“Did you like the coat I sent you?” The husky voice took Devon by surprise. Anne Jensen, Port Royale’s leading prostitute, invited herself aboard the wherry, docked at the end of the harbor where the vessel would be out of sight. Devon’s patience flared. Anne would be noticed. Women on shipboard were nothing but problems. The last hour he devoted to going over plans with Dooley would have to end.
Dooley had done well, finding a serviceable wherry, its prior owner inclined to dispose. For extra coins, Dooley concealed necessary stores of a hundredweight of bread, a quantity of cheese, a cask of water and some bottles of rum, a compass, quadrant, chart, half-hour glass, log and line, a tarpaulin, some carpenter’s tools, and a lantern and candles. Dooley, of course, would accompany them, a man owed to the sea as a seasoned shipwright, and eager to be free of his debts. Devon looked to the sky and fair-weather clouds. If all went well, their escape would go as planned, but a crosswind shifted from the west, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. The weather, like a woman, reared unpredictable and ruthless.
He could not be caught on a vessel, and now with Anne aboard, he was surely to capture attention. Anne had made it clear on more than one occasion that Devon was far more to her taste despite his lack of coin. He took great care where she was concerned for her power reached far, including the ear of Jarvis who for change of a shilling fattened her purse for services rendered. To hear of his slave upon a boat readied for sea would spell disaster. Best to cajole than to earn her scorn. Devon sighed. He looked down at her, posturing and preening before him, her ample breasts bared by the scarlet low-cut blouse she wore.
“Faith Anne, I loved the coat more than you’ll ever know,” said Devon, putting his thumbs beneath the lapels, feeling the lightened weight of the coat, lessened from his dealings.
“Was it adequate payment, if not, I could offer you something more−”
“Ah lass, it’s an inspiring thought to be sure, but a simple kiss is all the thanks I need.” He swung around on a rope to offer his cheek. Anne had different ideas. With strength born of an ox, she clutched him to her, kissing him long and hard. Vise-like arms hooked around his neck to anchor him to her massive breasts. Devon lost his balance and fell in a hard snap to the deck. Anne sprawled on top of him. Her ample weight pinned him, her skirts flew up over her naked hips. Devon wrestled to remove her bulk from his person, but it only encouraged and excited her.
“I knew you’d like it rough, my proud peacock. You’ve been avoiding me, but you’ll love me when I’m done with you.” Her wide tongue licked up the side of his face. Sharp teeth bit his ear. She laughed then stuck her tongue in his mouth. The foul taste of stale rum disgusted him. Cheap perfume mingled then lost to the scent of her unwashed body, nauseated him. But what revolted him more was when her hand worked its way down to his breeches to clutch his manhood.
On the hill above Port Royale, the three Johnson sisters hailed Claire from their open carriage. She reined in her horse to chat and bit her lip, calling to mind, Devon’s ‘Vinegary Virgins’ and the ever-present pinched expression on their faces. “How are affairs on your side of the island?” she asked, wondering what possible need for conversation the sisters desired. They had never sought her out before, mainly keeping to themselves.
“Interesting don’t you think, your slave with Anne Jensen and on a ship,” said Agatha the eldest, her nose halfway down to her mouth.
Claire blinked. “Pardon me?” What were they talking about?
The middle sister smiled, two of her front teeth missing. “The physician enjoys the tawdry fruits of the island.”
Claire frowned. Were they referring to Devon? If only she had come from the north side of town, she would have been spared from meeting the sisters and this frivolous conversation. “I’m sure, I do not know what you are suggesting.” She attempted to move forward but the third sister equally grotesque pointed with her black parasol.
“Take a look at the physician. Just like an animal, tossing with that whore and in broad daylight. I think I’ll inform Sir Jarvis. He should give him double lashes even triple to teach him proper behavior for the respectable people of Port Royale. And on a boat no less. We can’t have this kind of shenanigans going on in our community.”
Claire sat in full view of the erotic display. She held her head up, tears forming in her eyes, turning to rage. She swore beneath her breath and kicked her mare into motion.
