Usual disclaimers. blah!
Why is little childrens television so mind-numbing?
***
By the following morning Oran had managed to get his problems out of his system. If it helped their cover story for him to watch her fondly it was not deliberate. He smiled as he helped her into her dress, resting his hands on her hips after tying her laces. "Thank you Kitty, for understanding."
Catherine turned to face him, his hands still resting on her hips. "It's okay Oran," she smiled. "No need for apologies - savvy?"
He nodded ruefully, kissing her on the top of her head. "Thanks anyway - and watch the savvys!"
"Suppose we'd better go and see what the day has in store." She slipped from his grasp, heading towards the door.
Oran put his hand on her shoulder. "Kitty, wait!" He studied her face carefully. "Will you be okay with Lact?"
Biting her lip she nodded. "We must find out more though! We've been here nearly three months now and still don't know where he is!" For a moment he thought she would cry again, but she took a deep breath, shuddering. "We will find him Oran and then we will blast the Swallow to matchsticks!"
***
The crew of the Swallow spent much of the day in the bar, even when it was not officially open. Oran and Catherine found themselves serving ale and cooking for most of the day but this gave them many opportunities for listening. Catherine tried to avoid Arnaud Lucon though, his scared face giving her the creeps as she more than once caught him watching her.
It was, however, Paul Fécamp that provided them with what they needed as he incessantly chatted whilst preparing the evening meal in the small kitchen.
"Yes Catherine, the crew of the Swallow always stay here when they are in port. Jean Claude's father and mine were close friends and grew up together."
"Mmmnn," she murmured pretending to concentrate on the carrots. "Where about?"
"In France, before they moved across to America. Olivier Lact moved up river to open a coal mine near Fort Assumption, but my father stayed in New Orleans." He smiled. "I think I got the better deal - it is warmer here!" He raised his hands skywards in benediction. "Merci Papa! And none of those savages! Horrid things little better than animals! The English incite them to attack us as they are too cowardly to do so themselves."
Catherine smiled, realising he had forgotten that she was English herself.
"Ah, no!" Reaching for a jar of seasoning, Paul Fécamp realised it was empty. "Catherine, I need more nutmeg! Can you run to the merchant before he closes?"
Being used to running his chores she took the offered money, dashing off through the darkening city, unaware that other eyes watched her departure.
***
Arnaud Lucon slipped quietly from the bar. Nobody noticed his departure and if they had would not have cared. He followed Catherine from a distance, watching as she purchased nutmeg from a spice merchant. Backtracking, he found a quiet spot perfect for his plan - he'd get his revenge and teach her a thing or two.
He pounced as she walked past his hiding spot, dragging her backwards into the darkness, his hand over her mouth.
"Wha." Catherine fought, fought like fury - kicking, biting, scratching, but he pressed her against the wall, his free hand tightening around her neck. Her eyes bulged as she desperately tried to breathe.
"Not so tough now, eh English bitch!" he snarled, slamming her face first against the wall.
Her knees buckled and she fell, gasping desperately for air as she tried to focus. She could feel the blood trickling down her face, left eye closing as he threw her fully to the ground, lifting her skirts.
"No!" Catherine begged desperately. "S'il vous plaît non."
***
"Damn it Oran - is Catherine not back yet?" Paul Fécamp frowned. "She left an hour ago. I need that nutmeg."
Oran paled, knowing it was only a ten minute walk to the spice merchant. "I'll go look!" He dashed out the door, nearly bowling over Arnaud on his return. He smirked, causing Oran to quicken his pace, running to the spice merchant - but he was shut. Knowing the route Catherine would have taken, he carefully retraced his route, looking for anything out of place.
He stopped, his foot stepping in something wet. Glancing down he was shocked to see it was blood! His eyes followed the trail to a pile of overturned crates. "Kitty!" Frantically he threw the crates aside to reveal her crumpled, broken form. He felt for a pulse, relieved to find one. "Kitty?" Wrapping one of her petticoats around her to try to stop the bleeding, he tenderly picked her up, keeping to the shadows to avoid unwanted attention.
He backed his way through the door of Le Coq, the crew of the Swallow falling silent when they saw his wife.
"Catherine!" Paul Fécamp gasped, dashing over in horror. "Oran, what happened?"
Blood dripped on the floor as he walked towards the table where Arnaud was sitting, ignoring Fécamp. His suspicions were confirmed by the scratches on his hands. "By every law in any land." he hissed, "you are dead!"
"Arnaud?" Jean Claude rose, walking forward to stand next to Paul, nodding to the two pirates that sat next to him.
