by M. L. Guida
“No.” He leaned over and broke the thread with his teeth, tying the ends tight. Not as good as Doc’s, but five or six stitches neatly crossed through her skin. He wrapped a piece of cloth around her shoulder, hoping to keep out infection.
Violet closed her eyes, and her breasts rose up and down each time she inhaled and exhaled. “You did once, didn’t you?”
He thought about lying, but she would know. He moistened his lip. “’Twas a long time ago.” He couldn’t hide the sadness in his voice.
“Tell me.” She opened her eyes and clasped his hand. “’Twas to a woman, wasn’t it?”
“Aye, she was my first love—Nefertiti.” He’d not thought of her for so long. “She had a smile that melted da harshest heart. Even when I’d been beaten, she could make me laugh.”
“Tell me about her.” Violet trembled and gritted her teeth. “It helps me forget the pain.”
“We fell in love here at da Sorcière de Mer. She taught me to sing. She said singing helps you forget da pain and da misery.”
“Did it?”
He didn’t answer right away and wrestled with burying the past. “No.”
“I’m sorry. What happened to her? Is she still here?”
“No. She was sold to da Americas. I don’t know if she’s alive or dead.”
“Have you fallen in—”
“Love isn’t for slaves. It only brings pain.”
Violet closed her eyes. “’Tis a shame. Because you have a voice made for love. Deep and husky.” Her voice trailed away, and her breathing became deeper.
She was beautiful, but it was her bravery that touched his heart. It had been so long since he’d been with a woman he cared about, only satisfying his lust with whores. Could he take a chance again?
He brushed Violet’s damp hair off her pale face. He cradled her in his lap. Not able to resist, he leaned over and kissed the top of her forehead. “Rest, sweet flower.”
Weariness gripped him. He closed his eyes, but stayed fully alert. He couldn’t afford to sleep, not with being hunted. There was no way to get a message to the capt’n or to wave William down, not with the pouring rain and posse outside.
Maybe Dubois and his men had retreated deeper into the tunnel. If he didn’t hear anything, he’d take a chance. But someone could be outside watching. It would have been what the capt’n would have done. Dubois was many things, but foolish wasn’t one of them.
Voices murmured. A twig broke outside. Amadi’s eyes flew open. His hopes died. They were back.
Something slapped against the outside wall and echoed inside the crypt. “Search, this one,” a gruff voice said.
Amadi’s heart pounded fiercely, and his muscles bunched into attack mode. They’d be caught. And he’d be dragged back to the Maîtresse. He blocked out what she would do to him. To Violet.
He could withstand the hell. But not Violet. She was human. He’d seen the slaves Dubois had raped and murdered. What Dubois’s did to female slaves made the bravest man weak in the knees.
He hid Violet behind the stone sarcophagus along with her bag. “Stay here, brave little one.”
Not giving himself time to re-think his plan, he peered outside. Men searched a mausoleum a few feet away. Cursing his bad luck, he pushed open the squeaky metal gate. Surprisingly, it shut softly.
He darted behind a nearby gravestone. The sun peeked over the horizon. Dew covered the grass and drooping flowers. His limbs were weary after the bloodlust last night. But he couldn’t think of himself. He had to think about Violet. Drawing on his remaining strength, he bolted.
Amadi rushed through the soggy graveyard, darting around tombstones, grave markers, and mausoleums, hoping to draw them away from Violet. His spent heart threatened to stop, and he gasped for air. He forced himself to move through the thick mud, but he was weak, too damn weak, and he marched, rather than run.
Sizzling lightning betrayed him.
“There he is!”
Dubois cracked the whip. “Get ’im idiots!”
“Over! He’s headin’ for the gate.” A deep voice growled.
Pounding feet chased him. Damn it! His pursuers were gaining.
Up ahead loomed a stone wall and a metal gate. Amadi gritted his teeth, determined to climb over the wall.
Pistols fired. The smell of sulfur exploded into the dewy air. Buckshot whizzed around him. He pushed himself hard and harder; his muscles screamed, and he feared his heart would burst from his chest.
He crashed into the metal gate then climbed. Someone cracked a whip. It looped around his neck, cutting into his throat. One hand still on the bar, he wrestled to uncoil the lash.
