A Pirate's Love

  Bettina leaned back on her own cot, her mind in a whirl. So that's what rape was—making love to wom­en who did not want to be made love to. How awful! But then, she still didn't know what making love was all about. Oh, she was so stupid! When would she learn? When would she find out what making love was like? When she was married, she reminded herself, and that would be soon enough.

  The Windsong was making rapid headway into warmer waters, but she still had a great distance to go before reaching Saint Martin. The weather had changed considerably, and the wind no longer had such an icy bite to it.

  Bettina knew that she could look forward to a warm tropical climate on the small island of Saint Martin. Captain Marivaux answered many questions when he dined with her. She learned that her future husband owned a large plantation on the island and that he had gained great wealth by exporting cotton.

  After the horrible time when that poor seaman was whipped so cruelly, no other such incidents occurred. The crew was careful to stay well away from Bettina when she was allowed on deck.

  After a month at sea, they encountered another storm that was quite mild at first, and Bettina was able to wash her hair again. But she had barely finished when the storm increased in intensity, and she was forced to return to the safety of her cabin.

  It seemed as if the heavens had opened up and were throwing their vengeance on this ship alone. It stormed all through the night, and the violent pitching of the ship made it impossible for Bettina to sleep. She tried pacing the floor nervously but was quickly thrown against the walls of the cabin. Luckily, everything was securely fastened down, and Bettina dashed back to the built-in captain's bed for protection.

  Amazingly, Madeleine had fallen asleep quite easily, which annoyed Bettina, who was very frightened. She was sure that the Windsong would crash over into the sea and they would all drown.

  But sometime in the middle of the night, with her hands braced against the sides of the little bed and her still-wet hair trailing over the side, Bettina herself finally went to sleep.

  The sea was calm the following morning when Bet­tina awoke. She chided herself for being so frightened the night before, and was sure it hadn't been such a bad storm after all.

  Madeleine was already up and dressed, and pouring the allotted amount of cold water into a small bowl for Bettina's morning toilette.

  "Did you sleep well, my pet?" she asked cheerfully.

  "I did not," Bettina grumbled and swung her long legs off the bed. Her damp hair fell over her shoul­ders, and she grimaced. "Maddy, be a dear and go ask the capitaine if I can dry my hair on deck."

  "I will do no such thing. You are not going out there in the morning," Madeleine answered adamantly.

  "If I have the capitaine's permission, then it will be all right. And you know how long my hair took to dry last time. I nearly caught cold."

  "There is worse you can catch up on deck," Mad­eleine replied.

  "Please, Maddy, do as I ask."

  "I will, but I don't like it."

  Madeleine left the cabin, grumbling to herself as she closed the door. Bettina dressed quickly in a velvet dress of a dark violet that contrasted vividly with her hair. When Madeleine returned, she led Bettina to the rear deck of the ship.

  "I still don't like this, young lady, so be quick about it," Madeleine said sternly.

  Bettina laughed. "I cannot make the wind blow faster, Maddy. But it will not take long."

  She faced the wide expanse of sea to let the wind sweep through her hair, drying it swiftly. After a few minutes she spoke again.

  "Where is the capitaine?"

  "On the gallery. I am surprised he agreed to let you on deck after what that poor sailor attempted."

  Bettina turned to see the captain in a heated argu­ment with one of his crewmen.

  "Look, Bettina, a ship!" Madeleine cried.

  Bettina turned and saw the other sail in the distance.

  "Ladies, you must return to your cabin quickly." Bettina jumped as the captain came up behind her. "If that seadog of a lookout had been doing his job, instead of watching you, then he would have seen the vessel in time. As it is, they are coming straight for us."

  "Is there anything to be alarmed about, Capitaine?" Bettina asked worriedly, a frown puckering her brow.

  "That ship is not flying her colors. She may be a pirate vessel."

  Bettina gasped. "But surely they will not attack the Windsong!"

