"I would like to talk with you," she said stiffly.
His gaze switched from her to something just beyond and Anne realized that a sailor had come up behind her. "Come in―both of you," Brant said. With a nod of his head he indicated to Anne to take a seat. She lowered herself into one of the ponderous, velvet-covered chairs to wait while he spoke with the sailor.
"Gunner Adams," Brant said.
"Sir?" The young man snapped to attention, dragging his gaze from the lovely girl the men had talked of but had seen so little of during the voyage.
"At ease." Brant came around from behind his desk and, taking one of the heavy leather bags piled at the foot of the deck, handed it to the man. "Your share of the prize money, Adams. You've done well."
A wide smile appeared on the man's unshaven face. "Thank ye, Captain Powers!"
The suspicion grew into certainty as Anne stared at Brant. "I thought you were on government business," she accused, after the sailor had gone.
"We are," Brant said, returning to his chair. He stretched out his long legs before him and rested his chin on clasped hands, waiting for her to continue.
"And this blood money?" she spat.
"We took twenty-five thousand dollars in silver off the Guerra," he explained calmly. "As an inducement to sail for the Republic of Texas, our government offers one-fifth of the spoils to be divided among each man."
Anne sprang to her feet. "Is there no limit to your barbarism? You're nothing but a common privateer ...and a slave trader!"
"Is that what you wanted to see me about?" The dark brows raised mockingly.
Why was it that she could not carry on an intelligible, reasonable conversation with him without becoming upset? "I was about to make you an offer," she said, trying to regain her composure. "A bargain of sorts."
"Oh―what sort of bargain?"
Anne realized at once she had erred. To bargain with her body in exchange for release, when she was his for the taking―what could she be thinking? It must be the tropical climate that dulled her senses so.
"I―I've changed my mind," she said and turned to flee the room. Behind her she heard his light laughter and feared he knew her plan from the beginning. If he was waiting for her to come to him, he could wait forever! Angry at herself, at him, she left the hacienda with deliberate steps that took her past the stucco walls that surrounded the hacienda's gardens, down along a path overgrown with papaya, palm, and date trees, always following the sound of the sea carried by the wind.
Just as she broke free of the forested overgrowth and came out onto the open beach, she collided with another person. They both stumbled to their knees in the shifting sand. The moon's light revealed the man to be none other than the grizzled seaman, Tucker. "It be the captain's woman," he said thickly. His own surprise turned to a grin that terrified Anne. He pushed his face forward, and she could smell the pulque on his breath as she struggled against him, losing her balance.
"The captain's not enough for ye?" He fell across her so that she was pinioned between him and the sand that grated against her bare thighs. "I can show a doxie like you things I bet the captain never thought about."Tucker squirmed on top of her so that he straddled her, and Anne could feel him jerking at the buttons of his pants.
"See it," he panted, drawing forth his swollen flesh. "Prime piece of manhood, it is. Now I'll show ye how to choke my chicken," and he grabbed at her hands.
Anne wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation, but fear won out. She arched her body, bucking like a wild horse in her frantic attempt to throw the man. At that same moment the seaman's weight was abruptly removed from her. The man stumbled backwards, falling on his back to look up into the muzzle loader Ezra held on him. "I think Captain Powers will be wanting to see you," Ezra said.
The torrid sun blazed down on the brig riding the Gulfs gentle waves. On the brig's main deck thirty-six sailors stood at attention while Ezra laid the first of two dozen cat-o'-nine-tails over Seaman Tucker's bare back. As punishment for insubordination, the sailor had been stripped to the waist and lashed to a cannon. With each bite of the cat, florid ridges of flesh sprang upon his back followed by flowing lines of crimson.
From above, on the poop deck, Anne was forced to watch the flogging. Each time her eyes shut against the grizzly sight, the man at her side dug his fingers into the soft flesh of her arm. Once she swayed, held upright only by Brant's steely grip. "Damn your whoring heart, Annie. Watch! Watch what you've brought about by your damned willfulness!"
