Chapter Sixteen
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CHAPTER 16 |
Sometime during the early
morning, Blackbeard’s servant had returned, left a bucket of fresh water and
another bowl of porridge on the table. Claire barely remembered him being
there, but now, as she stood at the small window in Blackbeard’s cabin, looking
over the vast ocean, she mentally thanked him for what he had done.
At the very least, she had been
able to wash the dried scum from her face and neck and wipe it from her
clothing. Then in a fit of guilt, she even mopped the floor with the leftover
water. But before all this, she allowed herself a long, healthy drink of the cool,
clear water, replenishing her vital organs with the life-giving nourishment.
After successfully keeping the
water down for several minutes, she risked a glance at the gruel. It might help
to keep her strength up, she argued. And she might need her strength, after
all, but it was not appealing. Nevertheless, she needed to eat, and this,
unfortunately, was all there was.
Glad of its blandness, she
forced several bites of the mixture past her lips and then set the bowl down on
the table. Settling herself in the far corner of the bunk, she looked out on
the ocean. They were moving, she thought. The ship rocked back and forth gently
as they proceeded to some unknown destination. She just hoped it wasn’t too far
away from Jack. She needed Jack.
What was Jack thinking right
now? Had he heard her cry out? Did he know she fought? That she didn’t want to
go? Surely, he knew she didn’t leave of her own free will. Didn’t he?
That she hadn’t returned to the
stone.
Would he simply think she
returned and escaped back into her own time? That she’d taken him up on his
ultimatum and had left him?
Oh, please God, no.
If that were true, and he
thought she’d left of her own free will, then he wouldn’t come searching for
her. He wouldn’t know Blackbeard had her.. He would just assume she was…gone.
Claire froze as wild laughter
grew nearer to the cabin’s steps. She drew her knees up and pulled and tugged
at the fabric to cover her breasts. But it wasn’t nearly enough.
She watched as Blackbeard’s
servant descended, stopping as he reached the bottom and looking at her with
sad, yet knowing, eyes.
“The Captain would like you on
deck,” he said politely.
She could only stare, listening
to the growing ruckus above.
“Now?”
He dropped his chin in a nod and
then motioned with his hand.
“Pigeon!” The roar sounded
outside the cabin.
“Hurry, miss.” The black man
fanned his hand at her urging her to come forward. “Hurry.”
She rose, sensing the urgency
in the young man’s voice and seeing it in his eyes. She stepped forward and
followed. The servant held out his hand to her as she ascended, the first and
only gesture of kindness offered of late. No, this man had also brought her
food and water. Could he be an ally? Someone she could confide in? Would he
help her get away?
She climbed the steps, watching
her foot land on each wooden plank. As she stepped onto the deck, tossing her
hair back out of her face, she saw the crew. Again. She hoped to hell there
wouldn’t be a repeat performance of yesterday.
From off to her right,
Blackbeard stepped forward. He had cleaned himself up a bit. Braided into several
long braids and tied with colorful ribbons, his hair was almost presentable.
For the times, Claire thought. His beard, waxed and parted into pointed
sections, looked relatively clean. A dingy ruffled shirt peeked out from under
the wide cuffs of his jacket, and a bandolier crossed his chest with two
pistols gracing either side. A straw hat sitting crookedly on his head
completed the ensemble.
He still looked fearsome. His
eyes told of his evil and only hinted at his intentions. She wished to God she
hadn’t looked into those eyes, for she could read in them more than she dared. And
as he stepped closer, she suspected her worst fears were about to come true.
“Sleep well, pigeon?” His face
lowered to hers.
She tilted her chin and said
sweetly, “Why do you call me that?”
His fingers, cold and clammy,
grasped her chin, forcing her closer. “A pigeon always comes home to roost, me
pretty.”
He crowded her. “And the
roosting was rather nice, remember?”
Claire gagged.
His finger played around her
lips. “Now, I asked you a question. Did ye sleep well?”
“Like a baby,” she returned
sarcastically. “You?”
He dropped his hand from her
chin to trail his fingers down her neck, placing them in a choking hold around
the slender column. His gaze met hers and pinned her there. She swallowed and
tried to take a breath, but not without gasping at the pain of constriction. Just
when she thought he might choke her to death, he lowered his hand to her bosom.
His eyes narrowed, and he leaned closer.
Claire tried to step back.
He crowded her again. “Not
really. But I’ll sleep better tonight. I always sleep well on me wedding night.”
Watching the corner of his
mouth turn up between the coarse hairs of his mustache and beard, she grew
nauseous again.
Wedding night?
Slowly, she scanned the crowd. The
men were waiting for her reaction. It was obvious to them—she was the only
woman on board the ship and the crew had probably been this route before. Blackbeard,
if she remembered her history correctly, had collected at least fourteen
wives—and had never once obtained a divorce. His track record wasn’t great. She
dared not even think about what had happened to each of them. If Blackbeard was
getting married, then she was top choice.
