A Pirate's Love

  "No, I don't doubt you will. His is one of the biggest plantations on the island, or so I've been told."

  They stood on the deck as the small boat was low­ered that would take Bettina ashore. She had grown fond of Captain Rawlinsen in the two weeks it had taken to reach Saint Martin. He was an amiable man in his early fifties, a merchant captain who transported rum and tobacco to the American colonies and brought back necessary items unobtainable in the islands.

  Bettina had lied to him about how she had come to be on Tristan's island. She had said she had fallen over­board from the ship taking her to Saint Martin and had swum ashore. He had marveled that she made it to the shore alive, since there were many sharks and barra­cudas in those waters.

  Bettina had asked Captain Rawlinsen to draw her a small map showing how to get back to the island. She had explained that it was a beautiful place and she might one day wish to show it to the Comte de Lambert. She had the small map tucked safely in the hem of her dress, which she held in her arms along with her shift and shoes.

  "I still do not see why you insist upon my wearing these clothes," Bettina said, pointing to the knee-length breeches and the baggy white shirt the captain had given her that morning.

  Captain Rawlinsen smiled. "Billy's clothes fit you nicely, child."

  "Nicely? They are huge."

  "That was the idea. They're loose enough to hide your beauty. Dressed like this, you shouldn't have any trouble with the sailors who roam the docks." He paused, looking at her quizzically. "How on earth did you manage to hide all your lovely hair under that red scarf?"

  "I was not able to." Bettina laughed. "I have it loose beneath this shirt and—ah—tucked into these breeches." She had hoped she would never have to wear a man's clothes again.

  The captain laughed now. "Well, at least it's not visible."

  "But it is quite uncomfortable."

  "It shouldn't take you long to find your betrothed, and then you can change back to your dress. Well, the boat's down. Rask will take you ashore. And—uh— don't forget to slump over when you walk. No use show­ing what we've tried to hide."

  Bettina smiled and kissed the captain on the cheek, causing him to blush considerably. He helped her over the side and stood by the rail, watching the small boat row ashore.

  Bettina walked slowly down the crowded dock, amazed at the bustle and activity. Many ships were being unloaded. Wagons pulled by stout horses moved back and forth. Four small children were chasing a scrawny cat around a rubhish pile. This dock was much more crowded than Tortola's.

  Bettina tried stopping a sailor, but he didn't even glance in her direction. She tried again and failed. No one would pay her any attention at all.

  Stopping to consider what to do next, Bettina scanned the docks. She noticed two men who were closely observ­ing three youths begging in front of a store, accosting the customers as they came and went. She walked over to the two men, for at least they weren't in any hurry to go somewhere.

  "Excuse me," she ventured.

  They both turned around to look at her. The taller of the two men was Bettina's height, and he had light-brown eyes that lit up when he saw her. The other man was a few inches shorter, with beady little eyes and a hooked nose that was out of proportion to his face.

  "If you ain't just what me captain ordered," the taller man said enthusiastically.

  "That he is, Shawn," the other said, eyeing Bettina from head to foot.

  Bettina started to back away. She looked from one man to the other.

  "Wait up, me lad," the man called Shawn said quick­ly. "I be offerin' you the job of cabin boy to me cap­tain."

  "You don't understand," Bettina started, but the man grabbed her arm.

  "Now, don't be tellin' me you wouldn't like to sail the seas. Tis a fine life, it be."

  "No," Bettina said flatly. She tried to pull her arm away, but the man's grip was like iron.

  "Where's your sense of adventure, lad? You're per­fect for the task. We've seen nothin' but scrawny youths so far, who'd not last a single voyage. What say you?"

  "No!" she replied again with growing alarm. "Now release me!"

  But he turned her around, pulling her arm behind her back painfully. She couldn't believe that this was happening with people all around her.

  " 'Tis too bad you've decided to be reluctant, lad, but it makes no difference."

