Devi's Paradise (25 page)

Lafette seemed stunned by her passionate reaction, lying beside her and smoothing her hair. ‘So, what do you think of ladies and fornication now?’ she asked, glad that she’d had him, and not only for revenge. If they had met at a different time and place she might well have fallen in love with him.

He laughed, very pleased with himself. ‘I shall not be satisfied with anything less in future. Father John will marry us. I want you with me forever.’

‘Forever is a long time,’ she murmured. ‘I’m learning that Fate is a fickle jade, and one can’t rely on her.’

‘Then we must enjoy every moment,’ he said, his penis stirring again.

She felt soft and sentimental, almost loving the man in her arms, and had noticed that this seemed to follow every sexual encounter. She had felt it strongly for Joshua and even Awan. With Armand it was more uncontrolled; she wanted to serve him, to be enslaved by him, and thought that it may have been because he was the first to take her virginity.

Lafette played with her breasts. ‘I’ve never seen such milk-white skin. It’s so fine and delicate.’

‘Not when Armand has been spanking me,’ she rejoined, sighing under his caresses.

‘He spanks you? And you like it?’ He was amused and excited.

‘I didn’t at first, but it stirs strange feelings in me, makes me want him more.’

‘I shall try it,’ he declared and sat up, legs over the side of the bed, pulling her across his lap.

She gave herself up to pleasure, never mind that the ship was noisy, the cabin crowded and none too clean and the man himself in need of a bath and shave, his stubble chaffing her. She lay across his knees and waited in a state of fear and anticipation.

His first slap was hesitant, but her reaction made him increase the force of the next. Then he beat a brisk tattoo on her bare bottom. ‘It’s turning pink!’ he exclaimed excitedly, and spanked her harder.

Romilly lay yelping each time his palm landed flat on her rump. Pain and heat shot through her, and so did desire. But soon she’d had enough, wanting him to take her in the anus. Lafette wanted to continue, fascinated by the change of colour that now saturated her rump from pale pink to red, to scarlet, to crimson and the deep, ripe colour of a plum, and he would not let her go till he was ready.

Then he flung her over onto her face so he might keep on admiring his imprints and, while doing this, was inspired to enter her most private place, wetting it from their mutual juices. He slipped a hand under her, cupped her mound and applied a finger to her clitoris. Just for an instant she thought she had died and gone straight to heaven.

Armand’s rage almost shook the island to its foundations. He strode into the fortress, fully expecting Romilly to be there, and was greeted by Sabrina who threw herself down, clasped him round the legs and begged to be forgiven.

‘She has run away! I don’t know where. When I woke she was gone and we’ve searched all over but can’t find her. Her duenna is missing, too!’

‘Stupid bitch!’ Armand knocked her to the floor where she lay, grovelling. ‘I told you to keep her safe. Where were you instead of performing your task? Rogering, I suppose. Sleeping with one of your slaves, or maybe two. You’re useless! Take her to the dungeons,’ he ordered Johnson. ‘Chain her up. Keep her on bread and water.’

‘What will you do?’ questioned Peter, concerned about Jessica.

‘Search for her, of course. The
Sirocco
is to be unloaded and repaired, so I’ll take the
Scorpion
and fresh lads and search every bay and inlet, going into the interior if need be, leaving no stone unturned until I find her.’

‘You need to rest, sir,’ Peter advised. ‘It’s been a strenuous trip and you didn’t get off unscathed.’ He indicated the bandage on Armand’s left arm.

‘It’s a scratch, nothing more,’ Armand dismissed it. ‘We did what we intended, took the galleon’s cargo and anything else we fancied and then set her loose. The captain was so grateful to be alive that he would have kissed my boots. No doubt he’ll get a wigging from his superiors for losing such valuable treasure.’

‘May I come with you? Mrs Wade is with Lady Romilly, by all accounts.’

‘You have the wounded to attend.’

‘I’ve done my best for them and my assistant can carry on from here. There weren’t too many casualties and no deaths, thank God.’

‘Do what the hell you want,’ Armand said abstractedly, and rushed of as if the devils of hell were after him.

