Moonlight on the Caribbean
Chapter Twelve
She prayed the dawn would never come. How could the sun bear to show its face after a night so full of death and destruction? Yet the bright yellow orb showed no hesitance as it made its cheery path above the horizon. It cared nothing for the lifeless bodies illuminated by its rays. It refused to leave in shadow the young woman afraid to open her eyes and witness the carnage.
Even as she noticed the lightening of the sky, Mimi buried her face deeper into Jason's shoulder, unwilling to face the aftermath of the horror. She held onto an irrational hope that if she stayed long enough in Jason's arms, everything that had happened the night before—even her memories of it—would be washed away. Such dreams were doomed to fail from their inception, as Blackheart's interrupting voice was soon to prove.
"Jase, we need you!"
Jason slowly disentangled himself from Mimi, but he kept his eyes locked on her distressed face, his hands resting possessively on her shoulders. "I have to go now. Will you be all right if I leave you here?" His deep green eyes bored into her, as though he could impart some of his strength to her.
Mimi shook her head, dirty, tangled locks of hair sticking to her face. Her fingers unconsciously dug into his skin as she pleaded wordlessly for him to stay with her. Speech was beyond her reach at this moment.
Jason groaned, his loyalties torn between his impatiently waiting captain and the terrified young beauty clinging to his side. "I have to go, Mimi."
"Then take me with you," she begged, burying herself once again in his embrace. His arms were so strong; his heartbeat so sure. Mimi felt safe with him, in a world that was grown suddenly dangerous. Jason had killed for her once. She knew he would protect her for all time.
Jason shook his head in a definitive no. "Mimi, look at how upset you are already. You're trembling; you've only now stopped crying. I'm not about to let you confront all this again."
She was suddenly aware of how weak and defenseless she must seem to Jason at that moment; utterly dependent, the one thing she had vowed never to be. Coming to her senses, Mimi pushed out of his embrace, smoothing out the lines in her dress as well as she could. "I'm fine now, Jason," she returned, hoping she sounded more poised than she felt. "You don't need to worry about me. Go right ahead an—"
"Jase, come on," Blackheart ordered, interrupting Mimi's display of female independence. He approached the pair, his manner softening when he noticed Mimi's unkempt state—the blood on her hands, clothes and face; the red-rimmed eyes; the clear tear tracks down her smudged face. He knew immediately his messenger had gone astray, and she had been forced to witness the battle. "I'm so sorry, mistress."
The pirate's voice was unaccountably gentle, and Mimi braved a look at the man how only hours ago had filled her heart with dread. Still bathed in blood—his own with all the rest—he nevertheless stood before her again as a man of honor, grieving for her misery. "It's not your fault, Captain," she found herself saying, much to her own surprise.
Blackheart's face showed how little he believed her words, but he turned aside from the reminder of his guilt to confront his first mate. "Sorry to interrupt, Jase, but the prisoners turned out to be natives. They don't speak English or Spanish. I tried. They didn't understand Hans or Albert either."
"You mean there are still people alive on that boat?" Mimi put in incredulously.
"They're the reason we took it in the first place," he explained. "It's a slave ship. Despite the atrocity you unfortunately witnessed, a hundred lives were spared a fate worse than death. Whether that makes what we did excusable or not…" Blackheart shrugged, leaving that question to be answered by more philosophical minds than his own.
"I want to see them," she decided. Nothing was left in her now of the frightened, trembling child Jason had comforted mere minutes ago. Mimi Lockhart stood before them now a pinnacle of determined womanhood. "Take me with you."
Jason frowned. "I don't think that—"
"No, Jason, let her come," the captain stopped him, his blue eyes filled with a strange light as he gazed down upon the petite maid. He barely knew what made him grant her permission, only a vague notion that her blessing upon their actions once she had seen the reason for them might prove a balm upon the self-reproach that tortured him daily. "This way, mistress."
So saying, he led the defiant Mimi and the reluctant Jason back to the doomed Spanish vessel. Shortly, it would be scuttled and sent to the bottom of the sea, but first they must relieve it of its precious cargo. Much to Mimi's relief, the bodies of the dead were already disposed of or hidden beneath the tattered topsail. While a few members of the pirate crew were occupied in transporting chests of Spanish goods and treasure to the Vengeance's hold, the larger portion was involved in making preparations for the accumulation of an hundred more hungry, sick, and wearied passengers.
Mimi followed Captain Blackheart down narrow ladder after narrow ladder, the stench escalating to the point where she wished she—like Belle—always thought to have a scented handkerchief with her to block unpleasant odors. Urine, feces, vomit, and sweat combined to form the most wretched picture of human suffering she had ever encountered.
Blackheart paused by the door, giving a small nod to Jason, who stepped closer to Mimi, grasping her arm possessively. The door was opened, and Mimi felt her will give way at the atrocities which met her eyes. Men, women, and children alike were shoved into a room not large enough for a quarter their number. Frightened, starved faces with hollow eyes looked up at their entrance, then quickly averted their gazes. Babies screamed, while mothers—incapable of easing their misery—stared straight ahead, so used to the noise they were insensible to it. All ages and races mixed together in one mass of desolate humanity.
A few crew members were trying—unsuccessfully—to communicate with the prisoners in a variety of languages: English, French, and Dutch. A few political prisoners of those races had moved towards the doorway, tears of joy streaming down their faces at their liberty. But most of them sat still in despair, unsure whether these new men were friend or foe.
Jason took one look at the sight and grimaced, stumbling to the center of the room and speaking in a loud, clear voice. "Ocama-quay-ari' daneke'."
Mimi was as shocked as the native people when Jason began speaking in their strange tongue. How had he learned such a thing? Yet she saw the faces around her turn towards him, and some of their fear disappeared.
"Datiao. Gua'kia bara akani. Gua'rico guaki'a kai choreto."
A tribesman, wearing nothing but a loincloth—which caused Mimi to turn her head away in shame—pushed his way through the crowd. "Guata! Anki arijua!"
His vehemence caused Mimi to draw nearer towards the protection of the pirates, but Jason seemed undeterred. "Daca guatiao Ara'guacu'," Jason countered. "Nanichi uara'."
Mimi watched in awe as Jason took off his shirt—though she couldn't fathom the reason why. All she saw were the strong, bronzed muscles working in his back and shoulders. Then he turned around, and she bit back a gasp at the strange red and black markings across his chest. Whatever they were, they worked a marvel on the formally forbidding people. They seemed to accept Jason's word, and as he rattled off several more phrases in the odd language, the people began willingly to move towards the doorway. Mimi pushed herself to the wall to avoid being crushed from the flow of people towards freedom. Jason tried to weave his way back to her, but his way was impeded by a rambunctious little girl who had run ahead of her family. He chuckled, swooping her up from the fray.
Her mother moved towards them, clucking her disapproval. "Tanama!" she scolded her child.
Mimi watched as Jason's face turned ashen. He passed the little girl to her mother's arms as though she had grown fangs. Turning, he pushed his way through the crowd, and Mimi lost sight of him. She frowned, disturbed by the bizarre change. After waiting for the crowd to thin, she climbed to the deck and searched around her. There was pandemonium as the crew tried to communicate through signs that the freed prisoners should board the other ship. Children ran everywhere, their laughter the most apparent relief at being released from the fetid quarters. Men still held back, their gazes distrustful and impassive as they studied the white men. Jason was nowhere to be seen.
