My Seaswept Heart (20 page)

D’Porteau would never do anything that wasn’t
cruel and heartless.

Anne’s head jerked up when d’Porteau moved
toward the remainder of the
Lost Cause
’s crew. He stood less
than a rod from her. So close she could smell the sweat seeping
through the aged velvet. Sweeping his small eyes over the knot of
men he pursed his lips.

“What of these wretches? What shall we do
with ’em?”

“Let us join ye.” Anne twisted her head to
see a sandy-haired pirate she recognized from Captain MacQuaid’s
vessel. He stood, pulling another tar up by his sleeve.

“Aye, ’tis the way of it,” the other
adjoined, and more grumbled their acknowledgment as they stumbled
to their feet.

Anne watched in awe as, like rebounding
dominoes, each pirate stood. Until there were only a few including
herself who still sat on the hard deck. Then there was movement
behind her, and Anne felt a none too gentle tugging at her arm.
Keena pushed up, bringing her with him. And everyone stood, ready
to join ranks with the Frenchman.

Except, it wasn’t d’Porteau’s crew they were
attaching themselves to.

“What do ye think, Captain Stymie?” d’Porteau
called toward the man leaning against the rail. “Will ye have these
tars as your crew?”

Slowly, as if deciding upon a piece of prime
horseflesh, Stymie pushed away from the belaying pins and ambled
forward. The man who before the battle was imprisoned in the bowels
of the
Lost Cause
, now swept his bulging eyes over the lot
of them. Then more slowly, evaluating each man.

Anne tensed when his gaze settled on her. She
saw the spark of remembrance before she looked down. Her life under
Captain
Stymie would not be easy. But then she didn’t
imagine anyone’s would be.

He paraded around the group, some of whom
called out his name in greeting, then turned back to the Frenchman.
“They’ll do,” he announced and Anne could almost feel the general
sigh of relief among the captives.

“Then ’tis agreed.” D’Porteau took his time
settling back on his rough-hewn throne. The boy who’d draped the
dull satin cloak around his shoulders now jumped forward to arrange
the folds. “Since the victory is in part yours, Captain Stymie, I
award you the good vessel,
Lost Cause
and her crew.”

Then with a sly grin nearly obliterating his
eyes, the Frenchman twisted toward Jamie MacQuaid, who stood,
surrounded by several guards. “Ah, do you hear that, poor captain?
Your crew has deserted you for another.” He made a “tsking” sound
with his tongue and teeth. “Such a pity when I was bound to give
you your own boat. Now ye shall be the captain of no one.”

“I shall be his crew.”

Anne didn’t know she was going to say the
words until they were out of her mouth. Then it was too late. She’d
stepped forward, leaving the security of the group, to show
herself. It was an impetuous act. No doubt a stupid act. Keena
certainly must have thought so... Anne jerked free of the hasty
grab he made for her coat. And saying it wasn’t like anything she’d
ever done before.

She sucked in her breath as all eyes seemed
to rivet into her clothing. Were they seeing the woman beneath? Why
hadn’t she thought of that... thought this through? Sweat pooled
between her breasts, riveting down into the waistband of the
breeches she’d become used to wearing. And she waited.

D’Porteau was the first to overcome his
surprise at her actions. He tilted his head, allowing the
preposterously large feather in his hat to billow in the breeze.
“What’s this... a cabin boy for Captain Coward? Hmmm.” His beady
eyes swerved to Jamie. “What would elicit such loyalty in a youth,
do you imagine?” Whether or not he expected an answer, he received
none from the stoic, tight-jawed Captain MacQuaid. He soon lost
interest in taunting his expressionless foe and turned back toward
Anne.

“So ye wish to join your captain, do you, on
his
cruise
?”

“Yes,” There was no taking it back now.

His lips pursed. “Well, perhaps we should see
what your new captain has to say about your desertion, though why
he would want such a filthy urchin as yourself...” He let his
lace-wristed hand flutter. “What say ye, Captain Stymie? Shall we
hang the lad for treachery? His desire to leave you so soon smacks
of it.”

