A Pirate's Agony (Legends of the Soaring Phoenix Book 3)

by M. L. Guida

  “No one’s here, mistress,” Calvin said, one of Celeste’s henchmen. “Your bull is passed out.”

  Dubois was stilled tied up and in the far corner of the cell. He hadn’t groaned for a while and Violet prayed he remained silent.

  “I smell gunpowder down here,” Celeste argued.

  “If someone was down here, they’re gone.”

  “Someone was trying to help my beau escape. Find them, and bring them to me.”

  “If so, do you want to leave him here or move him?”

  “Leave him. We’ll set a trap, oui? Set a guard upstairs.”

  “Yes, Maîtresse.”

  Footsteps hurried up the stairs, and the door shut. Violet waited and listened. She knew they were lying and waited on the stairs. She was grateful Amadi did not speak and Dubois didn’t wake.

  Insects or spiders crawled over her, and she wanted to scream, but she clamped her jaw shut. She counted backward from a thousand to keep her sanity and not think about the two people listening on the stairs for the slightest sound.

  Light flooded down the steps. A male voice asked, “Maîtresse?”

  Violet was too scared to identify whose voice.

  “No one’s here, Maîtresse,” Calvin said. “Your buck isn’t going anywhere. Whoever ’twas is gone.”

  “Très bien,” Celeste said. “Double the guard.”

  “Yes, Maîtresse,” Calvin said.

  The door closed. This time, they were alone. Violet crawled out from underneath the rack and slapped her arms and legs, trying to get the bugs and spiders off.

  Amadi chuckled. “Such a pretty dance.”

  She was surprised he was standing. Most men would be unconscious and riddled with agony, not able to move. She grabbed some rope and planks. “I know isn’t much, but I can brace the leg.”

  She knelt and placed the planks on either side of his leg. When she tightened the planks with the rope, he released an angry gasp.

  She winced. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow night is da full moon.”

  His smoldering eyes filled with a dark intensity, as if he actually caressed her with his direct gaze. They were alive with raw need.

  “Why do you keep referring to the moon?” Her usually strong voice had turned into a weak whisper.

  “Hopefully, you’ll never have to find out. Where do we go now?” He motioned with his hand. “She’s doubled da guard.”

  She wanted to ask more questions about his obsession with the moon, but there wasn’t time. They had to leave before it was too late. “Celeste’s brother had a secret tunnel built here in case of a slave revolt.”

  Amadi blinked. “He did?” Suspicion entered into his perceptive eyes. “How did you come to know of dis? Are you a witch?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m not a witch. But sometimes I wish I was. I wouldn’t be living in this hell hole if I was.”

  “Witches suffer da same fate as all of us.”

  Sadness hung on his every word. Had he lost someone who was a witch?

  She opened her mouth to say something, but he asked, “Pray tell how you came to know of this tunnel?”

  “I told you. Celeste can’t hide secrets from me. I know everything about her. Too much.”

  She pushed back all of Celeste’s dark secrets. Her voodoo rituals. The animal sacrifices. The human sacrifices. Mostly of the slaves’ poor babes. She hated Celeste. But there was no time to dwell. They could be discovered any minute. Celeste might be evil, but she was no fool.

  She walked to the south wall that did not have any chains dangling. “Baron Samedi.”

  A white line shot up from the bottom of the floor and formed the outline of a door. The door slid open, and on the other side was a painted drawing of a skeletal man wearing a top hat, a black dinner jacket, and cotton plugs in his nostrils.

  “Come on,” she said. “We must hurry.”

  Amadi limped toward her. “Why is Baron Samedi painted on da door?”

  Even though he was wounded, he had an overpowering presence. His steps were strong and muscles rippled as he strained to move. “Celeste likes people, especially the slaves, to think she practices voodoo.”

  He stopped. “She doesn’t?”

  “No, she hides behind voodoo. She’s a Satanist.”

  “Does she pray to any other gods?”

  She furrowed her eyebrows. “Other gods? What other gods?”

  “Nothin’.”