Drawn by instinct, she made her way back to the Vengeance, to the same overlooked corner where Jason had spirited her away only hours earlier. There he was, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared out across the ocean. Mimi surmised his thoughts had drifted farther than the horizon to some distant shore of memory. Looking at him, lost in unnamed pain, she felt an hitherto unknown emotion assault her.
She pitied him. She longed to hold him and care for him as he had done for her. Yet it went beyond that. She wanted to replace the sorrow in his eyes with joy, wanted to make him forget all the past wounds in his life and focus solely on the present…on her. With this in mind, she slipped down to his side, her hand resting gently on his knee to draw him back to her.
Jason started at her touch. His gaze when first it settled upon her was that of a stranger, a cold, hard stranger. Recognition set in, but the rage still lurked in his eyes. "What do you want?"
Mimi refused to flinch at his harsh words. "I want to know what troubles you," she pressed gently. "What is it that pains you so? Is it these people? How do you know their language?"
Jason stood up, roughly pushing away her comforting touch. "You ask too many questions. My past is nothing to you."
"Nor mine to you, yet you know it." Mimi scrambled to her feet, unwilling to let him get away so easily. She blocked his path to the rest of the ship, crossing her arms. Her stance was determined; her gaze challenging.
"Move, Mimi," Jason bit out through gritted teeth and clenched jaw.
"No," she shot back, unaffected. "Not until you tell me. I saw the change in you with that little girl. It all started with that word her mother spoke. What was it again?"
The pirate emitted a defeated sigh. "Tanama. It means 'butterfly.'" He wished she would—yet knew she wouldn't—be satisfied by such an answer. It answered nothing at all. Yet even voicing the name was painful to him. Mimi didn't reply to his statement, waiting patiently for a more thorough explanation. Jason groaned, running his hand back through his hair. "Look, Mimi, they need me to help get the people settled. I don't have time for this right now."
"You're right," she agreed easily, surprising him. Still, she stood with no apparent intentions of moving.
"Thank you. Then…" He gestured his intention of leaving, but she put a delaying hand to his chest.
"I understand you have your duty to attend to now, Jase, but as soon as everything is settled, we are going to talk about this."
He raised an eyebrow at her imperious tone. "I don't believe you are in the position to be dispensing orders, Mistress Lockhart," he observed coolly.
Mimi flushed. This was the first time Jason had ever treated her like an inferior. Much as it galled, she had to admit Jason had a point. Who was she after all? A maid. A captive. For a moment, her resolve weakened. Then she looked up into the tortured face and knew she had to see this through. He had been protecting her from the moment she first saw him aboard the Dolphin, saving her from his crew, Spanish soldiers, and her own fears. It was her turn to repay the favor. She laid a soft hand on his muscled arm. "Jason, I know you need me. Maybe you don't know it yet, but you do. I won't—I refuse to let you push me away, not after all we have been through together."
Something about the earnestness of her words convinced him. Further argument would be futile. "All right," Jason relented, his voice scarcely above a whisper and laced with pain. They stood like that for a moment, the salty Trade Winds blowing over them unnoticed. The breeze wreaked havoc with Mimi's already ravished hair, and Jason reached up to smooth the flying tendrils. But the touch became a caress, as his hand made contact with the smooth surface of her cheek.
Mimi's soft sigh and hooded eyes gave silent proof to his effect upon her, and her hand reached up to cover his. All around them was chaos. Behind them was a night of fury and death; ahead was an uncertain and dangerous future. But in that moment, Jason and Mimi each found a measure of peace to carry them through the storm.
~~*~~
[Jason's conversation is in Taino, a Native Caribbean language. A rough translation follows:
A few crew members were trying—unsuccessfully—to communicate with the prisoners in a variety of languages: English, French, and Dutch. A few political prisoners of those races had moved towards the doorway, tears of joy streaming down their faces at their liberty. But most of them sat still in despair, unsure whether these new men were friend or foe.
Jason took one look at the sight and grimaced, stumbling to the center of the room and speaking in a loud, clear voice. "Hear me, my people!"
Mimi was as shocked as the native people when Jason began speaking in their strange tongue. How had he learned such a thing? Yet she saw the faces around her turn towards him, and some of their fear disappeared.
"I am your friend. We have killed your enemy. Come to us for nourishment in abundance."
A tribesman, wearing nothing but a loincloth—which caused Mimi to turn her head away in shame—pushed his way through the crowd. "Liar! Evil foreigner!"
His vehemence caused Mimi to draw nearer towards the protection of the pirates, but Jason seemed undeterred. "I am adopted of the Sacred People," Jason countered. "My heart is with you."]
~~*~~
Chloe's restlessness had reached fever pitch. As the hours slowly passed away, those about her had dropped one by one into restless sleep. Belle slumbered with her head in her father's lap, as Lord Black nodded back and forth with every roll of the ship. Jan had fallen asleep while still at her prayers, and even Kevin dozed at his watch. But Chloe could not rest. She could not even sit still, instead pacing the small room over and over until her head spun.
She was terrified. Originally, her worry had been confined to Brady, but after Belle's reminder, she had been almost hysterical to be assured of Mimi's safety. At least Brady was capable of defending himself. But Mimi…she tried not to let herself think of it. Kevin had flatly refused to let them search for her, citing orders to keep them out of harm's way. John had tried to comfort the two girls by suggesting their friend had taken refuge in either the galley or her cabin, but Chloe was far from convinced.
So she paced. All through the long, fitful hours of the black night, she kept a vigil of half-formed hopes and unarticulated prayers for her best friend and the man she loved. She was the only one awake to see the first rays of light steal their way through the solitary porthole. As the warmth begin to sink into her chilled bones, a wave of hope swept over her. She knew they were all right. Without any news having reached her, Chloe simply knew any moment Brady and Mimi would come walking through that door.
As if in confirmation of her premonition, the approved knock boomed loud enough to pull the dreamers back to consciousness. Kevin jumped up and threw open the door, allowing entry to the three welcome personages on the other side. Without a thought for propriety, Chloe threw her arms around the dirty, disheveled maid the moment she entered. "Mimi, are you all right? We were so worried! Belle and I wanted to go find you, but he wouldn't let us." She cast a haughty, scathing glance in the direction of the second mate.
"Good for him," Mimi muttered, leaning weakly into the lady's embrace. If she had been in more possession of her senses, she would have recognized the social breach and pulled away, but the events of last night made all former concerns seem petty in comparison. She was grateful for the support offered in Chloe's comforting arms and panicked words. If was reassuring to know they had worried about her.
"What happened to you?" John demanded, as Belle took her turn clasping the returned maid to her. "I thought they were sending someone to fetch you." He glared accusingly at the pirate captain, stoic through all this. But his anger swiftly turned to concern as he saw the heavy concentration of blood on his sleeve. A swift warning from the flashing blue eyes kept him from mentioning anything about the injury in front of the ladies.
