A Pirate's Love (15 page)

“Your hand,
monsieur
, needs bandaging.”

He focused his dark-brown eyes on her, and she was taken aback by the hatred she saw in them.

“Because of you my back is forever scarred. What matters a finger also? It will be adequately paid for,” he said in a brittle voice. “I am Antoine Gautier,
mademoiselle
, in case you would like to know the name of the man who is going to kill you.”

Bettina felt stark terror when she grasped the meaning of his words. She ran for the door, but the man made no move to stop her. The door was locked. She turned back around to face him, her eyes wide.

“Unlock this door!” she screamed in panic.

He laughed at her, a contemptuous, cruel laugh. “Now you know how I felt when they tied me to the mast. Not a pleasant feeling, is it,
mademoiselle?
”

“Why are you doing this? Why?”

“That is a foolish question to ask, my fine lady, but I will gladly answer it. You see, I have dreamed of killing you. I have prayed to have you delivered into my hands, and now you will suffer tenfold what I did. I will not kill you immediately, Mademoiselle
Verlaine, for that would be too merciful, and I feel no mercy. You will beg me to end your life before I am through, but your death will come by slow degrees by starvation and torture. But first I will have what I was whipped for desiring, many times.”

Bettina's mind refused to accept his words. This was a nightmare.

“What were you whipped for, Monsieur Gautier?”

He looked at her in surprise. “You are a calm one, but not for long. I was whipped for my intentions, for something I never got to do. But I will have payment now, and then some.”

“But why must you kill me also?”

“Because you could have stopped them from whipping me, but you did not!” he growled at her.

“But I did try to stop them. I pleaded with the
capitaine!
”

“Lies come easily when your life is threatened. Do not mistake me for a fool,
mademoiselle!
” he snarled, and started to unfasten his thin belt.

Bettina watched him with disbelieving eyes, and something snapped in her.

“Go ahead—rape me!” she screamed, her eyes wild and glazed. “Kill me! I should have died in the street by Shawn's blade, anyway! I don't care anymore. Do you hear? I don't care!”

Bettina started to laugh, an hysterical, unearthly, shrill sound that resounded in the small room. Antoine Gautier backed away from her warily.

“You are a crazy woman!” he said in a ragged voice as he edged toward the door. “You have suffered nothing yet, but already your mind snaps. There can be no pleasure in starting now. I will wait until you have regained your senses, so you will be aware of everything I intend to do. I will be back!”
he hissed through clenched teeth. He left the room and locked the door behind him.

Bettina fell to her knees on the floor. Violent sobs racked her body. It was a long while before she quieted to soft whimpering. She was a child again, and imagined she was in a large room at the convent, filled with many beds. She lay on one of those beds in the dark, crying silently for loneliness because her mother had been powerless to prevent her being sent to the convent. A sister came and talked quietly to her, words that were gentle and understanding. And they finally lulled her to sleep.

T
housands of stars were like flickering candles against a velvet curtain of black. Somewhere on Saint Martin, the sailor Antoine Gautier was drinking himself into forgetfulness, but in his lodgings in the trashiest part of town, Bettina slept on, undisturbed by the bugs and mice in the room.

It was well after sunrise when Bettina's eyes opened. She stared in confusion at her strange surroundings. Was this a room in that old fortress that Tristan had taken her to? But she had escaped that beautiful island, hadn't she? Yes, she had escaped and been brought to Saint Martin. She had gone in search of her betrothed, but then then.

“No!” she gasped as she remembered everything. “My God, no!”

Why did she have to remember? It would have been kinder if she had lost her mind completely, rather than sit here and count the minutes until Antoine Gautier returned. What kind of horrible tortures did he have planned for her? She was already weak from hunger, and she would get weaker. Was he going to leave her here to starve? No, he would want a more complete revenge than that. He would be back.

“Oh, Tristan, why can't you rescue me this time? But I fear I was too clever for you. You are hundreds of miles away, searching for me on the island, if you haven't given up by now.”

What was she thinking? She didn't want
him
to rescue her! Bettina looked about the dismal room and felt the tears well in her eyes. Anything would be preferable to what Antoine Gautier planned for her, even life with Tristan. But Tristan wasn't here to help her, and that left only one alternative, a quick death.

