Revenge of the Fox
Chapter 5
Elizabeth drifted in and out of consciousness. She was vaguely aware of a rocking motion, and a low voice issuing nautical commands. Was she on a ship? Dreamily she thought of the last trip she and Will had taken aboard the Black Pearl. There was something very satisfying about the warm embrace of a man while the ship you were on rolled and swayed with the motion of the sea. A faint frown of puzzlement creased her forehead as her bleary brain registered the fact that she was not, in fact, in the warm embrace of anyone. The boat lurched suddenly, knocking her head against the wooden side of the boat. She blinked and opened her eyes. She was in a small area. One side of her prison was curved. The side of the boat, perhaps? Light gleamed through small cracks in the planks over her head. Hard feet thudded, seemingly right over her. Elizabeth raised her hands, which were bound in front of her. There wasn't enough room to sit up, but she was able to push the gag out of her mouth. She ran her tongue over dry cracked lips. Much better. This must be some sort of concealed storage area just below the deck of a small boat. She wondered where the other women were. Obviously they'd all been drugged.
"We're well away from Port Royal now," said the rough voice of a man. "We can 'ead for the rendezvous now."
"Aye," said a second voice. "'ell of a good joke, watching the soldiers searching all the ships in the 'arbor. They didn't even look twice at a tiny little fishing boat!"
"That's the idea," said the first voice, sounding surly. "The Fox knows what 'e's doing."
Elizabeth listened carefully. It appeared that she was alone on this little boat with these two men. Screaming wasn't going to be a worthwhile option. She'd have to bide her time and wait. But in the meantime, she pulled a small strip of white satin out of her bodice and searched for someplace she could secure it where it wouldn't be readily apparent.
--
A hand roughly shook her shoulder and then slapped her face lightly. Gwen blinked and shook her head slightly. What was going on? "Wake up," a voice said.
Another voice spoke. "We've gone as far as we can with the cart. Get her up on the horse. She only needs to be coherent enough to hold on."
Memory sluggishly returned to Gwen's foggy brain. Where was she now? She lifted her hands, which were bound in front of her. The man who'd woken her turned away. To get a horse, maybe? She managed to pull a scrap of white satin from her bodice and clutched it in her hand as the man turned back to her. He grasped her arms and hauled her upright, supporting her as she swayed. He failed to notice the piece of white fabric that fluttered to the ground. He pulled her over to a horse, and hoisted her up into the saddle. It was difficult to arrange her skirts with her hands bound, but she managed to tuck enough fabric between herself and the saddle to protect her skin. Not that it was going to matter much if they were going to ride for any length of time. Gwen couldn't remember the last time she'd been on a horse, and that had been sidesaddle rather than astride. She looked around. They were in a small clearing. The horse she was on, a fairly small gray animal, was still tethered to a tree. Two men were in the process of hiding a small cart in the underbrush. Reynard was already mounted on a nice looking bay horse.
"Back with us then, Mrs. Sparrow? I daresay I need not caution you not to try to escape. We'd run you down in moments," he said.
"Where are the other women?" Gwen asked.
Reynard laughed. "It was easier to slip away from Port Royal if we split up, my dear. You'll see your friends again." He looked at her appraisingly. "I am enormously curious about you, Mrs. Sparrow. I find myself wondering what it is about you that could bring a man like Jack Sparrow to the alter. You're attractive enough, I suppose, but nowhere near as beautiful as Mrs. Turner or Miss Swann."
Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Your flattery warms my heart."
Reynard ignored that and continued. "Back when I knew Jack he had a woman in every port. I can't imagine what would induce him to not only to marry, but what would make him bring you to sea with him rather than leave you in some port town to wait for him to visit you three or four times a year."
Gwen shrugged. "It seems you don't know him as well as you think you do."
"It appears I don't. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with his wife, however."
Gwen struggled to clear the remaining fog from her mind. Reynard was clever. He wanted to use her to gain insight into how Jack thought, what he might do. She mustn't let anything slip. Thankfully at that moment the other men finished hiding the cart, and mounted their own horses. Reynard took one last long look at Gwen, before turning his mount and heading off up the trail. One of the men took the lead rope on Gwen's horse and led her after him. The last man fell in behind.
