The sun was low on the horizon when the soldiers finally settled. A man unlike any of the others emerged from the castle and strode down to the courtyard. He was a Turk, long-legged and tall, with a flowing green and white kaftan. Streaks of gray in his close-cropped beard and black hair marked him as late in years, but the fine lines above his cheekbones suggested graceful aging. He studied each prisoner as he walked by the pens. He came to a stop at Dominique’s cell. She rose, eager to demand the ship’s doctor. The man’s penetrating eyes stole the words from her throat.
In perfect English, he said to the soldiers, “That one.” Then he strode back to the castle.
A few minutes later, Dominique walked between two of the soldiers, staring at the flakes of rust on her shackles. She’d never imagined they were so heavy—as if someone had tied a bag of rocks to her wrists. Her captors led her through the rundown halls of an aging castle and up the spiral stairs of the tallest tower.
The two soldiers prodded Dominique into a luxurious suite. A trio of horseshoe windows lined the west wall, looking out onto the lake and skyline of Tunis. Blue tiles ran around the walls and a grand hearth. A strange crossbow with multiple strings hung over the mantle. Two chairs sat on either side of the fireplace. A table was set with a silver tea service. There was another door on the west side of the room, though she couldn’t guess where it led.
The soldiers unlocked her shackles, marched out, and left her locked in the room alone. Puzzled, she spent a few minutes exploring the suite. She discovered water in the teapot, and she drank greedily until it was empty. After that, minutes passed like hours. Bile churned in her stomach. She knew what became of women enslaved on the Barbary Coast. Why else was she in such a plush room? But there was no bed. Perhaps that meant she wasn’t about to become a pirate’s concubine. Tears stung her eyes. It was a vain hope.
Dominique had settled into one of the fireside chairs when a scraping sound startled her. She jumped up, searching the walls for the source. A group of sandstone bricks shuddered under the tapestries. The stone bricks parted, and a three-foot square opened into the room, revealing a secret door. A man was crawling out of the wall.
Dominique searched for a weapon. Her eyes landed on the fluted silver teapot. She snatched it off the table and crouched behind the secret door. The figure slowly emerged, and Dominique swung the pot.
“Dom!” The man threw up his hands.
The teapot stopped mid-flight, hovering a few inches from the man’s face.
“It’s me!” said the man.
The silver lid rattled in Dominique’s hand. “Sully?”
“It’s me, Dom.” John Sullivan gave a sheepish grin. “You can put down the kettle now.”
Silver clattered on the floor. Dominique rushed into his arms, feeling the warmth and strength in his embrace. She caught the odor of sweat and crusted blood. She also caught a familiar scent—like leather wet from the rain. A hint of tobacco. His scent. It was a scent she badly missed.
“Sully.” Dominique nuzzled his neck. “Is this a dream?”
“I was about to ask the same thing.” John nestled close, his stubble tickling her cheek.
“I’m so scared.”
“I know.”
“Sully, it was so awful.” Dominique could hear the tremor in her voice. “The pirates attacked the Allegheny. They killed so many…and the ship sank… They’ve put the crew in cages—like animals. How did this happen?”
“It doesn’t matter.” John held her at arm’s length, his brows tight with purpose. “I’ve got a plan to get us out of here.”
He looked as boyishly handsome as ever, with his slender jaw, longbow lips, and wheat-brown eyes. But he’d also changed since their last meeting. His auburn hair was tied in a queue and his face was clean shaven. He wore the blue coat and white breeches of a Navy uniform, and though frayed and filthy, they made him every inch the dashing officer. She had never been so happy to see him.
“My sister Kaitlin helped me escape,” John continued. “And I’ve come up with a plan to steal a ship and get us all home.”
“Katie!” gasped Dominique. “You mean you found her?”
“Actually,” said John, running a hand through his hair, “She found me. She’s in the passage, listening for anyone coming up the stairs.”
Dominique found herself unbearably curious. “Really? What’s she like?”
