Moonlight on the Caribbean
Chapter Twenty-Two
His kisses were intoxicating. He had never kissed her like this before, never touched her with such aching desire. Belle understood now how Mimi could have been so carried away in passion. She felt the same herself.
She was drowning in it.
Slowly, she and Shawn were moving towards the bed. Slowly, her stays were being loosened—without the help of another woman for the first time in her life. Clumsy, eager hands were caressing each other's bodies in this dance, new to both of them, but old as time itself. And then, after Belle had slipped far outside of herself, as she was moments away from baring body and soul to the man she loved, they heard it.
The distant roar of gunshot.
Passion was swept away in cold fear, and clothes were hastily thrown on to rush towards the noise and scene. Belle clutched tightly to Shawn's hand as he directed her downstairs. People were flooding out of the ballroom, towards the servants' quarters, and Shawn used his status as a naval commodore to push his way to the forefront of the tide. Belle hung close to his side, feeling jostled, afraid, and disoriented from the sudden change in her surroundings and condition.
Shawn ran ahead the last turn, and Belle screamed at the sight before her. Thick red blood pooled on the white marble floor of the Kiriakis mansion. It made a startling contrast to the darkness of Jan Spears' hair. For a moment, Belle froze. She saw before her again all the blood surrounding her father's body—blood she had felt on her skin—and was overcome with terror of another dead body, another murder.
Jan drew a rasping breath, as Shawn knelt down next to her.
Belle snapped out of her fog, rushing to the maid's other side, while nervous chatter began among the guests gathered round. She tore the precious white fabric of her wedding gown and put it to Jan's right shoulder, the source of the congealing mass of scarlet.
"Who did this?" Shawn asked, while Belle continued her silent ministrations.
"Her bitch of a maid," Jan groaned, glowering at Belle.
Belle's hands stopped their frantic motions. "Mimi?" she asked, stunned. "Not Mimi. No. Where is she?"
There was a disturbance in the crowd. Not Mimi, but the master of the house was forcing his way through. Belle looked up and saw Philip pale, his eyes fastened on Jan. For a moment, he looked ready to throw himself at Jan's feet, and then, just as quickly, his emotions were hidden away behind a mask of cool indifference. He turned to the crowd, and said, with smooth grace, "I'm so sorry for the disturbance, ladies and gentlemen. If you wouldn't mind returning to the parlors, we shall have this matter cleared up shortly."
He waved to several members of his staff, and they began herding guests away from the spectacle. A doctor stepped forward to offer his assistance, and soon only he and the two newlywed couples remained by the injured girl. Philip seemed desperate to be rid of Chloe as well, but she merely glared silently at him and would not be forced away.
"I want to know what happened here," Shawn demanded, with all that brusque authority his profession encouraged.
"It's quite simple, Commodore," Jan said. Her face was pale from loss of blood, her forehead dewy with sweat, but she was still conscious, still fighting off the pain. Belle recognized the symptoms of a survivor and knew long before the physician made his pronouncement that Jan would recover. "I was making my way to the servants' quarters when I came across Miriam Lockhart making plans to run away with that pirate from the Vengeance, Jason Masters."
"He was here?" Belle and Philip both spit out, though with highly different emotions.
"Yes, and they were speaking of finding that other pirate Blackheart, so he must be as well."
Belle's eyes rushed to Chloe, but the lady showed no surprise. Rather she was watching Jan with a mixture of distrust and loathing impossible to ignore.
"You hear that?" Philip shrieked, glaring at Shawn. "You let them go, and now, they've come back and shot my—my servant."
Shawn ignored him, his eyes never leaving Jan's face. "How were you shot, Miss Spears?"
"Well, naturally, I thought it only right that I warn Mimi about the consequences of running away with a pirate. But when I stepped out to speak to her, that vile pirate pointed a gun at me. I was too quick for him though and knocked it out of his hand. That's when Mimi grabbed it. She shot me, and they both took off running, that way." She gestured towards the conservatory and the back exit.
