Jennifer Wilde

by Marietta Love Me

  Life was not hard for either of us. As Red Nick's woman, I lived in luxury, surrounded by beautiful things, and he treated me with a strangely sarcastic gallantry, playing a subtle cat-and-mouse game all the while, toying with me, trying his best to break down the icy reserve I maintained except on those occasions when we were in bed together. Wooing me with gifts, convinced I was captivated by his sexual prowess, he patiently waited for the day when I would make the first overtures of passion. I remained a challenge to him, for Nicholas Lyon wasn't content merely to have my body. He wanted me to become an abject, adoring slave, which, I knew, would cause him to despise me immediately. Although he didn't realize it, I had the upper hand, and he was already in love with me.

  Love? No, it wasn't love. Nicholas Lyon was incapable of love, but he was enthralled, captivated himself, a captivation I did my best to maintain. I kept him off balance, playing a cat-and-mouse game myself, carefully, very carefully, denying him the emotional response he craved, responding in bed with a passionate fury that was magnificently gratifying to his ego. He left me alone most of the day, tending to his duties in town, holding conferences with his lieutenants, and planning new ventures. This left me time for lessons with Corrie and time to array myself in provocative splendor for his return each evening. I had an elaborate, breathtakingly lovely wardrobe and, already, a fabulous collection of jewelry. We dined off the finest plate, drank wine from exquisite crystal goblets, and the food was remarkable, would have satisfied the most demanding gourmet. No, life was not hard, but every minute of every hour I was aware of being a prisoner, no matter how grand the prison.

  Em lived in great comfort, too, though considerably less splendor. Tremayne pampered her outrageously, spoiled her deplorably, lavishing her with gifts. Her gowns were not as elaborate as those I wore, her jewelry not as fine, but she was wildly elated each time he presented her with a bauble and showed her appreciation with such zest that he strove to give her even more. He was madly infatuated with her, so much so that it frequently worked against her. Insanely jealous, he flew into a rage at the least provocation and had beaten her brutally several times. Em said she didn't mind the beatings, claiming she had suffered far worse in days gone by and adding that a diamond and ruby bracelet was considerable compensation for a sore backside, I shuddered to think what would happen if Tremayne found out about her midnight trysts with Cleeve.

  The waves rocked, grayish-green, sparkling with sunlight, swooshing over the sand. I moved slowly along the beach, the breeze lifting my yellow skirt and causing, the petticoats beneath to flutter. Three months ago, I had been living with the man I loved, anticipating marriage and looking forward to the future, convinced I could make it bright with happiness, and now I was on an island off the coast of a wild and savage wilderness, living with a man who personified evil. Derek ... Derek.... No, I mustn't think of him now. I mustn't allow myself the pain and anguish that would possess me, overwhelm me completely. I couldn't be weak. I couldn't give in to those tremulous emotions that were locked away inside along with the tears.

  I must be hard, strong, cold. I must be shrewd and crafty and cling to that steely core of resolution, I didn't want to. I wanted to let down my defenses, give in to emotion and weep. I wanted to be feminine and frail and lean on someone stronger, but there was no one, no one but myself, and I had rarely had the opportunity to draw strength from others. During the past years I had had to rely on my wits, my stamina, using my beauty and sexual allure as weapons in a war I hadn't waged, a war I was fighting still. I wanted to give up, to give in, to surrender and forget about self-preservation.

  I couldn't do that. I had promised myself that Derek's death would be revenged, and it was a promise I meant to keep. There were others involved now, Em and Corrie, both of them depending on me in their different ways. I took a deep breath and banished the weakness. I was strong, and I could be cold and crafty, whether I wanted to be or not. I wasn't going to give in. I was going to go right on fighting that war, faced now with my most formidable opponent, and, furthermore, I was going to win. The steely determination returned.