“She’s…” John shook his head, searching for words. “She’s incredible. She helped us escape—me and Da, Ethan and Melly…”
“You found your father too?” Dominique took John’s hand. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, Dom.” John’s eyes were downcast as if to say more would be too painful.
“And Melly…she’s okay?”
“Aye. She’s safe, hiding in the ruins across the lake. Katie and I tried all day to find a way to break you and the others out of the slave pens, but the soldiers are everywhere. They’re swarming through the sewers, the dungeons, the castle—the only thing they haven’t found is this secret passage. There are too many of them.”
“So, you can’t break us out?”
“Not with them searching every inch of the island for us. Sooner or later, they’ll find this passage, and we’ll be caught. We have to lure them away.” John ran a thumb over Dominique’s hand, and she could feel his tension. “I won’t lie to you, Dom. We’re up against a dangerous man. Worse than the Laffite brothers. Worse than the Tindalls.”
“Who is he?”
“His name is Varlick Naim. And to beat him, I need your help.”
Like so many times in her life, Dominique wanted to collapse in the face of fear. She hid when cannonballs were crashing through the bulkheads of the Allegheny. She cowered on nights when her husband had been at the brandy. She hesitated one summer evening on Chesapeake Bay when John Sullivan asked her to jump… Not tonight, she decided.
Dominique took a deep breath. “What do you need me to do?”
###
The Lake Fort
Grand Tower Suite
Sunday, September 11th, 1803
Day 2, After Sunset
Dominique Aubert placed the teapot at the center of the four silver cups. Her enigmatic captors had filled it with tea only a minute ago, and she fussed over it in her anxiety. A spiced aroma rose from the spout, but she’d be damned if she accepted her captors’ “kindness.” The shape of the vessel twisted her reflection into an inhuman mask. Her stomach roiled as she prepared for what she had to do.
Slow footfalls echoed outside the door. A key rattled in the lock. The door wheezed open. The tall Turkish man from the courtyard stepped into the room. His regal dress and manner gave him an air of nobility. But his curved sword and cold yellow-green eyes suggested a man of brutality. He crossed the room at a measured pace, his dour stare unmoving, and came to a stop across the table. Given John’s description, there was no doubt—this was Varlick Naim.
At that moment, Dominique wanted desperately to back away. But she stood her ground, fighting to control her trembling. When she thought she could stand it no longer, the man’s expression softened and he picked up the teapot. He poured a cup for her with great care—as if he were a royal valet.
“Your husband is quite clever.” Naim walked over to the mantle, picked up a small locked chest, and returned to the table. “A fact I suspect you well know.”
“What have you done with Richard?” demanded Dominique. She wanted to refuse the tea, but her thirst wouldn’t let her. She took a sip, and the earthy brew soothed her chapped lips, her dry throat, her dust-filled sinuses. As if this man knew the perfect remedy to spite her.
“Captain Aubert and I have been having a little chat.” Naim set the chest down and flipped open the lid. It was empty—nothing but felt lining, threadbare from use. He poured himself a cup of tea and sipped with both hands—as if he were an old friend come to visit. “He shows remarkable resolve. My stern questions notwithstanding, h
e denies knowledge of a sunken ship filled with Bey Hammuda’s tribute. He further swears you had no knowledge of his plot to steal the bey’s treasure.”
“I wouldn’t know about such things.” The image flashed in Dominique’s mind of the battle two days ago—the one before the Wolf of Tunis arrived. Five pirate ships had attempted to steal Bey Hammuda’s tribute payment. The Allegheny had driven them off, but not before they sank the ship carrying the gifts. Something about it all felt too arranged, but she felt it wise to play dumb. “I’m only the captain’s wife, after all.”
“Despite your husband’s appraisal of your innocence, I think you know exactly where that treasure sank.” Naim took another sip of tea, then set the cup on the saucer. His eyes flashed up through his brows, a pair of scalpels cutting through her lies. “And I don’t care a wit.”
“Listen here,” snapped Dominique. If she couldn’t muster courage, she could muster outrage. But as she blurted out demands, the fearful part of her gripped the chair. “I am an American. And so is every man from the USS Allegheny. Our United States have a treaty with Tunis, which means our captivity here is illegal and an act of war.”