"He raped and nearly killed my wife." Oran snarled, "And by God I'll see him dead!"
Jean Claude Lact looked closely at his crewman, taking in his expression and noting the scratches on his hands as well. He drew his pistol.
"Captain?" Arnaud gasped. "Captain, are you going to believe this. this filthy lie?"
Sighing heavily, Lact took aim.
"No!" Oran shouted. "He is mine!"
Jean Claude Lact nodded to the two crewmen sitting on either side. "Dump him in the brig - we'll deal with him later!" He turned to Oran. "My apologies Monsieur, it will not happen again."
Oran did not answer him. "Paul, I need clean sheets and boiling water. and some rum!"
Praying that his instructions would be obeyed, he carried her gently to their room, cutting the front of her dress away to see the stab wound. Low on her side, the blood still dripped sluggishly but the blade seemed to have missed any vital organs or blood vessels. Paul Fécamp burst into the room carrying a clean sheet and a bottle of rum, Jean Claude Lact following with a bucket of hot water.
"It is clean," Paul offered, "Catherine washed all the bedding the other day." He put the rum on the small table.
Oran sensed Lact looking around the room. "Please, both of you, leave us!"
"I have some skill with stab wounds." Jean Claude offered.
"So do I," Oran countered. "Now go!" They left and he bolted the door firmly behind them before turning back to Catherine. Carefully he unlaced her shift before tenderly washing away the blood, relieved to see that it had nearly stopped. Despite his feelings, now was not the time for modesty. Easing her from her dress and shift he washed the cut with rum, binding the wound tightly. He wrapped his spare shirt around her as she had no other clothes and so that her tattoo would not show if anyone walked in. Her eyes fluttered open as he lifted her gently to do so.
"Kitty!" he gasped in relief. He could see she was trying to talk. "No, it is alright - you're safe! Sshhh! It's alright!"
Catherine shook her head and continued trying to talk. Despite what had happened she was determined that he should know what had been discovered. Seeing she would not give up, he dribbled some water into her mouth. "Fort Assumption," she croaked, her throat bruised and swollen. "Coal mine."
Oran cradled her in his arms. "Rest Kitty - we can talk about that when you are better. Ssshhh! Rest." She smiled weakly, shutting her eyes as he continued to hold her. He only relaxed when he saw her sleeping. "I'm sorry Kitty," he whispered. "I failed you."
Why is little childrens television so mind-numbing?
***
By the following morning Oran had managed to get his problems out of his system. If it helped their cover story for him to watch her fondly it was not deliberate. He smiled as he helped her into her dress, resting his hands on her hips after tying her laces. "Thank you Kitty, for understanding."
Catherine turned to face him, his hands still resting on her hips. "It's okay Oran," she smiled. "No need for apologies - savvy?"
He nodded ruefully, kissing her on the top of her head. "Thanks anyway - and watch the savvys!"
"Suppose we'd better go and see what the day has in store." She slipped from his grasp, heading towards the door.
Oran put his hand on her shoulder. "Kitty, wait!" He studied her face carefully. "Will you be okay with Lact?"
Biting her lip she nodded. "We must find out more though! We've been here nearly three months now and still don't know where he is!" For a moment he thought she would cry again, but she took a deep breath, shuddering. "We will find him Oran and then we will blast the Swallow to matchsticks!"
***
The crew of the Swallow spent much of the day in the bar, even when it was not officially open. Oran and Catherine found themselves serving ale and cooking for most of the day but this gave them many opportunities for listening. Catherine tried to avoid Arnaud Lucon though, his scared face giving her the creeps as she more than once caught him watching her.
It was, however, Paul Fécamp that provided them with what they needed as he incessantly chatted whilst preparing the evening meal in the small kitchen.
"Yes Catherine, the crew of the Swallow always stay here when they are in port. Jean Claude's father and mine were close friends and grew up together."
"Mmmnn," she murmured pretending to concentrate on the carrots. "Where about?"
"In France, before they moved across to America. Olivier Lact moved up river to open a coal mine near Fort Assumption, but my father stayed in New Orleans." He smiled. "I think I got the better deal - it is warmer here!" He raised his hands skywards in benediction. "Merci Papa! And none of those savages! Horrid things little better than animals! The English incite them to attack us as they are too cowardly to do so themselves."
Catherine smiled, realising he had forgotten that she was English herself.
"Ah, no!" Reaching for a jar of seasoning, Paul Fécamp realised it was empty. "Catherine, I need more nutmeg! Can you run to the merchant before he closes?"
Being used to running his chores she took the offered money, dashing off through the darkening city, unaware that other eyes watched her departure.