"You're a liar." Chloe calmly spoke the words that were screaming in Belle's heart.
Even through all the pain, Jan rose enough to level a filthy look on her mistress. "If we're going to start naming all the liars in this room, Mrs. Kiriakis," she spat the title, "I can think of several people who qualify, namely you."
Chloe flushed but did not back down. She took a step nearer the tableau on the floor and clenched her fists in the folds of her dress. "I've never claimed to be a pinnacle of purity, Jan, but you are lying. It's not even a good lie. If Jason and Mimi were going to run away together, they would hardly have left a living witness."
"What do you mean?" Shawn asked.
"I mean, that if Jason Masters and Miriam Lockhart had wanted this woman dead, she wouldn't be sitting here, telling tales on them now. She'd have been dead the moment the shot entered her body." There was steel in Chloe's voice, so much so that Belle shuddered. She sounded as though she knew what she was talking about, because she could picture herself committing such a crime—and Mimi as well.
"So are you suggesting I shot myself?" Jan asked, with both bitterness and derision.
"It's not a possibility I would rule out," Chloe returned evenly.
"Well, I'm afraid it's one I can." The physician spoke for the first time. He had been listening to them all in silence, as he cleaned and bandaged Jan's injury. "The bullet went cleanly through this woman's shoulder. The entry and exit wounds are placed so as to be impossible by a self-inflicted wound."
"You see?" Jan declared, lifting her head in haughty spitefulness. "Your words are nothing but the lies of a resentful woman."
"However," the doctor continued, as though she had not spoken, "I also have reason to believe the shot was fired at close range, with exceptionally bad aim. It would seem to me to be rather accidental, than a cool act of attempted murder." He shrugged. "That is only my opinion, of course."
"We don't have time to be sitting around discussing where the shot was fired from," Philip raged. "If you're going to catch those damn pirates, you've got to do it now, before they get to sea!"
Shawn raised his eyes to Philip for the first time. Belle was surprised to see such true hatred reflected in their normally loving brown depths. "And where would you have me begin looking? Wherever they came from, they're long gone by now."
"So close down the harbor! The ports! The roads! Anything, just keep them blockaded here, until the navy can move in."
"Most of the fleet is gone with Commodore Norrington in pursuit of Captain Sparrow," Shawn replied, with clipped directness. "The three vessels lying in Port Royal are in no way equipped for blockading a whole port."
Philip's face was practically purple with rage. "So you're just going to let them slip through your fingers once again?"
Shawn cocked his head to the side, his look of innocence pure challenge to the other man. "Unless you have any clue as to where they might be hiding. Tell me, Philip, was Captain Blackheart on your invitation list?"
Belle thought she detected something rather odd in Shawn's tone, as though he actually believed what he was saying but was disguising it in the form of a taunt. Could he actually know where Blackheart was hiding himself? Could he…was he protecting the pirate? For the first time, she gave serious consideration to Blackheart's escape aboard the Miranda. Shawn had admitted having the only key to the brig. He had been acting strangely all night, the way he talked with Chloe, the way he drew her aside.
Belle's eyes widened with sudden understanding as she glanced from friend to husband. That was it! That was the missing connection! Shawn and Chloe had worked together to help the pirates to freedom. She knew Chloe's motive; it had been love. But what about Shawn? What could prompt her wonderful, upstanding, law-abiding husband to give aid to a known criminal and murderer?
She tried to keep her face expressionless. It seemed everyone around her—Philip, Jan, Chloe, even Shawn—was schooled in the art of masking their true thoughts and natures. Belle wasn't, had never been made to disguise what she felt or thought at any given moment. She couldn't hide what she was thinking, so she tried to hide her face instead. She kept her eyes on the ground, on that horrible, blood-stained ground and didn't face any of them while they continued to fight, argue and scream at each other.
It wasn't until she felt Shawn's hand at her elbow that she realized the discussion was over and a decision had been reached. "Come along, Mrs. Brady," he murmured softly in her ear, as he began to lead her back towards their bedroom.