“Get off there, you big bloke!” The same deep voice ordered, but ’twas as if the man were right behind him.
Amadi refused to look over his shoulder. He grappled with the strap for freedom, but it tightened, cutting into his throat. Between gagging and choking, he fought to breathe. Spit rolled down his chin. He slipped his fingers underneath the whip and loosened it. But instead of getting it off, he yanked hard.
A loud oomph rang in Amadi’s ears. The whip went slack.
“Damn you!” The same voice cursed.
Amadi didn’t turn around. He flung the whip onto the ground and crawled up the gate like a scurrying spider.
“He’s I’ away!” Another man cried.
“Not if I can help it,” Dubois said. His voice too confident.
Amadi had reached the top when another crackle hit the air. Lightning lit up the gate, and he saw the jungle of freedom. He swung his leg, but rawhide coiled around his foot, hewing into his flesh.
Dubois held the whip and a cruel smile spread across his thin face. “Give it up, darkie.”
Amadi grabbed the cat-o’-nine-tails with his hand and yanked. Heat rushed down his face, and his arm shook. But he needed both hands.
“Boyle, get your ass over here.” Dubois pulled on the whip as if it were a fishing pole.
His face and shirt covered with mud, Boyle grabbed the bowed whip. “You’ll pay, bloke.”
The men backed up, and with one fierce haul, they won. Amadi flew off the top of the gate, tearing his palm and thigh. The sky and clouds spun around him. He landed on his side. Pain slammed into his shoulder. He seized the whip and jerked. This time, it loosened, and he staggered to his feet.
Five men surrounded him. Desperation, anger, and hatred flooded their eyes. Battered and bloody, Amadi stood tall and met their fierce gazes.
“There’s no sense fighting us, slave,” Dubois said. “You can’t escape.”
Amadi analyzed each one and hunted for the weakest codfish. He settled on the fattest one, who seemed a little slower than the others. This didn’t mean he’d be easy to overtake, but it was an advantage. Amadi charged and put his shoulder down.
The pudgy man’s eyes widened. “Help!” His flabby jowls shaking back and forth, he put up his shaking hands.
Amadi crashed into him, knocking him down. The man slid in the mud, slamming into a tombstone. He moaned.
Between two mausoleums, freedom waited. Amadi charged. Nothing was in his way.
But a rope and another rope lassoed around his neck. He wrestled with the ropes, but they tightened and tightened around his throat, strangling his breath. Dizziness gripped him, and his legs wobbled.
“Down, boy.”
Someone slammed something hard into the back of Amadi’s knees, and he fell. The men were on him like an army of fire ants, binding his hands, kicking and beating him.
Dubois stood in front of him and shoved a pistol in his face. “Get up.”
Coughing and gagging, Amadi dragged himself up. Pain pulsed through him, but he drew on his last bit of strength to stand.
The bastard cocked the pistol. “Where’s the girl?”
Amadi glared. “I don’t know. We got separated.”
“I’m going to ask you again.” Dubois pistol slapped him. “Where’s the girl?”
Pain exploded onto his cheek
, and Amadi staggered. “I answered your question, you gutless devil.” Blood spat out of his mouth with each word, spitting onto Dubois’s shirt.
Dubois glanced at his shirt then stuck his redstained pistol into his belt. “Take him back to the Maîtresse. She’ll teach him what happens to escaped slaves.”
Amadi’s stomach tightened into tangled knots, and his knees knocked together, but he braced his shoulders, trying to hide the terror soaking his bones.
Dubois waved his hands. “The rest of you search for Violet. She’s got to be here somewhere.”
Dread bore into Amadi’s heart. He glanced up at the sky. But there was no dragon, no bats. Not even a bird. Loneliness and hopelessness crippled him. Had the Soaring Phoenix sailed out to sea?
Dubois got on his horse and tied the rope to the saddle horn. He kicked the side of the horse, and the horse trudged through the mud, forcing Amadi to march back to the Sorcière de Mer, to a woman whose heart was blacker than the devil’s.