  "You don't—"

  "Say another word and I'll run me blade through your back," he growled and bent her arm back farther. She thought she would faint with the pain. "Captain Mike sent us to find a likely lad, and you're the only one we've seen. You'll get used to the task soon enough, for Captain Mike ain't hard to please. You'll even thank me one day, for the sea's a good life."

  They started forward then, with one man on each side of her, holding onto her arms. Bettina could feel the point of a knife pressed into the small of her back.

  They took her to a ship that was loading cargo and preparing to set sail. The crew was too busy to notice her as the two men brought her aboard, and fear began to take root in her. What if she couldn't get out of this?

  She was taken to the captain's cabin. The man called Shawn shoved her inside but halted before he closed the door. His face was dark as he sheathed his dagger.

  "Old Mike wouldn't like to hear you're reluctant. I give you warnin'," he said in a dangerously even voice. "If you tell him you don't want to sail, I'll cut your throat. I hope you understand me, lad, for I'll be watchin' you."

  When the door closed and she was left alone, she ran for the door. She opened it, but Shawn and his short friend were standing just outside the cabin, so she closed the door quickly. This was ridiculous. She had been kidnapped again, but this time because they thought she was a young boy. Why did she end up in even worse trouble every time she escaped Tristan?

  Bettina started to pace the floor. She wished this Captain Mike would hurry up. Her only hope was to explain everything and hope that he would let her go. But what if the ship sailed before he returned to his cabin?

  The minutes passed and dragged into hours. Bettina tried the door again, but Shawn was still outside, watch­ing as he said he would. Would he really kill her if she told the captain he'd brought her here by force? But she couldn't very well become a cabin boy. The captain would soon discover she was a woman.

  Why was she drawn to misfortune like a moth to fire? First Tristan, then jail, then Tristan again, and now this. And her betrothed was right here on this very island, but she couldn't even seek his help. What if this captain were another man like Tristan?

  The door opened suddenly, and a tall man with flaming red hair came into the cabin. He eyed her speculatively as he crossed the room and sank into a chair behind a littered desk. He was a handsome man of middle age, but seemed bone-weary.

  "So you're me new cabin boy," he sighed. Even his voice sounded tired.

  "No, monsieur," Bettina answered weakly, not know­ing whether to be afraid of him or not.

  "Then what're you doing here?"

  "Two of your men brought me here."

  "What for?" he asked, his green eyes staring at her intently.

  "They brought me here to be your cabin boy, but—"

  "But you've changed your mind," he answered for her. "Can I persuade you to reconsider? Me last boy was washed overboard in a storm, but he was a sickly youth. Now you—you look to be a sturdy lad, and there's not time to find another boy as able as you, since we sail tonight. What say you?"

  "It is impossible, Capitaine."

  "If you're worried because you're French, there be no need," he said with a touch of impatience in his voice. "I have other Frenchies on me ship, so you'll not be alone. And you speak English well enough. There'll be a share in the profits for you, and a chance for advancement."

  "If I were a boy, Capitaine, then I would probably be tempted by your offer."

  "If you were a boy? What nonsense be this, lad?"

  "I'm not a lad," Bettina replied
quickly. "When your men brought me here, they did not give me a chance to explain, Capitaine. I am a girl."

  "A girl?" he asked disbelievingly.

  Bettina became irritated by his doubt, and slowly re­moved the red scarf, then pulled her hair out from beneath her shirt. "Yes—a girl."

  Captain Mike's sudden laughter startled Bettina, and she stared at him in confusion. "I thought your face a bit too pretty for a lad, but I've seen others with such faces, so I let it pass. You should dress in the clothes of your sex, lass, to avoid confusion." Green lights seemed to dance in his eyes as he spoke.

  "I am not in the habit of wearing men's clothes, Capitaine. I was advised to dress this way so I would not attract attention."

  "But attract attention you did. So me men have resorted to impressing young lasses! I am sorry for your inconvenience, lass." "Then I can go?"

