The governor clapped and pounded the captain on the back as if he'd been a toreador at a victorious bullfight. Flossie just stared at Isaac as if he, too, had gone out of his mind. She didn't even flinch when one of the liveried slaves entered the room and announced dinner.
In absolute silence they arrived at a banqueting room as palatial as the one in Brighton. No cost had been spared; El Greco's ascetic Church of San Tome hung on the wall while ironically the windows, the floor, the table, were draped in a gaudy cerise-colored satin. Ignatio had already been seated at the head of the twenty-five-foot table, and he gave Flossie a belligerent glare. Isaac looked ill.
"May we continue, Captain, without interruption?" Ignatio glanced murderously at Flossie, but she was too busy staring dumbfounded at Isaac.
"Yes, yes." Isaac hastily sat.
"I want Vashon. What is his price?"
"First we must have our water."
"You'll* get your water. When can I have Vashon?"
Isaac was just about to evade him again when one of the governor's guards burst into the room. The man was sweating and he wore several lengths of lacerated rope around his wrists. Agitated, he spoke in rapid Spanish, gesturing to his head where he'd obviously been hit. Over and over again, he repeated, "El Draque! El Draque!"
Ignatio jumped to his feet. He exchanged words with the guard, then rushed out of the room. When he was gone, Isaac left his seat and pulled Flossie out of hers.
"Where are we going?" she cried out, trying to pull her hand from his.
"Back to the ship. Immediately!" Isaac rushed her out the door.
"But why? What has happened?"
Isaac turned grim. "Didn't you hear the man say, 'El Draque'! That can only mean one thing. They've found Vashon!"
Aurora didn't remember the road back to New Providence as being so dark. Of course, when she'd been on the road before, she'd done her best to pretend being in a faint, but her few glances then at the scenery had left her with not nearly so ominous a feeling as the one she had now.
She studied Vashon as she rode with him on his horse. He was furious. Gone were the gentle arms that had held her. Instead his grip was like bands of leather, tightening and tightening around her, until she wondered when they would stop her breath. His chest was a slab of granite against her back and his thighs slammed ruthlessly against her derriere as they rode. She had no idea what he would do once they returned to the Seabravery, and she dreaded even speculating about it. He didn't say another word. He didn't have to.
Though she had sworn to fight him, she had no choice but to go back with him. He had won another battle, but she vowed the war would continue, this time in town where she swore she would find a way to escape before he could drag her up the Seabravery'% gangplank.
"And what little schemes are simmering in that head now?" He bent his head and nipped the fleshy lobe of her ear. It should have been a playful gesture, but in his anger, his teeth almost hurt her. Chastised, she stiffened, denying the tingle that traitorously slid down her spine.
"How do you plan to get back to the ship undetected?" Her manner and voice were as cool as she could make them. She looked ahead and in the distance saw a line of glittering red fires, burning cane. Neville and his revolutionaries had been busy that night. She recalled reading once about the slave revolts in the Caribbean. She was certain if the governor wasn't careful, Grand Talimen would have a revolt to parallel Haiti's, and he would find his head on a stake being paraded around New Providence.
All at once Vashon pulled up his horse. He sat absolutely still and looked straight ahead. Lights flickered down the road from town. Before, she'd thought nothing of them, believing them to be the candlelight from the houses, but now she could see they were moving in a long, thin stream like ants.
"What is it?" she whispered, her fear blooming like nightshade.
"Torches. It could be they're looking for the slaves who started the cane fires, but . . ."He backed the horse a few steps. "I don't want to take the chance." Abruptly he dismounted and took her from her perch on the pommel. He then slapped the horse's flanks and sent the animal, tail high, galloping down the road in the opposite direction.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, watching him as if he were out of his mind.
"Come," was all he said before he grabbed her hand and ran for the cover of the canebrake.
It seemed they ran for miles. The cane sliced at her gown and whipped at her flesh. Vashon never let up. He headed for town with the sure instinct of a bloodhound, guided only by the blue light of the moon.
