Jennifer Horseman (16 page)

"As ... as him?" She pressed a hand to her forehead in distress and disbelief. The words left her speechless. "This is not right. ... I refuse to listen to you say these horrid things about Tomas. I don't care what you think of him! It doesn't matter what you think — "

In two strides Garrett came to where she stood, taking her by the shoulders, staring down at the mutiny shining in those eyes, a look he remembered well. "Your innocence is profound, love, if you think it does not matter what I think. It's as Leif said: he's reprehensible, as culpable as Stoddard for each scar that marks your beauty, perhaps even more responsible. You can be glad I don't have a mind for killing. He would have had my full attention. As it is," he took her hand again, "I will not return you to any man who saw this hand and turned his back to it."

"What?" she questioned in a whisper as she searched his face. "You can't mean it? Garrett," her fingers wrapped tight around one of his, while her bandaged hand held his shirt. "Garrett, you can't do this! I want to go back, I want to see Tomas—"

"Shhh," he gently touched her mouth, his gaze cold. "Listen to me, love, and get it straight: you have no family; you have been badly hurt; I am not without responsibility. My atonement will be my protection, even against your will you now possess this. As I live, I will not let you be hurt again—"

"Tomas has never hurt me!"

"A lie, Juliet. You refuse to see how badly he has. No more, though. I will not give you back to him. You will stay with me until my agents have finished with your cousin and I am assured her hand cannot reach you. Then we shall see-"

A knock sounded from the door, even as Gayle burst through it to announce: "The lower mast just took to the wind, Garrett; it's all hell out there."

The news brought curses from both men as they moved quickly out the door, shutting it as she discovered this new threat to her heart, the only thing that mattered to her in the whole of the world.

Garrett was wrong! He was wrong and she had to make him see this. She loved Tomas, loved him with all the fierceness of her being. Tomas brought the only comfort and happiness she had in the long years of her life's dark passage; his smile, touch, laughter had been her only joy since the day her mother left her. He was a shining star, her only hope was his promise of a happier future where she'd be safe again. A happy future she would live to see.

"A man does not weep when the woman he loves is being beaten!"

Juliet covered her ears as his voice echoed in her mind. He would cry but it was only because he could not help her. No matter what they thought, there was nothing he could have done! Nothing! Tomas wasn't like them; he was all kindness and gentleness and goodness—

Who did he think he was? Garrett had no right! He had no right and she had to make him see this. She had to make him see that he was wrong about Tomas, that if only he knew him he would understand why she loved him and would understand why he had to return her to him. If it was the last thing she ever did. . .

By late afternoon, after she had examined every nook and cranny in the large room a hundred times: his cluttered desk, the huge globe and books and papers that covered the desk top, the incomprehensible mechanism that moved like a clock—what was it, anyway?—and the telescope nearby, the glass tank filled with pretty colored fish, snails, and a turtle, after she had read every title of every book in his eclectic collection, after she examined the strangely beautiful wood carvings found in the room from all sides and had stared without seeing at each map on the wall, after she had paced the floor, listening, but not really, to Polly's inane, incessant chatter, after two men had arrived to clean and straighten the room and she had hid in the dressing room, only to have to endure the embarrassment as they came in there to clean, too— after all of this, she felt quite mad.

Stark raving mad.

He couldn't do this to her, he couldn't! It just wasn't fair, after all she had been through. All she wanted was to see Tomas again, to fall into his arms and hear him tell her it was all right, that it was all over now, that she was safe. And how horrible his agony—

Did he think she was dead! Why yes, he must . . .

Without thinking more, she ran to the door and through it. Stairs led up outside. She took them two at a time, emerging on top of the quarterdeck to a cold fierce wind that caught her hair and skirts.

The first watch had just emerged from the fo'c'sle, gathering in a semicircle on the opposite quarterdeck to watch the raising of the fallen mast. Each man kept his ditty bag nearby, darning his socks and shirts or smoking, while enjoying the daily ration of rum. One of these cups stopped at Cosmo's mouth as he saw her. "Will you look at that."

All gazes lifted to see Juliet standing there.