Devon shoved Anne off, holding her at arm’s length. He stood, adjusting his coat, keeping a wide berth between them. “Surely, now that’s thanks enough.” He was angry with the whore, for she could put his entire escape at risk. He looked around. Not many were about and others were too busy with their labors to give notice. His fury faded. It was impossible to get really angry with her, exasperating as her behavior persisted. Did she not unwittingly bring him good fortune to buy his freedom?
Anne laughed and hauled herself up. “I would hope to thank you more. But to tell you the truth, I was beginning to think of you as a eunuch, with no woman on the island to entertain a man with your, how may I say−treasures. I feared they were laid to waste.”
Devon roared with laughter. “Anne, you do amuse me. I am a man with my hat set for all but one.”
“Who is she?” Anne tempted, her provocative smile concealed a flash of jealousy.
Devon cursed. His loose tongue trumpeted a dangerous slip to a woman like Anne, her brothel a harbinger of gossip. To reveal anything about his and Claire’s relationship would destroy Claire not to mention a certain death to a slave. He pinched Anne on the cheek. “For me, a slave, the only tender woman offered me is mother earth. Now off with ye, fair lady.” He escorted her to the plank, slapped her on the rump to hurry her along and bid her fair well.
“Oh Devon,” Anne protested sulkily, and to his secret relief, she flounced away, her full hips swinging provocatively beneath their covering of full scarlet skirts.
“My, oh, my.” Dooley scratched his head. Anne expected them to watch her go, and, watching, to lust. Devon blew out his breath for Anne was a smart one. A season of life bred on the streets of London enhanced her education. To see her depart, properly cajoled, stood a testament to his patience or miracle from his maker.
All was ready. The wherry prepared and crew to sail it. The day was to be his last in Port Royale, a day of hope and full of promise, yet weighted with anxiety. What pained him the most was the thought of leaving Claire and that fact, rested heavy in his heart. The journey to the Lesser Antilles lay far too dangerous.
Near sundown, he had the last reports from Dooley revealing all remained well at a prearranged mooring. On his way to the Governor’s House, Devon passed the slaves driven from their labors in the fields. He let them pass, but each man who was designated to go followed him with a bare nod, a message of hope communicated to them.
Claire had no appetite. After witnessing the outrageous public display between Devon and Anne Jensen, her stomach roiled with disgust. Most of her anger she directed at herself for she had no more sense than the dull-witted hen-twit, Maybelle Merriweather and other rumored island ladies who crooned over him.
All day, she had worked to get the blackguard out of her mind. She had baited him, even encouraged him. She needed to remember more than yesterday, her confrontation with Jarvis, feeding him an explanation as to why she and Lily were at the artist’s hut. She needed to remember what had come before, in all the days they spent together, and what he had done to her. He had seduced her with a lie, always goading her with the debt she owed him. He preyed on her honor to pay that debt, taunting her with her lack of womanhood. She fell to his seduction, becoming an easy conquest. What a fool she had been to allow such intimacies. Claire stomped up the steps and found Lily in her room.
“That blackguard. That devil. He cavorts with all kinds of women and here I−” Claire collapsed on the bed. “And to think I threw myself at him and he, laughing at me behind my back.”
“What are you talking about?” Lily came to her side…and then her eyes lit, her cheeks taking on high color. “Oh−”
“Devon. I saw him with that harlot, Anne Jensen doing all kinds of disgusting things on a boat in the harbor. I am a fool to have been taken in by that loathsome, lowest, vilest excuse for a man. The roaming stud deserves the fate of a shipwrecked tar on a deserted island.”
“There has to be more to the story. I do not feel he is like that at all. He is well respected. I believe he is honorable as is Robert Ames. Robert Ames would never do anything of the like.” Then Lily sat straight up. “A boat in the harbor? What could that mean?”
The door slammed against the wall. “What’s this about Ames you say?” demanded Jarvis, breaking into the room.
“Nothing,” Lily paled.
“I see it in your eyes, Lily. Tell me, or there will be repercussions.” Trembling, Lily stood mute.