When they got to the edge of town, they moved in the shadows. Every bit of ground was hard-won; there were guards everywhere, their satin livery shining in the iridescent moonlight like the sleek coats of rats. They could only be looking for Vashon. From their whispers, even the governor was out looking for him tonight.
Vashon led her through the maze of slave shacks that lined the road from town. At one point she stumbled and caught herself on a door, only to see the notice that had been nailed to it. It was old and the edges of the paper were yellow_ and crumbled, but she could clearly make out what was on it. It was a sketch of Vashon's face, and beneath it were the words El Draque. Her Spanish was poor but she could read the notice of execution should El Draque ever be caught on the island. A new burst of fear shot through her veins.
"The ship will surely be surrounded." Vashon pulled her against a shack as four mounted guards trotted by. His face was taut as he peered down the road. "We'll have to hide until we can reboard."
A new plan began forming in her mind. To escape, she wasn't willing to risk his execution, but she spoke before her idea had even solidified. "I could go to the ship, Vashon. I could tell the captain where to meet you on another part of the island—just tell me where."
He pulled her closer. "How noble of you. I let you out of my sight and you'll be running up that hill to Ignatio's house so quickly a hare couldn't beat you. I'll pass on your offer, love."
"No, I—" Wouldn't hurt you, she'd meant to say, but the words stuck in her throat. For some reason they seemed too intimate, too much of a confession. She looked at him, then quickly looked away. "Where can we hide?"
He grew serious. He stared at her for a moment, then a slow smile graced his face. "Maybe we should grant your wish after all. Ignatio's going to scour this damned island looking for me, but he won't think to look in his own house." He nodded in the direction of the hill—Governor's Hill.
"You want us to hide at the governor's mansion? That's insane!" The glint in his eyes frightened her.
"Ah, sweet madness." He laughed and took her hand. They stole through the shadows of the night.
"Yes, she faked the entire thing. I suspect she was going to try to escape once he brought her to the island. Oh, but how I wish now I'd stopped her!" Flossie dabbed a tear from the corner of her eye. She stood on the railing of the Seabravery with Isaac, looking out to the lights of New Providence. Somewhere out there Vashon and Aurora were fighting for their lives.
"I've sent out as many men as I have. At least we know they haven't been captured." Isaac glanced at Flossie. It was obvious her tears made him supremely uncomfortable.
"No, no. It's all my fault. I should have known it would come to this. With Vashon in so much danger, it's only logical Aurora would be dragged into his trouble. Now they'll both be . . . be . . ." She drowned in a whole new wave of weeping. Isaac looked ill.
"Flossie," he began helplessly, "Vashon's been in scrapes like this before."
"With a young lady in tow? I—sincerely—doubt— that!" She hiccoughed.
"It does make things more difficult, but he'll manage. If it were anyone else, I'd be worried too, but—"
"Pooh! You're as worried as I am!" Flossie wiped her overflowing eyes with her handkerchief. She looked up and met Isaac's grim stare. "He's like a son to you, isn't he? As notorious as he is, you don't want him to die. You love him like a son."
Isaac heaved a huge sigh. As if it were as natural to him as sailing, he pulled Flossie into his arms and let her weep on his shoulder. Under his breath, he agreed.
"A prodigal son."
Chapter Sixteen
They were in the mansion.
Aurora's heart had never pounded so hard as the moment they entered the governor's empty kitchens and made their way up into the main house. Somewhere a clock rang midnight as Vashon led her through deserted passages and dodged the occasional servant.
The interior of the mansion was like a Peking nightmare. Chinoiserie was painted on the walls, carved into the furniture, cloying in the air. Even the songbirds hung in pagoda-shaped cages. Aurora was sure a night in an opium den couldn't have produced a more bizarre landscape. But if her surroundings were strange, her circumstances were even stranger. It didn't help her sanity one bit to know any minute they could be caught and executed.
Vashon pulled her into a room just as a slave girl walked down the passage with a luster. He pressed Aurora against his chest and they waited in the dark while the girl passed, the crystals of her candle holder tinkling like bells.