"A wind spirit . . ."

"Now that, gentlemen, surpasses even Garrett's reputation for beautiful women."

"And Leif says her innocence will stop him?"

"Aye, maybe till nightfall!"

Juliet stopped at the steps leading down to the main deck, searching for him. A dozen or so men—how fierce his men looked! —stood on the main deck, looking up. She followed their gaze to the arresting sight. High above, two men clung to the lower mast by belts at their waists, one plastering, the other using a hammer and nails for some repair. Garrett clung to the mast above them, held by a belt too, but hanging from two long ropes held by three men high above in the lookout, Leif among these. One of Garrett's arms clung to the mast as he took a long iron spike from Maz, the carpenter, and apparently not satisfied with the job, swung the caulking hammer hard himself. Wearing only breeches now, sweat glistening from his back despite the cold wind, he raised his arm, swinging forward, then back again, a small measure of this most difficult task.

Tonali watched from atop the mainhouse, pacing back and forth.

"That'll hold her!" Garrett's rich timbre rose against the wind. "All right, lower me down."

A great war cry rose from the lookout, and Garrett cursed viciously even before Leif called out, "As you say, so shall it be!" The men came to their feet in the instant with a loud raucous chorus of approval. The chorus became a collective shout, like the beat of a savage drum as the three men in the lookout used their strength to swing

Garrett's weight back and forth fifteen feet above the deck and nearly forty feet above the water.

A fall Garrett was famous for surviving.

Juliet watched in stunned horror, her mind filling with ideas of mutiny and murder, until above the chorus of his men she heard Garrett's rich and loud laughter as he tried to stop the inevitable with various threats: first rations, then hanging, and finally, desperate, the keelhaul. No one cursed or threatened better; Garrett elevated it to an art. The men nearly doubled over for their laughter as Garrett's curses grew louder and more vicious. He swung higher and higher, until at last Leif gave the signal. The rope was released on the upswing. Garrett flew through the air, spreading his arms like wings, somersaulting twice before stretching into a graceful dive as he hit the cold ocean water.

Juliet caught herself just before she toppled to the main deck. As she flew down the ladder a man's hands came around her waist, lifting her safely to the deck. Before she could even see his face he pushed a towel into her hands and disappeared behind a trail of merriment. There was a great scramble on deck. The men, every last one of fifty-three, disappeared, scrambling like rats in a fire. The men on the lookout pulled in the rope to bring Garrett back on deck.

Juliet raced to the rail as Garrett climbed up, pulled by the ropes. "Hang you all, I will kill. The first man I see meets my fist," he said as he grabbed hold of the rail, and before they could lift him back into the air he pulled off the wide leather belt, then stopped upon seeing Juliet standing there. He agilely vaulted the rail. "Did they fetch you here? So help me God, if they think the sight of you is going to stop me — "

Yet it did. She looked so lovely, her long unbound hair caught in the wind and her wide eyes filled with uncertainty and worry, questions, a hundred or so questions he'd love to answer. He reached a hand to her face to brush away the hair but she retreated, and not, he saw, because his hand was wet. He took the towel she twisted in her hands instead. He wiped his face and chest, where she stared at the now faint line of the dagger beneath the smaller mark on his shoulder.

He was half naked like a savage. Small beads of moisture dripped unnoticed from his muscled frame, and his hair lay flat against his face, accentuating the fine features there. Tonali jumped from the mainhouse roof and approached on quiet cat's feet. She looked down as the great cat began circling her legs but she ignored this to say simply: "You can't do this to me. It's not fair."

"I can do this to you, I have to. And as you know so well, life is often not fair. You can rest your complaints, Juliet, you'll not dissuade me."

"I shall never rest my complaints until you take me back! How long do you think you can keep me here?"

"As long as I want, love."

She stared up at him with defiance, though she felt the magnitude of these words come over her like the iron bars of a prison. Another prison. She held herself tightly, now shivering with the cold.

Garrett read her thoughts and hated them. "Aye, love," he came close, taking her chin in his hand, demanding her eyes as he admitted, "just like your uncle, save for my intent. His was unconscionable abuse, mine is to prevent any more."

