts set into the hull of a ship with side-wheels churning in fast pursuit. Largo, she thought in near incoherence, deserved a reward and would have it if she ever returned to Nassau.
Nate swung, shouting to his hired captain for more speed, cursing him for dawdling, before wrenching back around to glare at the chasing ship.
Then as she watched, Lorna felt uneasiness grip her. Minute by minute, she grew more uncertain. Dismay washed over her, and her shoulders sagged. The ship wasn’t the Lorelei.
She remained resolutely standing, watching the ship rise and fall in the waves. That it was a blockade runner in its paint of gray was plain from the way it kept appearing and disappearing in the shifting light of sunset, but it was not Ramon’s ship. She grew afraid that Nate would notice, fearful of what must come when he did. She stared at the fast-closing ship until her eyes burned, her mind blank with disappointment and dread. Then, abruptly, her sight cleared. She knew the ship. It was stupid of her not to have recognized it at once. It was the Bonny Girl.
Had Ramon commandeered Peter’s ship? Or had the Englishman, perhaps, been present when Largo reached Ramon? Another possibility that occurred to her she banished at once. She refused to think that it might only be a coincidence that had set Peter on a trail behind her, that he might only be starting out on another run. Surely, he would have waited for dark before leaving the protection of the island chain? And yet, darkness was so near.
From the corner of her eye, she caught a flash of orange-pink. She turned her head to stare at it. Then, as the Avenger’s stern rose higher on the back of a wave, she saw it more plainly: another sail with the light of the setting sun on the canvas. Nate had not seen it as he turned to berate the ship’s crew again. It resolved itself into a ship, pale gray, fast, though not closing in as quickly as the Bonny Girl had done due to the increasing speed of the Avenger.
Nate flung a vicious glance at the first ship, then turned on his heel and stamped off to the wheelhouse, where he consulted with the captain. An order was given, relayed over the ship, and behind Lorna came the thud of fast-moving men. They jostled around her, carrying heavy loads. As she looked around, what she saw made gooseflesh prickle over her scalp. They were making ready to fire the Parrott gun.
The officer in charge stepped before her, executing a sketchy bow. “Could we ask you to please stand aside?”
Lorna hardly noticed his failure to use a courtesy title. She stumbled a little as she moved down the railing. The Bonny Girl was coming on with smoke pouring from her stack, unaware of the danger. Soon, she would be in range. Peter could not guess the ship he was chasing was armed. If only there was some way she could warn him.
“Steady,” she heard the gunnery officer warn. “Wait until she’s too close to miss.”
Lorna was trembling, the tips of her fingers white where they clutched the nailing. For the first time in some minutes, she looked beyond Peter’s ship to where the other was growing larger. A small cry escaped her, though it carried more despair than joy. The second ship, gaining by degrees, with black smoke pouring from her stack, indicating its use of some other fuel besides coal, perhaps cotton soaked in turpentine, was close enough to be identified. Steaming in pride and dancing grace, steering down the wake of the Bonny Girl, it could be none other than the Lorelei.
“Sail away!”
Lorna’s head jerked around at the call. She saw the lookout pointing to the west. She swung in that direction, squinting against the flooding light, and saw the new ship. It came straight out of the sunset, with blood-red light behind her, making her sails glow. Huge, armed to the teeth, bearing straight down on them all, it was a federal frigate.
It was as if every man on the three steaming blockade runners were blind to their danger. None of the ships altered course to avoid this new menace. They steamed on, their smoke staining the sky, their paddle wheels spinning, leaving frothing foam on the water turning deepest blue with depth and the twilight. Lorna’s heart beat with sickening strokes. She could scarcely breathe. The tension building inside her made her want to scream, to cry, anything to relieve it. She clenched one fist, holding it to the pit of her stomach.
Nate, now grim and silent, came to stand behind her. They leaned on the rail for interminable minutes, watching the racing ships. The Bonny Girl drew nearer, and nearer still. Finally, she heard Nate growl under his breath, “Now, damn it, now.”
The Parrott gun roared. The shell burst over the other ship. Lorna screamed as she saw splinters fly from the decking and a man tossed from one rail to the other as if he weighed no more than a stuffed toy. Smoke enveloped the ship, and she saw the bow swinging as the helm was put over. The gun crew moved to the rapid fire of orders, and once more the air was blasted by the heat and concussion of the gun. The shot flew wide, skipping across the water like a stone over a mill pond. Smoke drifted, chokingly, over the ship. Again came the order. The Parrott gun, extremely accurate at that range, belched smoke and flame and spiraling shell.