Aurora trembled; Vashon's embrace grew tighter. She looked down at his hands crossed against her stomach. He was a terribly strong man. She knew that by the way he always had to temper that strength whenever he touched her. Beneath him she was as fragile as a piece of porcelain. But did that great strength matter when he took such risks and laughed while he took them? Would it save him in the end? By all accounts, he seemed invincible. Yet was he?
"Vashon, surely you see we cannot stay here?" She clutched his hands. "We'll be discovered. I should go to the ship)—"
"Now why would you rescue me?" he whispered against her neck. His breath felt like a feather running down her nape.
"Because—I—" She stumbled over her words. She didn't really know how to answer him. "Because Isaac told me the story about the slaves. I know you're innocent, and I can't stand by and let this governor execute an innocent man—not even if that man is you. I have more honor than that."
"Honor." He laughed cynically. "Honor in the face of death has about as much backbone as our good King George on one of his better days—that is, when they untie the babbling idiot."
"How can you be so blasphemous?"
"How can you be so beautiful?"
She looked up at him. He smiled a slow, dark smile. His hand left her waist and moved to her chin. He tilted her head back and she swore he was going to kiss her.
"You're as mad as King George," she said, pulling away from him.
"No one's that far gone, love." He grabbed her again.
"Don't!" she whispered harshly. He ignored her. His hand swept her hair and he seemed to revel in its tangled silken length. An intent expression crossed his features.
"I think you might make a temptress yet," he whispered.
"Is that your pirate's honor then? To ruin me?" She pulled away, this time fiercely.
"If I have any honor at all." He chuckled and reached for her again but now she was forewarned. She skittered back from him and fled down a steep, winding staircase. It was dark, but even in the sparse lantern light she could see him in quick pursuit. She had just turned the corner to run down a narrow, stone-paved passage when a voice sounded ahead of her. With barely enough time to stop, she saw two liveried guards appear at the end of the passage. They halted in surprise.
"What're y' doing here, girl?" one guard called out to her, his voice thick with rum. He lifted the lantern in his hand to get a good look at her. "The gov'nor's wenching night is Tuesday. Y're here on the wrong night."
Aurora froze in her tracks. Somewhere water dripped through the paving stones and its nerve-racking sound only heightened her fear. As calmly as she could, she glanced to her side. Vashon stood in the shadowy passage that she had just fled. With pistol in hand, his face was grim; his eyes filled with rage.
"That damned wench ain't here fer the gov'nor. She's a damned thief, that's what she is!" The other besotted guard moved forward, his bayonet fixed.
"You're mistaken!" she cried, her mouth going dry from terror. "I assure you, I'm no thief."
"Then what're y' doing here?" The suspicious guard walked up to her and poked her with the bayonet, making a tiny rip in the bodice of her dress. She backed away from him so that he wouldn't see Vashon. She held her arms protectively across her chest, and the guard seemed to savor her fear. "I ne'er laid eyes on y' before, wench. What ship did y' come from?" he demanded.
"The Sea—" She choked. She couldn't tell them that. Her eyes darted behind the guard to where Vashon stood in the shadowed corner. His face could have been carved from stone it was so hard and still. He was staring at her, she knew, waiting for her to betray him; waiting as a man waits on the gallows for the hangman. Yet she wouldn't betray him. Despite what he thought, there was honor in the world, and she considered that she herself possessed some of it.
"The Cecilia," she blurted out. "I've arrived from the ship the Cecilia."
"I never heard o' that ship docking here. I think y're lying, girlie."
"I've just gotten myself lost." Her eyes pleaded with him. "I've mistakenly found myself here. I don't even know where I am."
The other drunk guard laughed. "You're in the right place!" He lifted the lantern and showed that the passage consisted of row upon row of rusted, barbarous arm shackles.
"Where is that?" she asked with a tremble.
"This is wha' we like to call the 'dungeon,' girlie." The guard threw back his head and laughed.
"If you allow me to leave, I promise I won't speak a word of this to anyone," she pleaded.