Claire saw the hatred grow in her uncle’s eyes from Lily’s defiance. How long had he been listening? She wiped her eyes and moved between them. She could withstand her uncle’s abuse, but not Lily. “I was making a little joke about a slave, you see. He worked in the hospital during the epidemic,” Claire offered, but the explanation was pathetic.
“There’s something more at play here. Fess up.” His beady eyes narrowed.
As much as she hated Devon she would not wish her uncle’s wrath upon him. “There is nothing, Uncle Jarvis...really.”
He slapped her. “There is much more to this story. I heard you say boats and harbor. Is there an escape hatching beneath my very nose?”
Both Claire and Lily remained silent, too stunned to think of that revelation.
“Since neither of you will answer me, I’ll be forced to get it out of Ames’s hide. He’ll crack soon enough.” Jarvis turned and slammed the door.
“Claire!” Lily wailed. “What have I done? His cruelty is merciless. He’ll kill Robert.”
“Do not blame yourself, Lily. It is my fault. I should never have been so careless to speak when Jarvis was present. My anger has wrought this destruction.”
Lily wrung her hands. “We have to stop him. Robert is so gentle. What can we do?”
“We’ll ride into town and solicit the governor to intervene. He’ll stop Jarvis.”
“But what are we going to say to convince him?” Lily asked.
“I don’t know, but I’ll think of some scheme on the way.”
In record time, Devon made it back to the stockade, the combination of a heavy sleeping draught for the governor to cure his woes and whipping the nag into a race horse. The timing of the governor’s affliction could not have been more disastrous. A delay in escape would ring alarm bells. Dooley’s purchase of a wherry, illegal by a debtor would appear suspect for an escape. Questions would follow Dooley on where he procured the money for such a venture.
Devon came up short in front of the gate and bid the guards to allow him to enter. It was well after midnight, later than he required for his plan to hatch, but if they hurried, they could make it. Lanterns were lit at the center whipping post, some poor wretch on the wrong side of Jarvis. Devon dismounted, deciding to take the long way around to his hut when a scream of agony caught his attention. He glanced over and his heart dipped belly-low. Ames.
Jarvis hauled his bulk forward, swinging his bamboo cane onto Ames’s naked shoulders and back again with full force. “My genius boasts a dozen ways, some of them quite diverting of conquering stubbornness in these convict scoundrels. Answer me, you dog. What plan is there for escape? I heard it from my niece, Claire’s own lips. Tell me what you know of it.”
“Claire!” Devon swore beneath his breath. What hellish plot had she devised?
“I don’t know,” Ames sobbed. “I do not know of what you speak.”
“You must learn manners to your master at the cost of a striped hide.” Jarvis lashed his victim about the head and shoulders. Soon his cane was reduced to splinters by his violence. Several long splinters each taking on the keen edge of a knife. Ames’s back was a bleeding pulp from neck to back; moaning he sank huddled in a heap. A cruel smile lit Jarvis’s brutish face. “You shall be taught proper submission. No drink or food for ye until ye tell me of this plan,” he spat on Ames. “When you’ve had enough of this, send word, and we’ll have the branding irons for you.” He strode to the overseer’s hut.
Devon’s blood fired for Claire. To think she’d unleashed this fiendish cruelty. He moved to Ames who bucked against a new and more dreadful torment of insects eating at his raw flesh. Devon reached down and gave him a cup of water which Ames drank then placed a palmetto leaf upon his back to give him relief from the insects. He could not rid the bitter taste in his mouth for that cold-hearted bitch.
“I didn’t tell him,” cried Ames. “I didn’t tell him.”
“There,” calmed Devon, taking a sponge from a bucket, he bathed his face.
“It’s no use, Devon. You won’t be able to take me now. I’m of no use.”
“Faith, what’s this? No navigator? How can we leave without you, lad? Small wonder that whore-son Jarvis who stands expert in loosening tongues can devise such means of torture.”
“Why do you think Claire betrayed us? How did she know?”
“Easy now. One thing at a time.” His lips compressed with Claire’s treachery. How he’d like to get his hands on her. When he spoke again, his voice cast calm and steady. “It’s to get you out of these chains.”
“You’re dreaming,” he said to Devon. “It’s Claire’s word against ours. When they find that Dooley purchased the boat, there will be questions asked. It will lead to us and all our heads will find the swing of the rope.”