When it was over and the seamen had been dismissed, Brant yanked Anne after him up the companionway to his cabin. He slammed the door and shoved her onto the bed.
Anne jerked upright. "How dare you accuse me of willfulness," she blazed. "If it weren't for your own blind selfishness―your warped desire for revenge―I wouldn't have been aboard the Seawasp to begin with. But no, you had to have your revenge. You couldn't stand it that I might prefer a decent man to you!"
Brant's eyes narrowed to burning slits. The air about the two of them crackled with the electricity of his anger. Anne drew back in fear, but he grabbed one wrist and jerked her up against him. She could feel the heat that was both anger and desire emanating from him. "I don't care how many men you prefer to me―you're still my wife, Anne."
"You forget Otto," she whispered.
"No―you forgot him. In the eyes of the law―and aboard this vessel I am the law―you are my wife… as I intend to remind you."
She struck out at him, leaving red scratches across his right cheek, and he laughed as he shoved her back on the bed again. Anne tried to scramble to the other side, and he threw his body across hers. When his mouth clamped over hers, she dug her hands into his thick hair and yanked his head backwards, but he jammed his knee up brutally between her legs.
"If you wouldn't fight me, Annie, "he whispered at her ear, "I wouldn't have to hurt you."
But it was not he she was fighting but her body's treacherous response to his own body's demands. She twisted and shoved, even sinking her teeth into his shoulder, but still his hands had their way with her. And at last her curses turned to moans of ecstasy as she wrapped her arms about him, pulling him against her in that final explosive moment of rapture.
But afterwards, with his lips at her temple, she whispered scathingly, "You're no, better than Tucker!"
She felt him stiffen and expected him to hit her, but instead he rolled off of her and began to dress. At the door he paused and looked at her. She saw the tired lines in his face―and something else she could not identify. "I don't know whatever made me think you were worth wanting―or having. Like some fool I kept hoping―hoping you'd get over Donovan―hoping that by the time we returned to Texas you would realize what it was you wanted. But I can see I was wrong."
The Seawasp sailed up along the Texas coast, and Anne watched impatiently through the telescope for a glimpse of Galveston's weathered buildings, but so far there were only the low sandy beaches backed by scrubby, wind-bent trees. For eleven days she had remained within the cabin, seeing no one but Ezra. Where Brant slept at night she did not know, but she was grateful she was spared his presence. There was something about the two of them that set them at each other's throats whenever they were together...every time but one―that one idyllic day spent at Brant's ranch beneath the huge oak.
There was a knock at the door, and Ezra entered with a tray of mangoes and nuts. He sat it on the desk, and she put aside the telescope. "How long before we reach Galveston, Ezra?"
"Three or four more hours at the most."
"It can't be soon enough," she murmured.
Ezra shook his grizzled locks. "I don't think I've ever met two more pig-headed people."
"How can you defend him―how can you justify his involvement in slave trade and―and piracy?"
"You ought to check your facts first, miss. The reason Brant ran away from home was because of his father's involvement with slave trade." Anne would not relent. "But his pira
cy―you will condone that?"
"Brant's share of the booty goes toward buying more supplies to outfit such ships ...but why don't you ask him these questions yourself?"
XXVIII
The crude, dog-run cabin in Houston, Texas was hardly what one would expect the President of the Republic of Texas to occupy, but then, Sam Houston had never been ostentatious―only flamboyant.
He sat behind his desk now, dressed in buckskins much like those worn by the man seated across from him. Inhaling deeply on the Cherokee peace pipe, he passed it to Brant. "The Indians have a lot more going for them than the white man gives them credit for," he said, smiling so that the wrinkles bunched up around the shrewd gray eyes.
Brant accepted the pipe and inhaled, rolling the smoke around in his mouth. After a moment he exhaled, letting the smoke curl upward in rings. "Every treaty should be accompanied by the smoking of the peace pipe."
Houston's hunter's eyes widened. "You already know of the treaty with Great Britain?"
