Savage Surrender Page 12

  When the cabin was relatively clean and smelling better I stripped off all my clothes and washed them as best I could, then I sponged myself off with ice cold seawater, shivering constantly, and dressed in a clean chemise and frock. My clothes were in a shocking state: I had worn my traveling suit until it was threadbare and soiled, and my lingerie was all stained and torn. I had begged Garth one day to find me a needle. He had done so, then laughingly claimed his reward. Now I threaded the needle and jabbed it into a rent in my green skirt, and I meditated on how far I had fallen. To be forced to give my body in exchange for a needle. I pricked my finger and sucked at the puncture. Damn! Damn that man to eternal fire!

  He came in while I was sewing. I looked up sullenly, then returned to my work.

  "I'm glad to see you've tidied up," he said. "This place was beginning to reek."

  I bit my lips and vowed that I wouldn't scream at him. He sat at the other side of the table and watched me silently for a few moments. "You'll make some man a fine wife, Elise," he said. "I don't suppose you can cook, too?"

  I lifted my chin. "Certainly not."

  "Oh, excuse me," he said elaborately. "I didn't realize that was an insult. I wonder what I should do with you when we get to the Indies. You can probably find a position as governess in one of the planters' homes. Perhaps you might even marry one of them. But the English are very selective about whom they marry. You might do better in the States, where men are more democratic. You know, half the citizens in Louisiana are descended from French convict girls, although you would never get them to admit it. I'm sure you can find some dull fellow who would be willing to overlook your bad temper and your viper's tongue."

  "I do not have a bad temper!" I protested loudly. I took a breath and stabbed my needle in and out of the cloth at random. I would have to take it apart and do it all over again, but I had to show him he couldn't succeed in baiting me. "You would try the patience of Job himself," I said more calmly.

  "I would take you home with me," he went on, "but I can't really afford servants. All I have is a little shack back in the bayous—that's what they call Louisiana swamps—and the alligators come right up to the door when the water is high. The insects are rather annoying, too. The mosquitoes are as big as mice, and the snakes are so numerous that I've used a string of them to curtain off a doorway." I knew he was teasing me, but in spite of myself I shivered. "No, you wouldn't like life in the swamps, Elise," he said decisively. "You're too civilized to be able to appreciate unspoiled beauty. Of course, you can always set yourself up in New Orleans. A girl of your obvious charms shouldn't have—"

  I threw down my sewing and stood up. "Why can't you leave me alone!" I shouted at him. I was near tears. "Isn't it enough for you that you've taken me away from my home and my family and the only life I have ever known—"

  "The fact that you had to leave your home was no fault of mine," he said.

  "And you think that that exonerates you from any blame for what happens to me, isn't that right?" I stormed at him. "What a low, vicious worm you are, Garth. You have stripped me of everything, and still that's not enough for you. You have to torment and plague me every minute of the day, because hurting people gives you pleasure."

  He grabbed my hand and pulled me onto his lap. "Oh, for God's sake, Elise, I was just having a little fun—"

  I squirmed and kicked at him and tried to claw his eyes with my fingernails. He caught my hands and held them behind my back. "Let me go," I panted. "I'll kill you, I swear I'll kill you!"

  "Will you, now," he chuckled. "Well, no man could die a happier death, I'm sure." He buried his face in my neck and slid his hand under my skirts.

  I pretended to yield to him. He freed my hands after a while and I wound one arm around his neck and kissed him eagerly, while with the other I felt for my sewing on the table top and found my needle. I ripped it loose, and then plunged it deep into his arm. He gave a cry of surprise and anger, and I broke free and ran for the door. I tore into the dank passage and raced up the short ladder towards the deck. I fully intended to throw myself into the sea, for I felt that I could no longer bear to live with him.

  Captain Fowler stood at the top of the gangway. I almost collided with him, and when he reached out for me with a swinish grin on his face I fell back and rolled to the bottom of the ladder.

  "You must be in some kind of hurry, Frenchie," he said. He started to come down after me. I gasped with horror and quickly scrambled to my feet. I heard Garth approaching me from the other end of the passage. I looked from one to the other of them in a daze, then I covered my face and sobbed.