Glancing over her shoulder, Belle watched as Philip lifted Jan in his arms and carried her down one of the long passageways, perhaps to her room, with the physician following. Chloe watched them depart, pure malice in her eyes; then she flung on her heel and ran the opposite direction. Belle turned back to Shawn, his purposely bland expression, and demanded answers.
"What is going on here, Shawn? I don't understand. Why are you protecting them?"
"Not yet, Belle," he returned, his teeth clenched tightly.
"Not yet?" Belle repeated, hating the almost hysterical twinge to her voice. She, who strove to be so calm and collected at all times, sounded moments away from a breakdown. "Not yet? Then when, Shawn? Everybody knows what's going on except for me. My father was murdered! My maid is now suspected of trying to murder someone else! I'm the last person in the world, apparently, who doesn't know what's going on here. Please, Shawn, tell me."
Shawn was silent for another moment as they continued down the hall. Then, he nodded once. "You're right. You deserve to know. Come on." He gave Belle's hand a small yank and rushed with her up the stairs and back into the safety of their bedroom. Only once they were locked inside it did Shawn let go of her and meet her questioning, almost accusatory gaze.
"Sit down," he ordered.
Belle's blue eyes flashed annoyance. "I don't want to sit down, Shawn. I want to know what you're all hiding from me."
"And you will," Shawn said, his tone slightly softened. "But you're going to want to be sitting when I explain it all to you."
Part of Belle still felt rebellious and petulant enough to stay standing, but she knew she would receive the information she craved faster if she complied. She sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. "All right. I'm sitting. Tell me what's going on, Shawn."
Shawn did not speak immediately. He began pacing up and down the room, running his hands through his dark hair. "I'm breaking a vow to a dear friend when I tell you this, Belle, and nothing would convince me to, except that I think it was wrong to promise in the first place. You should know. If anyone has a right to know, it's you."
"Get on with it then," Belle almost snapped. Her curiosity was running high.
He stopped his pacing and knelt before her, his hands reaching out to cradle hers. "Belle, a long time ago, when I first came to the Caribbean, my life was saved from an accident at sea. The ship that saved me…the man that saved me was Captain Blackheart."
Belle's eyes widened in understanding. "And that's why you helped him escape. You were repaying a debt," she surmised.
Shawn shook his head. "No, Belle, no, that doesn't begin to cover it. Blackheart and I became friends. We shared similar…opinions on the Spanish influence on the Main, and on the British colonial one as well. Belle, darling, I've been passing him information on the naval movements in the West Indies for years."
Belle yanked her hands out of his reach. Her whole frame shook. "No," she whispered. "You, Shawn? A traitor? No! Tell me it's not true. Tell me!"
"Belle…"
She could see it in his eyes, the honesty, the pleading for forgiveness. Strangely, she did not see guilt. He didn't regret what he had done.
"How could you, Shawn?"
"I'm not trying to explain myself, Belle. If you don't understand why, after all you've seen at sea and at this plantation, you never will. I did what I thought was right—what I still think is right—and I won't regret it, though it could be my death. But that's not what I need to explain to you. You can either accept me as I am or not at all. But there is another man you must come to terms with, no matter what."
Belle's brow creased. Another man? There were no other men in her life. Her father was dead; Shawn was all she had left. And she knew, despite his revelation to her, that she trusted him, had complete faith in his honor. If he thought what he had done was for the best, it was. She was trying to think of the words to tell him so, when his further speech made everything else fly out of her head.
"Your brother, Belle."
"My brother?" she repeated incredulously. "Eric? He's back in England; we've never been close, I know, but I would hardly say I need to come to terms with him."
"Not Eric," Shawn insisted. "Your other brother: Brady."