  She studied his deep brown eyes then peered into his soul. His soul shifted from white to a muddy yellow. He hadn’t exactly lied, but he hadn’t told the truth, either. She clasped his arm. “You’re lying. You believe in other gods?”

  “We need to get out of here.”

  “Fine.” She dipped a torch into oil then rubbed two pieces of flint to generate a spark to light the torch. When it caught, she put it back into the iron holder then gathered her supplies and placed them in the tunnel.

  Amadi limped across the floor, but the stubborn man was about to collapse.

  “Put your arm around me.”

  “I’ll drop you to da floor.”

  “I’m stronger than I look.”

  He muttered under his breath, too low for her to hear, but he did as she asked. She groaned under his weight and was afraid he’d fall on her, but she braced her shoulders and shuffled across the floor until they reached the tunnel. Amadi put his hand on the wall and walked-hopped into the tunnel.

  Violet breathed deeply and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She stepped inside. “Baron Samedi.”

  The stone door slid across the floor and shut.

  Amadi slumped against the wall. “I need to rest.”

  She dug into her black bag and pulled out the pair of trousers that she’d stolen from Celeste’s room. She handed them to Amadi. “Here. I thought you might like to get dressed.”

  He took them and examined them. The trousers would obviously be too small, but hopefully, he’d be able to get into them.

  “Where did you get these?” He lifted an eyebrow as if he thought she’d gotten them from a former lover.

  Her cheeks reddened. “From Celeste. I don’t know if you know this, but—” she lowered her voice, even though they were behind a stone wall and door “—she murders her husbands.”

  “One of da men on da cart told me she murdered her husband. She’s murdered more dan one?”

  She held up three fingers.

  “Why keep da clothes?”

  “She likes to keep trophies.”

  “Is it just clothes she keeps?”

  “No.” She closed her eyes. “She keeps their tongues in mason jars. Their tongues remind her of their last gasps.”

  He bent over and put one long leg into the trousers. She couldn’t help but admire his firm buttock. The man was a sleek, chocolate statue, and a wicked image of licking every inch of him made her glance away in shame. What if he guessed what she was thinking? She was acting as lecherous as Celeste.

  He finally managed to squeeze into them. They fit him like a snakeskin, and she kept her hands to her sides to keep from giving into an urge and running her hands over pure muscle.

  “How does she kill them?”

  She pulled her gaze away and buried her lust. “Poison. Arsenic. She’s the most vile person I’ve ever met.”

  “There are worse things dan a murdering Satanist.”

  “Like what?”

  “Demons.”

  She put her hand over her heart. “You’ve seen them?”

  Amadi edged back down onto the ground. Violet hurried over to keep from falling forward. She sat next to him. When he stuck out his long legs, her legs were half the length of his.

  His eyes fluttered shut. “Aye. They’d carve Celeste into tiny pieces just for fun.”

  “Did you see them when you were aboard the Soaring Phoenix?”

  “Aye.” He leaned his head backward. “Haven’t you guessed what I am?”

  “A pirat
e.”

  He slumped across her, pinning her against the wall. “Dat’s all I wished I was.”

  “Amadi?”

  Soft snores answered her. Violet bit her lips. She’d read his soul. Pure white. He was telling the truth. She hugged her arms tight around her body. What did he mean he wished was just a pirate? What else was he? She glanced at the stone door, wondering if she should leave, but with his body lying across her like a marble slab, she was trapped.

  He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen, with his exotic braids and dark skin. Tears welled in her eyes at the lashes criss-crossing his back. She hadn’t time to wipe them clean. Dried blood stuck to his skin. Luckily, her bag was near, and she reached in for a rag to gently dab his bruised and bloody back. How could Celeste mar his body? His back was magnificent with the sinews.

  Her eyes widened. He had teeth marks on his lower back. Damn Celeste! Her vileness knew no limits. “I’m so sorry.”