  "Jesus," the Captain muttered disgustedly. "Get that female out of my sight, McClelland. She's worse than a yowlin' banshee."

  "She is, indeed, Captain," Garth agreed. "Come along, Elise." He put a proprietary hand on my shoulder. I shrugged him off and raced back in the direction of the cabin.

  I could hear the two of them laughing scornfully as I ran, and when my legs became entangled in my skirts and I stumbled and nearly fell, the Captain roared delightedly and made a sneering remark about how after all this time I hadn't even found my sea legs. When I was safe in the cabin I threw myself on the berth and sobbed inconsolably until I felt sick. Even after my tears had stopped I lay shivering and choking, wallowing in self-pity and despair.

  Garth came in and crouched near the berth. I expected another mocking tirade, but he rested his hand gently on my damp forehead and said, "Forgive me, Elise. I shouldn't have teased you. I deserved your barb. I'm just thankful you didn't have a knife hidden in your skirts somewhere."

  His unexpected kindness only provoked more tears. I cried and cried. He sat on the edge of the berth and helped me into a sitting position. Then he lifted a flask of brandy to my lips.

  "Drink this," he said. "You'll feel better."

  I shook my head and tried to move away from him, but he held me firmly and urged me to drink. Finally I obeyed. "That's not armagnac," I said, making a face.

  "You're damned right it's not." He put the flask away and gathered me into his arms. I resisted only slightly, then closed my eyes and rested my head on his chest, drawing comfort from his warmth and nearness. I snuggled close to him, forgetting for the moment that he was my sworn enemy, my merciless tormenter. He brushed the hair away from my face and murmured soothing words, the first I had ever heard from him. He caressed me tenderly, and once again I felt myself responding to his touch.

  My brain whirled and I could feel tongues of fire licking at my loins. I melted into his embrace and we made quiet, tender love. Only when we finished did I see the satisfied gleam in his ice blue eyes, and I realized that once again I had allowed him to use me, to exploit and manipulate and maneuver me. I hated him, and I hated and cursed myself, but I knew that I could no more live without him now than I could survive without food and water.

  His kindness had been a sham, a fake, a pose. I should have known better than to believe in him, but I suppose that I wanted to believe that he really had some feeling for me, that he wasn't just toying with me to pass the time and forget the horrors of the Charleston Belle. I had to admit to myself that I was using him for the same reason: to forget for a little while. I loathed and despised him, but still I gave myself to him eagerly. That made me no better than a slut, and I didn't care. If desire could bring even a short interlude of forgetfulness and oblivion, then I was all too grateful to him for wanting me.

  "Feeling better?" he asked solicitously. His falseness was all too evident now.

  "You're a fine actor, Garth," I said bitterly. "The Garrick of your time. And you know just how to get around a woman's tantrums, don't you? A kind word, a loving touch, and pouf! I open to you like a flower to a bee. It's disgusting."

  He smiled. "It's nature, Elise. You can't fight nature. Don't be ashamed because you like the way a man feels inside you."

  I reddened. "I'm not ashamed. But there should be love as well as desire. Desire without love is—is—"

&
nbsp; "Is delightful and amusing," he finished for me. "You're fortunate, Elise. You have all of Love's joys with none of Love's pain and anguish. No jealousy, no fear of being abandoned, no worries about losing your looks. Count yourself lucky, my dear, and enjoy it. I do."

  I studied him thoughtfully. "You have enjoyed a great many women, haven't you, Garth? And I'll bet you haven't loved one of them, not one. You don't even know what love is. And you don't want to know, do you? I'm almost sorry for you."

  His mouth curled into a condescending smile. "Save your pity for those who want it, Elise. I do what I do because I like it. And if my heart remains untouched, so much the better."

  He stretched lazily. The candlelight gleamed on his firm flesh and tawny hair and beard. He was so handsome. I could feel the twist in my heart even as I looked at him. I realized then how easy it would be to fall in love with a man like him. If his tenderness had been real, if he had given me the slightest encouragement, I would have pledged my heart to him forever.