Belle merely stared at him. Brady? Brady was dead. He had died before she was ever born, in a shipwreck. Brady, who her father had loved with a joy unmarred by the sorrow of lost children before. Brady, who he spoke of with the laughing eyes and sun-kissed hair. Her father said she had Brady's eyes…Brady's eyes, blue and crystal clear…
Eyes she had seen and known and trusted for no conscious reason…Eyes that she had looked upon when she awakened from her fever-induced sleep and thought her father stared back at her.
"Oh God," she muttered, her hand rising to the white line of her throat. "Brady…he's the captain, isn't he? That's why you let him get away. You knew…you knew he was my brother."
Shawn nodded miserably. "I wanted to tell you. Honestly, Belle, I did, but he made me promise not to. He thought it would only hurt you if you knew."
"Hurt me?" Once again, Belle heard that trembling edge of madness in her voice. She jumped off the bed, her hands clawing through her dress, her face, her hair. "Hurt me? When have I ever done anything but hurt? When I watched my parents so coldly indifferent to each other over every mealtime? When I saw my mother lavish all her attention on her other children? When my father retreated into his study to brood over his long-lost love and his perfect Brady? Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw it. I saw what they saw: the second-best, the consolation prize. And you think I don't know what it is to hurt? I saw my father's dead body, Shawn! I stepped in his blood! Tell me, do you think that didn't hurt me?
"But I'm not the defenseless little child everyone thinks I am. I have survived neglect. I have survived illness. I have survived death. I have been to the poorhouses and the slave huts, and I am not weak, and I am not afraid, and I am so damn sick and tired of being told what I can handle and what I can't, and what's best for me, and where I should go, and what I should do. I am not Chloe. I don't want to rebel against everything I've ever been taught. I believe in what I learned at church and at my mother's knee, but I believe it because I choose to believe it, not because I'm too simple-minded to question.
"You tell me that my fiancé and my brother together decided to keep something from me that was bound to have a direct impact on my life, and you did it because it would hurt me?"
When she finally looked at Shawn again, he was staring at her as though he had never seen her before. "Belle, I'm sorry. We love you. We thought we were doing what was right for you," he pleaded in soft tones.
At that moment, something inside of Belle snapped. She ceased her wild motions and stared directly into the eyes of a man who only moments before had been her entire world. "Leave, Shawn."
His mouth gaped open. "Wh-what?"
"I said leave, Shawn," she repeated in the same cold tones.
"Belle, I don't understand." His confused face pleaded with her.
Belle's smile was sad, nearly heartbroken, but too cold. "I know you don't. That's why you need to leave. You don't understand me, and you never have. None of you ever have. Well, maybe Mimi, but she's not gone now. And you're not staying. Leave, Shawn."
"Would you stop saying that?" Shawn snapped. Then, regaining some form of calm, he continued, "Belle, we were married this morning. You swore before God to love me for the rest of your life. Are you saying that you lied?"
"No, Shawn, I didn't lie." There was no change in her nearly frigid state. "I love you, but I cannot be with someone who thinks that it's their job to decide what is best for me without even consulting my wishes. I won't be controlled that way, not by husband or brother. I don't need a list of reasons or justifications. What I need is for one person—just one—to be completely honest with me. I can't remember the last time that happened."
Belle turned from Shawn and slumped into a chair by the window. She felt more than cold now; she felt tired to her very bones. This was not supposed to be how her wedding day ended, but given the state of her life, she could hardly find that surprising. She heard Shawn rise but didn't turn towards him, not even when she heard him creak open the door and silently exit without another word.
~~*~~
Brady dug his heels into the mare, spurring the horse to go even faster. He had to find Jason and Mimi, before anyone else did.
No one had noticed him as he listened to the conversation surrounding Jan Spears. It was all he could do to keep himself from shooting her himself for all she had done. His father's murderer had sat there bleeding while his sister tended her wounds. Life was incredibly ironic. The pirate had slipped away as soon as it became clear Shawn would not be sending out the navy in search of them. He didn't think he'd ever valued his friend as much as tonight.