  Turning my back to the water, I crossed the sand and started up the slope that was only partially covered with grass, sand and dark black earth visible between the heavy green strands that reached down from the bluff like elongated fingers. The sun was very warm, a pale yellow ball in a sky the color of polished steel, gray-white, glaring. When I reached the top, I could see the grassy knoll and, beyond, the forest, not nearly as dense as that on the mainland, treetops tall, spreading, a patchwork of green in varying shades. To my right there was another gray stone fortification, half-covered with a curious climbing plant with dark, tiny leaves and pale purple and white flowers that hung down like delicate pendants. Although the stone was crumbly and covered with a fine gray dust, the cannon gleamed in the sunlight, clean and free of rust, the pyramid of balls beside it like huge shiny black marbles. Red Nick insisted that all the cannon be kept in prime condition.

  I glanced toward the stockade, the topmost walls just barely visible beyond the trees, at least three quarters of a mile away. It wouldn't be visible at all were it not situated on the highest point of the island. Surrounded by forest to the east, west, and north, the town sloping down to the harbor on the south side, it dominated the island, a huge white fortress with gardens and trees and houses and barracks within walls that were two feet thick. Once, during a hurricane three years ago, the entire population of the island had taken refuge in the stockade. Much of the town had been destroyed, shacks and lean-tos blown away, and several ships had been damaged, but those enormous walls had withstood the savage gales and torrential rains. Red Nick had known exactly what he was doing when he had it built.

  A flock of sea gulls flew screeching over the tops of the palm trees below, winging over the water like scraps of gray-white paper in the breeze and making a terrible racket before they disappeared. I leaned against the fortification, gazing at the knoll without really seeing it. The delicate purple and white flowers smelled sweet, their fragrance mingling with the smells of damp earth and old stone and salt. The sunlight warmed my cheeks and stroked my bare arms. The breeze toyed with my hair, blowing fine copper-red skeins over my eyes. I lifted a hand to brush them away, still fighting a desire to think of Derek, forcing the thought of him out of my mind.

  Suddenly, for no apparent reason, I saw a pair of merry, mocking eyes as blue as indigo, a slightly crooked nose, a full pink mouth curling audaciously in a grin that was strangely endearing. Jeremy Bond strode in my memory with a bouncy, jaunty stride, a rich brown wave flopping over his brow, outlandishly dapper in his elegant attire. I remembered that overwhelming charm and that carefree, ruthless air. He had come into my life so quickly and with such remarkable vitality. Although I had seen him only three times, during a span of no more than twelve hours, the memory of him was as vivid as it would have been had I known him for years.

  Disturbed over my relationship with Derek, foolishly insecure because he hadn't yet married me, I had reacted to Jeremy Bond with a confusing array of emotions. I had seen him immediately for the rogue he was, irresponsible and irreverent, a jaunty scoundrel who lived with verve and abandon, thumbing his nose at convention, breaking laws and breaking hearts with equal aplomb, yet I had sensed strength and compassion, and a deep understanding as well. He seemed to have looked directly into my heart, sensing my insecurity, sensing my need, knowing me as no man had. I had been infuriated by him, and I had been intrigued, too. I couldn't deny that.

  I recalled that evening in the courtyard with moonlight washing over the tiles and the fountain making soft, splattering music as shadows spread. He said that he loved me. He begged me to love him. I could hear that low, melodious voice beseeching me, and I could feel the touch of his hands and the strength in those fingers that gently caressed my shoulders and throat. When his lips brushed mine sweet sensations had blossomed inside of me. Emotionally vulnerable because of what I took to be Derek's rejectio
n, disturbed and bewildered, I had responded in spite of myself with a tormenting ache that, even in memory, was shattering to my senses.

  I had wanted to sleep with him. I admitted that now. I had wanted him as desperately as he wanted me, and that desire had seemed a treacherous disloyalty at the time. I loved Derek, yet there in the moonlit courtyard I had longed to give, myself to Jeremy Bond. Ho was a skillful seducer, wooing with silken charm, playing on my weakness, speaking words of love he must have spoken dozens of times to dozens of women. He had vowed he would return and take me away from Derek. Even after I had summoned all my strength and rejected his pleas, he had stared at me with a grim, serious face, assuring me that he had been speaking the truth, that he loved me and meant to have me.