With her mind set on her only solution, Bettina got up and slowly walked to the open window. There was no balcony outside, not even a ledge that might lead to another window.

Below her to the right was a small awning over a back door, but directly below the window was a pile of firewood. The pile was large, with cut branches sticking up in all directions like pointed spears. There was certain death waiting for her in that pile of branches, a quick death.

Bettina lifted her legs out of the window and sat there for a moment, savoring her last minutes of life. She smiled ironically, thinking that she had run away from the handsomest man she had ever met. She had left him for this.

“Oh, Bettina, you have been such a fool,” she said aloud with a heartfelt sigh.

She released her hold on the sides of the window and took a deep breath. All she had to do was lean forward and that would be the end. But a part of her still clung to life, even though that life meant prolonged torture, and she climbed back into the room.

You have to jump, Bettina. I can't. You could scream for help. No, that would bring Antoine Gau
tier, and I would still have to jump. Then jump away from that pile of branches.

She looked out the window again, but the pile was just too large to avoid.

“The awning!”

Bettina threw her bundle of clothes out the window; then she climbed out herself until she hung precariously by her hands from the windowsill. She tried to reach the awning with her foot but struck only air. She saw her mistake now. She should have stooped on the windowsill and jumped toward the awning. But it was too late, for she was too weak to pull herself back up.

One hand slipped, and her body twisted away from the building. She groped frantically with her free arm, and she caught the sill just as her other hand slipped. Her body twisted the other way, giving her a clear view of the awning. It looked impossible to reach from her position, for it was at least six feet below her and two feet away. But she had to reach it. It was her only chance to live.

It was more difficult this time to turn her body back so she could reach the sill, but she finally made it. She knew she had only a few more seconds before both of her hands gave way, but she remained calm. Using her feet to hold herself away from the rough wall of the building, she swung herself back and forth.

She was still reluctant to let go, but consoled herself with the thought that she would have died, anyway. She swung away once more, then back toward her target. She let go. She landed on her knees in the middle of the old canvas awning and quickly grabbed the sides, but her weight toppled the rotted supports and she slammed full force into the closed
door, then slid the few feet to the ground.

Bettina gasped for air, then didn't know whether to laugh or cry. She wondered now why she had been so reluctant to attempt escape. Then she glanced up at the window so very high above her and trembled at her own daring. But, thank God, she was free and alive. Now she prayed she could find the Comte de Lambert without running into any more evil men.

Bettina pushed herself up, picked up her bundle, then ran to the end of the alley. She cautiously looked around the side of the building. Antoine Gautier was weaving drunkenly down the street toward her. Bettina ducked her head back and pressed against the building. She held her breath as she waited for Gautier to pass the alley. He staggered past and then tripped and fell only a few feet from her. Bettina thought she would faint while she waited in suspense for him to get up.

He rose slowly to his feet and continued toward the entrance of his building without even glancing in her direction. Bettina gave him a few minutes to enter the old inn, which also gave her heart time to slow its beat. Then she dashed out of the alley and ran down the street in the direction from which Gautier had come. She stopped the first person she came to, a young boy, and asked directions to the Lambert plantation. He told her it was on the outskirts of town, but he informed her proudly that he had seen the
comte
on the docks that very morning.

Bettina continued toward the docks, wishing she were leaving town instead. When she reached the dock, she went up to an old man leaning against an empty crate, whittling on a short stick.

“Excuse me,” Bettina ventured. “Do you know
where I can find the Comte de Lambert?”

“What do you want with him, boy?”

“It is a matter of importance,” Bettina replied. She vowed she would never wear a man's clothing again.

“Over there.” He pointed to a large ship. “De Lambert is the one giving orders.”

Bettina hurried on, relieved to find the
comte
so quickly. She saw that the ship the man pointed to was not unloading crates as the others were, but human cargo, black men with their hands and feet shackled with irons. When she came closer, a fetid odor assailed her nostrils, almost making her sick.

She saw the man giving orders, a man of medium height, with wavy black hair, but he was standing with his back to her. Bettina called his name. He glanced at her with obvious irritation, and she noticed the golden-brown eyes and strong, handsome face, but then he turned back to what he was doing.

Well, what did she expect, dressed as she was? Everyone mistook her for a boy. She walked slowly up to him.

“Are you Comte Pierre de Lambert?” she asked, forcing him to turn around again.