***
Arnaud Lucon slipped quietly from the bar. Nobody noticed his departure and if they had would not have cared. He followed Catherine from a distance, watching as she purchased nutmeg from a spice merchant. Backtracking, he found a quiet spot perfect for his plan - he'd get his revenge and teach her a thing or two.
He pounced as she walked past his hiding spot, dragging her backwards into the darkness, his hand over her mouth.
"Wha." Catherine fought, fought like fury - kicking, biting, scratching, but he pressed her against the wall, his free hand tightening around her neck. Her eyes bulged as she desperately tried to breathe.
"Not so tough now, eh English bitch!" he snarled, slamming her face first against the wall.
Her knees buckled and she fell, gasping desperately for air as she tried to focus. She could feel the blood trickling down her face, left eye closing as he threw her fully to the ground, lifting her skirts.
"No!" Catherine begged desperately. "S'il vous plaît non."
***
"Damn it Oran - is Catherine not back yet?" Paul Fécamp frowned. "She left an hour ago. I need that nutmeg."
Oran paled, knowing it was only a ten minute walk to the spice merchant. "I'll go look!" He dashed out the door, nearly bowling over Arnaud on his return. He smirked, causing Oran to quicken his pace, running to the spice merchant - but he was shut. Knowing the route Catherine would have taken, he carefully retraced his route, looking for anything out of place.
He stopped, his foot stepping in something wet. Glancing down he was shocked to see it was blood! His eyes followed the trail to a pile of overturned crates. "Kitty!" Frantically he threw the crates aside to reveal her crumpled, broken form. He felt for a pulse, relieved to find one. "Kitty?" Wrapping one of her petticoats around her to try to stop the bleeding, he tenderly picked her up, keeping to the shadows to avoid unwanted attention.
He backed his way through the door of Le Coq, the crew of the Swallow falling silent when they saw his wife.
"Catherine!" Paul Fécamp gasped, dashing over in horror. "Oran, what happened?"
Blood dripped on the floor as he walked towards the table where Arnaud was sitting, ignoring Fécamp. His suspicions were confirmed by the scratches on his hands. "By every law in any land." he hissed, "you are dead!"
"Arnaud?" Jean Claude rose, walking forward to stand next to Paul, nodding to the two pirates that sat next to him.
"He raped and nearly killed my wife." Oran snarled, "And by God I'll see him dead!"
Jean Claude Lact looked closely at his crewman, taking in his expression and noting the scratches on his hands as well. He drew his pistol.
"Captain?" Arnaud gasped. "Captain, are you going to believe this. this filthy lie?"
Sighing heavily, Lact took aim.
"No!" Oran shouted. "He is mine!"
Jean Claude Lact nodded to the two crewmen sitting on either side. "Dump him in the brig - we'll deal with him later!" He turned to Oran. "My apologies Monsieur, it will not happen again."
Oran did not answer him. "Paul, I need clean sheets and boiling water. and some rum!"
Praying that his instructions would be obeyed, he carried her gently to their room, cutting the front of her dress away to see the stab wound. Low on her side, the blood still dripped sluggishly but the blade seemed to have missed any vital organs or blood vessels. Paul Fécamp burst into the room carrying a clean sheet and a bottle of rum, Jean Claude Lact following with a bucket of hot water.
"It is clean," Paul offered, "Catherine washed all the bedding the other day." He put the rum on the small table.
Oran sensed Lact looking around the room. "Please, both of you, leave us!"
"I have some skill with stab wounds." Jean Claude offered.
"So do I," Oran countered. "Now go!" They left and he bolted the door firmly behind them before turning back to Catherine. Carefully he unlaced her shift before tenderly washing away the blood, relieved to see that it had nearly stopped. Despite his feelings, now was not the time for modesty. Easing her from her dress and shift he washed the cut with rum, binding the wound tightly. He wrapped his spare shirt around her as she had no other clothes and so that her tattoo would not show if anyone walked in. Her eyes fluttered open as he lifted her gently to do so.
"Kitty!" he gasped in relief. He could see she was trying to talk. "No, it is alright - you're safe! Sshhh! It's alright!"
Catherine shook her head and continued trying to talk. Despite what had happened she was determined that he should know what had been discovered. Seeing she would not give up, he dribbled some water into her mouth. "Fort Assumption," she croaked, her throat bruised and swollen. "Coal mine."
Oran cradled her in his arms. "Rest Kitty - we can talk about that when you are better. Ssshhh! Rest." She smiled weakly, shutting her eyes as he continued to hold her. He only relaxed when he saw her sleeping. "I'm sorry Kitty," he whispered. "I failed you."