Revenge of the Fox
Chapter 8
The wagon finally stopped. Antonia breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't think there was a spot left on her body that wasn't bruised from the jolting. She and Annamaria had had a whispered conversation for a while, but had fallen silent long since. From the cracks in the planks over their heads she could tell that it was now full dark.
"We're 'ere," said a rough voice. "Go see if the ship is waiting."
Antonia listened to the sounds of a man getting off the wagon and walking off. He returned a few minutes later. "It's 'ere. They're waitin' fer us."
"Good," the first man grunted. Let's get the women outa the wagon."
Antonia and Annamaria exchanged a quick anxious glance as the men began to remove the planks that made up the false bottom of the wagon. When the planks had been removed, the men took their arms and pulled them out of the wagon. The women looked around. They were in a small clearing. Not far away through the trees, they could see the glint of moonlight on the water. "This way," said one of the men in a surly tone. Holding them by the arm, the women were ushered down a path toward the water.
"Smuggler," commented Annamaria under her breath at the sight of the small, low to the water sloop that waited in the small cove. Antonia shot her a quick look.
The crew of the smuggler waited silently. When the two men went up to them one of them merely held out his hand. The man holding Annamaria's arm dropped a pouch into it. "There's the agreed on sum," he said. "Passage fer the two of us plus the wenches."
The man merely nodded and pocketed the pouch. "Bring 'em aboard." The two women were thrust forward. When a shaft of moonlight fell on Annamaria's face, the smuggler paused. Reaching out he took her chin and held her face steady in the moonlight. "Ye crew on the Pearl, do ye not?"
"Aye," she answered. For a moment she held her breath, hoping that this was perhaps an ally. But the man just shrugged and turned away.
"There's a compartment in the hold you can lock them up in," he said conversationally, leading the way. Within minutes the women found themselves in a small compartment, about six feet square. The door shut behind them, and they heard the snick of a lock.
--
Joseph quietly and calmly went about his duties aboard the Black Pearl as if nothing had happened. He was aware that the other men aboard were eyeing him warily, wondering if he was going to explode as Will had nearly done that morning during the fencing lesson. Not much chance of that. He felt as though a thin film of ice separated him from the rest of the world. They were doing all that could be done, headed for Tortuga at top speed. When they caught up with the kidnapper, Joseph was prepared to do whatever was necessary to free the women. Until then, there was no point in fretting. Don't bleed for the victim. It was advice told to him many years ago, the first time he'd witnessed another slave being brutalized. If you can change things, then do it. If you cannot, then harden your heart. Stewing over circumstances you cannot change helps no one. Joseph went below and found his old hammock in the crew's quarters. He would not sleep in Annamaria's cabin alone. Settling himself down, he closed his weary eyes. No, he would not bleed for Annamaria in his thoughts. Not yet. There would be time enough to bleed when the kidnappers were found. Only then, if Joseph had anything to say about it, the kidnappers would be the ones doing the bleeding.
--
Lieutenant Markson stood at attention before the desk in Commodore Norrington's office in Fort Charles. Captain Gillette sat comfortably in the Commodore's chair. "At ease, Lieutenant," Gillette said. "You have something to report?"
"Aye, sir," Markson said crisply. He went on to elaborate the discoveries of the night before.
When he'd finished, Gillette was silent for a moment, fingering the strip of white satin Markson had produced as evidence of his tale. "So you say the proprietor of the establishment overheard them discussing a fishing boat"
"Aye, sir," Markson confirmed. "And also that she heard two separate carts departing from her back door in two different directions. It is my belief that the women were separated and moved out of Port Royal in different ways."
"You've come to this conclusion on the evidence given by a prostitute?" Gillette sneered with gentlemanly restraint.
Markson gritted his teeth as unobtrusively as he could. "A fishing boat has been reported stolen in that same general area of the waterfront, sir. It is possible that this is the one in question. The harbormaster reports that a small fishing boat similar to the one that was stolen sailed at first light the morning following the abduction. It traveled east along the coastline. I request permission to sail along the coastline to the east and search for a place such a boat might have rendezvoused with a larger craft."
Gillette raised his eyebrow. "You're requesting permission to use the Dauntless, I presume?"
Markson replied, "The Dauntless is the only Navy ship currently in harbor, sir."
