Across Captive Seas

by Michele du Barry

  “You may take her back to the house when they are finished with her, but I don’t think they will be through for quite some time. My men have lusty appetites!”

  “I hate you!” she spat out, her teeth barred like a wild animal about to spring.

  “You compliment me.”

  The nightmare went on for hours and Angela wondered in despair how much one woman could stand. The pirates were enjoying themselves now, drawing out the sensations and taking more time to complete each act. Molly hadn’t stirred and Angela was hoarse from alternately pleading with Laporte and screaming abuses at him.

  Finally Laporte untied the rope and firmly led her below into a small, elegant cabin. Pouring her a goblet of wine he offered it to her and though she wanted to toss it in his face her throat was so dry and scratchy that she downed it in several big gulps. Angela drank several more glasses while Laporte settled himself in a chair watching her.

  Slowly her eyes searched the room with a possible weapon to use on him but there was nothing—as if he knew how dangerous she would be in her present state. Numb with shock and dizzy from the wine Angela sat down on a chair.

  “What now?” she murmured to herself but he overheard it.

  “Why whatever you choose. I always consult you before making a decision affecting you. You must learn to take me seriously, chérie. ”

  “Shut up! I don’t want to see you or hear what you have to say!”

  “Very well then. Bon soir. Sleep well!”

  Laporte locked her in but she could still tell what was going on beyond the door. Sleep well—how could she when Molly was still out there? Hurriedly she searched the drawers and closets but found not even a letter opener to use in case she needed protection.

  But sleep did come because of her exhaustion and the wine. When Laporte entered the room in the morning she was curled up on the narrow bunk, her loose hair fanned out like drifting seaweed on the white pillow. He looked at her for a long time drinking in her beauty all soft and unaware. Her eyelashes were long and spiky with crying stirring gently against her high cheeks, the slightly parted lips quivered and he couldn’t help touching them with one fingertip. Soon she would be sleeping in his bed, turning to him all drowsy to waken him with melting kisses.

  Angela’s eyes opened and the first thing she saw was Laporte. She closed them again and rolled over thinking it was a dream.

  “Wake up, chérie!” His voice was unusually soft. He touched the curling hair at the nape of her neck and she sprang up cringing away.

  It was real, all of it! She was in Laporte’s cabin where he had locked her up after—after Molly! Pain passed over her features like a dark cloud obscuring the sun.

  “Where is Molly? I must tend to her and get her off this ship!”

  “I regret to tell you that Molly did not survive the night. I’m sorry, chérie. . . ”

  “Stop it! Stop calling me that. You’re a liar!” Her full bottom lip trembled uncontrollably.

  “It is true. She is dead. My men were too much for her, didn’t finish till dawn and she was dead hours before that.”

  Screaming with grief and rage Angela launched herself at him raking his face with her nails, kicking him, biting the hand he threw up to ward off the attack. She reached for his pistol but he thrust her away and she fell against the bunk cracking her head on the wood. She was temporarily incapacitated and this gave Laporte enough time to bind her wrists together again with the discarded rope from last night.

  Damn the bitch! She had scarred the other side of his face. He could feel the blood dripping from the deep gouges and his hand smarted where her sharp teeth had attacked. He couldn’t let this go unpunished.

  Hauling her up onto the bunk he slapped her twice vowing never to underestimate her again. Their first meeting should have forewarned him to be cautious when handling this wild animal. She was the devil’s daughter—this petite woman that looked like an angel and fought more valiantly than a man. If she had gotten hold of his pistol he would be dead now.

  She was crying, great, heaving, silent sobs and Laporte cursed himself for losing his self-control. Both cheeks were bright red from his blows and her eyes were wide open, watching him, dropping tears like rain. Slipping both of his hands into the thick mass of her hair he held her struggling head still and ground his mouth into her soft lips.

