The Bride and the Buccaneer

by Darlene Marshall

  She moved with him, captured by his intensity, his desire to make her his beyond question. His calloused hands explored her like a cave one learned by touch and feel, a danger drawing you in, ensnaring you in a tangle of emotions and sensations punctuated by her moans and his rasping breath as he worked himself over her.

  Sophia felt herself tightening around him and wrapped herself around him as he drove himself deeper, harder into her, whispering to her that she belonged to him and she would always belong to him.

  The tide of their passion, and now their love, washed over her like a waterfall and she cried out an instant before he did, clutching him to her, in her arms, inside her body, holding him like there was no tomorrow waiting for them.

  They wasn't much to be said the next morning as they hitched the mules and set out for the ferry at Fort Pupo. Jack snared a rabbit at dawn and dealt with it while Sophia finished packing their gear aboard the carts. Sophia was wearing a dress again, her boy's clothing packed away, a straw hat shading her face, a shawl pulled around her shoulders despite what promised to be another warm day.

  "Ready?"

  Sophia took a deep breath.

  "Yes."

  "Then let's get to it."

  * * *

  The trip east toward the rising sun was quiet, unbroken by chatter or conversation. There was the steady plod of the mules, the creaking of the cart's wheels turning as they churned up dust on the sandy track, and the scrub jays calling to one another as they went about their routine.

  It could have been them alone in East Florida, only the road giving evidence humans had passed by this spot, until a few miles from the landing they rounded a corner and discovered they were not alone after all.

  "I have been expecting you," Lord Whitfield said, standing at his ease in the middle of the road. He had another man with him, a hulking brute at his back with a musket, who said nothing, but watched them like a tethered bear, his eyes alive with animal cunning.

  "You were expecting us? How did you know we would be here?" Jack asked.

  Whitfield nodded toward Sophia, and Jack turned and looked at her,

  a stunned expression on his face.

  "I am sorry it turned out this way, Jack. I was hoping I would not have to do this, but..." She shrugged. "This is how it has to be."

  "You cannot mean it," Jack said steadily, watching her. "I do not believe you, Sophia, not after all that has happened between us."

  "You always were naive when it came to a pretty face, Sir Highwayman," Sophia, said, pulling out her pistol from where she had it hidden beneath her shawl. "And I warned you, I was an uncommon thief. Lord Whitfield has made me an offer better than yours, Jack."

  "Better than love?" Jack said, his voice harsh. "You would reject what we had for him?”

  "It is my nature," she said sadly.

  The shot was like a thunderclap beneath the clear sky, and when the smoke cleared, Sophia was clutching her pistol in both hands while Jack clutched himself, red spreading out in a stain across his chest.

  "But.. .but, I love you!" he cried, staring at her in horror.

  "I know."

  He looked at her a moment longer, then crumpled to the ground. She started to turn to Whitfield, who stood frozen, clearly not expecting this development.

  A second shot rang out.

  Sophia staggered from the blow, then crumpled to her knees before falling over to sprawl on the sand as red seeped through her dress.

  "Bitch," Jack said, dropping his own pistol and closing his eyes for the last time.

  The silence in the road was absolute.

  "They are dead! Both of them!" Shock strained Whitfield's voice to a high pitch.

  The ruffian beside him grunted. "Good thing, too. She was going to do for you with that little two-shot pistol of hers. But you still owe me, mister, 'cause you hired me for protection from these two, and I'd say you was real protected now!"

  He guffawed at his own joke, but Whitfield stood there, staring at the couple on the ground. Sophia'd fallen on her front, her hand outstretched toward her dead husband, her face in the dirt.

  "Ah, Sophia, this is a shame," Whitfield said. "I will have to console myself with a different bride, purchased with the treasure you so conveniently brought. And for less than you would have cost me."

  "That's a lot of gold for you to be haulin' back to England, mister," his guard said. "Y'shoulda hired more guards, rather than saved a

  shilling. But it's more for me then."

  He brought up his musket and Whitfield fumbled for his own pistol when a voice called out in Spanish, "Halt, in the name of the King!"

  Spanish troops poured out of the woods, led by a young lieutenant who barked out an order to Whitfield's guard to lower his weapon.

  The man put his musket on the ground and raised his hands over his head.

  "I didn't do nothin', it was all his plan!"

  "Silence!" the lieutenant said in English. He walked over to the bodies on the ground, put his fingers on their necks, then stood and glared at his two prisoners.

  "You!" he said, pointing to the guard. "I know who you are. You can answer my captain's questions at the fort."

  When he turned to Whitfield, his manner was more deferential, but still firm.

  "I am sorry, senor, but you will have to accompany us as well. I expect there will be questions for you about today's affair and you must be prepared to give a full accounting."

  "But what about the treasure!" Whitfield blurted out, then looked like he wished he'd never learn how to speak.

  "Treasure? What treasure?" The young man's glance fell on the heavily loaded mule cart. "If there is treasure on that wagon then it belongs to El Rey. In all likelihood it is treasure from Spain's brave colonies, stolen by wretched English pirates!"

  There really wasn't much Whitfield could say to refute this, so he closed his mouth.

  "I am afraid, senor, this affair has taken on unexpected complications. You will have to give a deposition about everything, especially since there is murder involved, and this would be best handled at the ministry offices in Havana. I regret to inform you that since we are now in the summer season, it could be months before the proper officials return from Madrid to speak with you."

  "Months? In Havana? I cannot do that! Do you know who I am?"

  "An Englishman," the officer said, gesturing to his men to take charge of the guard and the treasure.

  "I am Lord Whitfield, and I will not be dealt with this way, Lieutenant!"

  "So you are a titled Englishman. Perhaps we can reach some accommodation."