The
Stella Mare
was racing across the ocean, a stiff breeze behind her and her sails full-bellied. Romilly stood with Lafette on deck while he took the helm, his hands confident on the wheel. Jessica had been permitted to join them. She was crumpled but unharmed.

‘You’re not really going to wed him, are you, milady?’ she asked, horror-struck at the idea.

‘What do you think?’ Romilly replied, eyes sparkling with mischief. ‘I doubt very much whether Father John is still qualified to perform a ceremony. He’s probably been defrocked or whatever they do to naughty priests. What d’you think of my garb?’

Jessica stared at the costume Romilly was wearing. She looked like a keen-hipped lad in velvet breeches, leather boots, a wide, striped sash spanning her slender waist, an open-necked shirt showing her cleavage, and a scarf tied round her head, pirate fashion.

‘Where did you get those clothes?’ Jessica asked, tight-lipped.

‘Lafette gave them to me, and these hoop earrings.’ She shook her head so that the gold glittered. ‘He says he’ll find me a sword and teach me how to fence.’

‘Hardly a fitting occupation for a genteel young lady.’

‘Do I merit that name now? I don’t think so.’ Romilly stared ahead, watching the wide expanse of blue above and below, the racing white horses, the gulls screaming overhead. ‘I could settle for this life,’ she remarked.

But with Lafette? She wasn’t too sure. At the moment he was like a child with a new toy and couldn’t do too much for her, but would it last? And what would happen when he tired of her? He didn’t know it, but she had no intention of staying long enough to find out. A way of escape would present itself, she was sure.

It came sooner than she anticipated.

The sun was high in the heavens when the lookout shouted, ‘A vessel astern of us, bearing down at full speed!’

Lafette reached for a telescope, squinting in the direction indicated. ‘God’s blood!’ he muttered.

‘What is it?’ Romilly wanted to snatch it from him but he wouldn’t let go.

‘We’re being followed.’ His tanned face had paled, his confidence shaken.

‘By whom?’ She dared to hope, yet feared the truth.

‘The
Scorpion
.’

‘Armand’s ship?’

‘The very same.’ He turned from her, bellowing orders through a leather speaking trumpet, addressing his boatswain and gunners, but the pursuing vessel was gaining on them.

There was a patch of white smoke from the stranger, and a loud boom followed by a shower of spray flung up by a roundshot that hurtled across the prow of the
Stella Mare
. Pandemonium reigned on the decks. Lafette was shouting commands, ordering the crew to reef the sails and bring the ship up to the wind so that her guns might be fired.

The attacker was lowering and raising her topsail. ‘What’s that for?’ Romilly rounded on Lafette.

‘It’s a signal to heave to.’

‘Will you do so?’

‘Not on your sweet life,’ he replied grimly. ‘Get below, out of the way.’

She took no notice of him. Armand was coming for her! And while her heart sang, so she was terrified. He would be in a terrible rage. These might be her last few hours on earth. It was too late for her to seek shelter. Cannon boomed and the
Stell
a
Mare
shuddered under the heavy impact as she was hit. Romilly was flung against a bulwark as the ship yawned uncontrollably. Another direct hit took away the shrouds.

‘The rudder is smashed!’ the boatswain shouted. ‘The steering tackle is out of action!’

‘Hell and damnation!’ Lafette swore, his face grim. ‘With the helm out of control she’ll yaw as the wind takes her.’

Romilly watched as the attacker bore down on them at a fierce rate of knots. She was already shortening sail in readiness for boarding. The
Stella Mare
gave returning fire but the aim was faulty, the damaged ship yielding to the breeze, firing into the void. A great black flag with a golden falcon was run up in savage challenge. It streamed from the masthead – Armand’s symbol by which his fleet was recognised throughout the lawless regions of the islands. The
Scorpion
had further shortened sail and was creeping towards her victim, the sunlight gradually eclipsed by her black hull.