Brady galloped down the dirt path to the Alamain great house, praying all the while that Jason and his girl would still be there. He jumped from the horse and tore into the house, screaming for his first mate.
"Calm down, Brady," said Jason smoothly, stepping from the shadows. "We're right here."
Brady whirled around to face him. Jason looked as impassive as ever and definitely unhurt. He was grasping tightly to Mimi Lockhart's hand though, and she looked paler than he had ever seen her. "What happened?" he demanded.
Briefly, Jason filled him in on all the news he had been able to extract from Mimi since meeting her earlier this evening. How Mimi had overheard Jan confess to the murder of Lord Black, how she had discovered that she and Philip were lovers and spies. He finished the story with a relation of Jan's coming upon them, the struggle for the gun, during which Mimi fired the accidental shot which injured Jan.
At this point, Mimi broke in. "How is she? Do you know? Will she be all right?"
Her pity or guilt—whichever it was—was lost upon Brady. "She's fine at the moment, but she won't be when I get my hands on her. First, however, I have a score to settle with Philip Kiriakis." He whirled back towards the exit, murder in his eyes, intent on dispatching the two people responsible for his father's death.
Jason's hand closed round his arm like a band of steel. "No, Brady. Not like this. You have to think this through logically. What good will it do to kill your father's murderers if you get yourself hanged in the process? You may think you want vengeance, but really, you want justice more."
Brady used all his strength to free himself from his friend's grasp. "If you think I'm going to let them live, then—"
"I never said anything of the sort," Jason interrupted smoothly. "But going out in a blaze of glory doesn't fit the plans I have for my life." Jason's arm wrapped securely round Mimi's waist.
"No one's asking you to do anything," Brady argued, through clenched teeth. "Go. Take Mimi on the Vengeance and sail away, but this is something I have to do, Jason. I'll never be able to live with myself if I don't."
"You won't live at all, if you do. What you need, what we all need, is a plan."
Brady spread his hands wide. "I don't see a lot of options left for us, Jason. Shawn can delay the navy for only so long, before they come after us. You and Mimi need to be long gone by then."
Jason raised an eyebrow, arrogant smirk firmly in play. "You underestimate me, my friend. I already have a solution to all our troubles. All you have to do is shut up and listen."
Brady hesitated for a moment. He was still burning with the desire for revenge. He wanted to rush out of the house right now and strike Philip and Jan down with one blow of his sword. On the other hand, Jason's plans had never gone wrong yet. He sighed in temporary defeat. "All right. I'm listening."
~~*~~
Chloe closed the door to her bedroom and leaned tiredly against it. The world was going insane around her. She felt like she had lost her footing. Hundreds of thoughts tumbled around inside her brain, making it impossible to focus on anything. She had seen Brady. Mimi had shot Jan…possibly. Mimi was missing, definitely. She had married Philip.
Why the hell had she married Philip?
She raised her hands to her hair, digging deep inside the curls, as though she could reach inside her brain and unravel the mess it had become. She had to settle for the almost satisfying noise of her hairpins landing on the floor, as her thick locks came loose from their imprisonment.
"Oh God, oh God, what have I done?" she murmured over and over again, as she stumbled towards her bed.
Her bed that any moment could be occupied by Philip Kiriakis. Her husband. The man who had full legal right to her body, even if he did not have her heart.
"No!" she cried and turned away from such a fate, walking towards the balcony window instead. She peered over. It was only the second story; there was grass beneath. Perhaps she could make a jump for it, and go…where? She didn't know where Brady was…or Mimi…or Jason. She didn't even know if they would accept her, after what she had done.
Besides, the fall wouldn't be good for the baby.
Yes, the baby. She had to think of her baby. It was all that mattered now.
Almost numb, Chloe turned away from her brief thoughts of escape. She glanced around the room and caught her reflection in the vanity mirror. A pale, unsmiling woman in a white dress, with wild, streaming hair stared back at her. A mockery of a bride.