Devon turned away, an agony of the soul like he never knew ratcheted through him. Claire’s betrayal. He looked out in the dark of night, imagining the sea beyond and the soft waves he’d be capturing his freedom, slipping between his fingers. To think he’d agonized about leaving her behind.
An angry voice stirred him from his thoughts.
“What the hell are you doing here? Did I not command, nothing to be given to this dog?” Jarvis crossed toward him. Devon turned, his mask descended. “Why, I am officiating the duties of my office.”
“You dare to go against my orders?” Jarvis looked at him in amazement, seeing the ladle next to the prisoner and a leaf upon his back.
“Yes, and I will do it again. Have you no sense of humanity?” Devon said.
“Get your hide away from here, unless ye want to be served the same.”
Devon regarded the object of his hatred. But at this moment when all was lost he did not know who he hated more Jarvis or Claire. Claire. Could she really deceive him?
“What about the governor’s feet, his rheumatism is in need of constant care?” he laughed out of despair, the demon of recklessness bursting from him.
“Do you dare to rely on that? Enough of your presumptions. Guards, chain this insolent dog. If you’re alive when my guards are done with you, perhaps you’ll learn a lesson.” Jarvis swung to his guards to prompt them forward, the huge oafs grabbed hold of Devon.
“Or maybe I’ll perform the deed myself. I have great appetite for novelty.”
“The man that once did sell the lion’s skin while the beast lived was killed with hunting him. Remember that.” With his back to the post, the shadow of a whip over him, Devon flung these words at the slave-master who sought to destroy him.
“You spout well for one who is soon to meet his maker,” Jarvis snarled.
A loud boom hit the shoreline from down in the harbor. Jarvis jumped and so did his guards. Like a horrific thunderclap another blast rent the air, followed by a series of volleys. All of them stared seaward. Bells pealed in Port Royale echoing through the hillsides. Burning in the night, parts of the harbor caught fire. In the brightness of flame a great ship emerged, her topmasts appearing ghostlike through a haze of smoke. In a flash, the British Jack descended from the mainmast and up went the gold and crimson colors of Spain.
“Pirates!” shouted Jarvis. His face paled with fear and disbelief, the maniacal gleam gone from his eyes, his countenance drawn to the color of clay. “Hurry now,” he instructed his guards, arm yourself. As commander of the militia, I must make haste to guard the town from these vermin.”
Spanish pirates released their larboard guns on the unsuspecting fort, pummeling it to the ground. Drums beat frantically, a trumpet bleated to warn the citizens. Off went Jarvis with his band of guards armed with muskets for the ruthlessness of Spanish pirates exceeded all in legendary proportions.
From their vantage point, Devon waited with his companions and in bursts of light watched as the militia was torn into bloody shreds, totally ineffective against the superior strength of the Spanish. Several long boats lit with torches rowed ashore. Devon imagined the worst kind of mayhem, looting, feasting, drinking and ravaging, the horrific nature of their kind.
Claire touched the flanks of the carriage horse with her whip. If only they could solicit Governor Stark to stop Jarvis from harming Robert Ames in time. Lily pressed beside her, wringing her hands. At eleven o’clock the town laid eerily quiet. The citizens of Port Royale had long sought their beds. In the gloom, she negotiated the labyrinth of narrow streets.
Cannons boomed. The horse reared. Glass shattered. The carriage flipped. Lily screamed. Cobblestones scored Claire’s hands. The horse ran down the road dragging the overturned carriage. Claire sat up and checked her limbs. Bruised, she scrambled to her feet and touched Lily’s shoulder.
“I’m fine,” Lily said.
Claire pulled her up. More cannons fired. A ball whizzed pass and exploded into the apothecary. Houses splintered. Flames spurted from the rooftops. “Pirates.” Residents flooded the street, clutching satchels and terrified children.
“What do we do?” Lily whimpered.