Much to her dismay.
Not backing down an inch, she
returned his stare and said sweetly, “When Hell freezes over.”
She heard the chuckle start low
in his abdomen, rumble past his diaphragm, flow into his lungs and then spill
out of his mouth in a fit of thunderous laughter that shook the very deck of
the ship.
“Pigeon, ye jest so, but it’s a
trifle unsettling for me wife to speak such things. We’ll have a talk tomorrow.
After the consummation.”
He turned from her and walked
away.
“I’ll not marry you, you
son-of-a-whore. There will be no marriage to consummate.”
He froze, and all motion
appeared to cease. Even the waves stopped, and she didn’t doubt for one moment
that he held the power to control that. Perhaps the earth stopped rotating on
its axis; she couldn’t be sure. When he spun back to her, she saw the anger
steaming from him, his face red with rage. Then he determinedly stepped forward
until he reached her.
When he did, she quickly backed
up step for step until she found herself shoved against one of his crew. The
pirate held her in place with his arms wrapped securely around her upper body. Blackbeard
pressed against her in a most indecent manner, his face only centimeters from
hers.
“Ye’ll do as I say.”
“I won’t.”
“Ye will, wench. Or I’ll be
done with ye.”
“Then so be it.”
He glared at her. Claire
wondered if a woman had ever bucked him before. “Ye know what you’re saying,
lass?”
“I know that whatever
consequence you hand out to me has got to be better than screwing the likes of
you,” she bit back.
As he raised his hand, she felt
the other man’s grip tighten around her shoulders. When the sting of his slap
had sufficiently rung her ears and tossed her head to one side, he dropped his
hand. Claire breathed deeply and then exhaled, refusing to cry, vowing not to
show this imbecile she hurt. No, she would never show him she hurt.
After a moment, she raised her
head and met his gaze with glassy eyes. She gritted her teeth. He simply
watched for her reaction. She balled up her courage and spat directly into his
face.
An uneasy silence settled over
the ship. Blackbeard did not flinch.
“Twenty lashes. The cat.”
Within seconds, Blackbeard
grabbed and turned her face-first into the outer wall of the captain’s quarters,
her wrists bound with rope. Horror filled her as she realized what was
happening. He’d have her beaten! My God, she was actually going to be beaten!
Her stomach began to rumble,
and the few bites of gruel she’d eaten an hour or so earlier suddenly didn’t
want to stay in one place. Glancing over her shoulder, she could see the ugly
pirate, the look on his face too much like pleasure. She saw him nod to another,
and he stepped up from behind, grasped the back of her chemise, and ripped it
cleanly down to the top of the corset.
Her eyes closed. Even though
the morning was cool and there was a slight breeze wafting over the ship, she
was hot. Sweat poured from her pores and ran down the sides of her face. Oh,
please no. Let this be a dream.
Wake up now, Claire.
She opened her eyes and
flinched as she felt the whip lash through the air just behind her back. The
ugly snap resonated in her ear. She didn’t dare to think what it would feel
like as it ripped against her skin. She didn’t even want to think about what it
would sound like slicing through her flesh. She hoped it wouldn’t cut her too
deep.
Hoped it wouldn’t lay open
flesh and muscle and expose the bone.
Hoped that before the pain got
too severe, she’d mercifully pass out into unconsciousness.
“Pigeon!”
She jerked her attention once
more to the evil giant as he stood to her side.
“Marry me, pigeon,” he growled.
“Be me wife and me lover and promise your servitude to me forever, and we’ll
forget this.”
She mentally tried to weigh the
lesser of the two evils. Marriage to the scoundrel and eventual rape, or twenty
lashes with a whip.
Six of one, half a dozen of the other.
The choice was easy.
“Rot. In. Hell,” she spat back.
The chuckle started once more. “I
plan to, pigeon.”
She watched as he nodded to the
pirate behind her. She turned her face forward and lowered her chin to her
chest. She’d not let them see her pain.
A small tear squeezed from one
eye as she heard the slice of the whip when it backlashed high into the air. She
felt the snap against her back as it did…and she waited for the pirate’s arm to
whip back down again, the stinging slash across her back.
She braced herself.
Waited.
“I think that’s about enough.”
Claire bolted at the familiar
voice and tried to turn her body toward it. A yellow-haired pirate had slipped
forward and stopped the other’s arm from descending, his fingers encircling the
man’s wrist, preventing the first lash from crossing her back.
Blackbeard roared his protest.
“Let her go.”
The pirate’s gaze held
Blackbeard in his place. The man seemed reduced to indifference and stood fixed
in his spot. The pirate walked determinedly toward him and the two spoke
quietly for a moment. Then Blackbeard offered a slight nod, growled, and
stalked away from the scene. She was totally confused.
She twisted and struggled to
look behind her. Someone released the ropes from her wrists, and she fully
faced the man who saved her.
