Within A Captain's Fate

by Lisa Olech

  “How will I know what happens to you?”

  “You won’t. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. What happens to me doesn’t matter. As soon as you get the chance, reunite with your father. It was the plan all along.”

  “It wasn’t the plan for you. How will you get back to the Scarlet Night? What if my father’s men won’t release you? Tupper will sail off without you.”

  “My being captured always a chance, one I made willingly. But you can’t worry about what’s out of our control.”

  “Do you suppose I can stop loving you, as well?”

  “Jocelyn…”

  “Do not Jocelyn me. I will not cease until I know you are away. Watching you leave will be hard enough. You cannot ask me to turn my back on you. Not know your fate. I won’t do it.”

  “You may not have a choice. “The two were jostled as the ship’s anchor was dropped and took hold. “We’re here. They’ll be coming for us soon. God, I wish I could hold you.”

  Jocelyn leaned in to kiss him. “I’m not ready. Oh, Ric, I love you.”

  “No matter what happens to me, I will always love you. These last few weeks…I’ll never forget, not a second of it.”

  “Don’t you dare say, good bye, not yet.”

  Ric’s gaze jerked toward the door. Footsteps came closer. Turning back, he crushed his mouth to hers before the door crashed open and strong hands pulled her away from him.

  “No!” She was hauled to her feet and shoved toward the door. The men hauling her away made crude remarks and jibes. “Ric.” She twisted back for one more look.

  “She’s the Admiral’s daughter, you bloody bastards.” He shouted out as two more solders did their best to subdue him. “Joce--”

  “Let me loose.” She jerked at her jailors. “Don’t hurt him. Ric!”

  They didn’t stop until they dragged her out into the daylight. Jocelyn winced at the brightness above deck. The ship they were on sat moored off shore as the docks were crowded with larger ships.

  Just as Ric described, a large square stone fortress stood high and foreboding perched upon a great hill well away from the busy harbor as if it had been carved into the surrounding stone. Its front corners resembling arrows or star points. All the trees had been cleared on two sides giving it an unobstructed view of the harbor and surrounding area. There was only one road to the fort. Carts, mules, horses, soldiers, and townspeople crowded the roadway that wound up toward the forbidding gates. Sitting at the top of the hill, lording over the fort, stood a building balanced on the highest point. Gray and brooding over all it surveyed.

  A shiver ran through Jocelyn as the sun dipped behind a cloud. She’d been anticipating this moment, stepping into her father’s world and a future of his choosing. One cage to another. How appropriate that she was arriving in chains.

  From the brigantine to a small transfer boat, to an open, horse-drawn cart, Jocelyn was dragged from one to the other toward her fate. She kept looking back over her shoulder hoping to see Ric, but there was no sign of him. Her wrists burned as did the muscles along her shoulders, but the pain paled in comparison to the ache in her heart. Please let him be all right. Please, Mother Mary, keep him safe.

  Leading from the docks, a wide curving road arched higher and higher before cutting back past the first star point and traveling on to end at the second. The layout of the fort was genius. Like the harbor, it had one way in, one way out. Anyone foolish enough to attack would be forced past the guns and never make it to the gates. The surrounding terrain made any other entrance impossible.

  Her battered heart sank as she looked up the high sheer walls of the fort. This cage would be the death of her.

  Through a labyrinth of gates making up the entry, they finally reached the inner courtyard. There had to be a hundred smartly uniformed men inside. The depth of Jocelyn’s dread deepened with each clop of the horse pulling their cart.

  They came to a stop in front of a row of low buildings. Jocelyn was jerked from the cart, dragged down a shaded corridor, and thrown into a stone cell.

  “Please,” she begged her captors. She had to try one more time. “You must believe me. Tell my father I’m here. I swear I am Jocelyn Angelique Beauchamp.”

  One of the men ignored her. The other only laughed, “And I am King Louis.”

  A door of thick iron bars slammed behind her. The sound of the lock snapping into place sending a shaft of fear and loathing straight through her chest.

