A Pirate's Ruse

by Camille Oster

  For a moment, she didn't know what he would do, feeling as if she was about to be consumed like the creature he'd devoured before. Something in her wouldn't mind—a perverse thought, but his thumb on her lip sent tantalizing sensation radiating down into her belly. This was bad—very bad. He'd once promised her he'd take her up against a tree. Tied up like this was just too much—anything against a tree was too much, she reminded herself and looked away. It broke whatever was shifting between them and he took a step away.

  He moved back to the other side of the fire and lay down on his side. She felt safer when there was a fire between them. In actuality, she was no safer—it just felt less urgent.

  "So what will you do when you lose this competition?" he asked, looking up at her with his head leaning on his hand. He'd laid his lined shirt underneath him, keeping the sand off his bare torso.

  "Leave. The next ship away, I'm on it."

  "Back to England?"

  She shrugged. "I suppose."

  "It was foolhardy of Guildford to bring you here."

  "Was it? As far as I can see, I am still one of the last two in this competition."

  "Except I have you tied to a tree."

  Clara bit her lip in annoyance. "A mere setback."

  "Is it? And how do you suppose to get out of this situation?"

  "I'm working on it," she promised.

  He smiled broadly and it crinkled the corner of his eye, where his hand was pressing to his temple. "You do that," he said and lay down on his back. His face turned away from her and his hand stroked lazily across his stomach. His knee rose, finding balance as he relaxed. The light played over the expanse of his chest along the smooth, evenly toned skin. She hated how beautiful he was and how she couldn't stop watching. "You aren't seriously going to leave me like this?"

  "I gave you the options. Have you changed your mind? I would certainly prefer it." He didn't bother looking at her as he spoke. She could hear tiredness creeping into his voice, but she certainly wasn't going to sleep snuggled up to him. She knew full well he wouldn't keep his hands to himself, and more likely she would end up spending the night under him.

  "No," she finally said, dropping her head back and resigning herself to an uncomfortable night. As she listened, his breath slowed as he dropped off to sleep. She hated him, wishing all sorts of pain on him—at least a painful bite from something nasty.

  Chapter 22:

  * * *

  Clara dreamt she was tied to a tree, waking with a start to realize with relief that she wasn't actually naked—although she was in fact tied to a tree. Her tormentor was sleeping mere feet away and she tried to move her foot so she could kick some sand on himself, just out of spite, but couldn't get enough movement to flick that far.

  She strained against the ropes, hearing them groan. They were old and dry, but unfortunately they were still strong enough to hold her. She stilled when he rose, rubbing his hand over his face, then chest, stroking sand off him. Bending down and grabbing his shirt, he walked off into the village without a word, holding his shirt in his hand.

  "I'm still tied here," she yelled, but got no response. Surprisingly, she had slept, although uncomfortably at times. "I hate you," she muttered, still embarrassed at the position she had let him put her in. Not let exactly—unable to prevent. She struggled some more.

  "Hermit's cottage, huh?" he said as he approached, wearing his shirt now. Obviously he'd found the clue, which wasn't surprising. It only took a simple search to find it. "Guess I'll have to go find a lone cottage somewhere. I'm sure you'll find some way of entertaining yourself until I'm back."

  "You can't leave me here."

  "I'm much happier if I know where you are."

  She put up a renewed set of struggles. He walked around the back of her to check the bindings around her wrists. She could feel his fingers lightly touch around her wrists, then stroking down her palms. The slight touch tingled warmly across her palms and down her fingers. "Let me go."

  She could hear him chuckle. "So irate," he chided. "Like an angry bee. Don't be bothersome while I'm gone." He stepped in front of her again and she had to look up to meet his eyes. "I have to go find this cottage now. Take care," he said and kissed her fiercely, pressing his lips to hers. She wished she could struggle away, or slap him, or something, but she couldn't, which was exactly why he was doing it—he had her captured and showing there was nothing she could do if he chose to take liberties. "Be good," he said, putting his forefinger to the tip of her noise. Her lips burned from the kiss and from embarrassment.

  Grinning broadly, he stepped away, then turned and walked toward the beach. Clara couldn't do anything but watch him go. The utter bastard. He was so confident that she would be exactly where he left her when he came back, probably to make her beg for him to release her. Over her dead body.

  She renewed her struggles and kept going until she was exhausted, leaning fully on the ropes. With hours of effort, she did manage to move them down past her chest, until she could finally get an arm free. With more pushing and wriggling, she reached the dagger in her boot and started cutting. The ropes were so old and dry; they put up little defense against being cut.

  Finally she was free, and it meant he had a few hours head-start on her. She ran to the church and found her sword exactly where he had dropped it. She wasn't surprised. One of his weaknesses was his over-confidence. Just like this, leaving her sword around for her to reclaim. Stupid, or just plain cocky, more like.

  She set off into the jungle, not exactly sure how to find a hermit's cottage. It all depended on the hermit's personality where he chose to live. Obviously, he wouldn't be by the village. She knew Christian would use the beach to walk around the island, try to see if he could spot a cottage. Clara headed inland. Her instinct told her that a hermit wouldn't want to be discovered—to see without being seen.

