Boyett-Compo, Charlotte - WindTales 02 (18 page)

Genny's belly. She flinched, stepped back when Meggie took a step toward her.

“What you afraid of, dearie?” Meggie cooed. “Think we might give you the lesson you so rightly

deserve?” She came closer, her rolling gait, her shifting hips suggestively moving beneath the long sweep

of her cheap gown.

“I don't want any trouble with you, Meg,” Genny told her, eyeing the other women who had moved

closer to her as well. “There's no cause for it."

“No cause for it?” Meggie snorted, swinging her head to look at her friends. “Did you hear her, now?”

Her beady eyes jerked back to Genny. “You'd best be reconsidering that, missy! As we see it, we got

cause enough to yank you baldheaded!” She took a threatening step forward just as the door to the hut

opened and Patrick Kasella reached out to take Genny's arm.

“Get inside,” he mumbled to her as he drew her toward him. He swung his glower over the women

standing at the hut's entrance. “You women get back to your chores."

“You tell her for us that it ain't over with,” Meggie told him, lifting her chin high in the air. “We'll settle up

with her some other time."

“You won't do anything of the sort!” Paddy growled. He stepped back into the hut and shut the door in

the women's faces.

“That's what you think.” Meggie hissed. Turning on her heel, she tossed her head and she and the others

walked briskly away.

The inside of the hut was dark, smelling of lemon and disinfectant. It took a moment for Genny to adjust

to the low light. She could make out the cot at the far side of the hut, but even as she strained to see the

man lying upon it, she could distinguish no discerning features on the face turned toward her.

“He's had a bad headache for two days now. The light makes it worse,” Paddy explained to her as his

fingers closed around her upper arm and he began to draw her toward the cot. “Don't talk loud and don't

upset him."

“I wasn't planning on...” She stopped as Paddy's fingers tightened on her arm.

“And don't argue!” he whispered.

“Leave her be, Paddy."

Genny jumped, the sound of the soft, gently chiding voice bringing home forcefully to her the position this

man now held among the people on Montyne Cay. Men had risked their lives and ships for him; they

respected him, loved him.

“Genny?” His voice was weak, a touch of uncertainty in the one word.

“Aye.” She could feel Paddy's fingers digging into her flesh and she winced. She looked up at him and

found his face carefully devoid of all emotion.

“I'll be right outside,” he informed her, and with one final squeeze of her arm, he turned crisply on his

heel and left the hut, shutting the door behind him.

There was a long moment of silence as Genny stood there, wishing herself anywhere else but where she

was. Slowly she turned her head from the soft white block of light the opening of the door had caused.

“Will you come closer, Milady?” he asked.

She nodded. Her feet felt leaden as she walked to the cot. Nervously she licked her lips, fidgeted with

the folds of her skirt, her fingers making tiny grabs at the stiff muslin, plucking at it. When she was only a

foot from his cot, she could see him studying her.

“You weren't hurt, were you?” he asked. “I heard you cry out and knew you must have fallen. I was

afraid they'd heard you, too."

She couldn't answer. Shaking her head in denial was the best she could do.

“I wanted to thank you."

She flinched, blinking with surprise. She stared at him. “Thank me for what?” she breathed.

“For saving my life."

Never in her wildest moments of fantasy would she have dreamed these would be the words he would

say to her when next they confronted one another. She wasn't sure she had understood him. Shaking her

head to clear it, she narrowed her eyes at him and searched his face.

“I nearly got you killed!” she said.

“If you hadn't been in the forest with me,” he explained in a soft, reassuring voice, “no one would have

known what had happened to me. I'd have simply disappeared. No one would have known about the

transport. And they would have come back, Genevieve. Those bastards would have came back and

attacked the Cay with everything they had."

“But you let them catch you to save me!” she protested. “If I hadn't been there, you could have hid! You

could have gotten away from them! You didn't have to let them know you were there!"

He reached out for her, wanting, needing to take her hand, but she jerked away from him, not so much

because she feared his touch, but because she felt guilt riding her like a cruel master. She stepped back,

out of his reach. “Because of me, they caught you; and because of me, they punished you!” she cried.