  Now, as I leaned back against the gray stone fortification and toyed with one of the pale purple blossoms, I wondered what had happened when he returned to New Orleans. I wondered if he had made an effort to see me again. Had he gone to the apartment? Had he tried to locate me? Had he discovered that Derek had booked passage on The Blue Elephant and assumed we had sailed? Had he felt disappointment, regret, loss? I doubted it. I doubted if he had given me another thought after I refused to give in to his wooing and sent him away. He probably didn't even remember my name, yet after three months I remembered him vividly and remembered feeling intensely, marvelously alive each moment he was beside me.

  Jeremy Bond had been the first person to mention Red Nick's name to me. I remembered his telling me about Red Nick as we were strolling through the market, just before he thrust the wad of money into the hands of the sad-eyed Negro woman who had been looking for edible scraps among the rubbish around the stalls. Bond had shown considerable knowledge about Nicholas Lyon, for he had once led a campaign against the pirates, Red Nick's men, who preyed on the smugglers in the swamps. And now I was on the island Bond had first told me about, a captive of the man he had found so very interesting. Fate played some cruel tricks, I thought, remembering that conversation as we had walked through the market, Bond in dark formal attire and billowing cloak, I in the rustling crimson gown Derek had found so objectionable.

  I forced the memories of Jeremy Bond out of my mind. He was a stranger I had encountered on the streets of New Orleans, a jaunty rogue I had seen through at once. Fate had thrown us together briefly, under unusual circumstances, and I would never see him again. I turned away from the gray stone wall and started across the grassy knoll, and as I did so I saw a bright flash of blue among the trees. Em cleared the trees and hurried toward me, her blue skirt flapping in the breeze.

  "I've been looking all over for you!" she cried.

  She caught up with me and placed a hand over her heart, breathing rapidly, chestnut locks spilling over her shoulders in a bouncy tangle.

  "I left early," I told her. "I wanted some fresh air."

  Em sighed heavily. "I slept late. I needed to after last night. Cleeve is insatiable, luv, and he has the strength of a stallion."

  "You really are taking quite a chance, Em."

  "I know, luv, but I have my reasons. He's a surly, silent brute, true, but I figured I could get him to talk, figured he might say something that would be worthwhile. Well, last night he did. Let's walk this way."

  She took hold of my arm and turned me around, and we started walking toward the west end of the island, away from the stockade. I was puzzled, but before I could question her she continued in an excited voice.

  "Cleeve told me a very interesting story, luv. He said the pirates used to row over to the mainland and hide in the bushes and wait for an Indian woman to come along. They'd jump out and pounce on her and bring her back to the island for some fun on the beach. They did it several times—that's why the Indians attacked that time, the pirates were abducting their women and raping them."

  "I knew that, Em."

  "After the attack, Red Nick forbade his men to row over to the mainland and molest the Indian women, but that didn't stop them. Cleeve and some of the others continued to sneak over now and again. Not more than six months ago a group of them rowed over one night and caught one of the women and brought her back to the island. They gagged her so that she couldn't make any noise, then raped her and killed her."

  "Was Cleeve with them?" I asked.

  Em shook her head. "Lucky for him he wasn't," she said. "They buried her body and hid the boat and returned to town. A couple of days later her body was discovered—they buried her on the beach and the waves washed the sand away. Red Nick was furious!"

  Em paused, trying to control her excitement. We had left the grassy knoll now and were walking through the woods, sunlight sifting through the limbs overhead to make bright patterns on the shadowy ground. Tall ferns and plants with large, heart-shaped dark green leaves grew under the trees, and there were clusters of dark purple and red flowers as well. Thick strands of ivy covered many of the trees, heavy, vinelike strands dangling down from the limbs.

  "He discovered the names of the culprits," Em continued, "and he had all five of them flogged, a hundred lashes each. One of the men died. Red Nick made his point, and now none of the men would dare venture over to the mainland with mischief in mind."

  "I fail to see why you find the story so exciting, Em."

  "Think, luv," she replied.

  "What could it possibly have to do with us?"

  "Think," she repeated.