--
Slowly, the jolting movement of the wagon filtered its way into Annamaria's consciousness. It seemed familiar, if not altogether comfortable. After one particularly hard bump rapped her head into the wall, Annamaria's memory returned. Bloody hell. She was tied up again, and stuck back in that same damn wagon. It was less crowded this time. Turning her head, she could see Antonia, but not the other two women. Where were they? Her last memory was of finishing that rather mediocre meal back at the whorehouse. It must have been drugged. She looked around. There were a number of wooden planks over her head. Some sort of false bottom on the wagon she thought. She reached out with her bound hands and nudged Antonia. No response; she must still be unconscious. Annamaria pulled a torn scrap of white satin from her bodice and stuffed it into a small knothole in the wood of the wagon bed. Then she began to work on pulling the gag out of her mouth.
--
Lt. Richard Markson was not having a very good day. The Black Pearl had sailed the previous evening with Commodore Norrington aboard, leaving Captain Gillette in charge of Fort Charles. Markson didn't think much of Gillette. The man tended to underestimate his opponents too often. Since the loss of the Defender last year, Gillette had been assigned mainly to administrative duties in the fort. Markson fervently hoped that Gillette would be put in command of the new ship currently being built up in the Baltimore area so that he'd be out of the fort and out of Markson's hair. If Markson had been in charge, he'd have ordered the Dauntless to sea. Not to head to Tortuga - that would violate the instructions left by the kidnappers. But he'd have her cruise the Jamaican coastline, stopping and searching any and all ships in the vicinity. Expecting this Reynard the Fox to sail out of Port Royal harbor with the four kidnapped women aboard was ludicrous. He'd have to be a complete idiot to do that. If Markson had planned such a crime, he'd have a small smuggler's vessel hidden in a small cove. Or perhaps a fishing boat. Searching all the large ships in port was a waste of time. Still, orders were orders. He signaled to his troop. Two more ships to go.
--
Chapter 5
Elizabeth drifted in and out of consciousness. She was vaguely aware of a rocking motion, and a low voice issuing nautical commands. Was she on a ship? Dreamily she thought of the last trip she and Will had taken aboard the Black Pearl. There was something very satisfying about the warm embrace of a man while the ship you were on rolled and swayed with the motion of the sea. A faint frown of puzzlement creased her forehead as her bleary brain registered the fact that she was not, in fact, in the warm embrace of anyone. The boat lurched suddenly, knocking her head against the wooden side of the boat. She blinked and opened her eyes. She was in a small area. One side of her prison was curved. The side of the boat, perhaps? Light gleamed through small cracks in the planks over her head. Hard feet thudded, seemingly right over her. Elizabeth raised her hands, which were bound in front of her. There wasn't enough room to sit up, but she was able to push the gag out of her mouth. She ran her tongue over dry cracked lips. Much better. This must be some sort of concealed storage area just below the deck of a small boat. She wondered where the other women were. Obviously they'd all been drugged.
"We're well away from Port Royal now," said the rough voice of a man. "We can 'ead for the rendezvous now."
"Aye," said a second voice. "'ell of a good joke, watching the soldiers searching all the ships in the 'arbor. They didn't even look twice at a tiny little fishing boat!"
"That's the idea," said the first voice, sounding surly. "The Fox knows what 'e's doing."
Elizabeth listened carefully. It appeared that she was alone on this little boat with these two men. Screaming wasn't going to be a worthwhile option. She'd have to bide her time and wait. But in the meantime, she pulled a small strip of white satin out of her bodice and searched for someplace she could secure it where it wouldn't be readily apparent.
--
A hand roughly shook her shoulder and then slapped her face lightly. Gwen blinked and shook her head slightly. What was going on? "Wake up," a voice said.
Another voice spoke. "We've gone as far as we can with the cart. Get her up on the horse. She only needs to be coherent enough to hold on."