Brant smiled and shrugged. "Your private secretary―Miller―left the papers on his desk. You couldn't expect me not to glance over them, could you, Sam?"
Houston leaned back in the pine chair and laughed, then coughed as the smoke congested his lungs. "I should've known little escapes the eyes of a Tonkawa scout―or a privateer." Then, more seriously, "In spite of your splendid success on the high seas, it appears the privateering days of the Texas Navy are coming to a halt."
"Then you think the signing of this treaty will put an end to Mexico's interference?"
"No. It'll only delay our next encounter with Mexico until we're stronger―or we have the United States backing us." Houston leaned forward and said, "I don't suppose you'd be willing to serve under our minister to Britain and France―Pickney Henderson―as an attaché? We could use someone that can tell the truth about Texas―not just some glorified dandy."
The squint lines about Brant's eyes crinkled. "Sorry, Sam. But I'm planning to get back to my ranch. Three years is a long time to be away."
"You know, don't you, that Donovan's here in Houston? It's obvious he's angry as hell the treaty passed the Parliament, but he has no choice but to follow orders and negotiate it with us."
Brant frowned, but all he said was, "No, I didn't know he was back."
"Too bad we never could prove he was working for those Abolitionists," Houston said, the regret mingling with the anger in his voice. "Their pious plot
Cost the lives of a lot of good Texans. Donovan's kind is certainly unwelcome here, but unfortunately this treaty he carries is more important." He laid the pipe aside and fixed his eagle-eyed gaze on Brant. "Will you tell Mrs. Maren of Donovan's presence here?"
Brant's smile was rueful. "You don't miss much yourself, Sam."
Anne sat at the inn's table, not able to touch the sizzling steak and creamed peas before her. After two months at sea the fresh meat and vegetables should have made her mouth water, yet her stomach rolled. Brant had left for the President's house immediately after the Seawasp had dropped anchor in Galveston Bay. That was yesterday, and he had not yet returned.
She glanced out the salt-streaked window, searching the bay for the British frigate, HMS Victory. Yes, it was still there at anchor. Would Brant secure passage for her as he had promised, no, threatened, that first evening she had boarded the Seawasp―or was he even now plotting another diabolical scheme to keep her his captive? Somehow she doubted it. Their last verbal exchange in his cabin had succeeded in convincing each of them of their true feelings.
Anne turned from the window to see Brant coming toward her. He looked much the same as he had the first time she had met him, now that he was once again dressed in buckskins. Dark. Formidable. Enigmatic. She had never known for certain what he was thinking. Even now, as she looked up at him, she saw no anger in his face―nor pleasure. Only the Indian's stolid impassiveness. "Your passage on the British frigate has been arranged," he said. "And I've paid for your room and board here until the Victory sails."
"There was no need for you to do all of that," she said, hating to accept anything from him.
"Let's just say it evens things up―that, and the information that Donovan can be found aboard the Victory." He nodded toward the bay and clapped his hat on low over his eyes. "My regards, ma'am."
Anne drew back from the lips that claimed hers so passionately.
"I'm sorry, darling," Colin told her. "When I'm with you, I forget there are other people around."
Indeed, the people that thronged Galveston's waterfront―sailors, merchants, and visitors seeking the pleasure of the sea―stared at the couple embracing, which in itself was not so unusual, for such a scene was repeated many times with each ship that put in, bringing loved ones. But this couple made such a handsome pair. The lovely young woman with hair the color of red gold and the elegant gentleman with the boyish good looks.
The man hailed a buggy and instructed the driver to take them to the Duck Inn. Then he turned to take the woman's hands in his. "I can't believe that you're here in Galveston―and that we're finally together," Colin said.
So, Brant had told Colin nothing of what had transpired in the six months' interval. "Within the week, we sail," Colin continued. "And you'll sail as Mrs. Colin Donovan, the wife of the next Prime Minister." He looked at her anxiously. "Does that please you―because that's all I want from life, darling―the opportunity to make you happy."