"Let 'er go, Mick." the other guard chimed in. He took a swig from an ornate silver hip flask. "After all, she's a pretty little wench. Perhaps if the gov'nor tires of her, she'll remember the favor on a lonely night."
"We don't even know for sure if she is one of the gov'nor's wenches." The guard Mick jabbed her again with the bayonet. From the corner of her eye she could see Vashon tense.
"I implore you," she begged, feeling the situation ready to explode, "just allow me to leave and be on your way. Surely you both have more to do this night than bother with me."
"Aye." Mick took a hefty swallow from the guard's flask. She could see him getting drunker. "We've better things to do. El Draque is out there tonight. Y' know who that is, wench?"
She swallowed. Her hands were shaking so badly she had to thrust them behind her. Vashon's defiance was almost palpable. She knew he expected her to reveal him and gleefully watch his execution. There was no way he could win against these men, even with the pistol in his hand. He had at best one shot and there were two guards. But as much as her mind told her that betrayal was the way to freedom, she knew she couldn't do it. Her heart said she'd be betraying an innocent man, and she wouldn't have that on her conscience, even if that man was otherwise a notorious criminal. Her silence might cost her her life, but she could see no other honorable course. She'd once told Vashon that she was not without fortitude. Ironically, tonight, to save him, she was finally going to prove it.
"I don't know El Draque," she whispered rebelliously. Mick grabbed her by the arm as if to pull the truth out of her. She winced at the man's roughness, but then her gaze reached behind him to Vashon.
He stood in the darkness, staring at her, his eyes full of wonder. It was clear by his expression that he couldn't fathom why she had shielded him. But she knew that was because he was a pirate, unused to such things as mercy, self-sacrifice, and noble causes. To him the world was black and white. Whether it was because of lack of upbringing, or simply lack of love, he was blind to all the shades of gray that she herself saw quite clearly.
But suddenly, as she watched him, something awakened in his eyes, something that had been sleeping for a terribly long time. It was like a tiny spark of altruism coming to life after years of believing such a thing no longer existed within him. Though he was astonished
by it, she could also see he didn't like it. It made him vulnerable and she knew he was the kind of man to fight that to the death.
"Well, he's gonna die tonight. The gov'nor ain't gonna take no more from that bloke. We're to see to it."
She forced her gaze back to the guards. Carefully erasing all emotion from her face, she vowed not to look at Vashon again. His very life depended on it. "Then I shan't keep you gentlemen," she said, making one last pitch for her freedom.
"No." Mick grabbed her arm. "We're gonna keep y', love. Word's out that El Draque may have a wench with him tonight. We'll just take y' to the gov'nor and see if y're one o' his or not."
Aurora looked up, the fear of what was to come freezing the expression on her face. "And if the governor doesn't recognize me, then what?" she said in a low voice.
"Then, girlie, y'd better be nice to old Mick, 'cause y'll be in a whole heap of trouble." Mick licked his lips and chuckled at the terror on her face.
Aurora pulled back. She didn't want to go with them, but where was her escape? Vashon couldn't help her. It would be suicide and they both knew it. She stared up at Mick. He pulled her against him. She could smell the rum on his rancid breath.
"The gov ain't gonna recognize y', is he?" he asked.
"No," she whispered, feeling the noose tighten around her throat.
"Come along, Mick. Y're scaring the poor thing half outta her mind," the other guard said.
"We're gonna be on the grind tonight, Davey!" Mick grabbed Aurora by the waist and with one meaty arm, lifted her off the ground. She cried out and struggled, but she'd never felt so helpless. Even though Vashon looked on, he couldn't help her, and even if he could have, she doubted that spark in his eyes was enough to light a fire and save her. He surely didn't care enough about her to risk his life, not even for his valuable Star.
"Let her down or die, fool."
The words, harsh and unyielding, shocked everyone. The guards jumped, surprised that they had an onlooker to their amusements. Aurora simply gasped, disbelieving what she saw as Vashon stepped from the shadows, one lone pistol in hand.
Till Dawn Tames the Night Page 20