Memory sluggishly returned to Gwen's foggy brain. Where was she now? She lifted her hands, which were bound in front of her. The man who'd woken her turned away. To get a horse, maybe? She managed to pull a scrap of white satin from her bodice and clutched it in her hand as the man turned back to her. He grasped her arms and hauled her upright, supporting her as she swayed. He failed to notice the piece of white fabric that fluttered to the ground. He pulled her over to a horse, and hoisted her up into the saddle. It was difficult to arrange her skirts with her hands bound, but she managed to tuck enough fabric between herself and the saddle to protect her skin. Not that it was going to matter much if they were going to ride for any length of time. Gwen couldn't remember the last time she'd been on a horse, and that had been sidesaddle rather than astride. She looked around. They were in a small clearing. The horse she was on, a fairly small gray animal, was still tethered to a tree. Two men were in the process of hiding a small cart in the underbrush. Reynard was already mounted on a nice looking bay horse.
"Back with us then, Mrs. Sparrow? I daresay I need not caution you not to try to escape. We'd run you down in moments," he said.
"Where are the other women?" Gwen asked.
Reynard laughed. "It was easier to slip away from Port Royal if we split up, my dear. You'll see your friends again." He looked at her appraisingly. "I am enormously curious about you, Mrs. Sparrow. I find myself wondering what it is about you that could bring a man like Jack Sparrow to the alter. You're attractive enough, I suppose, but nowhere near as beautiful as Mrs. Turner or Miss Swann."
Gwen raised her eyebrows. "Your flattery warms my heart."
Reynard ignored that and continued. "Back when I knew Jack he had a woman in every port. I can't imagine what would induce him to not only to marry, but what would make him bring you to sea with him rather than leave you in some port town to wait for him to visit you three or four times a year."
Gwen shrugged. "It seems you don't know him as well as you think you do."
"It appears I don't. I look forward to becoming better acquainted with his wife, however."
Gwen struggled to clear the remaining fog from her mind. Reynard was clever. He wanted to use her to gain insight into how Jack thought, what he might do. She mustn't let anything slip. Thankfully at that moment the other men finished hiding the cart, and mounted their own horses. Reynard took one last long look at Gwen, before turning his mount and heading off up the trail. One of the men took the lead rope on Gwen's horse and led her after him. The last man fell in behind.
--
Slowly, the jolting movement of the wagon filtered its way into Annamaria's consciousness. It seemed familiar, if not altogether comfortable. After one particularly hard bump rapped her head into the wall, Annamaria's memory returned. Bloody hell. She was tied up again, and stuck back in that same damn wagon. It was less crowded this time. Turning her head, she could see Antonia, but not the other two women. Where were they? Her last memory was of finishing that rather mediocre meal back at the whorehouse. It must have been drugged. She looked around. There were a number of wooden planks over her head. Some sort of false bottom on the wagon she thought. She reached out with her bound hands and nudged Antonia. No response; she must still be unconscious. Annamaria pulled a torn scrap of white satin from her bodice and stuffed it into a small knothole in the wood of the wagon bed. Then she began to work on pulling the gag out of her mouth.
--
Lt. Richard Markson was not having a very good day. The Black Pearl had sailed the previous evening with Commodore Norrington aboard, leaving Captain Gillette in charge of Fort Charles. Markson didn't think much of Gillette. The man tended to underestimate his opponents too often. Since the loss of the Defender last year, Gillette had been assigned mainly to administrative duties in the fort. Markson fervently hoped that Gillette would be put in command of the new ship currently being built up in the Baltimore area so that he'd be out of the fort and out of Markson's hair. If Markson had been in charge, he'd have ordered the Dauntless to sea. Not to head to Tortuga - that would violate the instructions left by the kidnappers. But he'd have her cruise the Jamaican coastline, stopping and searching any and all ships in the vicinity. Expecting this Reynard the Fox to sail out of Port Royal harbor with the four kidnapped women aboard was ludicrous. He'd have to be a complete idiot to do that. If Markson had planned such a crime, he'd have a small smuggler's vessel hidden in a small cove. Or perhaps a fishing boat. Searching all the large ships in port was a waste of time. Still, orders were orders. He signaled to his troop. Two more ships to go.
--