“We get to Governor’s House. Win or lose the pirates will have to negotiate with the Governor. We will be safe there.” Claire bit her lip. Governor House sat on the hill above the harbor. Should she risk traversing the town? Claire set her feet in motion. The militia would restore order. She had to save Ames. If only the light from the fires did not illuminate the street and make them visible. Her legs felt like wood. Best to keep concealed in the dark. She crawled behind fallen casks and urged Lilly to follow. At the end of the boardwalk she hitched her skirts and ran across the street. She tripped into a mud puddle. The liquid soaked her skirts. Lily helped her rise.
Claire rested against the side of the pewter’s shop and assessed the shortest route to the governor’s house. The whole town burst into flame. Sparks scattered. Smoke billowed and obscured her path. Claire coughed. Pistol shots and screams of women rose from the next street. Chills rattled down her spine.
A cry emitted from the front. Claire peeked around the corner. The pewter merchant’s widow and children cowered in a doorway. Flames shot out from the shutters. Claire stumbled, her wet skirts clinging to her. “You must leave. Get your children to the safety of the mountains.”
Paralyzed, the woman’s eyes roved wildly. Claire slapped her. The widow recoiled.
“Go.” Claire shoved her off the steps. “The pirates will kill you and your children.”
The widow grabbed her children and sprang over the rise.
Women shrieked. Pistol shots drew near. Lily snaked her hand in Claire’s. “Which way?”
Claire ducked into an alleyway. So far she had not seen a single pirate. She placed her free hand on the walls to guide her through the shadows. Compared to the blood curdling sounds in the next street, the alley came hushed and oppressive. She set her feet on the cobblestones and moved slowly, listening, staring into the darkness. A muffled shuffle of feet broke the eerie quiet, making the skin on the back of her neck crawl. Lily’s hand grew clammy and she shook uncontrollably. Claire plucked her courage and hastened her steps. At the end of the alley, she peered out into a deserted street. Claire exhaled. No one. She had only taken two steps when a hairy hand reached, caught her and swung her around. She was ripped from Lily’s grasp.
“Run.” Claire screamed to her cousin.
Firelight fell into shadow. A pockmarked face hosted a scar that pulled down one eye in a ghoulish pinch of skin. A leering grin displayed uneven, blackened teeth. In that moment of nightmarish terror, it seemed the devil had taken human form.
At great risk with the Spanish, Devon ventured down into the town to gain information for a different purpose−escape. Rape and slaughter abounded. Hardened from the wars he’d fought, even this rivaled in lust and cruelty. He plucked a sword from a dead Spaniard, moved forward in haste to check his wherry. But before he reached the harbor, a terrified girl ran into him.
“Lily!”
She looked at him in disbelief then rose to her senses. “You must save Claire. We had come to see the governor—and all of a sudden, pirates were everywhere.”
Devon gritted his teeth. He should leave Claire to the mercy of the pirates for what she did to Ames, but he could not leave her to such fate. Devon pulled Lily across the street. He pushed her in a dark alcove. “Stay here,” he ordered. With stealth he moved through the darkness. He sidled up to a house Lily pointed to and listened. He counted two male voices. He peered through the window to confirm his suspicions. A single lantern from above lit the terror on Claire’s face. Her eyes blazed with indignation. She swung a long brass candlestick, holding them at bay, her long hair streaming down her back. Devon’s eyes took in her dress torn at the bodice. Rage heaved in his stomach. How dare they touch her. The two pirates toyed with her. They would be dead in seconds. Devon crashed through the door. With a flash of his sword he dispatched the one closest to him with skillful ease. The man sank in a hideous heap. Devon stepped over him. Only a tick in his cheek revealed his true emotion. A drunken pirate, a huge mottled brute snarled at Devon’s weapon.
“You English dog. You dare to intrude with that puny thing?”
Devon smiled easily. “Let’s see if the iron can be wrought into silver, my friend,” he challenged. The drunken pirate sped toward him, cutlass in hand. Devon knocked his heavy blade aside then plunged his sword tip into his heart.
Claire stood white-faced. Her hand flew to her mouth. “I am glad you killed him.”
“I wish him a thousand deaths and more,” Devon spat then wiped the blood from his sword on the man’s vest. “Why are you here?” He didn’t wait for her answer. A ribald group of pirates approached. He grabbed her wrist and sped down an alleyway, retrieving Lily.