“Hang him for whatever ye choose,” the
thick-lipped Stymie responded. “I have no use for the dog.” He
wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand. “The pup’s nothin’
but trouble.”

“Ah, trouble, is it?” The Frenchman seemed to
roll the word around on his tongue, savoring it. “Perhaps we should
let him join his good captain’s crew.”

“I don’t want him.”

Anne’s eyes shot toward Captain MacQuaid
where he stood, bloodied and battered... and rejecting her
sacrifice. Her utter foolishness in stepping forward was already
blatantly apparent. She was to be hanged. Anne tried to swallow but
couldn’t get past the lump in her throat.

Yet to know that she had one option, to be
sent with the captain, and he was refusing her that... She wanted
to bury her face in the palms of her dirty hands and weep. Instead
she stood head bent and listened as the Frenchman continued this
farce of a trial.

“Ah, the prisoner has a tongue in his head
after all. And he uses it now to speak out against a boy, a poor
gar
ç
on
, who offered his services.” D’Porteau
shook his head and clumps of oily hair stuck to his cheek. “I think
you have lost your right to make any demands.
I
...” He again
pounded his chest. “... shall be the one who decides. I am the
victor, this day.” He paused and the pirates grew quiet. “Before
the sun sets on another day we shall launch the captain and his
crew of one, and wish them Godspeed.”

The wave of jeering laughter swelled, seeming
to surround yet separate her from everyone else on board the
French Whore
.

Everyone but Jamie MacQuaid.

Now that the decision was made, the judgment
passed down, he stared at her. And as dangerous as she knew it was,
Anne could not help being drawn to those eyes.

She made a terrible mistake, she knew. There
was a joke here someplace. One she couldn’t quite comprehend. But
as she was grabbed from behind, she began to.

Rough hands jostled her, knocking her from
side to side in an attempt to move her along toward d’Porteau. She
looked around, but there was not a kind expression, a sympathetic
tone. Even Keena seemed intent on doing her harm. He grabbed at her
so roughly Anne thought her arm would pull free from its
socket.

It wasn’t until she slammed up against his
solid strength that she realized his ploy. Dark fingers slipped
into her pocket, but before she could discover what he gave her,
his hand clamped over hers. Then he pushed her away.

Anne was moved and mauled across the deck to
be joined by another, larger group bent on doing the same to
Captain MacQuaid. With d’Porteau leading the procession they were
both shoved to the rail.

One of the small boats was unlashed from its
cradle. Blocks and tackles attached to the mainstay lifted the boat
over the gunwale and sent it splashing to the sea below.

“There ye be, Captain MacQuaid,” d’Porteau
said with a flourish. “Your new boat awaits.”

Afraid at first that she would be tossed
overboard, Anne discovered as she was pushed over the side, that
there was a ladder of sorts. She scurried down the webbing as
quickly as she could... anything to escape the savage, angry faces
above her.

Captain MacQuaid reached the boat first, but
he didn’t help her in. He simply sat there, his face as cold and
hard as stone while on the
French Whore
and the
Lost
Cause
, tars climbed into the rigging, turning the sails into
the wind, bringing the great vessels to life.

Anne couldn’t understand his attitude. They
were free and well rid of the ruffians as far as she could tell.
With a burst of energy she reached down, lugging one of the oars up
and fitting it in the notch. If he was going to do nothing, only
sit like a knot on a log, she would get them started.

“Which way do we row?” She asked what she
thought the most obvious question. But her stomach sank with his
response.

“Your guess, Annie, is as good as mine.”

It took a moment for the captain’s words to
sink into her relief-drenched brain. Only minutes ago she thought
it a very strong possibility she’d be hanging from the yardarm by
now. Even without his cooperation Anne was able to pull and tug the
second oar into place. Then she squared her body and faced him
where he slumped, hands dangling between bent knees.

“Are you implying you don’t know where we
are?”

