Souls Aflame (17 page)

His eyes raked over her again, this time with contempt. “You may be quite lovely, but you’re just another body. Remember that. I’m not bewitched by you, rest assured. And I don’t lie awake at night with desire burning in my loins. You’re like every other woman I’ve ever laid with, and no doubt similar to the ones who await me in the future. You like to think you’re being forced, raped, ravished, whatever you wish to call it, because you’re too goddamned hypocritical to admit to yourself or anyone else that you crave mating your body with a man’s just as strongly as he craves mating with a woman’s!”

He released her, flinging her away so roughly she had to struggle to keep from falling.

“You saved your own neck when you saved mine, and you know it,” he continued, still enraged. “At last I see you for what you are: selfish and spoiled. I pity Oates or any other man who is so damnably stupid as to take you for his wife.”

He turned to leave, then whirled about to point a finger at her and say raspingly, “Get your things together at once. I want you off my ship and out of my life.”

“You can’t want that any more than I do,” she retorted acidly. “And now I can truly understand why your men call you Ironheart…if you even
have
a heart!”

His black eyes burned with red fires. His nostrils flaring, he rubbed his hands rapidly against his legs. Never had he wanted so badly to strike a woman, and he was fighting for control. “If you stripped naked before me now and lay down on that bed and parted your thighs, I wouldn’t touch you! That’s how desirable I find you, wench. You were just someone for me to empty myself into, like all the others. Now get the hell off my ship!”

Reaching out for the object nearest at hand, Julie grabbed the bowl of fish stew and sent it rushing through the air. It splashed upon his chest. “You bastard!” she screamed, tears of humiliation streaming down her flushed cheeks. “You damned arrogant bastard. I hope the Yankees do catch up with you. I hope they throw you to the sharks!”

Julie watched, the captain leave the cabin without another word, slamming the door behind him hard enough to make the walls rattle.

She covered her face with her hands, furious with him and herself. To think she had found him attractive…how embarrassing to remember the hours she had reveled in his arms as he took her to heights of untold pleasures and ecstasy. Fool! She had been such a fool!

Thank God she would never see him again. For that much, she was grateful.

Derek took a deep breath, hesitating before he started up the steps. Damn her. He still hurt from the blow she had inflicted on his most vulnerable parts. It was a wonder he hadn’t lost control and killed her before he realized what he was doing. She was a wild one, but she also stirred something within him despite his ire—a twinge of desire…a shadow of tenderness.

Hell, it was best she was getting out of his life. He’d known many women in his lifetime, but never the likes of Julie Marshal, no matter that he’d told her otherwise.

He continued upward, drinking in the sweet salt air as he stepped on deck. There was a flurry of activity around him, but he removed himself from the fuss and walked to the ship’s railing. Tightly he gripped the worn, splintered wood and stared thoughtfully out at the rolling green sea. Julie had touched his life only briefly, and they would never meet again.

Damn!

He turned around and stared at his men scurrying about.

He was a fool. She was spoiled, willful, nothing but trouble. He had enjoyed her body, but that was all. There could be no more. He didn’t want a woman around him constantly. His mistress was the sea, and he was ashamed of feeling even the most remote attachment for the girl with hair the color of midnight and eyes as green as the deepest waters.

Someone called to him, and he moved in the direction of the voice. He had to leave his feelings behind, he told himself. There was no time to be melancholy. And what reason did he have, anyway? She was just another body, as he’d told her only moments before. Perhaps she was more generously endowed than most, but she was still merely a woman—good for a few hours of passion and frolic in bed, then to be cast aside.

Officer Watson approached him. “Sir, we’re ready to move the women to the other ship.”

“Then do so,” he replied tonelessly. “I’ll be in my cabin. We’ll go over the rest of the plans when you return.”

Watson nodded, turned, then wheeled about suddenly to inquire, “Will you bid the ladies goodbye?”

“Hell, no!” Derek stunned the man with his explosion, then, realizing how he’d reacted, lowered his voice quickly and said, “No, I’ve said my goodbyes. Proceed at once.”

Derek continued toward his cabin, ignoring the men who called out to him as he passed.

It was over. It had to be.

But a voice deep inside caused him much distress, for it seemed to be telling him that…goodbye was not forever.

Chapter Nine

With Officer Garris commanding a skeleton crew from the
Ariane
, the captured Federal ship arrived off the coast of St. George on the northeast tip of Bermuda just two days after leaving the other ship.

Garris paid only one visit to Julie and her mother, to explain how they would put into port.

“We’ll anchor out in the harbor, and two of my men will take you to shore by rowboat,” he said tonelessly. “Once there, you will take your leave at once. We’ve no idea of what will happen once Guthrie and his men are found adrift and they start screaming piracy. We don’t intend to be around to find out. My orders are to set you on shore, then see to the safety of my crew. You’ll be on your own.”

While they made the short trip into the harbor, Julie marveled at the beauty surrounding her. Peering over the side of the bobbing wooden craft, she gasped out loud as she realized that the water was crystal-clear. She could see down into its blue-green depths and watch the slickly gliding fish dart and weave as they searched for food.

The air was sweetly cool, scented not with salt but with the delicate fragrance of flowers, which reminded Julie of rare imported perfumes. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen such beauty,” she commented in awe to her mother. “It’s the way I picture heaven.”

Lost in the ethereal world surrounding them, her mother and Mammy Sara could only nod silently.

They reached the beach, and once again Julie was struck by the splendor of her surroundings. Dazzlingly clear water lapped against sand the color of pink-tinted coral which had been ground powder-fine by the wind and the waves. As soon as her feet touched land, Julie stopped to touch the sugary substance, letting it slide through her fingertips and laughing with a child’s delight. “It looks so much like sugar, it makes me want to taste it!” she cried.