"Don't blame Captain Blackheart," Mimi interposed, pulling away from her mistress to defend their captors. "I left the galley and wandered around the ship. It's my own fault I saw any of it." She began to tremble again, her knees about to give way. The third arrival stepped forward, bracing her with a hand beneath her elbow. She graced Jason with a tired smile. Of course he would notice her weakness.
"Your Lordship, perhaps these questions could wait until Mistress Lockhart has had a chance to rest from her ordeal," Jason put in smoothly, earning yet another grateful glance from his lady.
A frown descended on Lord Black's customarily stern features as he noticed the increasing familiarity between his daughter's maid and the pirate. He could perhaps approve of Chloe's love for the captain, but only because he still harbored a secret belief that the enigmatical man might yet turn out to be his son resurrected. Of this Masters fellow, he knew absolutely nothing and didn't find it appropriate that Mimi should be neglecting her care of Belle to take up with the ruffian.
But he was spared the responsibility of answering by his overeager charges. Belle and Chloe both swooped upon Mimi's sides—displacing Jason, much to her silent dismay—and formed a supportive buttress around her. "Of course, Mimi," Belle answered for the both of them. "Come on. We'll get you to bed right now. You shall not do a single thing the rest of the day. You poor thing."
"I am fine, m'lady," Mimi protested, a blush rising to her cheeks. She wasn't used to being the center of attention, especially not with the ladies she had been serving most of her life. "Honestly, all of this fussing is not called for."
"Yes, it is," interposed the captain, his eyes resting once again on the blood on Mimi's hands and dress, his face becoming shadowed with guilt. "No woman should ever see what you have. You need time to recuperate, Mistress. Jase and I will escort all of you back to your cabins, and then food will be immediately sent up. You must be famished by now."
Mimi faced him, annoyed at being treated like a child. "Not as starving as those poor souls you rescued. Why don't you care for them instead?"
"What poor souls?" asked Belle, her sympathies immediately aroused.
"The Vengeance freed some hundred prisoners from a Spanish slave ship," Mimi explained, when neither Jason nor the captain seemed eager to make an account of the night before. "They are being brought on board as we speak. Mostly women and children, scared and starving. If anyone is in need of rest and sustenance, it is them."
"Believe me, mistress, that is all being taken care of. This is not the first time the Vengeance has been responsible for feeding the starving. Our galley is well-stocked with provisions, which are being dispensed even as we speak."
Belle's hand fluttered to her chest, her gentle heart moved with pity. "Oh, might we be of some assistance, Captain? I have helped in the poor houses in London, and I believe I might be a helpful nurse to them."
"I don't think that would be a good idea," Jason declared. "Begging your pardon, m'lady, I know you mean well. But these are not poor, sick Englishmen. These are a proud people who have been subjected to despicable slavery and oppression. They do not even speak the same language as you. Your white skin would be held against you before you had so much as laid one hand to a child's brow."
"You could act as an interpreter," Mimi supplied, staring him down. "You speak their language, and if there was any kind of disturbance, you could see us safely out of there."
Jason rounded on her, green eyes narrowing. "You have seen for yourself what these people are like. Miserable, starving, sick, and bitter. Why would you want to expose your lady to that?"
"I know my lady, sir, and she will be able to ease their sufferings. You have not seen her as I have, moving among the miserable, the starving, the sick, and the bitter. I have heard them whisper as she passes that an angel of mercy walked among them. Lady Black has a way about her that brings comfort to all in pain. Take her to the people. You shall see for yourself."
Belle stared at her maid, surprised by her fervent defense. Her normally pale cheeks turned a demure rose. "I'm hardly an angel, Mimi. But if I can be any help to these people, I will gladly serve them."
Jason looked ready to argue the point further, but Brady stepped in before he could. He was impressed by this glowing description of his sister and felt his pride in her growing by the moment. Nevertheless, he left it to his father's discretion. "Lord Black, she is your child. What do you say?"
John surveyed the young people surrounding him, from Jason's reluctance, to Blackheart's curiosity, to Mimi's pride in her mistress. But his eyes settled on the glowing eyes of his daughter. It was the first time since leaving England he had seen in her the spirit of life. He could hardly deny her what she desired. "Bring her to them. But swear on your life, she will be safe."
"As always, sir, you have my word." The captain offered a small bow.
Lord Black nodded and embraced his daughter once more, offering her a parting kiss on the forehead. "Take care, my Izzy."
She smiled up at him, her beatific smile evidence of why she had been given an angelic title. "I will, Father. Don't worry. No harm will come to me. I am safe with these men." She looked with unfailing trust at the pirate captain.
John sighed, resigned to letting Belle go her own way in the world. "I am content, Captain. I believe you will want this back." He proffered the sword entrusted to him the night before.
The pirate stared askance at the weapon, much as his father had done when he had offered it to him. "You're returning it to me? I would think you would wish to keep it."
"If you feel it is in the best interest of my daughter's and my own safety for me to be locked in this room, then here I shall remain. I trust you, Captain…with my life."
Brady felt the full weight of the statement settle upon him. He felt humbled by his father's faith. The deep blue eyes, so much like his own, were staring into him, as if he somehow guessed there was some connection binding them together. Could he know…? "Keep your sword, Your Lordship. While I doubt any true risk to you is aboard my ship, I do however believe your safety is more greatly assured here with a guard than elsewhere. But your sword is your own. Use it as you see fit."
John bowed, feeling his pride in the man before him growing by the moment. Oh, if only he might be…! Only time would tell. With one last kiss for each of the girls, he retreated to the barred cell, allowing himself once more to be locked in. The others shuffled slowly from the room, leaving only Kevin as guard.
~~*~~
They had seen her as weak. They had likened her to a porcelain doll, beautiful yet easily shattered. Not one among them—except perhaps her maid—had before glimpsed in the delicate Lady Isabella Black a hint of strength or courage. So it was with great curiosity that all eyes fixed upon her as she was led into the hold where the rescued captives were being settled. Perhaps no one was more interested in how she would respond than the masked captain, who stood back from the scene, folded his arms, and watched the drama enfold.
Belle looked around her, her eyes instantly memorizing every precious face, from the infirm to the elderly, the starving to the sick. Jason stood in front of all of them, ready to act as interpreter and guard if need be. Indeed, the same man who had accused Jason that morning jumped to his feet at the entrance of the ladies and spit upon the ground near them.
Belle barely took notice of him, however. She did not pay attention to the distrustful murmurings, the smell of an unwashed mass, the near nakedness of most of the people. After her first cursory glance, she rolled up the sleeves of her extravagant dress and made her way across the room to where pirates were trying to distribute food to a crowd of natives. At Belle's approach, they suddenly melted back, allowing the white-swathed vision to pass.
"You'll never get everyone food that way," she announced to the two pirates behind the baskets of bread and cheese and the barrels of water and rum. "Wait a minute."
Hawk and Ty looked over at their captain, leaning negligently against the wall. He gave a curt nod, indicating they should listen to the lady's instructions. Belle once again took in the scene, the families all picking portions of the ship's surface to lay claim to for the remainder of the voyage. She looked at the children and frowned. "Is this the best you can do for quarters? These women and children should not be sleeping on the hard wood. Are there any spare cots?"
"None that are not in use, m'lady," Jason volunteered, even his worry about the repercussions of letting the ladies see this sight melting into curiosity. He felt an air of command in the petite blonde—not unlike the one her brother had.