  It took Whitfield a moment to figure out exactly what kind of "accommodation" the lieutenant meant, and his face turned florid in the morning sun as he realized not only was he going to lose the treasure, but the day would be costlier yet.

  He snarled as he reached into his coat for his purse, and shoved it into the younger man's hand.

  The lieutenant hefted the purse and raised a brow at Whitfield.

  "It is possible you are correct, senor. We should do what we can to keep this from becoming an international incident. I will have my men escort you to the fort, where you can board the packet to Fernandina and catch a ship for England."

  He called out an order in Spanish to one of his men, who came over and after listening to the instructions said, "This way, senor. We have horses to take you quickly to the river."

  The soldier hustled Whitfield away, but not before the baron cast a final, longing look at the treasure, paying no attention to the carnage on the ground.

  The lieutenant waited until the dust from the departing baron and his escort settled, then walked over to the scene of the crime.

  "So sad." The officer sighed, looking down at the bodies on the sand. "A tragedy of lovers, much like Romeo and Juliet."

  "If you're going to compare us to classic lovers," said a voice near his foot, "could you do better than that juvenile pair of ninnies?"

  "Heloise and Abelard?"r />
  Jack shot him a look as he climbed to his feet. "I'd rather keep all my parts, thank you very much."

  "I was thinking more of the Macbeths," Sophia said, rolling over and lacing her fingers over her ensanguined belly, looking up at the branches above. "Now there was a woman who knew how to go after what she wanted!"

  The lieutenant shuddered at the stains marring Sophia's front.

  "That is very realistic blood, Mrs. Burrell."

  "It should be. It came from a very real rabbit."

  "Poor bunny! Sacrificed on an alter of gold!"

  Sophia allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  "Do not feel too bad about the rabbit, he gave his life for breakfast as well," she said. "I do not believe we have been introduced."

  He bowed over her hand, giving it a soft kiss, his eyes never leaving hers.

  "Gabriel Lopez, mate of the privateer Zephyr, currently masquerading as a Spanish officer."

  Jack strolled over and put his arm around Sophia, easing her away from the handsome Spaniard. Before he could say anything, Whitfield's hulking guard strolled over, a huge smile splitting his face.

  "Didn't I agree with you in St. Augustine this was a brilliant idea, Lucky Jack? We've rid you of that annoying lordling and rescued Garvey's Gold," Morgan Roberts said.

  Sophia looked up at the bloody man cradling her against his side.

  "I am also pleased your plan worked, Jack."

  "Pleased but surprised? Since the alternative was for you to shoot me and live in luxury as Lady Whitfield, I thought it was worth the effort. And Lord Whitfield should thank me." He cocked a brow at her. "What are the odds that after marrying you the good baron would have suffered some fatal mishap on the voyage home to England?"

  Sophia just smiled her cat smile and said nothing to this, but then her attention was caught by the activity near the trees. The men from the Zephyr were removing a sizable chest from the mule cart and heading off into the woods in the direction of the river.

  "Jack! That pirate is taking our money!"

  All the guns carried by the Zephyr's crew swiveled in their direction.

  Morgan Roberts smiled down at her in a fashion that reminded her of the shark's teeth in the ravine.

  "Now, you don't want to argue this, do you, Mrs. Burrell? Considering how we helped you out of a tight spot today?"

  Sophia glared up at him and then whirled around and glared at the other male in her life who caused her problems.

  "Jack, stop him! You are the most lackadaisical privateer in the world! Where is my pistol? You can't just let him leave with our mo— Mmmph!"

  She wasn't able to say another word because Jack grabbed her and kissed her within an inch of her life. She was stiff in his arms initially, but then relaxed, her body flowing into his, bloody dress plastered to bloody shirt, but neither of them paid attention, not even when Roberts cleared his throat rather loudly and said, "Well, lads, it looks like our work here is done."

  So saying, he gathered up his men, and a portion of Garvey's gold, and headed back to the river.

  By the time Jack let Sophia come up for air they were gone, only the pair of voyeuristic mules watching them.

  "Jack, those bloody pirates took our money!" she said again.

  "I was hoping I'd distracted you, though I'm pleased you said our money. We had no choice, Sophia, it was Roberts's fee for helping rid us of Whitfield."

  Sophia put her hands on her hips and glared at him. "I am sure if we had given it more thought we would have come up with a better solution!"

  "Your solution was to shoot the baron and hide his body in the woods. This way he won't bother us again and we don't have to worry about the authorities coming after us. It may have been costlier, but in the long run it's better than murdering people."

  "So you say," she muttered.

  Jack put his hand under her chin and tipped her scowling face up. "That's not important now, Sophia. What I need to know is, do you love me?"

  "Of course. If I did not love you, I would have loaded that pistol."

  "Then tell me true, Sophia. You said you would walk through hell, barefoot, for fifty thousand pounds. Would you stay married to Lucky Jack Burrell for less? We didn't get all the treasure, or the deed to your house in England, but we got enough."

  She sighed. "I am sorry about the house, but it is only a house, and it would be awkward reappearing from the grave to claim it. And as for the gold..." She looked up at him with shining eyes. "Who cares about the gold, Jack, when we have love!"

  "Do you mean that?"

  "No, of course not, but I wanted to say it anyway. It is a charming sentiment, I suppose, but it is better to have gold and love, and I have all of that and you, too!"

  "I don't need to worry that you will shoot me in my sleep and keep all the gold for yourself?"

  "Jack, you know me well enough by now to realize I would only shoot you while looking you in the eye."

  "Sweetheart, that may be the most romantic thing you have ever said to me."

  Then he kissed her again.

  And if they didn't live happily ever after for every single day of the rest of their lives, it must be acknowledged that at least she never shot him while he was sleeping.