“It doesn't matter,” he said in a tired voice, hurt that she wouldn't let him take her hand.

“Yes it does!” she said forcefully. “If you hadn't been worried about me, you wouldn't have been hurt!"

“Genny,” he began in a reasonable voice, wanting now to calm her more than anything else, “you could

have left me when I fell down into that hole with you. You didn't have to stay until I woke up. If you'd

gone back to the compound, the chances are they'd have found me anyway. They'd already found the

jolly boat on the beach. They knew someone was on the Cay."

Tears were falling down her cheeks. She batted them angrily away and glared at him.

“Stop trying to make excuses for me!"

“I'm not making excuses for you, Genny.” He let out a tired breath. His head was pounding again. “I'm

only telling you that I don't blame you for what happened. I've told Weir and Paddy that, too. They don't

want to listen to what I say anymore than you do."

“I almost got you killed!” She came forward, knelt by his cot and, not thinking of what she was doing,

took his hand in hers, and brought it to her flushed cheek. “They hurt you because of me.” She felt the

scab in the center of his palm and turned her lips to it.

His free hand trembled as he brought it up to lay it on the silky sweep of her hair. Gently he stroked the

soft tresses, his callused fingers catching on the silken strands.

“There's nothing to forgive,” he whispered to her as he felt her lips against the flesh of his palm. “I would

have been lost had you not been there with me."

She looked up at him. “I never meant to hurt you."

“I know,” he told her, smiling as best he could around the agony filling his temples. “I know you didn't."

“I will never hurt you again,” she promised him, pressing his palm to her cheek. “I swear to you I will

never hurt you ever again, Syn-Jern."

His gaze lingered on her face, so beautiful, so dear to him. “I need to rest, now,” he told her, taking his

hand away from her, easing the one she held captive from her grip.

“Can I get you anything? Water? Anything?"

He shook his head. The pain was becoming an excruciating band tightening around his forehead. “Just

get Tarnes for me. Please?"

She got up, looked back at him as she put her hand on the door. “Syn-Jern?"

It took him a moment to answer her, and when he did, his voice sounded strained. “Aye?"

“Thank you,” she said.

“For what?"

“For not hating me."

He heard the door close softly behind her and turned toward the sound. He could still smell her essence

wafting about the room: the musty scent of frangipani lingering to tease his nostrils. He breathed in the

smell, letting the aroma fill his senses. It was a smell that reminded him of the shrubs around his boyhood

home.

“God, help me,” he whispered to the still room. “It isn't hate I bear you, Sweeting."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Three weeks had passed.

“You aren't going and that's final!” Weir shouted at his sister. He stormed away from her, not wanting to

listen to her foolishness any longer.

“I will!” Genny yelled after him. Stamping her foot on the loose sand, she hiked up her skirts and stalked

off into the camouflage of the jungle. Angrily she batted the wide green leaves out of her way as she

heaped curses on her brother's handsome head.

Meggie Spaulding watched Genny Saur until the girl was lost among the emerald foliage.

The fat woman turned her head, caught the eye of her sister-in-law, Cherie, and nodded. She saw

Cherie nudge another woman, who in turn, called out to a third, before they began to drift toward

Meggie.

“Where you reckon she's going?” Cherie asked, drying her hands on her apron.

Meggie shrugged. “Off alone as she's wont to.” Her beefy face crinkled with amusement. “Where no

one ain't apt to hear her."

Nell Roderick, Kylan Roderick's sister, elbowed Ky's Chalean wife. “What you think, Bridie? You up

to a wee walk?"

Bridget Roderick grinned. “Aye, I'm of a mind to take the air, I am."

Reaching into her voluminous apron pocket, Meggie pulled out a pair of sharp shears. She clicked the

blades together. “I'm of a mind to take a walk, myself!"

Norbert Tarnes scratched his head when Cherie Spaulding asked to borrow a pot of tar from the ship's

store, but he did not ask what she wanted with it.