  As it was, he was cold, brutal, and disdainful. I told myself how lucky I was that I felt nothing for him but an all-consuming dislike and deep loathing.

  I sat up with a start. What was I doing, even thinking about falling in love with a man like him? Was I mad? A woman would have to be an utter fool to lose her heart to such a monster. I climbed out of the berth and went to the open window. The sharp wind cut into my lungs and cleared my head. I breathed deeply and swept the hair back from my face. I would continue to use him, I decided, just as he was using me. My heart would not become involved. I would never allow myself to forget how low I had fallen, thanks to him.

  Toward the end of February, Captain Fowler went on a rampage, flogging slaves and sailors alike at double his normal rate, ranting at Garth and blaming everything that went wrong on my presence on board. He stood outside my cabin and screamed at every sailor who passed, exhorting them in the foulest, most suggestive language to stop thinking about me, until they could think of nothing else.

  "You've got to stop him, Garth," I pleaded. "He's driving me mad, carrying on that way. Do something, please."

  Garth frowned deeply. "What would you like me to do?" he asked caustically. "Ask him politely to cease and desist? He'll get tired of the game after a while and go to his cabin and sleep it off, don't worry."

  "But he's mad, Garth, he must be. Oh, God." I sat down heavily at the table and rested my head in my hands. "I can't take much more of this. I'm going mad, too, and you do nothing to help me. You are just as bestial as he is."

  "You've got to stop thinking of every man who wants to get under your skirts as a beast, Elise," he said. "It's really a compliment, you know."

  I glared at him. He was so arrogant, so sure of himself. And so sure of me. My anger sprang to life. I picked up a heavy tankard and hurled it at his head. "I hate you, you miserable fiend," I shrieked. "I hate you!" I started throwing everything I could get my hands on—shoes, plates, knives. He dodged the barrage successfully and pinned my arms to my sides.

  "Stop it, Elise," he ordered. "Stop it at once!" I continued to scream and thrash as he held me. He struck me sharply across the face and my words died in my throat. I looked at him with a shocked, hurt expression on my face, then I fell on his chest and wept.

  "Why did you have to do that? Why? No one ever hit me in my life before I met you. Why?"

  His arms tightened around me. I could feel his soft breath on my hair. Outside the window we could hear Fowler's raucous voice, chanting its crude litany against me.

  "I'll murder that man some day, so help me God," Garth said in a tired voice. "If we ever get off this barge alive, I'll strangle him with my bare hands."

  The next day Garth came into the cabin and said, "You can come up on deck now, if you like."

  "But Fowler—"

  "He drank himself into a stupor last night. The Bo'sun had to put him to bed. It's all right, the coast is clear."

  We crept past Fowler's cabin and into the sunlight on deck. A fine, stiff wind was blowing us towards the Indies and the sun was almost blinding in its brightness. Garth took me to a sheltered place on the foredeck.

  "You can sit here for a while. No one will bother you."

  I looked up at him. "Thank you," I said grudgingly.

  He pinched my cheek. "You're losing your looks, Elise. I won't be able to marry you off if you're ugly. Well, enjoy yourself. I'll come for you if there's any sign of him."

  I swallowed a retort. I had been nagging him for days to let me come on deck, and now that my chance had come I didn't want to spoil it. I might have known he would have an ulterior motive, though. He was probably planning to sell me when we got to Jamaica. I sighed deeply and wondered what would become of me when we landed. I tried to think ahead to the time when Garth McClelland would no longer play a part in my life, but it wasn't easy. I felt that there had never been a time in my life when I hadn't known—and hated him.

  I was aware of some commotion around me. Men were running and shouting for the Captain, and I heard a voice calling, "A sail, a sail!" I went to the rail and squinted into the sun. I could barely make out a small speck on the horizon. Hope fluttered in my breast. What if it were a French ship! They would take me away from the Charleston Belle, back to France. I began to pray feverishly for salvation.

  Garth stood at my side and peered at the ship through his glass. "British," he said. The flame of hope died in me. "I can't make out her name, but it looks like a warship."