His touch felt warm. Despite the moisture falling unnoticed from his tall frame, she felt his warmth surrounding her, spiraling as if by magic, while his tone and expression conveyed the honesty of his words, his intent. She refused it—him-wanting none of it, and she pulled back a bit. " Tis true. You can keep me here as long as you want and I have no recourse short of throwing myself over the side—"

"A dramatic measure," he tried not to smile. "I don't recommend it, that water is cold. Besides, you'd probably get all fifty-three of my men falling in to save you."

She had to have some hope from him. "Yet you can't keep me forever?"

"In all of history nothing has lasted forever."

He was maddening, his clever use of words! She looked away, pausing and bracing in the pause. He could not take everything from her, he couldn't. "Garrett, then will you ... oh please—" She stopped with the trepidation that he might be cruel enough to deny her.

Whatever she wanted, it was with all her heart, he saw that clearly. "Yes?"

"Will you let me write him a letter and will you get it to him. Oh please? I can't bear the idea of his agony, it feels even worse than our separation, however temporary, and no matter what unkind and unfair judgments you've made of him, he doesn't deserve to think I'm dead."

Strange emotions passed through his eyes as he stared down at her, emotions that finally settled to simple irritation. "What he deserves and what he gets are two different things, I see. Write this letter, I'll see that it goes with my posting. Now come. Let's get some supper."

Shock briefly crossed her face upon hearing that last banality. As if she could have a mind for supper when he tore her life from under her! How she wanted to make that perfectly clear to him! Yet how far could he be pressed? "I don't want to go back there alone—" She stopped, nervously focusing on the tips of her slippers, as she swallowed the words she felt certain had gone too far.

The problem was immediately plain to him: the vast majority of her experience with men was with Stoddard, and needless to say, speaking freely met with a most heavy hand. To watch her overcome this would be a singular pleasure.

"Is there another place I might stay?" she asked in a soft whisper on the heels of their silence.

"This is not a passenger ship, and though I trust my men with my life, you are another matter entirely." With some humor, he asked, "You can't be innocent enough to imagine you'd rather sleep with a group of men?"

"I can't imagine the difference 'twould make when both are against my will."

Admiration came into his eyes; he had an idea of the courage it took to say that. "The difference is profound, one you shall not know, love. Shall we?"

She stood at a loss, struggling to comply. She supposed he'd carry her if she refused, and what choice did she have? What choice did she ever have?

Juliet and Garrett received many interested stares as they crossed the distance back to his quarters. It was obvious the lovely young lady hardly liked her circumstances, even less Garrett's hand on her arm. Ripples of amusement followed them, it being the first time anyone had ever seen Garrett fail to melt the skirts off any woman—the common joke being that women's skirts lifted like rows of saluting flags as Garrett passed the fairer sex.

For Garrett's abilities with women were as famous as his heroism. Leif was fond of telling how it was bad enough that three of his four daughters fell under his spell, but then Garrett got the juices flowing in his eighty-year-old grandmother, hard of hearing and blind to boot. Garrett had had as many mistresses as most men have dreams, and these were but a small sample of the hundreds he had charmed.

As Garrett and Juliet disappeared down the captain's steps, bets were placed on how long it would take him to win her heart. The bets increased dramatically as Leif came down from the lookout and said that far more than innocence separated Juliet from the multitude of Garrett's other women. "At last, I fear, Garrett is in trouble."

"Well hell," Jordan reminded everyone, "has the man ever lost before?"

"There is, as Garrett himself would remind you, always a first time."

Later that night Juliet sat on the couch with her back to the table where two men set about serving supper. Garrett, Leif, and Gayle sat at the table. Garrett's presence was taxing enough, but what had sent her to the farthest corner of the room was the presence of the young man Gayle. Leif introduced him as his son. Leif s son! There was a resemblance in looks, though not in countenance. Leif had shown her the only kindness, first by trying to tell Garrett he had made a mistake and stopping Garrett when he might have hurt her, while his son Gayle had fixed that potion, a drink that sent her to hell with the drugged happiness of a child on Michaelmas. A hell in the deceptive form of heaven. She would never live a day spared the pain of remembering how he had made her welcome his touch as if it were a favor, as the earth welcomes the touch of the sun. She closed her eyes to shut out the memory as, against her will, she remembered—

Once the two men left, Garrett interrupted the conversation to ask, "Juliet, will you come to the table?"