Likewise, Ky Roderick did not question his wife when she left with a bag of goose feathers.

Jarl Stevens was sitting on a log, whittling, as the four women trooped by. He glanced up as they

passed. He stopped whittling, stared after them as they disappeared into the jungle. For a long moment

he sat there, watching the spot where the women had entered the thick undergrowth. Finally, he shrugged

his thin shoulders, and put blade to wood once more.

From the doorway of his hut, Syn-Jern waited until the women were hidden by the jungle foliage before,

as quietly as he could, he followed close behind, never letting them out of his sight. He could hear every

word they said and the more he heard, the less he liked it. He'd been waiting for something like this to

happen.

“These bitches are like piranha, Syn-Jern,” Patrick Kasella had told him. “They'll eat their own!"

Syn-Jern stopped, drawing in a silent breath as the women came to a halt. He squinted with frustration

as they put their heads together for he couldn't hear what was being said. The one named Nell pointed,

the others nodded, and then each of them took a different pathway from where they stood. After a

moment's hesitation, Syn-Jern followed the big woman, Meggie, for he knew she was the instigator of

most of the trouble among the pirate women.

Lost in her anger, exasperated with men in general, Genny Saur didn't hear the stealthy approach of her

enemies. She sat with chin in hand, legs crossed beneath her, and stared at the ground. Her brain was

filled with plan after plan to be on the Wind Lass when Weir set sail that night; but just as a plan formed,

she quickly rejected it. He'd expect her to stowaway; he'd set men to looking in any case. He'd expect

her to disguise herself; he'd check every manjack who boarded the Lass. He'd expect her to try

bulldozing her way aboard; he'd be prepared for that, too.

“How the hell am I going to get aboard her?” she mumbled.

“You ain't."

Genny jumped, her head going up at the intrusion. Seeing Nellie Roderick making her way into the

clearing brought a snort of pique. “You scared the hell outta me, Nell."

Nell smiled. “Did I now?” She came to stand before Genny. “I didn't think nothin’ scared you, Lady

Genny."

Perhaps it was the contempt with that Nell spoke that set off alarm bells in Genny's head; but most likely

it was the sly smirk on the other woman's face. Whatever caused it, Genny unfolded her legs and stood

up, her gaze automatically searching around her.

“What do you want, Nell?” Genny asked.

Nell folded her arms over her ample bosom. “I reckon a little talk between us is in order.” Her lips

twitched. “Amongst other things."

Genny lifted her chin. “Such as what?"

“Such as keeping away from Lord Syn-Jern,” Nell snarled.

One dark brow lifted in challenge. “Oh? And why would I want to do that?"

Nell shrugged. “Consider it a warning, I'm thinking. I'm going after that man and it wouldn't be healthy

for you to get in my way."

Fury shot through Genny Saur and she took a step toward the other woman. “You think he'd even look

at you, Nell Roderick.” She tossed her head. “Ugly little wart that you are!"

A low growl of hatred started deep in Nell's throat, but before she could mouth the vulgarities that came

to mind, another voice spoke up from the jungle thicket.

“You think he looks at you, Miss High and Mighty?"

Genny spun around, tensing as Bridie Roderick stepped out of the greenery. She glanced down at the

muslin bag clutched in the larger woman's hand.

“Well, he sure as hell won't be looking at her when we're done with her,” Cherie Spaulding giggled as

she joined them in the clearing. The pot of tar she carried gave off a pungent odor in the full heat of the

afternoon sun.

Irrational fear drove straight through Genny's heart and she turned, ready to bolt into the jungle, but

found her way blocked by the bulk of Meggie Spaulding's large body. Her eyes went wide when Meggie

held up the shears for her to see. Genny's hand went automatically to her long hair.

“You've always been so damned proud of that hair of yours, ain't you?” Meggie sneered. She clicked

the shear blades together. “Let's see how you look without it!"

Genny whirled, ran straight at Nell, the smallest of the four women. If she could get past Nell, she