  "It is unlikely that they will, mademoiselle, but one never knows about these cutthroats. We will try to outdistance them, and I must ask that you lock the door to your cabin. Do not open it for any reason until the danger is past. And do not worry. We have suc­ceeded in fighting off pirates before."

  Bettina felt sick inside. Do not worry, the captain said! How could she not worry? She had heard vivid stories about pirates from other girls in the convent. Pirates were horrible, horrible men! They were the rogues of the sea, the Devil's workers, who plundered, murdered, and raped. Mon Dieu, this could not pos­sibly be happening!

  "Maddy, I am frightened," Bettina cried, close to tears.

  "We are not going to worry. This is an able ship, my pet. The pirates will not have a chance to board her. And besides, the other vessel may be friendly. You must not fear, Bettina. The capitaine will protect you, as will I."

  Madeleine's words were reassuring, but Bettina was still alarmed, and even more so when they heard cannonfire. Madeleine's soft gray eyes widened as she stared at Bettina, who had turned suddenly pale. A thunderous blast echoed in the small cabin, and then they heard the cracking of timber and a loud crash. They knew that one of the Windsong masts had fallen.

  Soon they felt a jarring, as of one ship coming up against the other. Shouting could be heard, and gunfire, and the sickening sound of screams—men screaming as they met their deaths.

  Madeleine sank to her knees to pray, and Bettina quickly joined her. After a short while, the gunfire ceased, and they heard boisterous laughter. Perhaps the crew of the Windsong had won. Was it too much to hope for, that they were safe now? But then they heard English words among the laughter. The crew of the Windsong was entirely French, and spoke only French. The pirates had won!

  C'AP'N! The wench I told ye 'bout, she's got to be hidin' in the hold or in one o' them cabins."

  "Blast it, man, we don't have all day! Search the whole ship, but be quick about it."

  Bettina felt the sweat of fear break out all over her, and she wanted to die.

  "Why, oh why didn't the capitaine give us a weapon?" Bettina whispered, clasping her hands to still their trembling.

  "He did not expect to lose the battle," Madeleine answered quietly. "But do not worry, Bettina. I will tell their leader that he can gain a great fortune if he will deliver you unharmed to Comte de Lambert. The comte will surely pay the price. He is a Frenchman and honorable."

  "But these men are pirates, Maddy!" Bettina cried. "They will kill us!"

  "No, my pet. They won't kill us without reason. You must not worry about that, and you must not act frightened when they find us. Pretend you do not speak their English. I will speak for you. And for God's sake, do not lose your temper with these men," Madeleine warned. "If you do, they will not think you are a lady of good breeding and wealth."

  "I am too frightened to lose my temper."

  "Good. Now we must pray that their leader's greed for wealth is more powerful than his lust."

  "I don't understand, Maddy."

  "Never mind, ma cherie," Madeleine replied, her voice betraying her concern. "Just remember to say nothing."

  The laughter and noise became louder as men moved back and forth in front of their cabin.

  "She weren't in the hold, Cap'n, an' them other cabins were empty."

  "Tear down the last door," replied a deep voice very near to the cabin, and the pounding started im­mediately.

  "Dear God!"

  "Hush, now," Madeleine said quickly. "Remember to speak no English!"

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; Bettina was beside herself with fear. She was sure she would meet her death this day, and Madeleine could do nothing to prevent it. After a few more mo­ments, the door crashed in, and Bettina screamed when she saw the grinning, bearded men.

  "Glory, but them Frenchies sure turn out beauties!" said a short sailor with a patch over one eye.

  "Aye, mate. I'd give me blessed mother to be the cap'n today."

  "Where is your capitaine?" Madeleine asked curtly.

  "Ye'll see 'im soon enough, old woman," one bearded man said, leading them out of the cabin.

  Bettina avoided looking at the dead bodies of the Windsong's crew as she crossed the deck and was handed down to the other vessel. Madeleine kept close by her side, with one arm around her waist for pro­tection.

  The pirate ship was three-masted, about the same size as the Windsong. But the crew was a rowdy, unkempt bunch. The men stopped what they were doing and stared at Bettina. Some wore no shirts, others wore only short vests to cover bare chests, and most were bare­footed. Many wore golden rings in their ears, and all were heavily bearded.