  She followed the streams, most being shallow enough that she could wade up them. A hermit would need water. The main stream from the village had no cottages nearby, but there were off-shoot streams, which she followed with no luck. Maybe there was a second stream coming off the mountain. She moved higher and fought her way through the dense jungle until she found a second one, suspecting she was on the right path now. Excitement filled her as she followed this new stream, chasing down off-shooting streams as she went. The jungle was still dense around her and she caught no sight of Christian, but they could likely pass by each other fairly close without seeing each other.

  After a while, she spotted a small clearing. This had to be it. Sure enough, a rickety, old building stood at the far end of the clearing. She stopped and listened, but nothing was heard other than the noise of the jungle. She wouldn't put it past him to lay in wait for her, but then she suspected he hadn't yet discovered she'd shed his restraints. Listening was little help, as with that noise of the jungle, it would be hard to hear an army coming.

  There was no sign of Christian, but she was still cautious. She wasn't sure what he would do, but on some level she didn't care. The bastard had tied her up, and kissed her, which he seemed to do whenever he robbed her of something. Well, it looked like she had found the next clue, despite his efforts to detain and prevent her.

  She walked around the building until she found the door. It opened when she shoved it, groaning loudly, revealing a musty space the jungle was well into reclaiming. Stepping inside, she saw the hermit's effects, which had all been left. Maybe the man had died here, alone and forgotten. Clara shuddered at the thought, wondering why a man would choose to live completely alone, away from all people and civilization. Saying that, civilization was the sketchy concept in these parts.

  A message in chalk was written on the wall.

  When the moon is large, the sea stretches to the sky.

  Clara read the message over and over again, but couldn't make sense of it. Obviously it had something to do with the sea. Why did these messages have to be so cryptic? Why couldn't it just say: Go here. Ideally with an arrow
pointing direction.

  Looking around again, she saw the hermit's effects, spotting a pot and some bent cutlery. She was going to have to find something to eat as her stomach was growling again. She also saw a spear in the corner. The tip seemed good, although the wood had rotted. She would have to replace the wood. It couldn't be said she was handy with wood-working, but what choice did she have? She needed to eat.

  Searching over the cottage, she found some spark grinders, which would be very useful to light a fire. She took those, too. A sense of relief overcame her when she finally exited the smelly cottage.

  She had found this before he had—she was sure of it. For all his devious actions, she was ahead. And he'd tied her to a tree, leaving her uncomfortable all night, intent on doing so all day. She didn't dare think what humiliation he planned for her when he returned. Then she smiled, thinking how angry he would be when he noticed she'd escaped.

  Maybe it was time to retaliate—deliver him a real blow. She had the second clue and he didn't. Perhaps it was now for her to take charge in this competition, let him know that she could not be held down and should definitely not be underestimated.

  He would be extremely angry when he discovered what she was about to do. She could definitely not go back to the settlement after this, but this wasn't about her having a cordial relationship with him, which was probably impossible—this was about winning this challenge and removing the threat of the other competitor. She had to be ruthless, and would focus her attention on finding this third clue. She just had to avoid him in the process. It was a large island; it shouldn't prove impossible. It meant she might not have shelter, but she would just have to put up with the discomfort.

  Taking a deep breath, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the grinder. She walked to the cottage and crouched down by the dead, dry vegetation underneath, setting it alight. It spread like wildfire and soon the wood of the building started to burn.

  There would be no second clue for him to find.

  The cottage groaned and crackled as flames took it, and smoke rose high into the bright, blue sky. It wouldn't be long before he saw the smoke and would likely be drawn to it. She had to get far away from here, imagining his anger when he discovered what she'd done. He deserved it.

  Moving back to the stream, she moved inland toward the mountain. She was going to make her way to the far side, where she would have to find a way of making the spearhead in her pocket able to secure her some supper, while at the same time, try to figure out what the clue meant.

  Chapter 23:

  * * *

  Christian saw the smoke from the beach, having almost circumnavigated the entire island. It rose from deep in the jungle and he immediately knew that she was burning the cottage, probably along with the clue. There would be nothing left of it by the time he reached it.

  Drawing his hands up to his head, he swore, growling his frustration. Somehow she'd gotten loose and found the damned cottage. And by the looks of it, this bloody hermit chose not to live by the sea where the food was, and somehow she had discovered that. How could this have happened?

  And she'd destroyed the clue out of spite. If she thought this would knock him out of the race, she had another thing coming. There was only one source of this clue now and he would just have to pluck it out of her—whatever it took. She would be handing over that clue and would rue the day she tried to thwart him.

  Growling again, he determined that he had to find his way to the cottage to see if her arson attempt had somehow failed to destroy the message left for them. If not, he would just have to chase her down—wherever she was hiding.

  Tearing through the jungle, he made his way to the origin of the smoke, which was now dying down. He almost wished this fire would burn down the whole jungle. She would have nowhere to hide then. But this jungle held too much moisture to burn, which was lucky for her, because he was angry enough to burn everything in his path if he could.