Chapter Ten
Violet slowly opened her eyes. Tingles ran up her arm as something spiky crawled over her hand. She jerked. Her heart pounded. A black spider scurried to the other side of the stone mausoleum. “God, I hate spiders.”
Cobwebs clung to corners. Cockroaches lumbered across the floor. Dampness and mold permeated the air. Coughing, she pushed herself upright. Her shoulder screamed. She winced. “Amadi?”
He was gone. She was alone.
She hauled herself up, but her legs wobbled. She stumbled and fell into the sarcophagus, banging her hip. “Ouch!”
Catching her breath, she put her hands on the sarcophagus and gripped the edges tight. But it was a mistake. Pain pulsed in her shoulder. She bit her lip.
Don’t faint.
She shook her head, trying to douse the fog in her brain. Where had Amadi gone? She missed him. He had been so tender and kind, even singing to her. Who would have thought a fierce pirate would possess such a beautiful baritone voice and sing about nightingales?
She stumbled toward the door and listened. There was no sound. No human voices. Only the chirping of birds and buzzing of insects. She peered through a crack, but didn’t see anyone. Dubois was crafty, and if anything, the man was patient.
The sun was high in the sky. It had to be at least noon. She weaved back to where her bag was. A discarded needle was wrapped in a cloth and pushed up against the wall. Amadi had tended her wound and watched over her. Why would he leave her?
She gathered her bag and headed to the door. If anyone was watching, there would be no way she could outrun them. Escape would be impossible. But she wasn’t going to stay in this spider-and-roach-infested place. Hiding was for cowards. She might be many things, but a coward wasn’t one. She’d face her own destiny.
The metal gate creaked. Violet’s stomach tightened. She strained to hear any footsteps, but only the birds and insects went about their business—tweeting and humming. She wanted to scream for them to cease. Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and slammed her back against it. Her heart beat faster than the busy bees.
There was no movement in the outlining trees or behind headstones or mausoleums.
Go, just go.
Violet stepped out of the shadow of the mausoleum and winced. Sunlight slapped her in the face. Dizziness gripped her—the grass and weeds, grave markers and sky moving faster and faster. Determined not to faint, she took a step but tripped. She fell forward, landing all fours, and pain shot up her arm into her shoulder. Nausea swirled in her gut. She swallowed, but her parched throat closed. If she’d stayed here, they’d find her.
Fighting the lightheadedness, she forced herself to move toward the gate. The sun beat down on her. Her clothes stuck to her skin. Not far from the graveyard was a stream and a waterfall. Behind the waterfall was a cave. If she could only get there…
Sweat blinded her vision. She slipped behind a mausoleum and slid down the stone wall. Shade covered her. She wiped her forehead. Water. She needed a cool sip.
She closed her eyes for a few minutes…
A loud pop woke her. The sun had moved. What was that? God, how long had she’d been sitting here?
More pops shook the air. Her heart stopped. Birds stopped singing. The faint hint of gunpowder permeated her hiding place. Gun shots. She had to move. It could be a hunting party. She couldn’t tell how close it was. Her mind was too fuddled.
Move.
She managed to move. Her hair plastered against her neck. She licked her parched lips. She stumbled against the gate. Finally, she was here. She put her hand on the bars and pushed, but it wouldn’t budge. Locked. Cripes! Now, what the hell was she going to do?
Tears threatened to fall, but she rubbed her eyes. No, she wasn’t going to cry. She shielded her eyes. Nearby, an avocado tree grew next to the wall. Wavering back and forth as if she were drunk, she snatched some fallen fruit off the ground. She peeled the avocado open and ate the soft, smooth flesh. It was overripe and bruised, but she didn’t care. Her swirling stomach eased at having something to gnaw on.
Strength fired through her. She stuffed more avocados into her bag then stood. Her legs were less shaky, and the lightheadedness had lessened. She wiped her messy hands on her dress then hiked it up to her knees as she put a foot on the bark of the tree.
Careful not to pull the stitches, she inched up the tree. Thanks to her shoulder, the going was slow. She panted hard, her breath harsh. Branches scratched her skin and tore her dress, but she didn’t stop.