She frowned, biting her lip as her attention became focused on an elderly couple. "Then, at the least, take my bed and give it to those poor souls. And let some of those dresses be brought down to serve as blankets. You wouldn't mind taking them apart, would you, Mimi?"
"No, my lady," Mimi agreed, smiling as Belle began to work her magic. She knew in no time at all Belle would have the run of the ship.
"There is no need for that," Blackheart spoke up, still not having moved from his position, yet paying eager attention to the conversation. "There are chests of blankets in the treasure hold. I will have them brought immediately. And as for cots, my men and I will give up ours. At least there will be enough for the women."
The two pirates gawked at their captain. Though they had taken many slave ships in their time, this was the first time they had been required to give up their personal comfort to do so. They weren't all that pleased with the concept, but one look at the captain's face silenced them. They turned to Jase, their expressions pleading, but he too seemed impressed by the lady's gesture and more than willing to make a similar sacrifice.
"Thank you, gentlemen." Lady Black's saintly smile was enough of a reward to conquer even their doubts. They found themselves grinning and thinking they would gladly sacrifice their fortunes ten times over to see that smile again. "Now, as to the food, don't make them come and take it. These people are starving. They have probably been deprived of food for weeks. Let us at least do them the courtesy of bringing the food to them. That will give us the chance to see who among them is ill as well. Mimi, Chloe, Jan, and I will take care of that." She looked over the food supply once more. "Is there any fruit left, like you have been giving to us? They could use a more balanced diet. Or perhaps some fish?"
"Well, I…I don't rightly know, lady," Hawk supplied, scratching his head. "I suppose we could catch some if we need to."
"Let all the men who don't have duties at the moment look to their nets," the captain ordered. "Consider Lady Black to be my representative in all things related to these people. Anything she asks for, any assistance she requires, will be granted her immediately."
Belle turned towards him, smiling. She knew her feeling about him had been right. "Thank you, Captain. I shall try to do your faith justice. Now, to work, ladies." Not waiting for the other three to follow her, she grabbed a mug and began ladling water into it. Once filled, she took it to the elderly couple who had caught her attention before and knelt beside them, personally holding it up to the woman's lips. She spoke quiet, reassuring words of comfort, even though she knew they could not understand her.
The others watched in awe for a moment, struck by the singular beauty of the scene. Then, the lady stood, looking at them all in irritation, and they instantly sprang into action.
~~*~~
Brady didn't make his exit immediately. He wanted his withdrawal to be as inconspicuous as possible, so he waited until all the others were engaged. The pirates had long since abandoned the room, for fear of more orders descending on them form the lady's lips. Chloe, Mimi, and Jan were obediently distributing food, while Belle lagged behind, examining the people's well-being with Jason acting as interpreter.
The captain saw his moment and took it, slipping from the room virtually unnoticed. Any fear he might have harbored for his sister's safety had disappeared as he witnessed her interaction with the freed prisoners. He had seen her gentle care of them, and in their eyes, he had seen a reciprocal tenderness for the Yu' goeiz, the "white spirit." Lady Isabella Black was beyond question a uniquely compassionate woman, and they recognized it.
Brady could gladly have watched her administer mercy for the remainder of the day, but a neglected task needed to be looked to. Brady made his way down to an uninhabited storage room, waiting until he was safely ensconced within its walls to allow the unabating pain show on his face. The sleeve of his tattered shirt was soaked in crimson blood—his own blood. The rag he had haphazardly tied around his slit forearm had done nothing to staunch the flow, and he was feeling light-headed with the loss of the life-giving substance.
Cursing, he found the small basin stored there and opened a barrel of water, awkwardly attempting to fill the one with the other. Finally succeeding, he stripped off his shirt. Blood covered most of his torso, and he cringed from the knowledge that the majority of it was not his own. The harm he had inflicted last night made an injured arm seem paltry indeed. Slowly, wincing from the pain, he unknotted the makeshift bandage, and the long slit up his forearm was visible to him for the first time in daylight.
"You should have let Belle tend you. She knows how to deal with such things. Now, you'll have to settle for me."
Brady's head shot up as he saw Lady Chloe standing in the half-open doorway of the small room. Her eyes were grave as they rested on the open wound, but her words were lightly spoken. "What the hell are you doing here?" he spit out, angry that anyone—but especially her—should see him weakened.
Chloe was unperturbed by his anger. She entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind her—as he had neglected to do. "I saw you leave, and I knew you would need my help. I've been worried about that wound for hours. I thought you were going to collapse before you let anyone see to it."
His eyes raked over her suspiciously. "I was under the impression you never wanted to see me again, Lady Wesley. What changed your mind?"
She flushed t the reminder, and her gaze faltered, but she stepped to his side without hesitation. "A night of worrying you might be dead, and a day of seeing the color drain from your face. Now, will you please let me dress your wound before you ask any more questions?"
Brady considered toying with her a while longer, but the plainly-evident concern in her face stopped him. He nodded reluctantly and extended his arm to her, curious to see how she would react. A slight shudder of revulsion passed through Chloe's body, but she quickly pushed her disgust aside to focus on a plan of action. Without a word to the pirate, she set her foot on a low box, lifted the violet skirts of her dress to her knees, and viciously tore the lowest hem of her petticoat all the way round.
Mimi would kill her for destroying the garment she had worked so hard to perfect, but she could deal with her anger later. Brady was all that mattered now. She pulled the loosened fabric free and brought it to the basin, as unconcerned as if she had merely plucked a rag from a pile. Dipping the material into the water and wringing it out, Chloe took hold of Brady's arm, gently supporting it from beneath.
Her cool touch was as soothing as the water she used to wipe away the blood and grime surrounding the cut. She cleaned the area with slow strokes, the water falling down and landing in the golden hairs of his arm and on her delicate artist's fingers. She rinsed the cloth several times during her task, and Brady saw with growing dismay the increasingly blood-tinged water. Chloe spoke not a word, either of sympathy or reproach, concentrating fully on her mission. She disappeared once, taking the washbasin with her and returning only a minute later with it emptied. She refilled the bowl and went silently back to work.
Finally, he could see nothing but his arm and the slash. All the dried blood and caked-on filth had been removed, and Brady was relieved to see the injury wasn't as great as he feared. Chloe's mind was obviously eased as well, for a smile flitted over her lips for the first time since she had followed him down here. She once again went through the ritual of tearing from her petticoat, and this time, Brady was gifted with a display of her perfect, smooth calves displayed under the shortened undergarment.
She wrapped the bandage tightly round his arm with painstaking precision. "There," she finally spoke, satisfied. "You're going to need to change that every day or two, so the wound stays clean."
"That might present a problem," he returned solemnly, only the light in his eyes giving him away. A questioning glance was her only response. "I don't think your petticoat will last that long."
A heated blush rose to Chloe's cheeks, and she abruptly dropped his arm. "If you're going to be vulgar, I'll leave now." She turned on her heel and marched towards the door only to be flung around by his grip on her arm.
"I apologize, my lady." His words were sincere, and Chloe could see the heart-felt gratitude in his eyes. He was actually glad she had come to care for him. "Thank you."