The hit staggered the Bonny Girl, catching her nearly amid-ship. An enormous gash appeared in the ship’s side. Smoke boiled, flames leaped, and even from where they stood could be heard the screams of the wounded. Then, there came a rumbling like thunder. It grew, spreading in shock waves, rolling over the water. Suddenly, the stricken ship exploded, the decks erupting, spewing in splinters into the air as it broke apart. Smoke boiled black and acrid into the sky, shot with leaping, soaring flames.
Gunpowder. Peter had already reloaded for his next run, and his cargo had been barrels of gunpowder. Even as the Avenger pulled away, they could feel the heat of the fire, were staggered by the surge of the waves from the concussion. Stunned, too shocked to move or make a sound, Lorna watched as the ship began to list, filling with water from the gaping hole in her waist, going down. Behind the Bonny Girl, she saw Ramon’s ship dropping behind, beginning to circle the doomed vessel even as the hands swarmed to the sides to swing out the boats.
The Lorelei was giving up the chase. There were men in the water now, men burned, injured, in danger of drowning. Ramon was going to their aid. In honor, he could do no less.
20
The last orange edge of the sun sank into the sea, and the sudden tropical night descended. The burning ship grew smaller and dropped away behind them. Nate and his captain conferred, staring anxiously into the night as the Avenger plunged over the waves. With the last of the daylight, however, the federal cruiser had been seen making for the sinking ship and the runner delaying to pick up survivors.
Nate’s fears were well-grounded, Lorna felt as she thought of it. For all his bragging about cooperation with the federals, his ship was obviously rigged out as a runner, and an armed one at that. It was probable that a conscientious northern naval commander would blast him from the sea without giving him time to argue his service to the federal cause. True, the crew members stood ready to fly the United States flag, but would the cruiser bother to look for such a thing in the dark; or, seeing it, consider it anything more than a ruse on a ship painted pale gray?
Such thoughts served to occupy her mind, to prevent her from dwelling on what might be taking place with the ships they had left in trouble. Men were dying there in the night and the surging salt waves, men she had known, with whom she had spoken, laughed, danced. Was one of them Peter? Could his quick humor and charm be extinguished so easily? She knew the answer. It was one that had to be recognized each time a newssheet appeared with lists of casualties printed on its pages.
Above the splash and rush of their progress, she listened for the sound of renewed firing. She scanned the faint line where the ocean met the sky for the flash of guns. Each passing moment of quiet, of darkness, was a boon, one she prayed desperately would continue.
When Nate clamped his fingers on her arm, pulling her from her post at the railing, she fought him. It was blasphemy, a peculiar arrogance, but it seemed in that moment that if she failed to keep watch, to retain her concen
tration on the safety of the men who had followed her, that they would be left unprotected, exposed to certain death.
Nate ignored her struggles, half-carrying, half-dragging her with him to his cabin. He shoved her inside, then slammed the door upon her. She lunged back at it, beating with her fists on the thick panel, choking with rage and distress. From the other side, even above the noise of her frantic pounding, she heard the oiled snap of the key turning in the lock, shutting her in alone in the dark cabin.
That small sound brought the return of some semblance of sanity, and with it came control. She stepped back, then whirled, moving to the porthole, twisting the latch, flinging the glass open so that she could see and hear.
She was still there some time later when the key rattled once more in the door, signaling Nate’s return. He paused in the doorway with a tray in one hand, his attitude wary as he surveyed her position with the help of the light from a dim lantern in the passage. Satisfied, he moved to set the tray, containing what appeared to be ham and eggs, on the small corner table. Keeping an eye on her, he reached up to light the lamp that swung in its gimbals above it, then turned to lock the door again.
Lorna did not move until he came toward her. What was the use, here on this ship out on the seas, surrounded by his men? She stepped aside, holding her skirts from him, but he only closed the porthole and drew the short, black curtains that hung on either side across it to block the light.
“Sit down and eat,” he said, his tone derisive. “You’re going to need your strength.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Suit yourself.”
He swung toward the table and seated himself, pulling the tray toward him. Lorna watched him fork a bite of ham into his mouth and cut into the fried egg that lay on the single plate the tray contained. The yolk ran yellow-gold, oozing out into the ham grease, and she turned sharply away with nausea rising in her throat.
She could feel his gaze upon her in avid anticipation, whetted, she thought, by the carnage he had witnessed and the danger in which they had stood. She sent a quick glance around the cabin, but could see nothing that might serve as a weapon or even as a barricade against him. She thought of Ramon, then wrenched her mind away. She could not depend on him; there was no one she could depend upon except herself.
Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2 Page 42