  She cleaned his back the best she could and gave into temptation to run her hands through his soft hair. Gold beads were intertwined in his braids. Celeste either hadn’t notice the gold or she liked the wildness. Violet wished she could see him aboard the Soaring Phoenix. Callouses covered his large hands. He was used to hard labor. There was no way he was a mere sailor. Was he the boatswain, the master gunner, the quartermaster? He definitely was in a position of leadership, maybe not the captain, but he was a born leader.

  She mulled over what he’d said. He wished he was just a pirate. Did his evasiveness have anything to do with demons? When he awoke, she’d demand answers. And she’d know if he was lying.

  Chapter Seven

  Amadi woke to looking at shadows flickering over a lichen-covered cave. He smelled mildew and wet dirt. He couldn’t remember how he got here with the dizziness clouding his brain. Something soft cradled his head and back, and it smelled like cotton. Why wasn’t he lying on the hard, rocky ground?

  He moved, and a low moan caught his attention. Mercy’s sake, he’d been lying on Violet’s legs. He must have crushed her. He quickly pushed into a sitting position. “Why didn’t you wake me?”

  Her brows knotted as she massaged her legs. “Because you were exhausted.”

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose and yawned. “How long was I asleep?”

  “A couple of hours.”

  He crawled behind her and kneaded her bunched-up shoulders.

  She jumped. “What are you doing?” There was a wary yelp in her voice; she didn’t trust easily.

  “Relax. You look like you’re in pain.”

  She circled her shoulders and twisted her neck, edging away. “I’ll be fine.”

  He heard the edginess cut into her voice. “Meanin’?”

  She pushed her hair out of her eyes. “I disappointed Celeste last night.” The sharpness fled her voice, and she sounded very, very defeated.

  He raised his eyebrow.

  “We went to Harold’s gambling house. I didn’t help her win.”

  “How do you help her win?”

  “She has signals.” She lowered her head. “I twirl my hair if they are bluffing, rub my nose if they have a winning hand, and I fold my arms over my chest if they have a losing hand.” Shame seeped into her tiny voice.

  He lifted her chin, surprised at the wetness on her cheeks. “How much did she lose?”

  “Three hundred pounds.”

  He whistled and released her. “Dat’s a bundle.”

  Violet shrugged. “She deserved it.”

  “Why?”

  Her face reddened. “We should get moving.”

  He clasped her arm. “Why did you want her to lose? Surely, you knew she would hurt you.”

  “I didn’t care. ’Tis not like she hasn’t done it before.”

  He scanned her luscious body for any sign of pain. “What did she do to you?”

  She avoided his gaze. “She didn’t hurt me as bad as she did you. It’s my fault she hurt you. I wish I could lie. Telling the truth only hurts people.”

  He pushed her silky hair out of her face. “Dat’s not true, little one. Da truth will set us free. Only lies and deceit bind us to evil.” He trailed his fingers down her soft cheek.

  “That has not been my experience.” She turned away then struggled to stand.

  “Here.” He reached to help her, but pain seized his back. He winced, cursing his weakness.

  Concern flashed into her tired eyes. “Let me help you.”

  He ignored her outstretched hand. He was the gun master aboard the Soaring Phoenix, not a helpless laggard. He’d been wounded before and didn’t need a nursemaid. He struggled to stand, but his wobbly legs betrayed him, and he fell on his arse.

  She scowled. “Quit being stubborn and let me help you.”

  “You’re hurt.” How could she brace him? He outweighed her by at least a hundred pounds.

  “I’m stronger than I look. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve worked hard all my life.”

  “Meanin’?”

  “In London, I worked long hours at the bakery, kneading bread, baking, cleaning the place, waiting on people. Before that, I waited tables in a tavern. I did what I must to stay off the streets. Satisfied?” She knelt and put his arm around her neck.

  Pain streaked through his back as he allowed her to help him stand. He gritted his teeth. Sweat broke out on his temples, and blood soared through his body too fast. He braced himself to keep from falling again. He tilted his head at the closed door. “Won’t they come in here?”

  “Not for a while. Celeste will search the ground and slaves’ quarters first.”