The predictable color heightened the natural glow of her face, as she demurred a proper answer. "It was no trouble, Captain. I was glad to be of assistance."
Awkward silence descended upon them after that, and Brady began to regret forcing her to stay. It was too hard standing so near to her, memories flooding him of her passionate and trembling in his arms, and not being able to touch her again. The temptation was too great; the craving too heady. "I, uh…"
His voice was low and husky as it tickled her senses. The way he was looking at her—the same struggle between duty and desire she had seen in him before—made her weak in the knees. His bronze chest was bare before her, and she longed to run her fingers along its hot, sleek surface. The blood, sweat, and smoke that clung to him, instead of distracting from his charms, made him even more dangerous, mysterious, desirable.
That look entered her eyes again, that feral gleam of a woman being driven by an ardor overriding her own will, and Brady knew this time he had to stop it before anything started. There would be no turning back if he didn't. With that thought in mind, he clasped his hands to her shoulders, forcing her to meet his own stern gaze. "Lady Wesley, I need you to understand something about me. What I do is not glamorous. I'm no hero. You have got to stop making me your fantasy. This…" He gestured to the blood still coating his other arm and most of his chest. "This is the life's blood of men—both good and bad. Do you understand that? These men, they're dead…and it's all because of me."
The light had left her eyes as she focused her gaze honestly for the first time on the grime covering him. She blanched at the thought of the men it represented. "But…but you did it for those people Belle's tending to now. You were fighting for them." She sounded desperate to convince herself of her own words.
His answering laughter was bitter and mirthless. "Don't fool yourself, my lady. As no doubt Mistress Lockhart could tell you now, there is nothing noble in battle. It's loud and filthy and disgusting, and something about the thrill of it gets under a man's skin and consumes him to commit horrible atrocities. I killed seventeen men last night. Seventeen men whose mothers, wives, and children will never see them again. Never…"
Chloe watched with pity as the formally unbreakable man seemed to choke on his own words, his hands rising to cover his face. She saw the slump in his shoulders, the defeat and self-loathing in his body language. She wanted to hold him in her arms and allow him to break down, but she knew he would never allow himself to be that vulnerable. In another minute, he would be in complete control again, and his emotions would be as impenetrable as always. Unless she ceased this one moment…unless she didn't give him a chance to close himself off from her.
Without thinking further ahead than that, without considering anything about trying to help ease his pain, Chloe again knelt and tore off a section of her rapidly decreasing petticoat, soaking it in the water. As she approached Brady, he dropped his hands, looking at her in silent curiosity. She met his stare with a silent, comforting one of her own as she closed the remaining distance between them.
She rested the wet cloth against his shoulder, allowing the cleansing liquid to slide down his chest, leaving clearly discernable trails along his dirty skin. And then she was rubbing it over his neck, his shoulders, his chest, his arms, washing away every last trace of the blood, as though that could erase his memories and pain as well. She rinsed his body repeatedly, cloth after cloth being filled with the disturbing substance. She didn't care. If her petticoat was torn to shreds, she would use her dress. All that mattered now was helping him in some way, showing she did truly understand.
Brady watched without moving, without saying a word, as he allowed her to wipe away the grime. He studied her in fascination, measuring every rise and fall of her chest with her shallow breathing. The close proximity of their bodies, coupled with the close air of the room was causing the heat to rise, even as the water cooled his burning skin.
He understood the symbolism of her gesture, and it moved him. She wanted to be able to take his pain away. This beautiful lady whose innocence he had almost robbed was demanding the right to know his secrets and cure his anguish. His mind demanded that he stop her. He couldn't risk letting her get hurt—or being hurt himself. But something deep inside—something he thought had died with his mother—refused to push her away. He had spent too long shutting out everything good in life. Now, with a simple touch, Chloe Wesley had forced her way through all his barriers.
Chloe scrubbed until the natural golden hue of his skin shone through, until there was no reminder of the battle waged the night before except on the red rags piled in one corner of the room. And on his face. She turned away to pull off one last cloth and dipped it in the water barrel, long since tired of emptying the basin. She reached an unsteady hand to the back of his neck, blindly searching for the knot that held his mask in place. Her sapphire eyes struck through the folds of black to both challenge and entreat his orbs of blue.
He didn't pull away, as she had feared he would do. That mask represented the shrouded mystery of his past, and they both knew letting go of it was tantamount to admitting her into his life. Her hands, still slippery from the water, struggled to free the knot; her nervousness probably didn't help matters much either. But at long last, she felt the tie give way, and the fabric floated harmlessly to the floor.
Even as she lifted the cloth to wipe away the smudges on his face, Chloe's eyes devoured and memorized every inch of his countenance. She took in the sun-bleached hair, lighter even than Belle's. His eyes seemed even more brilliant when not hidden by the menacing disguise. They seemed to her deeper even than the ocean they sailed upon. She would never grow tired of learning their depths.
Her hand slowed upon his cheek, and Brady looked down upon her questioningly. "You look just like your father described you," she whispered almost reverently.
The blue eyes flamed, as the pirate came out of the virtual trance her touch had lulled him into. "My father? You talked to Lord Black about me? What did you tell him?" His hands pressed down upon her thin shoulders much harder than he intended, and she winced with the force of it.
"No, Brady. I have kept your secret. I told you I would. I was talking about before I met you. Lord Black told me about you once, about his little boy he thought was dead." Her eyes filled with pity for the family she had come to think of almost as her own. "He loves you very much, you know. He loved your mother, too."
There was something liberating about hearing those words from her lips. He knew now he wasn't deluding himself when he imagined John's soft expression when talking of Isabella. "So then, he did think we were dead? That's why he never came for us?"
Chloe saw clearly in the eagerness of both his tone and expression how deep that rejection went. He had spent his whole life wondering if his father merely hadn't cared enough to save them. "Oh, Brady," she murmured, again raising her hand to his cheek—this time not encumbered with the washrag, which had fallen unnoticed to the ground. "Your father has been grieving for you all his life, you and your mother both. He thought you had drowned when the boat sank in the storm. He even took a boat out looking for you, to make sure, but he could find no trace of you. They made him give you up as lost. But he has never forgotten either of you."
Brady exhaled heavily as a burden he'd been living under his entire life was lifted. His father had loved them. He hadn't failed them, after all. He looked down then upon the lady, feeling gratitude swell up among the myriad of other emotions he felt towards her. He saw her stained and ruined dress. He saw her hands marked with blood. He saw the eyes full of understanding and empathy. This was a woman he could love.
If he had met her in any other lifetime, any other situation, he would have held her to him for all of his days. Part of him yearned for such a luxury, even as he knew he could never drag her down with him. Though his father might be cleared, it didn't change the fact that his life was ruined beyond repair from the events of his childhood. He was still a murderer, a wanted man. He had to make her see why it could never be.
Gently removing her fingers from his cheek, he took her hands in his own. "Lady Wesley, I need to explain about the other night, about why I had to stop it."
"I know why," she interrupted quietly, surprising him. "I was on deck when you promised Lord Black no harm would come to us, remember? You were trying to be true to your word, and I respect that." She laughed bitterly. "The only one I blame for that night is myself. I was acting brazenly. I've always been headstrong, and I let it get the best of me sometimes. Were it not for your respect for your honor, my own would be ruined beyond repair."