Gillette smiled patronizingly. "My dear Lieutenant. If you will recall, two years past you were second in command aboard the Dauntless, and when the Commodore was injured, you were swept aside by a pirate captain, of all people, who usurped your command. And you wish me to put you in charge of the Dauntless again? I cannot imagine what you would do with her this time."
Markson determinedly remained silent. Discretion was, after all, the better part of valor. Throttling a superior officer was not generally well thought of in the military, however much he might deserve it. He manfully bit back his first impulse, which was to remind Gillette that he'd been glad enough to see that particular pirate captain last year after the Defender went down. In fact, had Gillette not been so cocksure of himself, he might have had the Commodore roused when the Spanish sail was sighted, rather than waiting until the situation was tactically lost. Would it have made any difference to the outcome? Possibly. Possibly not.
"No," Gillette went on, "I cannot condone your use of the Dauntless. However I do give you permission to impress a private vessel into service temporarily to take you and your troop up the coast. I leave it to you to decide which one. Good day, Lieutenant."
Markson saluted and walked out. Damned bastard. Now he would have the pleasure of informing some hapless merchant captain that the Royal Navy was commandeering his ship for an unspecified period of time, while a navy vessel sat idle in port. Damn it to hell.
--
Gwen woke to the sounds of her three captors moving around the campsite. Stretching, she suppressed a groan as her muscles protested. Getting back on that wretched horse was going to be torture. She pushed herself into a sitting position, staring distastefully at the rope looped through the binding on her wrists. The other end was fastened to a tree. A useless precaution. She had been serious last night when she said she could scarcely walk. Running away would be an impossibility.
Reyard looked over at her. "Good morning, Mrs. Sparrow."
Gwen attempted to push her hair back with her bound hands. "Would you be so kind as to release me for a few moments? I would very much like to wash my face."
Reynard raised his eyebrows. "But of course, Mrs. Sparrow. There is a small stream a few steps to your right, should you desire a few moments of privacy. Don't try to escape though, sweetheart."
Gwen nodded and waited while he undid the ropes. Gritting her teeth against the shrieking muscles in her legs, she walked as steadily as she could to the stream. As she did her best to work the tangles out of her hair with her fingers, she thought back on the conversation she'd had with Reynard the night before. She'd done her best to keep the talk focused on him, rather than her or Jack. For the most part she'd succeeded. Reynard seemed pleased to talk about himself, to brag really. She wondered how much longer she could keep this up. Idly she rubbed the third finger on her left hand. Her wedding ring was gone - Reynard had taken their jewelry from them. She remembered the day Jack had placed that ring on her finger. He trusted her and he believed in her. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't betray him. Sighing, she twisted her hair into a long plait and let it hang down her back, then she pulled a piece of white satin out of her bodice and attached it to a bush. She stood and walked back to the campsite.
Reynard walked over to her with ropes in hand. She looked at them with disgust. "Is that really necessary? After all, you're leading my horse. Where could I go?"
He looked at her for a moment with narrowed eyes. "All right, Mrs. Sparrow. We'll forgo the ropes for the moment. Mind that you behave."
Gwen looked at him coldly. "I'm hardly a witless child, sir. I'm an intelligent woman and if I were going to escape I'd choose better circumstances than these."
Reynard looked amused. "Point taken, my dear."
He led her over to her horse and gave her a leg up into the saddle. Gwen suppressed a shudder as his hands lingered on her calf. "I would prefer, sir, that you kept your hands to yourself."
He laughed and slipped his hand further up her skirt to caress her knee. "I'm greatly tempted to pull you back off that horse and find out what it is about you that has Jack Sparrow so enamored."
Gwen made herself look at him disdainfully. "You would be no wiser. Yes, you could do as you chose. There would be no one to stop you. However, all you would have would be an unwilling woman. Do you think I'd give up my secrets to someone who'd force me like that?"
Reynard smiled broadly and caressed her thigh. "So what would it take for you to tell me your secrets, luv? I swear I'd be a better catch than Sparrow. Especially since his days are numbered."
"I hardly think this is the time or place to tell you." Gwen pointedly looked ahead toward the other two men who were already mounted and ready to go. "Shouldn't we be moving on?"
Reynard laughed again and gave her knee one last caress before removing his hand from her skirt. "We'll continue this conversation later then, my dear."