  Stiffening with revulsion as the grotesque mouth moved on hers, Angela tried to fight back despite her bound hands. Pressing her onto the bunk his body came on her and his tongue thrust obscenely into her mouth. A great wave of nausea overcame her and she gagged, startled to find herself immediately released.

  “I’m going to be sick,” she moaned and before he could move she was—all over Laporte. If she hadn’t felt so ill she would have laughed at his stunned expression.

  She never saw him move so quickly, stripping off his sticky, soiled clothes and kicking them with revulsion into a corner of the room. She averted her eyes when he began removing his small clothes. Angela heard the splash of water and the opening of the closet door as he searched for fresh clothes.

  Through it all he didn’t say a word, couldn’t think of anything to say. His kisses made her violently sick, even his presence made her cringe. There was only one way as he had known from the beginning—make her have to suppress her feelings; threaten her with something so perfidious she would do anything he asked.

  Looking at her demure profile and her downcast eyes Laporte knew exactly what to do to bring her around. She wouldn’t reject his next overtures, not if he was any judge of character. No, the next threat would be impossible to ignore.

  After he finished dressing again Laporte escorted a subdued Angela off the ship, watching her carefully to make sure she didn’t attack him again. Her face was white as if she was feeling sick again and the four pirates rowing cast covert glances at them both, wondering if Laporte had taken her. There had been a battle by the look of him but that always added spice to the conquest.

  Jules met them as they walked up from the cove and he went stiff as he surveyed their demeanor. Laporte wore a triumphant smile and Angela’s usual spirit was quenched. So, she was now his rival—displaced by a mere woman! He would just have to bide his time and wait for an opportunity to get rid of her.

  Seeing the look on Jules’s face Angela took flight, running into the house and up the stairs. She had no key so she knocked on the door.

  “Who’s there?”

  “Ezra—let me in!” The door opened and she ran into his arms badly in need of comfort. They folded protectively around her for an instant and then thrust her away.

  “The children,” he cautioned and went to close the adjoining door. “What happened? You didn’t. . .”

  “No—no!” Angela collapsed on a chair and looked up at him with a woebegone expression. “I would have but he had something else in mind.”

  “What?”

  “Molly is dead!” She closed her eyes as if to shut out the sights of last night. “Laporte gave her to his men. They raped her all night. It was awful, horrible! He tied me to the rail and made me watch. It’s my fault, all my fault!”

  “No,” he said going down on his knees beside her and taking her cold hands in his. “How can you blame yourself? It was that devil’s doing!”

  “The note—I didn’t go.”

  “I wouldn’t let you.”

  “Because of that! I could have saved her life.”

  “But at what sacrifice?”

  “Not as great as her’s.” Angela’s eyes flew open brimming with sadness. “I killed her, Ezra, as surely as if I shot her. I killed Molly!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The void Molly’s death made in their lives was vast. They all felt it in different ways, even Ezra who had been a part of their lives for such a short time. It was the little things they took for granted that took their toll, and Angela found herself on the verge of calling Molly a dozen times a day. Robert and Lorna bounced back as children will but even
they could not get used to the upheaval in their lives.

  At odd moments the hellish scene from the pirate’s ghost ship would flash through Angela’s mind and a pained expression would cross her face. She had betrayed Molly’s loyalty with abandonment and couldn’t begin to forget it. It was at just such a moment when she was wrapped up in her own thoughts that it happened.

  The children played beside the lily-covered pond and Angela leaned with her back against a tree off in her own world of torment over what should not have been. She looked up suddenly at a commotion just in time to see Robert attack Laporte, kicking him in the shin of his stiff leg.

  “Let go of my sister, you bloody pirate!” he shouted getting another kick in at the man holding tightly onto Lorna’s arm.

  With an enraged cry Angela flew to the rescue and Laporte hurled Lorna at her saying scoffingly, “Your daughter, chérie, has too much of you in her—a little savage. Look what she did to my hand.” He displayed the red teeth marks.