  "I demand to see your capitaine," Madeleine said to the man who had escorted them onto the pirate vessel.

  Another man jumped down from the deck of the Windsong and came around to face them.

  "So you speak English," he said. "Well, at least we will know your worth now."

  He was a big bear of a man, and Bettina felt tiny and frail standing next to him. She was used to looking at men on their own eye level, and even looking down on quite a few. But this man was at least six feet tall and at least two feet wide across his chest. He was not fat, but was heavily muscled, as could be seen clearly by his huge, bare arms. His light-brown hair was cut short, coming only to his massive shoulders. But the thick, full beard that completely covered his face made him look so sinister, so dangerous. Bettina shivered.

  "Well, what have you discovered, Jules?"

  It was the man with the deep voice, who seemed to be in command. He jumped down onto the deck behind them.

  "They speak English, Tristan, at least the old one does."

  This man Tristan stood directly behind Bettina, and she turned around to face him. What she saw made her gasp, for this man was even taller than the other one. He was truly a giant! He was only a few inches from her, and Bettina had to look up past his broad chest to see his face. His eyes were a startling pale blue, and a long, thin scar started in the middle of his right cheek and cut a path into the dark gold of his beard.

  Bettina stared for long moments at the thin scar, and the man's muscles tightened and his eyes grew icy. He grabbed hold of her arm, making her wince, and started to walk her across the deck.

  "Monsieur, wait!" Madeleine cried. "Where are you taking her?"

  The man turned around and smiled coldly. "To my cabin, madame, to talk with the young lady. Have you any objections?"

  "Of course!"

  "Well, save them!" he said curtly and dragged Bet­tina along.

  "Monsieur, she does not speak English," Madeleine called after him.

  This brought laughter from the crew, and halted the man again.

  "How ye goin' to tell 'er what to do, Cap'n?"

  "Fer what the cap'n 'as in mind, no words is nec­essary."

  More laughter followed, which obviously annoyed the captain, for his grip tightened on Bettina's arm. She cried out in pain, and he released her immediately.

  "Blast you scurvy dogs!" he shouted at his crew. "You've had enough amusement for one day. Get to your duties and get this ship under way." He then turned to Bettina. "I am sorry if I hurt you, mademoiselle."

  She had not expected an apology from this pirate captain. Was he not as dangerous as he looked? She stared at him curiously, but did not speak.

  "Blast!" he said, scowling, and turned to the other big man. "Jules, bring that woman here."

  Madeleine hurried to them without assistance, charged with concern. "You are not to harm her, Capitainet"

  The captain looked at Madeleine with surprise, then suddenly burst into laughter. "Are you giving me orders, madame?"

  "I cannot let you harm her, monsieur."

  Jules chuckled at this, but the captain flashed him a murderous look, then focused his attention on Made­leine again.

  "Are you her mother?"

  "No, I was nurse to her and her mother both. I will be nurse to her children as well," Madeleine replied proudly.

  "Is she with child now?"

  "Monsieur! You cannot ask—"

  "Blast it, answer me, woman!" the captain cut her off sharply.

  "No, she is not."

  The captain's annoyance seemed to disappear with her answer. "Now tell me, why do you speak English and she does not?"

  "I—I was born in England. I came to France as a child with my parents," Madeleine said truthfully.

  "She speaks no English at all?"

  "No, Capitaine."

  He sighed and studied Bettina, who had been watch­ing him the whole time. "Who is she?"

  "Mademoiselle Bettina Verlaine."

  "And where was she being taken?"

  "To Saint Martin, to be married to Comte de Lam­bert," Madeleine replied quickly.

  "And the fortune that was found on your vessel—it was her dowry?"

  "Yes."

  The pirate captain smiled lazily, displaying even, white teeth. "Her family must be very rich. And her betrothed, he is also a man of wealth?"

  "Yes, he will pay you well if you deliver her safely to Saint Martin—unharmed."