Claire stopped. “I’m going nowhere with you.”
Devon swung around to her. “Are you mad? Have you not seen the horrors done this night? Do you think they will have mercy on you?” And then he calmed and said icily, “Surely now, you think those other two oafs planned a tea party for you this evening?”
“Claire, he saved your life,” Lily pleaded.
Steps clattered from around the corner. “Come.” He grabbed her wrist in an unrelenting grip. He had no time for female obstinacy. He had to escape while the town was in chaos. They sped down one alley to another. With great fortune, they came upon no other, reaching the outskirts of town. In the darkness they traveled to the Great House.
“Pack your things. I’ll get the horses ready.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Claire defied him again.
“The devil I’d go anywhere the sight of you exists. But I’ve had the taste of Spanish hospitality in a Castilian prison. Yet the worst depravity is owned by Spanish pirates who go out of their way to torture, rape and murder helpless victims. You are going to Speightstown or further north. There you’ll be safe until the pirates have their ransom which I’m sure the governor will be forced to give once he’s shook out of his drunken sleep.”
“How dare you call Governor Stark a drunkard.”
“I gave him a draught myself this eventide to abate the pain from his arthritis. It’ll be a hard time for the pirates to wake him. During that time, the dirty Spanish will be capable of anything. Now hurry, and do as I command.”
Out of a dark corridor, Cookie clung to a mallet and clucked after him like a disgruntled fowl, disheveled and in a state of panic. Devon quieted her with a word of reassurance to collect her belongings and hurry her mistresses along.
“Do as he says, Claire.” Lily caught her cousin’s arm and climbed the stairs.
Devon rounded the front of the house with four fresh mounts. So as not to draw the pirates from town, he muted the light of a lantern to give them the illumination needed. He assisted Lily first, tying her bag behind her.
“Oh Devon,” Lily shuddered. “I do thank you for saving our lives this wretched night. But what of Robert? Tell me, Jarvis did not hurt him.”
It struck him the love and concern she had for the navigator. What he’d do to hear the same adoration from Claire’s lips. Instead, he was met with her cruel betrayal. His eyes narrowed on Claire, and she shifted. “I am sorry to say he is in bad shape at the moment. Your uncle exercised his displeasure.”
“Please tell him, I-I love him,” Lily whispered.
Devon stood amazed from this confession. The staid and prim Lily did not seem like the type to demonstrate any visible sentiments. “You have a good heart, unlike another in your company.” He dropped the hint with a vicious sneer. “I will be sure to tell him, Lily, to give him hope. This I promise.”
He helped Cookie mount, and she fussed over him. “Have a care, Dr. Blackmon. I think ye’re a fine man. Please send my regards to Ben. I mean Mr. Bloodsmythe.”
This too surprised Devon. “Aye. I’ll give your regards to Ben.”
Devon bridled when he turned to Claire. She had the audacity to glare at him with burning, reproachful eyes. He hauled her, kicking and fighting back into the house. He backed her into a wall, imprisoning her with his body, his lips curled in disgust. She had to answer for what she did to Ames. And why the fool escapade into Port Royale to see the governor when it was under attack? What if the Spanish had caught them? It skewered him like a hot poker.
So close to her, he could feel her body heat. A subtle tantalizing hint of lavender mixed with her scent assailed him. The warmth and soft curves beckoned him. The memory of the day before flooded back, the sweet, salt taste, the feel of her mouth on his, her tender moans and soft breasts. Surely it had meant more. Despite her miserable treachery, he wanted to remember the whole of her. The simple evidence, so very clear at this moment, burst the fires of hell in his mind and body. He wanted to damn his desire, damn the vows and end the fascination that had carried him to such flaming heights of wanting. He fought the wild longing to seize her then and there, fought the furious fates that had brought him to her this night.
She bucked beneath him.
“Let go of me. You’re nothing but a libertine. I saw you with Anne Jensen making a spectacle of yourself on a boat in the harbor. Don’t deny it. How many other women have you been with?”
“You faithless witch. So in anger you set your uncle on Ames?”