Shoving the hair back out of
her eyes, she ignored the confusion of the scene she’d just witnessed and
wondered why Blackbeard hadn’t crossed this man standing before her.
He stood there, baggy pants, no
shirt, scruffy beard and shaggy hair. He wore a scarf tied on his head, a
pistol at his side, and nothing on his feet. She almost didn’t recognize him,
and probably wouldn’t have had it not been for his eyes, and the small hoop
earring in his ear.
Her earring.
He grinned and then winked. Claire
only stared back, her chin dropping to her chest. She didn’t know whether to
kiss him or kick him in the nuts and run.
Rick.
****
“How dare ye affront me before
me crew!”
Blackbeard roared the protest
in the privacy of his cabin, hurling the words at Rick. Claire watched and
listened from the berth, knowing his bellow drifted out of the cabin and over
the ship. The entire scenario played out for the crew’s benefit, for Blackbeard
to save face.
Did Rick know what he was up
against?
She curled into a ball against
the ship’s wall.
Rick stepped forward, and she
was astonished at his courage. Something was terribly amiss. He didn’t even
look like Rick.
“You have forgotten that I know
things,” he shot back with a sinister grin.
“And what is it ye know that I
do not?”
“He will come for her.”
Blackbeard swirled his body
toward Claire and then in an instant stopped. “I know that. He came before, he
will come again.”
“I want him as badly as you.”
She arched a brow. What?
Blackbeard chuckled and sidled
a glance at Rick. “Ye do? And why do ye want him, laddie? Has the wench wronged
you as well? She’s a nice little piece, but are you willing to risk your own
life at the revenge of another just to have her?”
Rick lifted his jaw and stared
into the pirate’s eyes. “She was mine long before she was his, or yours. I want
her. And I want him dead.”
Terror ripped through her soul.
“No,” she whimpered. “Rick, no. You’re taking this too far. Do you realize what
you’re saying? You can’t kill Jack.”
“Shut up! You’ll not speak
unless you’re spoken to, woman.” Rick brushed past Blackbeard and stepped
closer to her. After a moment of staring into her face, he reached out and
cupped her chin in his hand.
She lifted her face to stare
back defiantly. “Don’t do this, Rick. Don’t.”
He leaned closer and peered
deeper. “I will. And then you will be mine, again. I will cut him into bits and
feed him to the sharks. And you, Claire, will have nothing to say about it, or
you might just follow him. You made a big mistake leaving me, and he’s going to
pay the price for your indiscretions.” An evil laugh gurgled up from within
him.
Repulsed by his actions, she
jerked her chin from his grasp.
“It won’t happen,” she hissed
and then spat in his face.
He held her gaze for a moment and
then lifted his sleeve to swipe at his chin. “It will.”
Blackbeard stepped beside Rick,
and she shifted. There wasn’t much difference between them, she realized. One
was about as ruthless as the other. Blackbeard reached out and squeezed her
cheeks between his grimy fingers. “I’ll thank ye not to offer your opinion,
woman. Ye’ve been told to be quiet. If a man wants to hear ye speak, he’ll ask
for it.”
“You’ll hear me speak, you
slimy bastard, when I choose to speak. And I’ll offer any opinions or advice I
want.” She braced herself for the backlash.
He thrust her backward, her
head cracking against the ship’s wall. She grimaced. His yellow-eyed glare bit
into her.
“And what advice would the
likes of ye have to offer a man like me? How to woo a comely chit like yourself
into me chamber night after night?”
Looking Blackbeard over, there
was only one piece of advice that came to mind. “Advice? I’ll give you advice. Go
eat oranges, you mangy bastard. No comely chit like myself would go willingly
into a bed with your scurvied hide.”
Abruptly, the pirate flung
himself backward and turned to Rick.
“We’ll return to Teach’s Hole,
just off the island of Ocracoke on the sound side. He’ll be lying in wait, as
before. Only this time, we’ll be ready. I long to get me hands on the man who
tried to take away me manhood.”
Slowly, his head rotated back
to stare at Claire. “And if I can’t put him in the dark depths of the sea, by
God I’ll rip his balls from him and feed them to the monsters of the deep.” His
gaze bored into hers. “Then you’ll have not a man in your chamber to go to
night after night, wench. Perhaps then you’ll think of willingly coming to a
whole man like meself.”
He grumbled his laughter, and
the walls of his quarters quaked.
“A whole man?” she chided. “Hmmm…. Rumor has
it you might have some missing parts.”
The laughter stopped. His yellow eyes shot
across the dusk-dark room. Her mouth, once more, was going to get her into
trouble.
He lunged, but Rick stepped between the two of
them. And like a deflated balloon, the giant pirate disappeared up the steps to
the deck.
Rick turned. “I’ve seen to your safety on this
ship, Claire. No one will touch you. I am powerful, you see. But I fully
expect your cooperation.”
And with that, he left her, too.
###
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