  Angela fell to her knees gathering both children into her arms. “Don’t ever, ever touch either of them again!” She pressed them close to her protectively, almost snarling at Laporte like a lioness with cubs.

  “We shall see,” he replied maddeningly as the three of them looked accusingly at him. He gave them a well-pleased smile but his voice was as cold and unyielding as steel. “Yes, we shall definitely see!”

  The words entered like ice into Angela’s heart, and though she tried not to react he saw the way she tightened her hold on the children. She had gotten his message. Before she could speak he turned on his heel and strode away as quickly as he could with his lame leg.

  With a feeling of dread inside Angela questioned Lorna. “What happened? Why did you bite him?”

  “I hate him! He had Angus and Molly killed and he hung Captain Darnell! He started talking to me, saying how pretty I am and how much he likes little girls. He said I was just like you and then he touched my hair. I didn’t like him touching me so I bit him and he grabbed me and Robert kicked him. I hate him!”

  “If I had a sword I would cut him up in little pieces and feed him to the gulls!” added Robert emphatically, not to be outdone.

  “Children, listen carefully. You must never let him touch you again. You did very well, both of you, and I’m proud of your courage. If he ever talks to you again, run away and find me or Ezra. He is a bad man.”

  “A very bad man!” echoed Lorna.

  Angela’s heart beat erratically, angry and scared to death at the same time. Laporte was a master of subtlety and his actions today were a threat. He had never given the children so much as a second glance after their meeting on the Dark Lady. The fact that he was interested in them now meant only one thing: they were a means to an end—and that was her.

  Laporte had played his game cleverly, using Molly as a pawn to prove what lengths he would go to. Now he would move in for the kill—the children or her. This time she knew he wasn’t bluffing. When the next note came requesting her presence, she knew exactly what she had to do. Checkmate—she had lost!

  They went back to their rooms, Angela sure the note would be there waiting for her: Midnight in my room. It wasn’t there. Dinner arrived but not Ezra and while Lorna and Robert ate she paced quickly, her skirts swishing. She was on tenterhooks, starting violently at every knock on the door, but it was only the slaves efficiently removing the remains of the meal.

  “Oh lord, Ezra, where are you when I need you?” she muttered wringing her hands. Maybe he had at last found a boat. Yes, that had to be why he was late; Ezra would provide the miracle needed to save them all.

  He came late tapping softly on her door. “I almost got caught!” Ezra burst out. “I hid in the bushes for hours. I thought they would never leave!”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “The raft. I wasn’t going to tell you until it was finished. I have been building a raft and hiding it every evening near a deserted beach. Today some pirate and his doxy decided to have a frolic and stayed all evening.” He gave a sigh of relief now that it was over. “I was sure they would discover me and raise a hue and cry all over the island.”

  “A raft!” Angela seized on the news as her last hope. “When will it be finished?”

  “It will take at least two weeks, probably three—if no one finds it.”

  “Three weeks! I don’t know if I can hold out that long.” Angela sank down on a chair hugging herself tightly. It was an eternity when she was expecting a note tonight.

  There was no way she could tell Ezra about the threat. What if he interfered as he had in Molly’s case? The burden was on her but she must make sure of one thing.

  “Ezra,” her voice was desperate and he looked at her frowning. Something was wrong. “I want you to promise me something very important.”

  “You know I will do anything for you.”

  “But this might be difficult,” Angela said hesitatingly. “Promise that no matter what happens, Robert and Lorna come first—that you will get them and the pardon to Scott in Australia.”

  “You’re talking as if you won’t be. . .”

  “Please! I’m not finished. You must guard the children with your life and never leave them alone no matter what you see or hear. Even if I beg you to help me, if it means deserting them, you won’t do it; you will do nothing to jeopardize their lives.”

  “All right—what happened?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Nothing,” she replied. It was true. Only the faintest of hints had tinged Laporte’s actions. Maybe she was blowing it all out of proportion. “I’ve just been thinking, and if you promise, I will be able to sleep better at night.”