When she remained defiantly mute, he grabbed her shoulders, shaking her. “So you take your petty revenge on an innocent soul, fomenting a beating that almost killed Robert? If the Spanish had not been so precipitous, Ames would be dead, and I’d be gelded under that very lash. Your jealousy speaks volumes.” He laughed, and she spat at him.
“I have no idea what you are talking about you lowlife barbarian. I have met no one cruder or coarser, than you.”
“So I’ve been told.”
“You vile loathsome creature, prancing about as a stud for every woman, young or old.”
“It spoils a man, indeed it does−to be the object of so much salacious interest.” He laughed again when he saw her rage.
“I hope I never see you again.”
He gritted his teeth. “That my dear will be a wish you’ll soon realize.”
Claire halted. “What do you mean?”
“Do you think I’d trust that weapon in your hand? Your deceit and lies know no bounds. If I were inclined toward violence toward women, Claire, you’d be black and blue.”
She pushed away from him, her anger spurring her to a wild momentum, and still he was quicker, catching her. “You who speak of intimacy then lace it with threats. What of you, Dr. Blackmon? What of your vows? You cavort−”
“Fair warning Madame, never will I abide your barbs or betrayal against me. If the winds of fate ever bring us together again, I will have you to complete the vows. You will stay with me, sleep with me, be with me, learn to obey and honor me.”
“You are insane. You are a slave and that will never happen again. I’ll never forgive you for your wretched rollicking with the island women then setting me up as one of your conquests. As far as I’m concerned there were no vows.” Her eyes shimmered with her hatred and fury.
“And for what you did to Robert, I will never forgive you. He’s been beaten to an inch of his life−that is, if he ever recovers.” He caught a glimpse of a deep anguish sweep through her eyes. Perhaps there was a seed of compassion in her aristocratic black soul. Devon stayed too incensed to give it thought. “Beware to cross my path again. You saw how I dispatched those two men accosting you. You have learned a lesson in my ruthlessness. I will have my revenge.”
He pulled her roughly, violently to him, his mouth covering hers hungrily, that of a half-starved man, filling a wanting, as a desert thirsts for rain. His tongue plunged into her sweet mouth, burning everything about her into his memory. She resisted his punishing kiss at first, twisting her head and pushing away. He did not allow it. He dredged a fire from within her, cultivating a burning desire. She laced her arms around his neck, boneless, and she sank against him. He feasted on the sweetness of her answering kiss. As he roused her passion, his own grew stronger. His lips seared a path down her neck, her shoulders and hot upon her breast. She moaned and held him to her heart and he heard the fast beat of it. He grew hard against her soft body. She moaned. Blood pounded in his brain...
“Claire. Devon. We need to go.” Lily warned. “The east side of the town is burning.”
Reality sank into his heavy passioned skull.
There were more shouts from below, then the popping of pistols, and smell of black powder followed by the onslaught of chilling howls and screams. It sobered him quickly.
“Madame Blackmon,” he said icily, with a deep and mocking bow.
“Do not call me that odious name again. God will surely cause you to rot in hell.”
“God is not always so accommodating, Madame Blackmon.” He smiled down on her with derision.
She swore beneath her breath and hurried down the stairs ahead of him. He followed her, but she did not wait to let him help her. After several attempts to mount, she stood next to the horse, resting her head against its side, refusing to ask Devon for help.
“Devon, It’s not what you think−”
“Enough of your lies.” When she turned to him, he studied her critically, staring into the beauty of her face, defiant tears in her lovely eyes. He reminded himself that she had betrayed him in the worst possible way. Claire’s shoulders sagged for a moment. Devon almost pitied her. He preferred her anger.
He cast her up onto the horse, letting his palm reach beneath her bottom. He listened to her outrage.
He held onto her reins. “Remember Madame. If the winds prevail, and we cross paths again, then be forewarned, my dear wife...I will have my revenge upon your person.” He slapped the beast’s flanks and she started, muffling an oath. Devon watched them recede into the darkness of the starlit sapphire night. He mounted his horse and high-tailed it to the stockade. There was much work to do before the first fingers of dawn approached.