Anne leaned back in the buggy, unable to meet the enchanting green eyes. She looked instead at the gray storm clouds that rolled in from the Gulf, bringing with them the summer heat and humidity. "All my life I've adored you, Colin. To marry you is the realization of my girlhood dreams. But that's just what it would be―a marriage of dreams. And you can't build a marriage on dreams."
Colin took her hand gently in his. ''I was afraid this would happen if I was away too long. Give us a chance, at least, Anne. Let me make your dreams a reality."
"I've thought about that, Colin. About returning to England with you. We're both determined people―maybe we could make a go of it. But in the process it would ruin your career―and I love you too much to let that happen."
Colin frowned and opened his mouth in protest, but Anne touched her fingers to his lips. "Hush and listen to me, dearest. How long do you think your career would last when it became known your wife had lived with the Indians―among other sordid adventures?"
Then she told him what she had been withholding to the last. "And, Colin―my husband is alive."
She saw the stunned look in his eyes, but he grabbed her shoulders before she could say more. "That doesn't matter, Anne! Listen to me. I've been all over the world. Met the most beautiful courtesans and the most seductive savages. But none of them compared to you! Not just your beauty―but your spirit. Do you think I'd give you up after all this waiting, all this planning? Do you think my love's so shallow I'd put my career first? If Otto won't die, then divorce him. But one way or another I mean to have you!"
Anne drew back, not fully comprehending the anger she saw in the flashing green eyes. "It's not that I think your love is shallow," she said, trying to placate him. "But mine is. I've put you on a pedestal, and how long do you think that pedestal would stand when I found that you have to shave like mortal men? And that you sweat and sometimes get drunk and all the other things normal men do?" Her lips formed a tremulous smile. "Let me keep my dream untarnished, Colin."
The buggy halted before the inn, but Colin caught Anne's hand in a painful grasp before she could climb down. His voice was hard. "You'll regret this decision, Anne. I won't beg you ..." His voice softened so that it was almost a caress. "Think on it―think of what you're passing up. You've two days before the Victory sails to change your mind." He bent and planted a kiss on the inside of Anne's wrist that made her tremble with that old feeling.
All logic, all reason, told Anne to say yes. Colin was the fulfillment of all her dreams. In England she would be the wife of a celebrated diplomat. T
here would be teas, plays, and operas to attend. Beautiful gowns and costly jewels. Maids to wait on her. And an adoring husband.
She looked down at the scar that ridged the back of her left hand, reminding her that she still had a husband―if not Brant, then Otto. Anne shook her head wordlessly, blinking back tears that threatened to spill. Colin's eyes, as hard as emerald rocks, moved over her face unbelievingly. Then he nodded to the Negro driver, and the buggy rolled away.
Two days later Anne watched from her room's window at the Duck Inn as the Victory sailed out of sight, looking like some gigantic white-winged bird. Ezra had been right―she was no longer a little girl. She had to make her own life now―she had to stop following the flash of the firefly. Wasn't that what Delila had once tried to warn her of?
XXIX
''You planted the seeds!" Anne said.
Behind her cabin grew row upon row of bright, green-leafed tobacco plants more than ten inches high.
"Of course," Matilda said. She poked her cane among the plants. "I knew you would return, Liebe. There is about you―" The old woman paused, searching for the right word in English, "Rechte-schaffenheit," she said at last, using its German equivalent.
"Integrity?" Anne would hardly have applied that word to the self-centered young girl who had come to Texas more than a year before.
"Ja. A sense of responsibility. Of right und justice."
Abstractions, Anne thought. All of them. They count for nothing when the heart is torn by love. How long would the pain of Colin's absence continue to bind her heart like a tourniquet, cutting off her breath, her life's blood?
"Even after you found the baby―" here Anne broke off, closing her eyes against the vision of what Matilda had told her, of how the yard dogs had discovered the baby's burial place and torn―"Even after you realized what had happened here, you were that certain I'd come back?"
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