Chapter 8
The wagon finally stopped. Antonia breathed a sigh of relief. She didn't think there was a spot left on her body that wasn't bruised from the jolting. She and Annamaria had had a whispered conversation for a while, but had fallen silent long since. From the cracks in the planks over their heads she could tell that it was now full dark.
"We're 'ere," said a rough voice. "Go see if the ship is waiting."
Antonia listened to the sounds of a man getting off the wagon and walking off. He returned a few minutes later. "It's 'ere. They're waitin' fer us."
"Good," the first man grunted. Let's get the women outa the wagon."
Antonia and Annamaria exchanged a quick anxious glance as the men began to remove the planks that made up the false bottom of the wagon. When the planks had been removed, the men took their arms and pulled them out of the wagon. The women looked around. They were in a small clearing. Not far away through the trees, they could see the glint of moonlight on the water. "This way," said one of the men in a surly tone. Holding them by the arm, the women were ushered down a path toward the water.
"Smuggler," commented Annamaria under her breath at the sight of the small, low to the water sloop that waited in the small cove. Antonia shot her a quick look.
The crew of the smuggler waited silently. When the two men went up to them one of them merely held out his hand. The man holding Annamaria's arm dropped a pouch into it. "There's the agreed on sum," he said. "Passage fer the two of us plus the wenches."
The man merely nodded and pocketed the pouch. "Bring 'em aboard." The two women were thrust forward. When a shaft of moonlight fell on Annamaria's face, the smuggler paused. Reaching out he took her chin and held her face steady in the moonlight. "Ye crew on the Pearl, do ye not?"
"Aye," she answered. For a moment she held her breath, hoping that this was perhaps an ally. But the man just shrugged and turned away.
"There's a compartment in the hold you can lock them up in," he said conversationally, leading the way. Within minutes the women found themselves in a small compartment, about six feet square. The door shut behind them, and they heard the snick of a lock.
--
Joseph quietly and calmly went about his duties aboard the Black Pearl as if nothing had happened. He was aware that the other men aboard were eyeing him warily, wondering if he was going to explode as Will had nearly done that morning during the fencing lesson. Not much chance of that. He felt as though a thin film of ice separated him from the rest of the world. They were doing all that could be done, headed for Tortuga at top speed. When they caught up with the kidnapper, Joseph was prepared to do whatever was necessary to free the women. Until then, there was no point in fretting. Don't bleed for the victim. It was advice told to him many years ago, the first time he'd witnessed another slave being brutalized. If you can change things, then do it. If you cannot, then harden your heart. Stewing over circumstances you cannot change helps no one. Joseph went below and found his old hammock in the crew's quarters. He would not sleep in Annamaria's cabin alone. Settling himself down, he closed his weary eyes. No, he would not bleed for Annamaria in his thoughts. Not yet. There would be time enough to bleed when the kidnappers were found. Only then, if Joseph had anything to say about it, the kidnappers would be the ones doing the bleeding.
--
Lieutenant Markson stood at attention before the desk in Commodore Norrington's office in Fort Charles. Captain Gillette sat comfortably in the Commodore's chair. "At ease, Lieutenant," Gillette said. "You have something to report?"
"Aye, sir," Markson said crisply. He went on to elaborate the discoveries of the night before.
When he'd finished, Gillette was silent for a moment, fingering the strip of white satin Markson had produced as evidence of his tale. "So you say the proprietor of the establishment overheard them discussing a fishing boat"
"Aye, sir," Markson confirmed. "And also that she heard two separate carts departing from her back door in two different directions. It is my belief that the women were separated and moved out of Port Royal in different ways."
"You've come to this conclusion on the evidence given by a prostitute?" Gillette sneered with gentlemanly restraint.
Markson gritted his teeth as unobtrusively as he could. "A fishing boat has been reported stolen in that same general area of the waterfront, sir. It is possible that this is the one in question. The harbormaster reports that a small fishing boat similar to the one that was stolen sailed at first light the morning following the abduction. It traveled east along the coastline. I request permission to sail along the coastline to the east and search for a place such a boat might have rendezvoused with a larger craft."
Gillette raised his eyebrow. "You're requesting permission to use the Dauntless, I presume?"
Markson replied, "The Dauntless is the only Navy ship currently in harbor, sir."