  “All right,” Ezra gave in not at all convinced.

  “No—you must promise, on your word of honor, on our friendship!”

  “I promise—the children come first, then you, then me. Does that satisfy you?”

  Weak with relief she gave him a wavering smile. “Oh yes, you don’t know how much! Thank you, Ezra.”

  Three days passed and Ezra worked with frantic energy on the raft driven by he knew not what. The promise upset him greatly once he mulled it over in his mind. It was like having one hand tied behind his back in a fight. It wasn’t like Angela to give up and he felt that something vital had gone out of her. She seemed to be waiting calmly for the inevitable, but every knock on the door made her jump like a nervous cat.

  Angela sat mending a torn dress of Lorna’s. The note had not come much to her relief and last night she had managed to grab a few hours sleep. Had she been mistaken—dreamed up the whole thing from a perfectly innocent incident? Sometimes she thought she had and at other times she was positive Laporte was drawing out the torture, playing with her as he had done so often before.

  Lorna was at her lessons while Robert took his afternoon nap and she sat at the table in Angela’s room with a frown of concentration on her face. Angela watched Lorna squirming in the chair, secretly amused. How she had hated the dull lessons when she had been a child too, the enforced hours inside when she had longed to be outside. It had been excruciating on fine days when the sun shone.

  “When Robert wakes up how would you like to get out of the house and go play in the garden?”

  Lorna’s head popped up and the frown vanished, replaced with her dimpled smile. “Oh, yes! Mama,” she cried and then her voice grew contemplative. “I wish we could leave here today—get on a ship and sail away. I want to go home. I miss Aunt Jane and Uncle Owen and my pony. . .”

  “First we must find your father, baby. We have to make it to Australia!”

  “I know, but sometimes I don’t think we will ever get there. Nothing is going right! It’s so far away and horrible things keep happening.” The frown was back.

  “There is no way to accurately foresee or stop what is in the future, Lorna; it’s part of life and things often don’t turn out the way we expect them to.” Angela’s eyes took on a faraway look. “I know that better than anyone. T
ime and circumstance take over and we become as helpless as a leaf blowing in the wind.”

  A knock interrupted their discussion and Angela called out to make sure it was safe to open the door. It was one of the slaves who slipped an envelope swiftly through the crack in the door. Angela’s fingers tightened on the thick white paper until her knuckles showed the same color. She stood staring at the closed door afraid to breathe or move.

  It had come at last, the dreaded summons and she wanted to rip it into tiny pieces without opening it and scatter it before the wind. But that would never do, not with the lives of her children at stake.

  “Mama, are you all right?” Lorna touched Angela’s arm looking up at her distressed face.

  Angela looked back at her beautiful black-haired daughter, so small and innocent. She was only six years old, Robert three and they were both dependent on her for everything. She would fight a tiger with her bare hands to protect them. “Yes, baby. I’m all right.” And she knelt down hugging Lorna tightly to her, eyes closed against the thing she would have to do.

  With dread Angela forced herself to open the envelope and unfold the paper. Laporte’s bold writing scrawled across the page:

  Dinner at eight in the

  courtyard. Wear the white

  dress and your diamonds.

  Laporte

  She ripped the letter up now as she had wanted to do originally. So Laporte had looked through her belongings. Her white dress was the one with a daring décolletage and now Angela knew why he had allowed her to keep her jewelry—to deck herself out as his whore. But she would drive a hard bargain, making him promise never to harm Robert and Lorna in exchange for what he wanted.

  The expected words, midnight in my room, had not been written, perhaps because she had anticipated that. No, Laporte would gloat over his victory all evening, savoring every moment until he made Angela do exactly what he wanted. She shivered. He had predicted that she would kneel at his feet and beg him to let her make love to him. The thought was totally revolting but she steeled herself. Laporte always got what he wanted.