  Chapter 27

  Jocelyn paced the small cell. In comparison to the brig aboard the ship, this cell was a palace. Clean. She could breathe. No rats. After the heat of the day, the stones were cool. Although, she imagined when the sun went down those same stones would turn icy.

  But what did she care about heat or cold? Her mind raced with only one thought. What of Ric? Had they beaten him again? Was he nearby? Perhaps they were keeping them separate because she was a woman. She hadn’t seen or heard anyone or anything since they dropped her here. She couldn’t even tell if there were other prisoners.

  Jocelyn kept pacing. It was the only thing keeping her sanity. If she stopped long enough to think, she’d surely lose the tenuous grip she had on her mind. Her arms and shoulders screamed at being twisted behind her, and the sharp burn of her wrists each time she tried shifting to ease that ache made her eyes sting with unshed tears. The clank of the chain tapped at her spine with each step. Utter panic lay beneath the surface.

  After what seemed hours, they came for her again. Two different soldiers stood behind the man unlocking the door. Jocelyn pushed back against the far wall as fear welled in her again.

  “Where are you taking me?” She questioned the men in French.

  The two flanked her and ushered her out. “You don’t get to ask the questions,” answered one. His fingers bit into her arm.

  “You’re to keep your mouth shut,” warned the second with a cold sneer. “Or we shall shut it for you.”

  With a soldier in front and one behind, she followed them through what felt like miles of corridors until they reached an ornately carved door.

  The room they entered was opulent in scale and design. Thick carpeting covered the stone floor, velvet covered cushions sat on rich wood chairs. Gilded framed portraits hung on the walls. She could smell the beeswax of the candles.

  A jumble of uniformed backs formed a sea of royal blue and red, and blocked the rest of her view--and one dearly familiar set of shoulders. Ric!

  Jocelyn tried to move in closer, let him know she was here, but her captors held her back.

  “Ric,” she dared. At the glare of her guard, she flattened her lips together, but she’d succeeded. Ric turned sharply to find her. Jocelyn almost cried out at the sight of his battered face. Oh, God, what had they done to him?

  He said not a word, but held her gaze before jerking his chin toward the back of the room. Jocelyn tried to see through the forest of uniforms. She caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Moreau standing off to one side. He was addressing someone in French.

  “…and we’ve captured the Devil’s Pearl, sir.”

  “Did you recover my wine from the bastards?”

  A flush spread over Jocelyn at the sound of the other man’s voice. She shoved forward. “Père!” At her cry, a hand clamped over her mouth. She struggled to break free, but her guard held her fast.

  Moreau continued. “Naught but four bottles, Admiral. They must have sold the rest, along with the gunpowder.”

  “The gall of these pirates to think they can steal from our own docks and get away with it. I’ll hang the lot of them.”

  “There were only two, sir. A man and a woman.”

  “I don’t care if she’s a woman. She pirates like a man, she’ll die like a man.”

  “But, she claims to be your daughter.”

  “Impossible. You’ve been played for a fool, Lieutenant. My daughter is dead. I charge them with crimes against the crown. Hang them both.�
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  Jocelyn squirmed against the guard’s hold. Her words trapped by his hand. He only tightened his grip.

  Moreau saluted. “I’ll see to it at once, Admiral.”

  She bit into the flesh of the man’s hand covering her mouth before stomping with all her might on his toes. He yelped and pulled his hand away long enough for her to cry out. “Ce n'est pas impossible. Je suis Jocelyn!”

  “Silence her,” ordered Moreau.

  Chaos erupted around her. Jocelyn dodged one set of hands only to be captured by another. “Father, please! It’s me!” She shoved to one side at the same time Ric rammed the back of the soldier in front of him and hurled himself against another as if trying to clear a path for her.

  Shouts and curses added to the melee. Jocelyn’s sleeve tore from her shoulder. She caught the briefest glance of her father’s shocked face before being pinned to the floor beneath two men.

  “You incompetent fools. Get the prisoners out of here,” screamed Moreau.

  “Wait, you idiots.” Admiral Beauchamp bellowed louder. “Get off her.”