Gillette smiled patronizingly. "My dear Lieutenant. If you will recall, two years past you were second in command aboard the Dauntless, and when the Commodore was injured, you were swept aside by a pirate captain, of all people, who usurped your command. And you wish me to put you in charge of the Dauntless again? I cannot imagine what you would do with her this time."
Markson determinedly remained silent. Discretion was, after all, the better part of valor. Throttling a superior officer was not generally well thought of in the military, however much he might deserve it. He manfully bit back his first impulse, which was to remind Gillette that he'd been glad enough to see that particular pirate captain last year after the Defender went down. In fact, had Gillette not been so cocksure of himself, he might have had the Commodore roused when the Spanish sail was sighted, rather than waiting until the situation was tactically lost. Would it have made any difference to the outcome? Possibly. Possibly not.
"No," Gillette went on, "I cannot condone your use of the Dauntless. However I do give you permission to impress a private vessel into service temporarily to take you and your troop up the coast. I leave it to you to decide which one. Good day, Lieutenant."
Markson saluted and walked out. Damned bastard. Now he would have the pleasure of informing some hapless merchant captain that the Royal Navy was commandeering his ship for an unspecified period of time, while a navy vessel sat idle in port. Damn it to hell.
--
Gwen woke to the sounds of her three captors moving around the campsite. Stretching, she suppressed a groan as her muscles protested. Getting back on that wretched horse was going to be torture. She pushed herself into a sitting position, staring distastefully at the rope looped through the binding on her wrists. The other end was fastened to a tree. A useless precaution. She had been serious last night when she said she could scarcely walk. Running away would be an impossibility.
Reyard looked over at her. "Good morning, Mrs. Sparrow."
Gwen attempted to push her hair back with her bound hands. "Would you be so kind as to release me for a few moments? I would very much like to wash my face."
Reynard raised his eyebrows. "But of course, Mrs. Sparrow. There is a small stream a few steps to your right, should you desire a few moments of privacy. Don't try to escape though, sweetheart."
Gwen nodded and waited while he undid the ropes. Gritting her teeth against the shrieking muscles in her legs, she walked as steadily as she could to the stream. As she did her best to work the tangles out of her hair with her fingers, she thought back on the conversation she'd had with Reynard the night before. She'd done her best to keep the talk focused on him, rather than her or Jack. For the most part she'd succeeded. Reynard seemed pleased to talk about himself, to brag really. She wondered how much longer she could keep this up. Idly she rubbed the third finger on her left hand. Her wedding ring was gone - Reynard had taken their jewelry from them. She remembered the day Jack had placed that ring on her finger. He trusted her and he believed in her. She couldn't let him down. She couldn't betray him. Sighing, she twisted her hair into a long plait and let it hang down her back, then she pulled a piece of white satin out of her bodice and attached it to a bush. She stood and walked back to the campsite.
Reynard walked over to her with ropes in hand. She looked at them with disgust. "Is that really necessary? After all, you're leading my horse. Where could I go?"
He looked at her for a moment with narrowed eyes. "All right, Mrs. Sparrow. We'll forgo the ropes for the moment. Mind that you behave."
Gwen looked at him coldly. "I'm hardly a witless child, sir. I'm an intelligent woman and if I were going to escape I'd choose better circumstances than these."
Reynard looked amused. "Point taken, my dear."
He led her over to her horse and gave her a leg up into the saddle. Gwen suppressed a shudder as his hands lingered on her calf. "I would prefer, sir, that you kept your hands to yourself."
He laughed and slipped his hand further up her skirt to caress her knee. "I'm greatly tempted to pull you back off that horse and find out what it is about you that has Jack Sparrow so enamored."
Gwen made herself look at him disdainfully. "You would be no wiser. Yes, you could do as you chose. There would be no one to stop you. However, all you would have would be an unwilling woman. Do you think I'd give up my secrets to someone who'd force me like that?"
Reynard smiled broadly and caressed her thigh. "So what would it take for you to tell me your secrets, luv? I swear I'd be a better catch than Sparrow. Especially since his days are numbered."
"I hardly think this is the time or place to tell you." Gwen pointedly looked ahead toward the other two men who were already mounted and ready to go. "Shouldn't we be moving on?"
Reynard laughed again and gave her knee one last caress before removing his hand from her skirt. "We'll continue this conversation later then, my dear."