Brady was shocked, both by her understanding of the situation and her straightforwardness in handling it. "My lady, make no saint of me. If I were truly, as you say, a man of honor, I would never have allowed things to have progressed so far—or at all. You had no clear picture of the precarious situation you were putting yourself in when you came to me, and I took advantage of that."
Chloe's mouth tipped wryly, as she gave a shake of her head that discounted his explanation. "You are wrong, Captain. I think I knew exactly what I was doing. In fact, if I had it all to do over again, I probably would act no differently. I…I'm drawn to you." Her cheeks flamed as she spoke the last sentence, but her gaze didn't drop. Instead, her eyes pierced him with their intensity.
"I could say the same of me towards you, but I will not," he returned solemnly, refusing to allow himself to get swept away again. "Lady Wesley, emotions change as rapidly as the sea itself. Passion can sweep us away if we let it, but when it is gone, what will we be left with? Nothing, except an emptiness even greater than before."
"But I—"
"No," he stopped her harshly, leaning down to swoop up the discarded mask. "You have a life before you, a family who loves you, a fiancé who is waiting for you. I am a criminal. I have lived my life outside all the laws of men, and I will die outside them as well. Those are inescapable facts, my lady, however we may wish them changed." He tied the mask on again and headed for the door.
Chloe watched him go, pricking back the tears that sprang too readily to her eyes. He had accused her of not understanding, of romanticizing who he was. Well, perhaps she had. But now, she knew; she understood. And—if possible—she loved him even more.
~~*~~
Belle eagerly resisted every effort of Mimi's to make her leave the hull and return to her own cabin for some rest. The worried maid watched as hour after hour went by, and still the weakened lady continued to pour herself into caring for the sick passengers. Never mind that the sweat shone on her brow, and her always pale face had gone white with exhaustion. Jan Spears—suffering from none of the physical weaknesses of Lady Black—had returned to the cabin hours ago, yet still the lady lingered on. Mimi began to regret ever telling Belle about these people. Her mistress had yet to recover completely from her own illness, and here she was wasting her limited strength caring for others. It was one of the qualities she so adored about Lady Black, but it was also what made her job such a trial.
Jason too watched the lady's unending labor with concern. Several times he was on the point of insisting she get some rest, but then he would look into the eyes of an old woman touched by her presence, or hear the whispers of a child whose awe of the lady was almost godlike. He couldn't deprive these people—his people—of their first source of hope since being captured by the Spanish.
The lady herself went on unheeding of the anxiety she was causing. She had long since lost sight of Mimi in the crowd, and Jason's only purpose to her was as interpreter. She silently determined that if they were to be on this ship for any length of time, she would have Jason teach the language to her. She felt drawn to help these people. Her heart told her that there was a connection between them and herself. For the first time since leaving England, she felt neither weak, nor afraid, nor useless. She had been given a purpose.
But all the resolves of her spirit could not detract from the fact that Belle was in no condition to be working on her feet for hours on end. As hard as she tried to push away her bouts of lightheadedness, they were becoming more and more frequent. She would have to pause for a moment and collect her balance, before moving on. On one such occasion, as she began to sway, she felt Jason's hand at her elbow, supporting her.
"My lady, are you all right?" he asked anxiously. The care she had shown for the people had made him think kindly of a girl who before he had no interest in. "You've overextended yourself. Let me take you back to your cabin. You need rest."
She gently disengaged herself from his touch, shaking her head. "Thank you for your concern, Mr. Masters, but I'm fine. A slight lolling of the ship caught me off-guard. That's all." Resolutely, she pushed forward to the next cot, the next child who needed her.
Groaning, Jason could only watch with a mixture of concern and admiration as she continued to offer comfort to the comfortless. He saw Mimi begin to weave her way back through the crowd and caught the anxious look in her eyes as she watched her mistress. Turning back to Belle, he understood why. In the split-second his attention had been distracted, Belle had begun to wobble on her feet. Her whole body began to trembled, and Jason knew she stood only moments from a total collapse.
Using all his effort, he managed to close the distance between them, right before she fainted. He caught her gently in his arms and cradled her there like the child she was. In another moment, Mimi was beside them both, fussing over Belle, repeating her name over and over in an attempt to bring her back to consciousness. "It's all right, Mimi," he soothed her. "She'll be fine. All she needs is a little rest. Come on. Let's take her back to the cabin."
Mimi nodded and followed Jason out of the hold. In the small part of her mind not consumed with worry about her lady, she noticed that the people parted to let Jason pass, and soft words and softer looks trailed Belle until they left the room behind them. Her eyes never left Jason as he carried Belle the seemingly unending distance to their cabin. His steps never once faltered, and he took great pains to see the girl was never jostled. She had never been more grateful for him than at that moment, witnessing the tender care he took of her mistress.
She opened the cabin door for him and watched as he lay Belle down upon the cot. He was so gentle she never stirred as the switch was made from his arms to the bed. He stood back and allowed Mimi to attend to her, providing her with water from the pitcher left for them every morning. Belle woke up and smiled reassuringly at Mimi, then—thankfully—made no attempts to rise again. In mere moments, she was asleep again.
Mimi breathed a sigh of relief, as she saw Jason's words prove true. All Belle needed was a good night's rest, and she would be well. As she stretched from her attentions to her mistress, she realized the stiff neck that had been bothering her for hours was not going away. She rotated her head in hope of relieving the pain, but it did little to nothing. Then, she felt strong, soothing hands rest on her shoulders, and nimble fingers worked to smooth out the kinks. She should have pulled away, but the feeling was too sublime. She unwittingly relaxed into his touch.
Jason pushed her hair over her shoulders and concentrated his task on the soft, creamy skin of her neck. In his concern for Belle's more obvious distress, he had not noticed until now the toll the day had put on Mimi as well. He wished to show her she should be taken care of as completely as any lady in the world. He massaged all the stress and tension out of her, feeling her ease into him. He heard the small sigh that escaped her lips and smiled softly. "You should get some sleep too, Mimi. You must be even more exhausted than Lady Black, since you didn't get any rest last night either."
She pulled away abruptly, turning to face him. "Nice try, Jase, but there's something we have to settle first." At his blank look, she gave him a stern look. "You are going to tell me how it is you know that language, what those red marks on your skin are, and why that little girl upset you so much."
The pirate groaned, running a hand back through his hair. He supposed it would be too much to hope for that she would have forgotten about all that in the activity of the day. "Look, Mimi, it's not important. It all comes from my past, and the past should stay where it is."
Mimi laughed bitterly. "I've spent my whole life believing that, Jason. As soon as I got away from the docks, I put them away from me as though they had never been. Belle and her father, they have no idea who my mother was or what she did. I thought by not mentioning her, I could forget all about her. But it doesn't work like that. The things that happened to me as a child still affect who I am today. You know that better than anyone. You are the only person I've ever told about what happened. Now, I think it's time you did the same."
"You ask too much of me." He ran a hand down his face, exhaustion catching up to him as well. "I can't talk about it, Mimi. Let it be." He would have left then, if she hadn't stepped in front of the door.
"No," she argued fervently. "You are not leaving this room until you tell me. Tell me about Tanama, Jason."