  The Captain stumbled towards us. Ignoring me, he grabbed the glass from Garth and looked at the approaching vessel.

  "She's doing about thirteen knots, I wager," Garth said. "And all her guns are out."

  "And us with a couple of goddamn twenty-pounders we haven't fired since we left Charleston," Fowler growled. "Damned redcoats."

  As the ship drew nearer we could make out her sleek lines and the rows of guns bristling from her sides. The Union Jack waved gallantly from her topsail, and eventually I could make out the name painted on her prow: the Eureka.

  "The enemy," I breathed.

  "To you, Elise," Garth corrected me, "but not to us. If they board us, for God's sake keep your mouth shut. I wouldn't want them to think we're carrying French spies."

  "My English is perfectly good," I said tartly.

  "It is indeed, but that's no reason to show it off to His Majesty's Navy."

  "What do they want?" I asked.

  "Nothing, I hope. Maybe they just want to see who's sailing in this part of the world. But they have been known to impress American sailors into service when they're short-handed."

  "Impress? What's that?"

  "It means to kidnap, the way you and your brothers impressed me into marrying you."

  He moved away, cutting off my reply. The other ship signaled that they wanted to come aboard. I saw them lower two small boats, over the side. Blue-clad figures climbed down ropes and picked up their oars. Our own sailors were milling around on deck, crowding the rails to watch the boarding party. I found Garth and stayed at his side when the Bo'sun blew his whistle for all hands. Captain and crew gathered amidships to greet the visitors.

  I saw that the group of slaves that had come up for their daily meal and exercise included Joseph. I smiled at him and his eyes flickered recognition.

  Captain Fowler greeted the Britishers coldly. The leader of the party, a man I guessed to be an officer, addressed him in a voice that we could all hear.

  "Captain, we regret having to interrupt your voyage, but we have reason to believe that certain seamen of His Majesty's Navy are hiding on board your ship, posing as Americans."

  "That's their usual excuse," Garth told me softly. "Conditions in His Majesty's Navy are so bad that men desert by the hundreds whenever they reach port."

  The officer handed the Captain a paper. "These are the men we think may be among the company of the Charleston Belle."

  The Captain scanned the sheet and returned it. "No. None of these men is aboard m
y ship."

  "Then we must assume that they are known to you by other names. Conroy." He summoned one of his men. "Pass among those assembled and see if you recognize the blighters."

  "I don't understand," I said to Garth. "Are those men here?"

  "No, but he'll find them anyway. Wait and see."

  My stomach knotted and my legs turned to water. I felt afraid. I looked at Garth. His face was tense and drawn.

  Conroy stopped in front of a young sailor.

  "I know you, sailor," he said. "Your name's Wainwright. You jumped ship in Gibraltar, didn't you, sailor, and you're hiding out with this filthy gang of slave haulers. Come on, sailor, the game is up."

  The terrified man tried to bolt and run, but two of His Majesty's men pounced on him in a flash. They manacled his hands and dragged him to the rail to wait for their departure.

  "Dirty, filthy swine," the young man shouted. "Rotten kidnappers! My name's Jeremy Booth and always has been."

  He received a blow across the mouth.

  "Ye'll have more respect for the members of the King's Navy," a burly British seaman told him. "Now hold yer bleedin' tongue or I'll knock yer teeth clear down yer throat."

  Conroy approached us. When he saw me his eyes widened and he grinned broadly. "Well, well, what have we here? Why, you're the Charleston Belle in person, aren't you, little lady? You wouldn't by any chance be a seaman named Jones, would you?" He laughed heartily. His mates joined him.

  I shook my head and shrank away from him. Conroy looked at Garth. "But you're Jones, aren't you, mate? I thought I recognized you."

  "No, I am not," Garth replied coolly. "My name is McClelland. This lady is my wife, and we have the misfortune to be passengers on board this ship."

  "Your wife? Passengers! Oh, ho! These Yankee slavers are getting a mite fancy, aren't they, mates? And you, lady, how do you like being a 'passenger' on a tub that's hauling a lot of dirty wogs, eh?"