  There was nothing left of the cottage, and as expected, there was no sign of her. If she had any intelligence, she wouldn't go back to the settlement either, and she probably was too smart to seek a confrontation with him. She would definitely lose. It didn't matter; he was getting that clue, no matter what.

  He returned to the settlement, just to ensure she hadn't been struck by the ultimate stupidity, thinking she could face him and keep the clue to herself. There was the chance that she would want to gloat. It would be a disastrous assumption on her part.

  Striding through the settlement, he found no sign of her. He stopped and listened, but heard nothing other than birds and the screech of monkeys. The rope that had held her had been cut and was lying on the ground. He wasn't surprised that she had escaped her restraints, but he was surprised that she would be aggressive enough to destroy the clue. It was an act he would return in kind. He just had to find her.

  There was no sign of her in the church. Clearly she didn't assume she would find sanctuary in there—probably because it hadn't worked last time.

  Anger still fired his blood. He was stalking her and he could almost feel her presence on the island. Calming himself, he tried to think of what she would do and where she would go. Like him, she would probably be hungry. Bananas, citrus and fish, she had said. Those were the things she knew she could eat. Citrus was not filling and bananas were hard to find—one had to stumble across them. Fish would probably give her the best chance of a meal. There were boars here: there always where anywhere people had been—animals brought for food, which escaped and turned feral, but he didn't think she would pursue such ambitious prey.

  She was too intelligent to come near the settlement, which probably meant she was as far away as she could get, likely close to the beach.

  Closing his eyes, he drew a deep breath. It was time to hunt. He let the anger fire his blood again, preparing himself. Focusing on what he needed to do. Anticipation settled in his chest and tightened his muscles.

  Setting off down the beach again, he stuck close to the tree line skirting the sand. The sun was out and it was hot. He took his shirt off again as the warm breeze came off the sea. The jungle provided protection from the sun, but the breeze picked off heat from the hot sand. Every hundred yards or so, he would stop and listen for any noise that wasn't a bird or a tree-dwelling creature.

  She would likely be hiding in the jungle, but her food source was in the sea. That was her weakness—one he would exploit. Being close to the beach, he could see far down the length of the island.

  He searched for hours, stopping intermittently to find sustenance. There was actually quite a lot to eat in the jungle if you knew what you were looking for. There were roots, fruits, and plenty of edible sea creatures.

  A peninsula lay ahead of him, which he wouldn't see around. His shadow was getting longer and he knew it would be dark in a couple of hours. Making his way around the protrusion of land, he saw another long beach, and was greeted by the sight he knew he would eventually find. There she was, standing on rocks, a spear in hand, eagerly watching for fish around the rocks. She was still far away, intently focused on catching something. Her boots were off and her breeches were rolled up around her thighs. Her hair looked wild in the breeze. There she was. He had her now.

  He started running down the wet sand where traction was best. He ran as fast as he could, making good ground before she spotted him, dropping the spear and clambering over the slippery, sharp rocks with urgent steps. He pushed himself further, picking up speed as he sprinted down the beach toward her, his arms and legs pumping.

  Clearing the rocks, she darted into the jungle, but he was after her, pushing for everything he had so he didn't lose her, entering the spot in the jungle where she had. He made his way through the vegetation, then stopped and listened, hearing a crack ahead of him. She was close by, trying to get farther inland, into the jungle and away from him.

  He made his way toward the sound as quickly as he could, cutting vines and forcing his way past bushes, until he reached
a stone wall, which would take time to climb. She would move along it until she could find a better place to ascend. As quickly as he could manage, he moved down the wall, away from the way he'd come. There would be no chance she would move toward him.

  He spotted her and belted down to where she was climbing up the rock face. This rock face was her undoing. Jumping high, he grabbed hold of her ankle and pulled her down. She yelped with dismay and probably scraped as she fell.

  "Oh, and here we are," he said as she scrambled to get up from where she'd fallen on the ground. "You and I have something to discuss. You didn't honestly think I would just give up. Instead of chasing clues, I end up chasing you, but needs must, really. Now, about that clue. Care to share?"

  She rolled away from him, out of his grip and rose, drawing her sword. "As if I would tell you." Her eyes blazed with anger and fear, and defiance. She lunged for him, her sword aimed at his belly. He blocked it by drawing his own.

  "Believe me, there is no way around that. You will tell me."

  She swung and their swords met. He knocked her sword away, then spun to place another blow. He wasn't holding back his strength, but Havencourt had done a good job training her. It was really astonishing how much she'd learn of sword play in the weeks she'd been here. It would be quite impressive if it weren't so annoying.

  Lunging low, he knocked her off her feet, but she quickly scrambled to get away as he reached for her. Her breeches were still rolled up, baring most of her legs. Obviously, he had to ensure she didn't perish. A flesh-wound wouldn't be the end of the world—might make her tongue soften a bit. He swung hard, knocking her sword back with the force. If nothing else, he could wear her out. That might actually suit his purposes.