  With the crushing weight lifted, Jocelyn was dragged to her feet. Before her stood her father resplendent in his uniform. The crisp blue of his coat trimmed heavy with gold braid was fitted with wide red cuffs and crowned with a neckcloth of brilliant white. Red breeches ended in high black boots trimmed in gold. He looked older than she remembered. Thinner. His face lined and weary. Pale beneath the whiteness of his wig, and against the harsh black straps of the patch he now wore across his eye. The sharp gaze from his remaining eye swept her from head to toe. She held her breath.

  He shook his head as if in disbelief. “Jocelyn?”

  “Oui, Père.” She sobbed.

  He swept her into his arms. “Is it really you?” His hands soon discovered she was in restraints. “Why is my daughter in shackles? You brainless oafs, get these off her.” When the men around him fumbled to find the proper keys, he snapped. “Damn it all, I’ll do it myself.” He pulled a ring of iron keys from his desk and came behind her to unlock her chains.

  Jocelyn trembled with a mixture of fear and delight at seeing her father. There were many times she doubted this day would ever come.

  “Were they wrong?” He fit the key into the lock at her wrist. “I was told you’d been captured and stolen away to Port Royal.”

  The first cuff released. Jocelyn let out another sob of relief and turned to face her father as he rid her of the other. He ran his hands over the raw skin of her wrists before holding her hands in his. The gesture tugged at her heart. “No, they weren’t wrong. It is all true.”

  He stroked her cheek as if he needed to touch her to make sure his vision wasn’t playing a cruel trick on him. “But the earthquake destroyed Port Royal? How did you survive?”

  Jocelyn looked over her father’s shoulder. His men were hauling Ric to his feet. “Him.” Her gaze locked with Ric’s. It was time for her to rescue him. “That man. He’s saved me again and again. Protected me. He was bringing me here to you when your men seized our sloop.”

  Her father turned and shoved the keys he held toward the two soldiers holding Ric. “Remove his shackles as well, you incompetent fools.” Only when Ric stood free did Jocelyn truly begin to believe their nightmare was over. When her father retrieved his keys, he snapped an order to his men to clear the room. “Leave us.”

  The door closed behind the last man as he returned to her. He ran his hands up her arms to caress her shoulders. Touched her cheek once more. “I cannot believe my eyes. My dear girl. Look at you.” He lifted a lock of her hair. “If you didn’t share your sainted mother’s lovely face, I would not have recognized you.”

  She smiled at him through tear-filled eyes. “We worried about the same thing.”

  “We.” Her father repeated the word with a slow breath before turning his attention back toward Ric. “Monsieur, it seems I am in your debt, and yet I don’t even know who you are or how you came to rescue my daughter.” He slipped his arm around Jocelyn’s waist holding her to his side.

  Ric stood tall and proud. Jocelyn noted the fresh bruises on his jaw. The bleeding at his temple had stopped, but dried blood stained his hair and had run into the collar of his shirt. He held his arm at an odd angle. She wanted to go to him. Nurse his wounds, hold him, but her father held her tight. There was something in his grip that caused her nerves to shudder. As if he were claiming her for himself. “I only know him as Ric,” she lied. “Indeed we are in his debt, and I will fill you in on all the details, but we’ve detained him long enough, don’t you think?”

  “I asked the man a question, Jocelyn.” Her father’s voice dripped with disguised honey. Jocelyn captured Ric’s gaze and gave the tiniest shake to her head. She feared Ric had been right all along. If her father learned who he truly was--

  Ric held her gaze. “My name is Henry Robbins. To most, I’m known as Ric. Short for Ricochet.”

  “Ricochet Robbins?” Jocelyn’s father released his hold on her. He moved behind his desk. He pulled the glass stopper from a bottle of brandy splashing some in a crystal goblet. “I know that name from somewhere.” He lifted the glass and studied Ric over the rim before drinking. “The Devil’s Pearl was not your ship.” It wasn’t a question.

  “No sir.” Ric shot her a glance.

  Jocelyn stepped in front of the desk, putting herself between the two men, hoping to divert her father’s attention. “What does it matter how I got here? Isn’t the important thing that I am here alive and well and safe?”