And quite without meaning to, without any conscious thought or decision, Chloe was tearing at that damned white dress. She tore the sleeves off at the seams, ripped at buttons and lace, took sadistic glee in seeing all that beauty come undone. She let out a cry, almost feral in its abandon. She was losing her mind. She knew it. But it seemed the only thing that would grant her peace in this wretched hell that had become her life. She welcomed the insanity. She wanted it.
"Am I interrupting something?"
Chloe froze, breathing hard, and turned in the direction of the voice. Brady stood framed in the balcony, watching her with an inscrutable expression on his face. Gone was the elegant dress of the plantation gentleman from the ball. He was dressed all in black—for stealth. She had not even heard him enter.
"Brady," she whispered, the only word that made sense as she retreated from the dreadful precipice of madness.
His eyes flickered with some emotion quickly concealed behind the mask of indifference. "It seems a shame for a bride to be tearing her own clothes off on her wedding night, wouldn't you say, Mrs. Kiriakis?" he drawled. But there was more than a hint of malice behind the mocking words.
Chloe's eyes widened as a sudden thought struck her. "Brady, if Philip comes—"
"If Philip comes, I will kill him," Brady interrupted; his voice was cool and full of deadly promise. "But Philip won't come. He won't leave Jan's side all night. You can rest assured of that."
"Jan?" Chloe echoed stupidly. "Jan and Philip?" Comprehension struck, but it brought no emotion with it but minor surprise. "No wonder she hates me so."
"Oh no, Chloe, she more than hates you. She'll kill you, if you stay here. Which is why you're coming with us."
Hope fluttered through Chloe's heart, overcoming any minor dread she might have had of Jan. Brady was taking her away with him. Perhaps it wasn't all as hopeless as it seemed. "All right. How quickly should we leave?"
Again, an unnamable emotion flashed across Brady's face before being carefully concealed. His eyes flickered over her bedraggled state. "Well, you should probably change that dress before we go. And, if you'd be so kind as to get me paper and quill, I have a letter to write."
~~*~~
It was eleven o'clock the next morning before Belle grew tired of waiting for Chloe to make her appearance downstairs. Shawn had left early that morning to begin the search for Jason Masters, Captain Blackheart, and Mimi Lockhart without a word for her, and Philip continued to keep watch over Jan's sickbed.
Out of humor with everyone and everything around her, the new Mrs. Brady climbed the stairs and knocked demandingly on her friend's door. There was no answer.
"Chloe?" she called. Still nothing.
With a feeling of dread, Belle pushed open the door. The room was pristine, except for the hairpins littered across the floor, and the ripped wedding dress in a pool in the middle of the floor. The bed had not been slept in.
And on the bed lay a ransom note written and signed by the infamous Captain Blackheart.
~~*~~
It was dark, and Mimi was tired when they had arrived in Port Royal the night before. That was the only excuse she could think of for not having noticed before that the blacksmith who had given them shelter for the night was the most gorgeous man who ever breathed.
She watched him now as he talked in hushed voices with Brady and Jason. His dark hair was held back in a leather thong, and his eyes were deep, rich, unbelievably fine chocolate. Even the way he moved was beautiful, full of grace and subdued power. And his voice…she found herself listing to their conversation just to hear that smooth, cultured sound.
In the hour she had spent discreetly ogling him, Mimi had come to one conclusion; William Turner's wife was a very lucky woman.
Not that Mimi would trade places with her. She loved Jason, possibly now more than ever, and it seemed they might actually be able to have their life together…if Jason's plan went off the way he wanted it too. Mimi had every faith in him.
"But are you sure they'll go to sea?" Will was saying, drawing Mimi's attention back to the group of men. "It seems to me that leaving a message demanding satisfaction and giving coordinates is a risky plan. What if they set a trap for you?"
"That's why we're hiding out here for a few days," Jason explained. "We can see how many ships leave port, and with your help, discover who's aboard them."
"Luckily, Jack's managed to get most of the fleet after him, or you'd never pull this off," Will observed.