Such a casual question interrupting a memory that was anything but casual, tossed like a crumb to a starving person ... yet she would sooner starve than condescend to pretend she was his willing guest. She shook her head by way of answering.

"Juliet, I won't let you play this game, let alone win it."

"Please," Gayle stood up, " Tis me she minds. I can see it in her eyes. I won't tax her by forcing my company on her. If you'll excuse me—"

"Don't be a fool, Gayle."

Polly flew to Garrett's shoulder and squawked, "What a bloody fool, I say—"

"Hush, Polly. I'm trying to talk-"

"Hush, oh yes, bawk. Hush, love—"

Garrett gently clamped Polly's beak shut before any more could be said. "Gayle, Juliet is wise enough to know nothing that happened to her was your fault, past easing her pain. I'm sure if she thought about it, she would remember I ordered you to fix that potion and I made her drink it. I am culpable, Juliet, there is no one else to blame. Please love, don't play a child's game with me. It will incite me to do the same and I will find myself stooping to say things like . . . well, let's see: If you want that letter sent, and so on. Please, come sit at the table and have some supper."

Silence filled the room as she grasped his threat. Of course, he would hold the letter around her throat like a noose. Again!

Juliet rose quietly, each step a moving display of her dignity, until she stood by the table. Gayle pulled a chair for her, and as she sat down she was made to see the depth of sympathy in the young man's eyes.

For a long while she did not see or taste her food. She did not listen to the conversation, which did not concern her: speculations on the war with Napoleon, mostly concerning the likelihood of Austrian involvement—which Garrett thought was very likely—then the likelihood of American involvement, Jefferson this and Jefferson that. She sought comfort in memory instead and thought only of Tomas, searching for the things she would say in her letter, forming and reforming it in her mind.

Midway through the meal, a knock came at the door and a man entered. "A fine bit o' schooner sailing off starboard," he announced. "Can't see her colors in the darkness, of course, but Duke thinks she's a Dutch freighter-"

"Not a slaver?" Garrett asked.

"Nay, but-"

"No, absolutely then. We are already five days late, six with the fallen mast. Tell my lusty bastards, God knows, there are plenty of battles ahead without looking for them on open sea."

The man left with a smile. Juliet looked at Garrett with a question. "What are you late for?"

"A rendezvous with another ship."

The information meant nothing to her, past a sudden understanding that she knew nothing. So consumed was she with all that had happened, she hadn't had a chance to ask the obvious questions. "Is this a merchant ship?"

Cutting a piece of the succulent fish, Garrett shook his head. "No, love, it's not."

"Cargo then?"

"Occasionally."

She looked at Leif, who pretended to be interested in his food, then back at Garrett. Very carefully she asked: "Well, what manner of shipping enterprise is this?"

"One that involves many different things."

She stared back at him, alarmed as she put two and two together—thinking of this ship, streamlined for speed and outfitted for battle, then the uncommon men found on it, lusty bastards looking for battles with Dutch freighters, and Garrett himself. "I ... I don't even know your full name."

"Isn't Garrett enough, love?"

She stared at him, just stared, as his name echoed over and over again in her mind. Garrett . . . Garrett . . . Garrett, with the single word no following the pronouncement.

Up until a year ago—before her uncle caught her at it—she used to sneak into the kitchen before the house awoke and in the dawn's early light, Bess would let her read the paper that came all the way from London once each week on Mondays. She savored every line about Parliament's battles with the king, the king's position on this and that, the news from the colonies and as far away as the new Americas, Napoleon's accession to power, the increasingly disturbing news from France, Italy, and Prussia. In this news she began reading with increasing frequency the name Black Garrett, one of the world's most notorious pirates.