  Her father would not be easily distracted. He drained his glass and set it down. “I’ve remembered where I know you from, Monsieur Robbins.”

  “Actually, sir, it is Captain Robbins now. Of the Sc--”

  “Ric, no.” Jocelyn stopped him. His gaze locked with hers. Panic clutched at her heart. What was he doing? He was practically tying his own noose.

  “Captain now, is it? You were a simple gunner the last time we welcomed you to Tortuga. Now you stand before me claiming to be the captain of the Scarlet Night? You are aware there is a hefty price on your head and a sizable reward for the capture of your ship.”

  “Yes, sir.” The muscle in Ric’s jaw pulsed. He still hadn’t taken his eyes of her.

  “Last time?” Jocelyn’s head began to spin. Tears filled her eyes. “Why are you doing this?” She gripped the edge of the desk. “He’ll kill you,” she whispered.

  Ric never broke her gaze. He placed his fist over his chest and made a small circle. One of Bump’s signs. I’m sorry.

  Her father opened the side drawer of his desk and pulled out a long barreled pistol, which he raised and pointed at Ric’s chest. “Where is the Scarlet Night?”

  “She is safely away.”

  Jocelyn raced around the end of the desk and tried to grab for the gun. “Father, what are you doing? Have you lost your mind? Haven’t you been listening? You owe Ric a huge debt. You can’t do this.”

  He never lowered the pistol as he pushed past Jocelyn. “That was before I learned you’d been duped into believing this man was anything more than a thieving, murdering pirate.”

  “You’re wrong. You don’t know what you’re talking about. He--”

  Ric stood fast and held his hands away from his body. “Your father is right, Jocelyn.”

  Her father pushed her behind him. “I’m sure you didn’t return my daughter out of the goodness of your cold, dark heart. What do you want? Money? Mercy perhaps?”

  “Neither.”

  “And neither is what you’re going to get.” Jocelyn’s father never took his single gaze off Ric as he strode to the door. He opened it and ordered for his guards, “Take this man away.”

  “No. Stop.” Jocelyn watched helplessly as the men took Ric away. She clutched at her father’s arm. “Father, please, I’m begging you. Don’t do this.”

  “Jocelyn,” Her father snapped as he returned the pistol to his desk and poured himself
another glass of brandy. “You’re young, inexperienced in the ways of the world. You’ve been sheltered your entire life. You can’t begin to understand. Do you know how lucky you are to have escaped that man unscathed?” He stopped and narrowed his eyes at her. “You are unscathed, no?”

  Jocelyn started to tremble. If her father ever discovered that Ric was her lover, he’d shoot him himself. “That man…has done nothing but care for me since the moment we first met.”

  Seemingly satisfied with her answer, he dropped into his chair and ran a finger around the rim of his glass. “I wonder what he’s after?” he mused. “Perhaps a few days of our hospitalité will loosen his tongue.”

  She slammed a fist onto his desk. “Are you deaf? I insist you release him. Now.”

  He rose to his feet. “Jocelyn, I am your father, and I am also the reigning commander in this territory. Ric Robbins is a confessed criminal. He’s committed countless acts against the crown. I must uphold the law or be tried for treason myself.”

  When she started to object, he held up his hand to silence her. She remembered that silencing hand. It chafed her now as it had always done. A rush of fury struck her dumb.

  “There now,” He’d mistaken her silence for obedience. “We’ll talk no more about him. You’re in need of a bath and proper clothing. I cringe when I look at you in those breeches. Perhaps you can do something more appealing with your hair. I can’t imagine what you’ve been forced to eat at the hands of those barbarians. I’ll have my chef prepare you a feast.” He sat at his desk again and pulled a sheet of parchment in front of him before he dipped his quill. “But first, I must send word to Vice Admiral Lesauvage.”

  Jocelyn’s head was swimming. “Lesauvage?”

  “Oui, Andre Lesauvage. Your fiancé.”

  Chapter 28

  Her slippered feet fell silent on the thick carpeting in her father’s library. Night had fallen, and each time she passed in front of the large spread of windows overlooking the inky harbor she’d catch her reflection in the glass. Corseted and powdered she barely recognized herself.