Her bulwarks were lined with men as she glided up astern, casting her shadow over the doomed vessel. There was a shattering impact, the rending of timbers, the clank of grappling hooks and the staccato rattle of musket fire. Then the assailants were aboard, swinging across on ropes, and Armand was in the lead, sword in hand. There were shouts and screams mingled with the clash of steel and the din of gunfire as his men took over, killing those who resisted, showing mercy to the ones who surrendered.

Armand saw Romilly and their eyes met over the smoke and chaos. His stare went straight to her heart and she wanted him to take her then and there, on the blood-slippery deck, amidst the noise of battle. Awan, Joshua and Lafette were as nothing compared to him, puppets who became invisible as soon as he appeared.

‘Where’s Lafette, you troublesome bitch?’ he shouted, indicting that he hated and despised her. A bubble of misery lodged in her chest. She shook her head and didn’t reply.

At that moment Lafette jumped from the carved rail of the poop deck, swinging his sword at Armand who parried the blow. Lafette snarled viciously, mad with rage at the loss of his ship and Romilly. This gave him a disadvantage, making him careless so that he laid himself open, but Armand took his time, wanting to make him sweat. Lafette retreated, trying to keep out of the way of that blade that pursued him mercilessly. The dazzling point seemed to be everywhere at once, and realising he was mastered, a look of terror passed across his face.

Romilly stood motionless, with a hand pressed to her throat and skirmishes taking place all around, her mind concentrating on the conflict between two men who had each known the bounty of her flesh. Her hopes, prayers and fears were for Armand. Lafette might never have existed. They feinted and parried, their feet beating out a tattoo on the deck, their men fighting all around them. Then with a quick twist of his wrist Armand spun Lafette’s rapier from his grasp and lunged.

He let his blade slide in softly, entering Lafette’s chest, pushing until his sword appeared through his back and the hilt rested on his ribs. He was skewered like a butterfly on a pin. When Armand withdrew his blade Lafette slumped to the deck, coughing up blood. Romilly ran to his side, dropping to her knees and taking his hand in hers. Armand watched them, his sword lowered.

‘It was not her fault,’ Lafette gasped. ‘Blame Cat. She put me up to this.’

‘Cat? Why?’

‘She is jealous of you, my friend. Take good care of this lady,’ and with that he choked on more blood, coughed violently and breathed his last.

Armand’s eyes met hers, and amidst the tumult and confusion she read in their depths an icy contempt that froze her. She held out her hands to him. ‘Armand, it’s true. Cat is to blame.’

‘You ran away. It was nothing to do with her. Chance led you to Lafette. Why did you run from me? Why break your promise to wait for Captain Willard and the money?’

‘I can explain…’

‘Later,’ and he turned on his heel.

Demoralised by their leader’s death, his men threw down their arms and surrendered. They were given permission to sew his body in a canvas shroud weighted with lead-shot, and Father John said a few prayers before it was committed to the deep.

Afterwards Armand addressed them. ‘I have no quarrel with you and my score with Lafette has been settled. I suggest you limp back to Cayona and sort the ship out. We’ll leave you to it.’

‘You’ve been hurt,’ Romilly said, seeing the stained bandage and alarmed for him.

‘During our trip. It’s nothing. Peter has seen to it.’

‘Is he here, sir? Oh, can I see him?’ begged Jessica, clinging to Romilly.

‘He’s on the
Scorpion,
ready to patch up wounds. You can help him. Make yourself useful.’

‘What about me?’ Romilly asked.

‘A man has just died because of you,’ he replied brusquely. ‘And all you can think about is yourself. I shall guard you more closely now,
mademoiselle
. No more tricks. And you’ll be in chains until I decide what punishment to give you.’

He signalled to Johnson, who dug a pair of manacles from the depths of his pocket and passed them to him. Armand clapped them round her wrists and then she was taken to the
Scorpion
and thrust into the hold.

Romilly crouched in a corner of the dungeon, brooding on what had happened. There was no escaping Armand’s wrath. He was furious and she dreaded to think what he planned for her. As he said, a man had died because of her, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. She kept remembering how she had enjoyed Lafette’s lovemaking and her conscience smote her. She should never have left the fortress and explored the island. Nothing had come of it but ill luck.