Brady laughed. "Luck had nothing to do with it. We struck a bargain with your friend Sparrow."
Will's expressive eyes widened in shock. "And he stuck to it?"
"He didn't really have much to lose. It's a clean capture for him, lots of treasure, not much risk. You know he can outrun, outfight, and outfox the blighter Norrington any day of the week."
"Miss Lockhart?" a soft, feminine voice pulled Mimi's gaze reluctantly away from the blacksmith. She blushed guiltily under the straightforward stare of Elizabeth Turner. "I don't mean to intrude, but your friend has lingered upstairs for quite a long time. Is she all right?"
All random thoughts of gorgeous men flew out of Mimi's head as she gazed at the rafter above her head, with honest concern for Chloe. "No," she sighed. "She's not. I should speak with her."
"May I ask—if it wouldn't be impertinent—what is it that troubles her?"
The young, lovely Mrs. Turner had an air of sweetness over steel that Mimi liked and identified with. She was a strong woman; Mimi had never had much patience for weak ones. "Well, in twenty-four hours, she's gotten married, found out her new husband wanted to kill her, and been carried off by a pirate," Mimi evaded. She didn't feel it was her right to tell what she truly thought was hanging over her friend's head.
"I see. But haven't you all known Blackheart and Jason for a while now?"
Mimi laughed. "You could say that. This isn't the first time we've been carried off by them…though this time, I confess, it was rather willingly."
Elizabeth smiled, and there was such a wonderful fire in her brown eyes that Mimi instantly saw how a man like Will Turner could have been captivated by her. "Yes, the appeal of pirates is not to be denied," she told Mimi in a confidential tone. "But I wonder if your friend shares our opinion."
"Oh Chloe," Mimi murmured before she could stop herself. There was something so open in Elizabeth's manner; it made her feel like she could trust and confide in her. "She adores pirates…or, I should say, one pirate in particular." Her eyes drifted pointedly to Blackheart at the table with the other two men.
"But she married Philip Kiriakis. I see." And something in the other woman's tone made Mimi suspect that she saw very well indeed.
~~*~~
Chloe didn't feel like she would ever be able to face the world again. Since rejoining Jason and Mimi on the road to Port Royal, Brady had not spoken a single word to her. Not even looked at her. It was as though she was invisible to him. She had barely spoken to the young couple who lived in the house behind the blacksmith's shop and opened their doors to Jason and Brady last night with no questions asked.
For some reason, Chloe felt almost unworthy to talk to them, in all their simple happiness and quiet comfort. These were common people, who led common lives untouched by the kind of scandal that seemed destined to follow hers. Another part of her resented that happiness and love she saw so clearly between them. What right did some people have to be happy when others were so miserable?
A knock on the door roused her from her bitter reverie. Thinking it was Mimi, Chloe called out, "Come in," without bothering to rise.
The thin, stately Mrs. Turner swept into the room, a baby cradled in her arms. "I hope you don't mind if I nurse him in here," she said, inclining her head to the rocking chair in the corner as an excuse.
"By all means." Chloe blushed and quickly rose to leave.
"No, no, stay," she insisted, gesturing for Chloe to sit, while she took her own seat.
Awkward and embarrassed, Chloe obeyed and tried to avert her eyes while the other woman adjusted the buttons on her shirtwaist and settled her child. Chloe had never been so closely exposed to the act of motherhood before. Such things were not even talked about in the kind of circles she moved in, especially not to young girls. Mothers in the aristocracy, and even most in the middle-class, didn't nurse their own children. It was not considered fitting.
"My father is the governor, you know," Elizabeth said suddenly, shattering in an instant all of Chloe's preconceived notions about her.
She whirled around, open-mouthed. Elizabeth sat calmly rocking with her child to her breast, a small blanket thrown across her shoulder to modestly hide herself. The endearingly gentle sounds of the baby suckling reached Chloe's ears.