He lifted his head then, and Anne looked at
him... really looked at him. The tears she’d kept at bay during the
battle and mock trial sprang to her eyes. It was only the
knowledge, intuitively gained, that he wouldn’t appreciate her
sympathy that kept her from slipping from her seat and cradling him
in her arms.

Besides, both ships were still close enough
that they could hear the raucous laughter. Occasionally one tar or
another would jut his head over the side and wish them a speedy
voyage... to hell.

Jamie took a deep breath. His arms still
hadn’t tingled to life from his stint hanging from the ratlines. Or
perhaps it was more accurate to say they were tingling to life, and
hurting like the devil. But he grabbed for the oars anyway,
swallowing down the cry of pain that lodged in his throat.

He managed to speak between clenched teeth.
“I’m implying nothing,
Andy
. ’Tis straight out I’m saying
it.” He swiped through the water, ineffectual strokes that at least
moved them from the
French Whore
’s side. Fresh beads of
sweat broke out on his brow, and he cursed the weakness in his
arms.

Cursed the fate that had brought him to
this.

“Let me help.” Anne leaned forward,
tentatively reaching for the oars, not surprised when his head shot
up and he glared at her through red-rimmed eyes. His expression was
enough to make her shrink back on her seat.

“All I’m about,” he said, then had to stop
and catch his breath, “is moving us from the bastard’s wake. After
that ye can toss the damn oars overboard for all I care.”

“Toss them...” Anne’s mouth gaped open. “But
how would we row? How would we...?”

“Escape?” The word was little more than a
sneer. “Is that your well-laid plan, Mistress Anne? Is that why you
foolishly volunteered to serve as my crew?”

“No.” Her denial was immediate. And as
quickly regretted. She didn’t understand all the reasons why she
did it, but she knew her own safety wasn’t one of them. Yet she
couldn’t explain the unexplainable to him. Nor did she wish to try.
Better he thought it a calculated “plan” to gain her freedom.

Except there was something in the depths of
his eyes, when she finally returned hers to look at him, that made
her wonder what he did believe. But then his expression hardened.
“’Twas a stupid thing to do.”

The wound on his shoulder was bleeding again.
Anne steeled herself against his pain. “I’m well rid of the
pirates.” His laugh made her stiffen her spine.

“Annie, ye forget who you’re talking to,
lass. You’re stuck on the high seas with a pirate.” He sobered. “At
least on one of yonder ships, you’d have had a chance of making
port.”

“We’ll,” she began but his angry voice cut
her off

“We’ll do nothing, Annie.” Jamie’s rage
seemed to swell, swamping him as surely as a tidal wave would their
tiny boat. “When those pirates sail from sight, there will be
nothing.” He leaned forward to emphasize his point.
“
Nothing
, do ye hear me? There will be only you and me and
this poor excuse for a boat.” He kicked at the side with his bare
foot. “And water.” His voice dropped. “Endless miles of water. By
the time you die parched and sunbaked, you’ll rue the moment you
stepped forward. Rue the moment you ever heard the name Jamie
MacQuaid.”

He’d wanted to make her face reality and as
soon as she did, felt like the most depraved of men. Her face,
beneath the layers of dirt, grew still. Her eyes shadowed.

“I needn’t wait for the moment of my death
for that,” she said with spirit, then wished she hadn’t. Even in
his weakened condition he could toss her overboard if he wished and
she could do nothing. Despite his claim, valid she was sure, of
being a bloodthirsty pirate, she’d seen evidence of his nature and
didn’t think him cruel. But then the situation was different.

But instead of grabbing for her, he threw
back his head and laughed. “I’m sure ye do, Annie,” he said when
his chuckling ceased. “I’m sure ye do.”

Then they were sitting in the boat staring at
each other, quiet except for the lapping water and the occasional
raucous pirate, a reminder of their solitude. Anne resisted the
urge to twist around in the boat, to search out the wide expanse of
horizon. For she knew he was right. Except for the two pirate ships
that were now under sail and moving away from them, they were
alone.