Blood thumped between her temples. Half way up, she stopped to catch her breath. Fuzziness fumbled her mind, and she gripped a branch hard to steady herself. She inhaled and exhaled until the dizziness faded. An ocean breeze washed over her, cooling her sweltering skin.
A thick branch hung over the wall. She could do this. Carefully, she edged out onto the limb. She prayed it would hold her weight. Snap. Her blood froze. The branch swayed and dipped. Lord, couldn’t anything go her way?
You can do this.
Biting her lip, she stared at the wall. It was wide enough for her to stand on. Or at least she hoped so.
She twisted around until her legs dangled. She stretched, and her feet tapped onto the stone. She released her grip on the branch.
Suddenly, it broke. She landed on the wall, but she dipped forward, then backward, spinning her arms around and around to gain her balance. “No!”
But she fell backward and yelled. Pain twisted into her back and left wrist. She couldn’t move.
Breathe, just breathe.
Tears welled in her eyes, and her stomping heart sent blood roaring in her ears.
Gunshots blasted. Hounds bayed.
Damn it! Do something. Pushing back the agony to the furthest corner of her mind, she rolled onto her side and dragged herself to her feet.
Get to the spring.
Something trampled on leaves. She grabbed a stick to beat her attackers. Useless, but ’twas all she had.
A wart hog bolted from the trees, squealing. Dogs barked. Hunters had to be following it. She ran as fast her feeble legs would move.
The hog whipped past her. Damn!
Horses trampled through the forest, stomping and snorting.
“Through those trees!” a man yelled. “Find the beast!”
More barks and growls followed.
Violet dove into a thick bush of jungle flowers and huddled underneath the branches, mindless of the scrapes and scratches. Bloodhounds raced and sniffed around the bush. She held her breath and brought her knees to her chest.
Horses trotted around the bush.
“Find something, boys!”
Violet recognized the drawl voice. It was Owen Shield.
A squeal ahead of her sent the hounds baying. Violet couldn’t move. She could see the legs of horses moving around her. Why weren’t they following the dogs?
He reached down and tore something from the bush. Material from her tattered dress.
“I think Celeste D’Aubigne’s
little indentured servant went this way. She must not have gotten far.”
Violet bit her lip. Fear prickled down the back of her scalp. He’d turn her over to Dubois. She closed her eyes and turned her head, too afraid to stare into Owen Shield’s triumphant green eyes.
“Celeste is madder than a hornet with her prized buck. Will see how he likes being pinned down butt naked on an ant hill.”
Violet’s stomach recoiled. Celeste called it her honey torture. She’d pour honey over the man who was strapped to a hill. Red ants would crawl over him, biting him. Men would cry out. Celeste would sit in her favorite lounge chair, drinking sweet tea. Violet shook as she wiped a stray tear. Damn Celeste!
“Keep your eyes open, boys. Celeste is offering a fine reward.” He chuckled. “I’ll wager we could make Dubois pay, since Celeste is going to allow him to punish her.”
His callous laughter turned her stomach. They all knew what Dubois had in mind for her, yet none of them had the tiniest inkling to help her. This place was colder than a wintry day in London. She missed the busy streets, the smells of the bakeries, crowded markets. It was home. Here, she was nothing, but property. She hoped Thomas ended up in the Thames River for selling her to Celeste. The bastard!
Celeste had paid Thomas handsomely for her, after learning of Violet’s unfortunate “gift.” Celeste told her she could earn her freedom, but Celeste was a liar.
The horses slowly trotted away. Violet was too terrified to move and curled up under the bush. She nibbled on some more avocados to fill her growling tummy. The waterfall would have to wait until dark. There was no way she’d make it there without being seen. She wished Amadi was here. She felt safer with him.
Slow clomps stole her breath away. A horse lumbered up to the bush. Owen came back. Had he discovered her hiding place?
Violet tried to control her gnawing fear as she fumbled to pick up a rock. She clutched the rock tight, ready to fight for her life. If Owen stuck his ferret face inside the bush, she would smash it. This scared rabbit had teeth.
Reins fell onto the ground as the horse bent over to munch on the grass. She waited for a long pair of legs to hop off the horse, then for a pair of shiny black boots to step closer to the bush. The air grew thin. She tried not to breathe, but she sucked in air hard.