“Away with you, boy! I have no coins to spare.”

“Are you—”

“Away with you, I said!” He cut her off sharply.

“I am Bettina Verlaine!” she shouted back at him, losing her temper.

He laughed at her and turned away again. She yanked the scarf from her head, then pulled her hair out from beneath her shirt and let it tumble down her back.

“
Monsieur
,” she called sweetly. When he turned once again, Bettina threw the scarf in his face and stalked away from him.

“Bettina!” he called, running after her, but she didn't stop. When he caught up with her, he swung her around to face him, amazement on his face. “You must forgive me, Bettina. I thought you were dead. Marivaux returned with my ship and told me what happened. I thought you were a young boy just now, come to taunt me. The whole town knows that I was waiting for you to come, and they know what happened.”

Her anger left as fast as it had come, and she smiled warmly at the young man who stood before her.

“I am sorry I threw the scarf at you.”

“But I was a cad to bark at you the way I did. We will say no more about it. Come,” he said, leading her to a carriage a few feet away. “I will take you home now. We will talk later, and then I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?”

“Yes, I think you will be most pleased,” he replied with a lazy smile. “But tell me one thing now—how did you manage to come here?”

“On a merchant ship.”

“But it was not a merchant ship that attacked the
Windsong
.”

“No, it was not,” Bettina said. “There is much that I have to tell you, but as you said, we can talk later. Right now I need a bath and a change of clothes.”

“Of course,
ma chérie
. It will not take long to reach the house.”

 

“Ah, Madame Verlaine. I am glad to see that you are feeling better today,” Pierre de Lambert said as Jossel Verlaine walked into his study unannounced.
“It was a shock to you not to find your daughter here on your arrival yesterday.”

“I am not feeling better,
monsieur
. But I refuse to believe that my daughter is dead. You must search for her!”

“Please sit down,
madame
,” Pierre said, motioning to a chair beside his desk. “I have found your daughter—or, rather, she found me. Bettina has been shown to the room next to yours. She is presently bathing.”

“But why didn't you tell me this immediately!” Jossel exclaimed and started to rush from the room.

“Madame Verlaine!” Pierre called sharply, halting her before she reached the door. “I must insist that you wait before seeing Bettina.”

“But why? Is something the matter with her?”

“No—she seems to be fine. But I have yet to find out what happened to her after she was taken from the
Windsong
. I must ask that you let me speak to her first.”

“But I am her mother!”

“And I am her betrothed. There are certain things that I must know before—”

“What are you implying,
monsieur
?” Jossel interrupted him. “It is enough that Bettina is here and alive.”

“If Bettina is to become my wife—”

“If!” Jossel nearly shouted. “Let me inform you, Comte de Lambert, that I was against this betrothal from the very beginning. I always wanted Bettina to choose her own husband. I still do. Now that André is dead, Bettina does not have to honor the agreement you made with my husband. I came here to tell her this.”

“Please, Madame Verlaine, you misunderstood me,” Pierre said, flustered.

“I believe I understood you perfectly,
monsieur
. If Bettina is no longer innocent, it is no fault of hers. And if you do not wish to marry her, I will take Bettina and we will leave your house immediately!”

Pierre was annoyed but managed to hide it. He should not have told the woman that her daughter was here, for then he could have sent her away and kept Bettina as his mistress without her mother's knowledge. The whole town knew what had happened to Bettina Verlaine, so he could not possibly marry her now. But he could not let her go, either—she was much too beautiful to lose.

“Madame Verlaine, I am sorry if I have misled you. I have every intention of marrying Bettina. But since I will be her husband, I thought she might like to tell me her story first. After all, she did come to me. Afterward, she can rejoice in seeing you, and forget about her terrible ordeal.”

Jossel calmed down and considered what he had said. “Very well,
monsieur
. I will wait in my room.”

“You will not go in to see Bettina?”

“I will wait until you have spoken with her. But I wish to be called immediately when you are finished.”

“I will inform you myself.”

Pierre watched her leave the room and gritted his teeth, an angry scowl on his face. He would like to shoot Captain Marivaux for letting pirates capture Bettina. Even if she was still a virgin, no one would believe it. Now he must stall for time and think of some way to get rid of the mother. He felt sure he could handle Bettina if she were left in his care.