Naim tilted his head.
“I’m guessing you already know this.” Dominique could hardly be certain her claims were true, but she didn’t need the truth for a bluff. “And you’ve acted against the authority of the bey. You may not fear your own leaders, but you should fear the American fleet stationed in the Mediterranean at this very moment. So, unless you wish to incur the wrath of my entire nation, I suggest you tell me who you are and what you want. The sooner you do, the sooner you can release us and avert a war.”
Naim’s lips curled into a smile. “My, but you’re a fierce one. A rare prize. I can see why he loves you.”
Something in his eyes activated an ancient instinct in Dominique. The same instinct that told a mouse when she was under the gaze of a hawk. She fought the urge to back away. “You’re right—my husband loves me a great deal. Let us go, unharmed, or he’ll make you pay dearly.”
“Your husband?” Naim emitted a chuckle. He paced around the table. “That pompous fool looks at you like a miser counting his gold. Love? You should choose your words more carefully.” Naim’s jade ring buzzed around the table edge. “Words have power. Used properly, they have more power than fleets. More power than princes. More power than a collection of rustic rebel colonies.” Naim came to a stop, towering over her. “I don’t care about the fat bey and his extorted loot. Or your country of dirt-farming, fur-trapping yokels. If Re’is Hamit wants your sunken treasure, he can beat it out of Captain Aubert. It’s you who can give me what I want. Now, the man who loves you—where is he?”
“Who?” said Dominique, voice quivering. “I…I don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Why do you think I left you in this tower alone? Hmm?” He bowed his chin. “You think it was for tea?”
Dominique swallowed.
“My men have scoured this fort and the entire island for John Sullivan. And though I don’t know how he escaped his cell, or how he eluded my search, I feel his presence.” Naim nodded to the small empty chest on the table. “While you were in the cage in the courtyard, my correspondence went missing from this box. That means John Sullivan was here, in this very room. So I placed you here, under minimal guard. I hoped he would attempt your rescue, but he either suspected my trap or left you behind.”
Dominique’s heart pounded in her chest.
“But Sullivan would never leave the woman he loves.” Naim tapped his ring on the mahogany surface. “He must have made contact. He gave you a letter. Or a signal. Something. What was it?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. John was stationed on the Philadelphia. He’s hundreds of miles away.”
“You’re lying.” Naim raised a hand to her.
Dominique flinched, steeling herself for a strike. John’s words flashed through her mind.
“Naim will threaten you,” John says, his eyes locked with hers. “He’ll seem to know everything about you. With a look, he’ll promise you pain. But it’s only a bluff. A means to wear you down. Whatever you do, you can’t give in.”
“But why?” Dominique asks. “Why is he doing this to us?”
“It’s my fault,” John swallows a lump. “When the Wandering Hart went down, I let my former slave master drown. His name was Ilyas Naim—Varlick Naim’s son. Now Naim wants revenge on me and anyone close to me. I’m sorry I brought this on you, Dom.”
“I can’t believe this is happening.” Dominique shudders. “I don’t know if I can do this, Sully. Naim will know I’m lying.”
“Yes you can, Dom. You remember the day we met? In the Philadelphia market?”
Her heart tingles at the memory. “Yes. I remember. The day I got caught.”
“That’s right. But you fooled that merchant, didn’t you?”
Dominique smiles in spite of herself. “He was an old jeweler with the attention of a young woman. All I had to do was look pretty and talk.”
“That’s not true. It wasn’t beauty that fooled him—you became a player in his story. You let him see what he wanted to see. This is no different. Naim’s just a merchant of another trade.”
Instead of a strike, Dominique felt the brush of fingers against her cheek. Naim’s caress repulsed her, but she didn’t retreat.
“I admire your courage,” said Naim. “But it won’t be enough to protect your lies.”
“I’m not lying. If John was here, I never saw him. And even if I had, I wouldn’t tell you.”
There was a pause. For a moment, it looked as if Naim might have believed Dominique. Then he shouted, “Hamit.”