  "Yes, and go quickly, before I forget how tired I am. But hide your lovely hair again, me dear. You had best leave the same as you came."

  Bettina did as he asked, relief flooding her as she tied the scarf behind her head. The captain stood up and walked her to the door; then he lifted her hand and kissed it very tenderly.

  "It has been a pleasure I will long remember, lass. Godspeed."

  When Bettina stepped back into the blinding sun­light, she suddenly remembered the man Shawn and the warning he had given her. She looked about the deck quickly and saw him standing only a few feet from her. Her green eyes widened at his angry glare, and she glanced back at the captain's cabin, but he had already closed the door.

  "So you told him, did you!" Shawn growled. He drew his dagger and held it rigidly in his right hand as he started to approach her. "I warned you, lad, that I did."

  Bettina gasped, and her face turned a snowy white. The men on deck stopped what they were doing, think­ing to witness a bloody fight, but Bettina didn't notice this. No words would come from her mouth, not even a scream, as she stood paralyzed. The man Shawn seemed to be moving in slow motion.

  Run, Bettina screamed in her mind. Run, for God's sake, run! And then her legs finally moved and con­tinued to move in a blind panic, as if they were no longer a part of her body. She ran down the gang­plank and halfway down the dock, but she could hear the man right behind her.

  She stumbled then and fell flat on her face, but the man had been so close to her that he tumbled over her and went sprawling yards away. Bettina jumped to her feet with lightning speed and ran toward the town, bumping into people in her flight. She couldn't even stop to seek help, for she was sure the man would knife her before she could utter a word. She had to outrun him. She had to find a place to hide.

  She ran down streets, going deeper into town, but the farther she ran, the more deserted the streets became, and she could still hear the man panting and grunting behind her. Why didn't he give up?

  Then Bettina ran straight into the arms of another man.

  "Release me!" she screamed and struggled fran­tically, but this new man held her firmly against him.

  "You," the man who held her whispered with amaze­ment.

  Bettina looked up at him, and her eyes widened in recognition. This was the French sailor who had been whipped because of her on the Windsong. Before she could speak, he had shoved her behind him and pulled a glittering knife. Shawn had reached them, and in his anger he immediately slashed at the Frenchman with his dagger.

  Bettina knew she should make her escape, but she stood frozen against the front of a building, hypnotized by the flashing blades in the sunlight. The sailor who had suffered so cruelly because of her was now pro­tecting her, and she couldn't bring herself to leave him.

  The Frenchman was taller than Shawn, stockier in build, and Shawn was exhausted from the chase. But the smaller man had anger on his side, and he was de­termined to win. Blood appeared on both men, then more of it as the blades struck flesh and did their damage. And then the Frenchman's blade sank into Shawn's shoulder, rendering his right arm useless. A closed fist to Shawn's jaw sent him crashing against the building, where he fell in a heap to the ground.

  "Come." The Frenchman took Bettina's hand and pulled her behind him down the street until he came to an old building. He took her inside, and, without encountering anyone, he marched her up a flight of stairs to a room on the second floor.

  Bettina couldn't believe that she was safe. She had come so close to dying, so very close, and she began to tremble as relief flooded her. She collapsed into the only chair in the room.

  When her breathing returned to normal and her heart slowed to a regular beat, Bettina took note of her surroundings. The room was very small and dark, and besides the wooden chair she was sitting in, there was only a washstand and a single bed with rumpled covers. One window looked out over a narrow alley, but the next building blocked all sunlight.

  The French sailor lit a candle on the washstand. There were many small cuts on his arms and chest, and blood was dripping to the floor from his right hand, where one finger was nearly severed. Bettina was appalled and quickly stood up to offer help. The bundle in her lap fell to the floor, and she was amazed to find that she still her her clothes with her. She picked up the bundle and set it on the chair, then approached the Frenchman.

  "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 lhave 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.

&nbsp
; 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.

  Thousands 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 be­

  trothed, 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.