Her mother had lost interest in the scenery and was arguing with one of the sailors. “What do you mean, you don’t have all our luggage? Several of my daughter’s valises are missing. This is ridiculous. That man took my cotton, my money. Is he so greedy that he steals women’s clothing as well?”

“I’m sorry,” the sailor mumbled as though he really didn’t care. “We couldn’t get everything in the rowboat.”

Mrs. Marshal pressed her hands against her temples and shook her head in frustration. “This is terrible. All her lovely gowns! I can’t believe it!”

Julie started picking up her mother’s bags. “Let’s just be on our way and glad that it’s all over. We can buy a few things to last us till we reach England.”

“Virgil is never going to stand for such effrontery,” Mrs. Marshal told the sailor, who snickered insolently. “He’ll see that your captain pays for his wickedness.” She continued to grumble, but Julie was too captivated with the majestic surroundings to be concerned about the loss.

Bermuda gave the impression of being a gigantic, well-kept flower garden. Even though it was late December, masses of gorgeous blooms could be seen everywhere: fields of delicate white Easter lilies, mile-long hedges of oleander, hibiscus, bougainvillea, royal poinsettia, and myriad other flora.

Beginning to feel intoxicated from the sweet essence that surrounded her, Julie delighted at the houses that dotted the landscape. Appealing and colorful, she knew they were made of limestone coral rock. Derek had told her about them, how the rock, which was soft enough to be cut with a wood saw, was cut from the ground. Once exposed to the air, the coral hardened with age.

She marveled at the roofs made of overlapping coral shingles which measured about ten by fourteen inches and were an inch thick. She knew, too, that these were washed periodically with a coating of lime for cleanliness’s sake, since each household was dependent for its drinking water on the rains that slid over the shingles and were funneled into a reserve tank below.

As the three women made their way along the sandy beach, Julie could see the “welcoming arms” steps of one house, which were wider at the bottom than at the top. The chimneys were all huge; the windows surprisingly small-paned, each trimmed with shutters hinged at the top and swinging up and out.

Gazing about, Julie surmised that there was probably nowhere on the island where one would be more than a mile from the ocean. Bermuda was a busy place. This did not surprise her, since she was well aware that it was the chief supply depot for the Confederacy, and the port to which most of the South’s cotton was shipped. Its proximity to the ports of Wilmington and Charleston gave it a superior advantage. And while submerged reefs made navigating difficult, all of the light-draft blockade runners carried Bahamian bank pilots, who knew every channel along the islands. The Yankee cruisers, Derek said, had no bank pilots and, since they drew more water, were compelled to keep to the open sea.

Captain Guthrie, Julie knew, would’ve had great difficulty navigating his ship out of the harbor. It was one of Derek’s men, a bank pilot, who had been able to guide them in safely past the treacherous hidden reefs and who would take the others back to where the
Ariane
waited.

She explained all this to her mother as they walked.

“How do you come by all this information?” Mrs. Marshal wanted to know.

Julie hesitated, but only momentarily, deciding there was no point in being elusive. “Derek told me about it.” Then she rushed on as her mother gave her a sharp look, “All of the islands are surrounded by coral reefs and shoals, and the channels are quite intricate. I also know that before the war, the chief industries of the islands were the collection and exportation of sponges and corals.”

“You and the captain became rather close, didn’t you?” Her mother spoke quietly, pensively.

“At one time, I suppose we were,” Julie replied thoughtfully, not without a small twinge of pain, “before I came to fully realize what a savage he is.”

The older woman raised her chin determinedly. “We will try to put it all behind us. Whatever happened on board that ship is now in the past. Let’s not speak of it again.”

Julie understood what she meant. Her mother knew she was sleeping with Derek the morning they were attacked by the Yankees. She not only saw him rushing out of Julie’s cabin only partially dressed, but had noted his boots beside her bed. Now no more would be said about it. They had to concentrate on the future.

Julie was grateful. Her mother had every right to condemn her behavior, and she was glad the older woman chose not to, particularly since she wasn’t sure she could explain it. How could she? Julie herself could not answer the questions burning inside her as to how Derek was able to possess such a hold over her.

They left the beach area, moving through oleander bushes to a narrow road. It wasn’t long before a buggy appeared, with an old man wearing baggy pants and a shirt, a straw hat perched on his head, driving a team of horses. Mrs. Marshal and Julie waved to him, and he doffed his hat after obligingly reining in his steeds, bringing them to a halt.

When he was told they wished to find a place where they could book passage to England, he informed them in a clipped British accent that Hamilton was the largest nearby town, and that he would be pleased to take them there.

He drove them to a building on the waterfront. Mrs. Marshal handed him a few coins and thanked him for the ride. Then she turned to three men standing nearby and asked where she could find a shipping agent for vessels bound for England.

One of them hooked a thumb in the direction of a glass-fronted office. “There’s an agent in there who represents the
Lady Dawn
,” he told her. “I understand she’ll be sailing before too many days have passed.”

“Would you know exactly when?”

He shook his head. “Sorry. The agent will have that information. I’m a cotton buyer. I’m not traveling about at the moment.”

“I see.” She gave him a wary look, then prodded, “Would you mind telling me the price of cotton here?”

The man frowned. “Frankly, lady, it’s highway robbery. We hear cotton is being purchased in the Confederacy for eight cents a pound, but we’re forced to pay six times that sum once it gets through the blockade and arrives here.”

Mrs. Marshal turned to Julie with a sick expression on her face. “Dear Lord, do you realize how much money that dreadful man will make on our cotton?”

“We can’t dwell on the past, remember?” Julie touched her mother’s arm gently. “Let’s go inside now, all right?”

Her mother nodded and followed her. Julie was glad to get away from the curious, staring strangers.