  He laughed at her last word. "I'm sure he will, but I will have to think on the matter." He turned to Jules. "Take the nurse to your cabin and lock her in. The mademoiselle will come with me,"

  Madeleine was dragged away, screaming and kicking to be free, and Bettina suddenly felt horribly afraid. She couldn't stop thinking of the stories she'd heard in the convent. Wouldn't a quick death be preferable? She looked at the railing of the ship. It was not so far to reach, and then to be engulfed in the cold blue water....

  "Oh, no, Bettina Verlaine, not yet, anyway," the captain said, as if reading her mind.

  He took her arm and led her to his cabin. Inside the small, disorderly room, the captain sat Bettina down in a chair beside a long table. He filled two tankards with a dry red wine, handed her one, and sat down also. The long table obviously served as a desk, for it was cov­ered with charts and nautical instruments.

  He leaned back in his chair and stared at her silently. She watched his light-blue eyes nervously, and felt the color rising to her cheeks under his close examination.

  "My men seem to think you are a beauty, Bettina," he remarked casually. "But frankly I don't see how they could tell with that black powder covering your face."

  Bettina instinctively tried to rub away the black. But when her hand came away clean, she realized he had tricked her.

  "So you understand English after all. I thought as much. Why did your servant lie?"

  Bettina hesitated before answering. "She—she did not want me to talk to you. I think she was afraid I would lose my temper."

  "And will you?"

  "I see no reason why I should."

  The captain laughed deeply. "Was the old woman lying about your betrothal also?"

  "No."

  "So this Comte de Lambert really is a wealthy man?"

  "Yes, extremely so, capitaine," Bettina replied, be­ginning to relax a little.

  The man didn't seem half so dangerous as she had expected him to be. She had to admit he was handsome, and he appeared to be young, though his golden beard made him look older.

  "You will be a rich man if you take me to my be­trothed," Bettina said.

  "I have no doubt of that," he replied easily. "But your dowry alone has made me a rich man, and I don't hold with carrying women on my ship."

  "Then what will you do with me, monsieur, throw me into the sea—after you have raped me?" she asked sarcastically.

  "Exactly."

&
nbsp; She stared at him, aghast. She had expected a denial, but without one, what could she say?

  "Is—is that your intention?" she asked fearfully.

  He stared down at his tankard of wine for a moment, as if contemplating her question. Then he looked at her, an amused expression on his face.

  "Take off your clothes."

  "What?" Bettina whispered.

  "I intend to make love to you, Bettina Verlaine, then I will take you to your betrothed. So take off your clothes. I would rather not have to rape you and perhaps hurt you in the process."

  "Non, monsieur, non! Comte de Lambert will not take me if I am dishonored!"

  "I assure you, mademoiselle, he will take you, and he will pay a high price to do so. He has seen you, hasn't he?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "Then there is no question about it. Your lack of virginity will not matter too much."

  "No!" Bettina replied adamantly. "I will not go to him dishonored. It would shame my family. I will not do this!"

  "I'm afraid you have no choice in the matter. But I'm sure the comte will hide the fact that you will be no virgin on your wedding night," the captain remarked calmly.

  "No, you cannot do this to me!" Bettina cried, her green eyes wide with fear.

  "I repeat, Bettina, I am going to make love to ydii. Nothing will save you from that. But I don't want to have to force you. I don't like rape."

  "But it is rape, monsieur, for I don't want to make love!"

  "Call it what you like, as long as you don't fight me."

  "You—you must be crazy! You cannot expect me to be submissive, to just let you—I won't!" she stormed, her fear replaced by anger. "I will fight you with all my power!"

  "Let us strike a bargain, mademoiselle. Besides you and your servant, a few other prisoners were brought aboard for sport, including the captain of the French ship."

  "For sport?"

  "My men are a ruthless bunch. They seem to take pleasure in killing a man slowly. First they cut off the ears, then the fingers, then the feet—need I go on?"

  Bettina felt sick. "You—you allow this?"