The tower door opened, and the pirate captain who had threatened her on the Allegheny barreled through. A prisoner floundered in his muscular grip like a fish on a hook. Marquess Angele Larocque wailed and sobbed as Hamit dragged her across the floor. He dumped her onto hands and knees before the fireplace.
“Please.” Mascara ran down Angele’s cheeks as she sobbed. Her slender gown had ripped at the shoulders and neckline. With all her jewels stripped away, she looked strangely plain. Common. “I have told you everything I know. Please, let me go.”
“Angele!” Dominique’s eyebrows pinched.
“Dominique,” whimpered Angele. “Please, help me.”
Dominique looked at Naim. “Please don’t hurt her. She doesn’t know where John is.”
“I doubt she knows much of anything,” said Naim with a smirk. “But you do. I spent a great deal of time with Sullivan in our open boat journey. He called your name often in his fever dreams. And I learned much more from your sister—Melisande.”
Dominique took in a sharp breath.
“I know how dearly Sullivan loves you. He took my letters for a purpose. And somehow, either while you were down in the courtyard or locked in here, he got a message to you. You know something. I can read it on your face. I can smell it in your sweat. And you’re going to tell me.”
A tear escaped Dominique’s eye.
“Before we begin,” Naim continued, “I want you to know I find this measure distasteful in the extreme. Unhappily, I’m rather pressed for time…”
As if prompted by an invisible command, Hamit seized a fistful of Angele’s hair and yanked her toward him. She shrieked in pain, then collapsed into more pitiful sobbing.
“I will not ask again,” said Naim.
Dominique looked from Angele’s tear-stained face to Hamit’s open-mouthed sneer, to Naim’s placid green eyes.
“There will come a moment,” says John, “when he attacks you where you’re most vulnerable. You’ll want to give him everything, but it’s this very moment when you must steel yourself. Do you understand what you’ve got to do?”
Dominique wipes a tear from her cheek. She paces away from John, ashamed to show him the fear in her eyes. “Yes, but…if he hurts me, I don’t know how long I can hold out.”
“He won’t
do that. Naim attacks the heart first. Gets inside your mind. Uses your weaknesses against you. He won’t do you bodily harm until…” John trails off, looking ill.
“Until what?”
“Until I can watch.”
She puts a hand to her mouth. “A man this devious—he’ll see through me.”
“He is clever, and that’s what I’m hoping to use against him.” She can feel John’s warmth as he draws up behind her. He touches her arm, and she turns around. The collar of his shirt is unlaced, hinting at the muscles of his chest. “Listen to me, Dom. If I didn’t know you could do this, I wouldn’t have asked. It’s risky, but it’s our best chance.”
Dominique looks into his eyes. Like other men his age, he’s brash, and eager, and energetic. But unlike them, his words carry wisdom, his touch pulses with feeling, his eyes promise victory. He was always too young for her. And she’s loved him since the day they met. “All right, Sully. I’ll do it.”
With all the resolve she could muster, Dominique said, “I haven’t seen John. I swear I don’t know where he is.”
Naim’s eyes narrowed, then he headed for the door. “Hamit, the marquess is yours.”
“Of course, Chronicler,” replied Hamit. He leered at Dominique, baring his teeth. Angele screamed as the pirate dragged her by the hair. He swept the tea service from the table and bent Angele over the table like a rag doll. She wailed and struggled, but the pirate’s hand bored into her back, pinning her down with ease. He unlaced his trousers and tore her dress with a loud rip.
“Dominique,” wailed Angele. “Please, help me!”
Tears flooded down Dominique’s face. She couldn’t give in.
Angele scratched Hamit’s arm. The pirate snarled and slammed her face into the table. Blood poured from Angele’s nose. There was shock on her face at first, then she started to scream. Hamit ground his hips against her. Naim was almost at the door.
“Wait!” Dominique cried.
Naim stopped. He lifted a hand. Hamit paused his attack, a hand planted on the crying woman’s exposed buttock. Angele wept, eyes shut tight.
Blood and Oak- Wolves Will Eat Page 13