  Dread slammed into his gut. “Chloe and da other slaves—won’t she punish them?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  He clenched his fists. “Son of whore. ’Tis my fault.”

  “You mustn’t blame yourself. She looks for the tiniest reasons to punish.”

  “How long do you think it will take for her to discover we’re both missin’?”

  She wrapped her arm around his waist. “Lean against me. We need to move. I’m afraid we don’t have much time.”

  He was afraid he’d crush her. “You’re hurt.”

  “So are you. If we go slow, we can move.”

  She snagged her bag and stuffed her rags and blanket inside. She threw the water onto the wall and droplets sprayed. “Hopefully, they’ll just think someone left a pail. Celeste wouldn’t remember if there was a bucket left with the tools.”

  Amadi noticed that discarded hammers, saws, and picks were on the ground.

  Violet grabbed a hammer, put it in her bag, and slipped the bag over her shoulder. “Might come in handy.” She lifted the torch and put her other arm around his waist.

  “I don’t need any help.” He put his hand on the rocky wall and hobbled down the dark tunnel. The rocky ground jolted his knee, and he winced. Damn it! He’d cut his bare feet on the damn sharp rocks and pebbles. He clamped his jaw tight. To push back the growing agony, he watched the sway of Violet’s hips and wondered what it would be like to glide his hand up her creamy thigh. He scowled at the turn of his thoughts. Slaves had lost more than their heads for even admiring a white woman, and he was doing more than admiring.

  He stumbled and fell.

  She rushed over to him. “Your stiff pride is going to delay us. Are you so ready to be taken back to the Sorcière de Mer?”

  He glared. “Aye, you’re a stubborn wench.”

  She helped him to his feet. Despite his reluctance, he slipped his arm around her waist and pulled her close. He tried to bear most of the weight, but each time they took a step, pain throbbed in his back. He gasped for breath. Her scent of vanilla teased him. It was warm and comforting, blocking out his agony.

  As they moved down the tunnel, he realized how different she was to William’s Mariah and the Capt’n’s Hannah. Both Mariah and Hannah had lived privileged lives—Mariah had been spoiled by her grandparents, and Hannah had been a wealthy captain’s daughter. But no
t his Violet. She’d had to work to survive. He stopped. When had she become his Violet?

  She looked up. “Is something wrong? Do you need to rest?”

  He liked hearing the worry in her voice. “No, I’m fine.”

  He admired her strong muscles. Her hands weren’t soft and gentle like Hannah’s and Mariah’s, but calloused and cracked like his own. She was used to hard labor. Her strength impressed him. He’d never wanted a pampered woman. They were too much work, too selfish. He never thought they’d understand what he’d been through, but Violet, she was different. She’d experience the same pain, the same fear, the same humiliation.

  Sundown was only a few hours away, and the bloodlust would be upon him. He had to get away from her or he’d attack his pretty little nurse. “Should have woken me.”

  “This tunnel breaks off in three different directions. One ends at the sea, one ends—”

  “We’ll go to da sea.”

  She lifted her slender eyebrow. “Don’t you want to know where the two other end?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “I need to get back to my ship.”

  Eagerness flashed in her eyes. “How do you know your ship will be there? They could be out to sea by now.”

  “Because I know da capt’n.”

  “Then you’ll leave.” Sadness ladened her low voice.

  “Aye, but I’ll be back—with reinforcements. I want to pay a visit to da Maîtresse.” He could hardly wait to see Celeste’s face when William burned her precious plantation to the ground. Before she lost everything, he’d make sure she was alive.

  She bit her lower lip. “And do what?”

  “Burn dis hell hole to da ground.”

  “But what about—”

  “Da Soaring Phoenix is a frigate. We’ll take da people to an island where they can live in peace and without persecution.”

  “How do you know your captain will do this?”

  He laughed. “I guess you’ll just have to wait and see, poppet.”

  “Celeste has powerful friends and—”

  Dampness filled the air, and he shivered. Their shadows danced on the wall. Gnarled tree roots and spider webs hung from the ceilings. He motioned with his hand. “Which way?”