A pain too deep for words crossed over Jason's face, before being wiped away as though it had never been. "You won't understand."
She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow, her defiant expression not changing. "Try me."
Defeated, Jason sank onto the closed chest for a seat. "You might as well sit down." He gestured to the chair he had left vacant. "This is going to take a while."
Mimi measured him for a moment, as if judging his sincerity. Finally, she nodded and sank into the chair, her eyes glued to his face. "I'm listening, Jase. Take all the time you need."
Jason's caustic laughter filled the room. There wasn't enough time in the world to prepare him for this. "Would it surprise you to learn I'm part Spanish?" The eye-widening shock that crossed over Mimi's face was answer enough. "My grandfather was a Don, Spain's representative to one of their more lucrative colonies on the Main. He amassed a great personal estate in the many years he spent here as well, and when he retired, he was able to buy a large plantation on an island off the Mainland. He married late in life. His wife was an Englishwoman, my grandmother. He was almost fifty years old by the time my mother was born.
"After a great deal of bickering over where to—or even if they should—send their daughter to school, Grandmother finally got her way, and my mother was shipped off to England to be educated. It was there she met my father, an ambitious fortune-hunter, who swept her off her feet and married her before she even wrote home to ask her parents' consent. Needless to say, my grandfather was not pleased. There was a break in the relationship which lasted several years. In the meantime, my parents stayed in England and had me.
"I was only a baby when they came to the West Indies—partly because my grandmother had written that my grandfather was dying, and partly because Father's debts were starting to mount up. They thought taking control of my grandfather's estate would be the start of a new life for them. It was. They set up a home on the plantation, and my earliest memories are of life there. My grandfather died when I was too young to remember, but Grandmother—younger than he by several years—lived with us.
"One thing I can say about the Spanish that I can't give to the English. They might torture and massacre people in the name of God, but when people convert, they show them at least the slightest signs of consideration. Laws have been passed forbidding the enslavement of Indian people who convert to Catholicism. Of course, that was only after they had almost decimated the population. Still, it should come as no surprise that there were mass conversions—though truthfully, the conversion was usually nothing more than nominal."
"I don't understand," Mimi interrupted. "If it's illegal to enslave the native people, why were they in that miserable ship?"
Jason shrugged. "Those would be the ones who didn't convert. They probably started a rebellion on their island. Once rebellions are started, Spanish retribution is swift and deadly." The dark look descended on his face again, and Mimi wished she was sitting near enough to him to take his hand and comfort him. He shrugged the mood off as quickly as it had come. "Anyway, the situation in our house was tense. After her initial infatuation, my mother had grown to loathe my father for tricking her into a marriage unworthy of her. They fought about everything, but especially my father's drinking and carousing with the slaves. They thought I didn't hear, but adults underestimate how much children understand of their surroundings." Mimi nodded. She knew that only too well. The fear of closets and tight, confined spaces had never quite left her.
"I hated when they fought, and I was bored most of the time besides, so I would sneak out as often as I could. No one ever worried about me much; I think I was more of a nuisance to my family than anything else. I would wander all over our plantation, getting into mischief, causing trouble. But usually, I would make my way to the last remaining Ara'guacu'—the Spanish and the English would say Arawak—settlement nearby. I was too little to understand then, but I was told later that some of the more rebellious men considered killing me, simply for the hurt it would cause the white men.
"What spared me was not my own appeal, so much as a little girl my own age named Maria. Her parents had given her the Spanish name in hopes it would spare her if she ever fell into white men's hands. Her father was the cacique, the chieftain of his village. Maria was the pride of his life. She was the sweetest child one could ever hope to meet. She found me wandering around the fields one day and brought me to her home by the hand, saying I needed a Mama to clean me up." He smiled wistfully, and Mimi could see him being pulled back into a happier time, before the darkness had come into his life.
"After that, I was rarely apart from her for most of my childhood. I followed her around, like some lost puppy dog she had taken pity on. She was something totally foreign to my life, a free spirit. She taught me the language and traditions of her people, and with time, they came to accept me. The women looked out for me as they did the rest of the children. I even went through the same coming of age rituals. The red and black paint you saw on my skin are markings for certain Ara'guacu' rituals." He chuckled. "I learned early on aboard the Vengeance that I could avoid a lot of long explanations simply by keeping my skin painted. Only an Ara'guacu' would know how to produce these exact symbols.
"Time went on. Children grow up. Yet Maria and I were still the best of friends. And then, one day it changed." His eyes glazed over, until Mimi was convinced he didn't even remember she was in the room. "I was fifteen when I looked at my best friend and discovered she was beautiful. Her eyes were the deepest, wisest of browns. Her skin was smooth and olive, and her voice carried all the joy of the world inside it. Even the way she moved was perfect; she seemed to float upon the wind, with her long, slender legs. I loved her, but it took almost another year for me to say anything.
"I wondered on occasion why she was not married. Women in her tribe often were at younger age than she was, yet she remained unclaimed, free to run and play in the fields with me. She told me later she went to her father weeping every time he considered marrying her off. The cacique could not find it in his heart to deny his daughter anything, and so she waited—for me. One morning, as we sat upon a hill and watched the sun come up over the horizon, she turned to me and said, her voice ringing as clear as any bell, 'Are you going to marry me, Jason?'"
He laughed again, his eyes glowing with the memory. "I, of course, only stammered and stumbled over my response, until she thankfully spared me the trouble and kissed me. It was like heaven had opened up before me. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her and her people. They had a love of life no white men I had ever seen could comprehend. My own family seemed to me by this time nothing more than shadowy one-dimensional figures in the background of my life.
"We went to her father first, of course, and he gave us his blessing. No doubt he thought his daughter would be safe from all the troubles of his people if she was married to me." The green eyes sparked again, this time with sorrow and rage. "We were married secretly by the village bohique—holy man—that day. I thought that would be enough. As far as I was concerned, I would willingly have never returned to my home and taken up residence with her people. But both Maria and her father insisted we receive my parents' blessing as well—and the binding legality a Roman Catholic marriage ceremony would bring.
"I delayed for a week, enjoying my honeymoon state with my new bride. We had never been so happy as in that week together, those few last hours…" His voice choked for a moment, before he cleared his throat and went on. "Finally, I had no choice but to bring Maria to meet them. I knew it was a horrible idea the moment she was introduced to them as my wife. My mother had a fit of hysterics and had to be led away. My father ranted and cursed and then began calling for his rum, his pistol, and his whip—in that order. But my grandmother—always the discerning head of the household—was the one who stated the position of the family, when she stated, in her cold, proper, English tones, 'I shall have no savage bitch bearing my great-grandchildren. Take her from here at once.'
"I couldn't have cared less how they reacted and was only too eager to wipe the dust of that place off my feet, but Maria…my poor Maria, who had never wronged a soul in her life, was brokenhearted over their rejection. I tried to comfort her as we began the walk home, holding her in my arms and wiping away the tears. I probably should have been more guarded, but I was used to my family not bothering about my life. I thought this would be no different. Yet we had not made it past the borders of the plantation before several of my father's hired hands came upon us. I tried to fight them off but was little more than a youth, unarmed and unaccustomed to fighting. They dragged her from me, screaming, and knocked me unconscious.