  I hesitated, frowning, and then it dawned on me. "The boat," I said.

  "Exactly! They kept it hidden, luv, and chances are it's still there! I questioned Cleeve thoroughly, had to be real careful about it, had to pretend I wasn't really interested, merely making idle conversation. I kept stroking his back and wiggling under him and sighing blissfully—I should have gone on the stage, luv. Tiny rocks were bruising my backside and leaves were tickling my feet and legs and Cleeve must weigh a ton, all solid muscle."

  "Are you sure he didn't suspect anything?"

  "I told you I was careful. I asked him about the trips to the mainland, told him it was very brave and daring, said he must have been scared. He said no, he wasn't scared at all, not an Indian alive scared him. I said I didn't mean he might be scared of the Indians, I meant he must have been scared Red Nick would find out, might find the boat and figure out what they were doing."

  "And?"

  "He said there wasn't much chance of that, said there were huge rocks on the west end of the island, all covered over with ivy, with a network of small caves behind them. They hid the boat in one of the caves, he told me. I said oh, that was clever, and he said yeah, the cave kept it dry and it was near the water and they could pull it out easy and row across, and I said we're wasting time with all this talk, luv, let's have some more action. He started plowing away again, kept at it half the night, I could hardly walk when I got up this morning."

  "Do you think he'll remember the conversation?" I asked.

  "He's not going to remember anything we said, luv. He's not overly bright to begin with, and he's convinced the only reason I keep meeting him is because I can't resist his gorgeous body. I must say," she added thoughtfully, "he certainly knows what to do with it."

  "You're dreadful, Em," I teased.

  "A girl learns to appreciate certain skills," she replied, very matter-of-fact. "If she's going to have to use her body to barter with, she might as well get a little fun out of it. I got the information I wanted, luv, that's the important thing. The rest was a kind of bonus!"

  She smiled, cheerfully amoral, engagingly frank. Em was the bravest girl I had ever known, bright, bold, indomitable, and I admired her without reservation. If her attitude toward things of the flesh was casual and considerably less than saintly, she had a sunny disposition and an innate goodness of heart that would have been exemplary to the most pious of souls. She walked beside me now with a light step, keeping an eye out for snakes, convinced the island was infested with them.

  "I really don't see what good a small boat would do us," I said. "Once we rowed across to the m
ainland, we'd be in an even worse situation. The Indians—"

  "Who says we have to row to the mainland?" she interrupted.

  "We certainly can't row out to sea."

  "But we can row along the coast, luv, avoiding the mainland until we are many, many miles away, well past Indian territory, then we,can land and take our chances."

  "It's an extremely daring plan, Em."

  "It happens to be the only one we have at the moment."

  "That's quite true," I said.

  "We can steal provisions—food, water, guns—and carry them to the boat on the sly until we have enough for our journey. Then we can slip out of the stockade at night, and by the time they discover we're gone we can be several miles up the coast."

  "They'd be certain to come after us."

  "They'll assume we've crossed over to the mainland—I'll drop hints that I don't believe in the Indians and ask Michael carefully obvious questions about that settlement thirty miles inland Red Nick's men sometimes trek to. Is that a snake!"

  "It's only a branch, Em," I said,

  "Gave me quite a turn! Anyway, when we're gone he'll remember my questions, and they'll send a party to the mainland and spend a couple of days looking for us and, more than likely, assume we've been eaten up by cannibals. We can make it, luv."

  It was, of course, a wild and utterly foolhardy plan, but Em's enthusiasm was infectious, and I began to think it just might work. There were big questions. How were we going to get the provisions, and, once we got them, how were we going to get them to the boat? We couldn't just walk through the gates carrying containers of water and bags of oranges and boxes of dried beef, nor could we saunter past Cleeve and his men with guns and ammunition. Em seemed to read my mind.

  "We'll find a way to get food and water and things," she said, "and we'll find a way to get them to the boat. I've already got a couple of ideas, luv."

  "I suppose it could work."

  "It will," she assured me.

  "First we've got to find the boat, if, indeed, there is one."