Elizabeth laughed. "I knew what you were thinking, and I thought we'd better get all those kind of prejudices out of the way at once. How far along are you?"
Chloe, who had just barely managed to find some degree of composure, gaped at her again. "How…how do you know?"
"You mean, do you show? No, you don't. Not yet. But when a woman marries a man she doesn't love, there's usually a very good reason at the bottom of it. And as the man you love doesn't seem to be in any kind of danger you could help by marrying someone else, I chose the next logical conclusion."
Chloe struggled for words. She didn't think she had ever met anyone so absolutely outspoken as this woman. Even she had never dared to be as…brazen as Elizabeth Turner. Yet she couldn't help feeling drawn to her. There was something disarming about her forthrightness. "Mimi's been talking to you," she returned with equal frankness.
"Well, I've been talking to Mimi. It was better than having her stare at my husband." Elizabeth smiled impishly, showing no jealousy and only pride in her husband's gorgeous looks. "And yes, you did come up in the discussion. And I realized I might have some things to say to you which you might need to hear."
"Really? What about?"
"About loving a pirate," Elizabeth answered, with nonchalant grace.
Chloe started. This woman seemed intent on keeping her off-balance. "But your husband is a blacksmith!"
Elizabeth smiled again, her eyes crinkling. "Is he indeed? And I suppose that blonde man down there is Victor Alamain, plantation owner, is he?"
"So it's a cover for him then?" Chloe surmised.
"Yes and no," Elizabeth said slowly, thoughtfully. "My husband is many things, none of which will ever be understood by anyone except me…and perhaps one other." Her lips twitched on the verge of another smile. "But I'm sure you can understand that. I have never understood Captain Blackheart, personally, but I imagine you do."
"I thought I did," Chloe muttered.
"You married another man. Did you expect him to greet you with open arms?"
"I don't know what I expected. Not this though."
"It's because you were afraid," Elizabeth pronounced. "You were afraid, and you took what you thought was the easy way out, and it turns out it's not. But don't despair. Your life isn't over yet." Elizabeth gently shifted her sleeping child, and this time, Chloe watched. Her hand traveled to her belly and rested there lovingly for the first time.
~~*~~
Jason looked up as Will Turner stepped through the open door and threw his hat and cloak down. "Well?" he asked eagerly.
"The Miranda has set sail," Will announced, "with a passenger list that includes Philip Kiriakis, Jan Spears, and the new Mrs. Brady. The other naval vessels remain in port."
Brady smiled then, with cold determination. "We set sail with the tide. The Vengeance will overtake her by tomorrow afternoon."
"And then what?"
The three men glanced to the stairs, where Chloe had made her appearance, Elizabeth trailing behind her. Heavy silence hung in the air for a moment while Chloe and Brady faced each other. No one else felt it their place to answer that question.
Finally, Brady spoke, the words dripping like poison from his mouth. "Then you become a widow, Mrs. Kiriakis."
"You intend to sink the ship with your sister on it?" Mimi cried, astonished.
"Of course not," Brady snapped.
"Then, how—"
"Mimi," Jason said sharply. When she looked over at him, he shook his head. "Trust us, all right?"
"So shall we go now?" Chloe asked, apparently undisturbed by Brady's threat.
"Not quite yet," Jason answered, drawing surprised glances from all. "There's something Mimi and I have to do first, and if you all would be so kind as to accompany us to church I believe our wedding can be accomplished long before the tide."
His measured announcement had the desired effect. For a moment, Mimi stood stock still, only her shocked green eyes showing she had heard his words; then she flung herself into his arms, squealing and kissing him soundly. Will and Elizabeth shared a smile, while Brady and Chloe looked anywhere but at each other.
As the two naval commodores stationed in Jamaica were both at sea, none of them were all that concerned with being seen in public. In a proper ceremony, the banns were supposed to be published for three weeks before the wedding. In Port Royal, a bit of gold fudged the formality, and Jason Masters and Miriam Lockhart were married in the sight of God that day before four witnesses.