"When I awakened, I was in my room at the plantation house. My grandmother was waiting by my side, to set me straight on my duty to my family. I was expected to marry a nice English or Spanish lady, with a fortune and a pedigree. This 'entanglement' of my youth would be forgotten in time. I asked what they had done with Maria, and she simply said 'she is disposed of.' Disposed of! Like she was dead animal to be kicked to the curb. She then explained to me I would be heading for the continent with the next ship that came to port. I spat in her face.
"As soon as she left, I crept out the window and returned to Maria's father to tell him what had happened. He didn't blame me for not protecting her as he should have. He grieved for her though, as if she was dead—and we had no reason to believe she wasn't. His people clamored for an attack on the plantation, or in the absence of that, my own life for hers. I said they might take it; it had no value to me. But the cacique interceded on my behalf, calling me his son, and telling them they harmed me on pain of their own death. I didn't deserve his kindness. I know I didn't.
"I remained with them for days, grieving with Maria's parents. I knew I would have to leave soon though. It was only a matter of time before the wrath of the white men would fall on this village if I remained with them. But where was I to go? I would rather have slit my wrists than return to that house and obey my grandmother's wishes. Only the knowledge that the consequences of my suicide would be laid on the people kept me from ending my own life.
"My answer came to me in the return of a village fishing party. When they heard the news of Maria, they related the news that a slave ship had passed them leaving from port on the same day she was taken from me. It gave me hope—a miserable hope, but better than what I feared—and I determined to find some way to her if it took the rest of my life.
"I need not bore you with the details of the next few years. I used what little money I had to book passage on the first ship leaving for another island port. I knew slave ships always traveled towards the Mainland itself. The Spaniards might have some sympathy for the natives on the outlying islands, but on the Main, they had only one purpose: to mine. We had all heard horror stories of the treatment of natives in the Peruvian mines, and I was determined to spare Maria that fate. I was young and idealistic and still believed our love might be reclaimed.
"Over time, I worked as a sailor on various ships, learning fencing and fighting and anything I thought might be useful when the time came. I made my way to islands where I heard pirates had strong footholds: Tortuga and Jamaica. That's when I first met Br—Blackheart. We were both inexperienced, but eager. He was out to avenge some secret injury; I wanted to put myself in a place where I could find Maria.
"Following clues—hard to come by, but invaluable—I had at least a possibility that she had indeed been brought to a Peruvian mine. I even knew who the owner was. But no pirate captain would be foolish enough to stage an attack on the Main itself. But Blackheart and I had two advantages others did not have. He could speak Castilian better than the King of Spain himself, and I had friends among the native people. Rather than stage an actual assault on the city, we—with a few well-chosen comrades—made out way secretly there.
"While Blackheart and the others went after the hacienda, I went on to the mines. Killing the guards, I found many prisoners there needing no encouragement to join the battle. But I could not find my Maria, though I asked everywhere. After seeing that the mines had been entirely cleared, I had no choice but to believe my information had been mistaken, and she had been brought to a different mine. It had been three years since she had been taken from me, and I foresaw another several years of fruitless search before me.
"I returned to the hacienda to find havoc before me. It would be only minutes before the guarda would be alerted and upon us, and men and women alike were gathering all they could before disappearing into the jungle. I was looking for Blackheart when I stumbled across the overseer's cottage and heard the screams coming from within. That scream struck a chill into my heart such as I had not had since the day Maria was torn from me. I rushed in to find the Spanish overseer standing in front of a weeping, bloody figure on the floor, a gleaming machete in his hands.
"It took little enough to send him to his maker, and then I was free to look upon the woman huddling on the ground. She turned her face to me, and I saw with glee it was my Maria. I had her in my arms and was kissing her in moments. But she pulled away from me, still weeping. 'Tanama,' she cried, and I saw the reason she had huddled so closely. Concealed under her was the frightened figure of a little child, not much more than two years old. She raised her eyes to mine, and I saw reflected in them my own green eyes.
"I looked to Maria for answers, falling onto the wound in her back from which the blood came. She had been shielding the child when he came upon her. As I tried to stop the bleeding, tearing my own shirt to serve as a bandage, she told me her story. She had been sold to the mine owner. Once it was known she was pregnant, however, she was moved to work in the kitchens. It was there that the overseer first saw her. He wanted her for her beauty and would not be content with her denials. After our child was weaned—she named her Tanama in hopes that she, like the butterfly, could live free and unchained—the overseer took her into his house, refusing to let Maria see her unless she shared his bed. She had refused, staying true to our love. She was only able to sneak rare occasions to look upon our little girl. But when the news of our attack reached her, she rushed to take Tanama and flee. When the overseer caught her, he was ready to kill them both. My Maria sheltered the child with her own body. She died for love of her."
Jason's explanations came to an end, and Mimi looked at him with eyes welling over with tears of sympathy. "You couldn't save her then?"
He shook his head, too moved for words. "By the time Blackheart arrived to tell me we had to leave, death had already claimed her."
"And the little girl…?" Mimi prompted. "Tanama?"
"I took her with me, but by then, my heart was so full with a thirst for revenge that I could not content myself to be a father to her. Blackheart had taken enough money away from the raid to buy his own ship, and he wanted me aboard as first mate. So I returned to the island of my childhood and brought Tanama to stay with Maria's parents. It was my way to amend for the child they had lost, I suppose. I visited her once, but the second time I came…" The emotions which had been welling in him the entire story found release in a single tear he allowed to fall as he remembered the child with her mother's olive skin and his green eyes. "In retribution for a burned sugarcane field, my father had destroyed the last traces of the village. My daughter was among the dead."
Mimi's hand flew to her mouth as she comprehended the full extent of the horrors he had lived through. They made her own seem paltry indeed. "Oh, Jason…" Without another thought, she flew across the room and into his arms. He buried his face in her neck and listened to her whisper comforting words to him as he finally allowed himself to grieve for all he had lost. She buried her hands in the sandy hair and rained down kisses upon his brow, wishing she could take his pain away. She felt wretched now for making him relive such painful memories…and yet she felt an even deeper connection to him than before. They were joined by shared tragedy.
Gradually, his embrace around her tightened, his hands moving from her waist up along the lines of her back as he pulled his head back to look upon her. He saw the empathy in her eyes—eyes he had expected to be filled with proper English abhorrence for his misalliance with a native savage. But she held no such prejudices. She saw only the true love he had been robbed of, and she pitied him.
Mimi's hands caressed the sides of his face, seeing now why he had to remain so impenetrable in show. It was all he could do to keep the pain away. She wasn't afraid of him anymore. She wasn't afraid of the things she had been—that he was only out to use her, that he would desert her, that he would hurt her. Here was a man who knew how to love, and who she could love without fear.
Neither was quite sure who initiated the kiss that followed. Neither could understand exactly how it happened. One moment, their arms were wrapped around each other in grief, and the next in passion. The kisses she had placed upon his forehead as tokens of sympathy meant nothing compared to the sudden bliss of her surrendering her lips to his. With both desire and despair, love and confusion, they found their way to each other. He fed of her youth and innocence like nourishment to a starving man. And she gave herself to him, pouring out all the tenderness her heart could hold upon a man who had not only captured her fancy—he had touched her soul.
