A Pirate's Love (16 page)

“B
ettina, you are even more beautiful than I remembered,” Pierre said when he came into the drawing room and closed the doors.

“You are very kind,
monsieur
,” she replied demurely. She felt a bit self-conscious.

“You must call me Pierre, little one, since we—”

“Don't call me that!” Bettina interrupted harshly. “Tristan called me his little one, and I never want to hear it again.”

“I am sorry, Bettina.”

“Forgive me,” Bettina said quickly, feeling like a fool. “I did not mean to snap at you. It is just that the memory of that man is still vivid in my mind.”

“Who is this man you speak of?”

“Tristan is
capitaine
of the
Spirited Lady
, the ship that did battle with the
Windsong
.”

“He is a pirate, of course?” Pierre asked, his yellow-brown eyes studying Bettina's face.

“He claims to be a privateer under the protection of England.”

“Pirate or privateer—it is the same thing more or less. Did he—ah—”

“Rape me? Yes—many times,” Bettina said with
out blushing. “He lied to me and tricked me as well. He told me he was bringing me here for ransom. But instead he took me and my servant to an island he claims as his own. He would have kept me there for months if I had not escaped.”

“This island, does it have a name?”

“I don't know. From a ship it looks deserted. There are natives who live inland, and there is a large house away from the shore that the Spaniards built long ago.”

“And how did you manage to escape this Tristan?” Pierre inquired.

“I left the house while he slept, and was able to hail a passing ship at dawn. But we must go back to rescue my old nurse!”

“Your servant is still on this island?”

“Yes.”

“But she is probably dead by now, Bettina.”

“She is not! I only left her there because I thought you would rescue her. And I want revenge against Tristan. He must die.”

Pierre looked at her with startled eyes. “Bettina, this is absurd. The pirates that plunder these waters are ruthless. They would as soon cut a man's throat as look at him. You do not know what you are asking.”

“I am asking for revenge and to have my servant rescued. If you cannot do this for me, I will find someone who will,” Bettina said, trying to control her anger.

“Very well,” Pierre said, shaking his head. “But I have no ships here at the moment. It will take some time.”

“Wasn't that your ship you were unloading today?” Bettina asked.

“No. It belongs to a friend of mine. You will meet him tonight at dinner. I was merely seeing to the cargo of slaves that I purchased, but that does not concern you.” He paused, looking at her thoughtfully. “Will you be able to find this island again?”

“I have a map.” Bettina handed him the folded piece of cloth that Captain Rawlinsen had given her.

“Well, at least with this you will not have to go along,” said Pierre, putting the map in his pocket.

“But I wish to go with you,” Bettina said heatedly. “I must see for myself that Tristan dies.”

“We shall see. But now, if you will wait here, you may have the surprise I mentioned earlier.” He left the room, hoping that her mother could dissuade Bettina. To even think of attacking a pirate stronghold was ridiculous.

 

“Mama!”

Bettina could not believe her eyes when she saw her mother appear in the doorway. She ran to Jossel and clung to her, fearing that she was just an illusion.

“It is all right now, my love. I am here.” Jossel spoke softly, stroking Bettina's hair.

Hearing her mother's tender words, Bettina's composure dissolved and she burst into tears. She felt like a small child asking her mother for love and protection. The tears turned into heartrending sobs that Bettina couldn't stop if she tried. Her mother was here, and everything would be all right now. Bettina was no longer alone.

It was a long time before the tears dwindled and Bettina's breathing returned to normal. They sat on the sofa, but Jossel still held Bettina wrapped in her arms.

“You do not have to speak of it if it is too painful, Bettina.”

“No, I want to tell you, Mama. I must know if I am wrong in the way I feel. I am filled with such hatred that sometimes I think that I have changed into another person.”

Bettina told her mother everything that had happened, from the moment when the
Windsong
first sighted the
Spirited Lady
, to her escape from the island and her talk with Pierre. She omitted nothing of her time with Tristan, even admitting that her body had betrayed her many times into enjoying his lovemaking.

“Maddy could not understand why I hated Tristan so much. And Pierre thinks it is foolish that I want revenge. He is my betrothed—he should also want revenge. But I could tell that Pierre would rather forget about the whole thing.” Bettina paused, looking at her mother with pleading eyes. “Am I wrong to hate Tristan so? Is it wicked of me to want to see him dead?”

“This man raped you continually, and you have every right to hate him. But you are alive, Bettina. He could have raped you once and then killed you, but he did not. It is wrong to wish someone dead. With the life he leads, this Tristan will die soon enough. Do not let his death be of your doing. To seek revenge is to destroy yourself.”

“But to see him dead is all I have thought about.”

“This is not good, my love. You must forget this man. You must put your hatred and your memory of him aside. What has been done cannot be changed. It is a fate that befalls many women, but they survive and so will you,” Jossel said, pushing the hair back from Bettina's face. “You are lucky,
ma chérie
, for you can choose what to do with your life. You can marry the
comte
if you wish, or, once dear Maddy is rescued, we can all go back to France.”

“But I thought it was all arranged—that I had to marry the Comte de Lambert.”

“Not anymore, Bettina. André made that agreement, but—but André is dead.”

“Dead!”

“Yes, he died the day we returned from Saint-Malo. It was an unfortunate accident. He fell from his horse and hit his head.”

Bettina shivered, remembering her own fall from the white stallion. Although he was not her real father, he was the only one she had ever known, and she felt sorrow.

“I am sorry to give you this news after what you have been through,” Jossel said.

“It is all right, Mama. It must have been hard on you, being all alone.”

“I must be honest with you, Bettina. I told you before that I never loved André. Living with him all these years has not been pleasant. And any fondness I had for André was destroyed many years ago when he began to pressure me for a son. I was shocked by his death, but I did not mourn him. I felt only a sense of freedom.”

“It must have been awful, living all those years with a man you did not love.”

“I had you to live for. You gave me happiness,” Jossel returned.

“But you are still young, Mama. You can still find love.”

“I doubt that,
ma chérie
.” Jossel smiled. “But I am a wealthy widow now, extremely wealthy. I
never dreamed that André was so rich. I can afford to give you anything you want now, to make up for all those years you were kept from me. But this means that you do not have to marry the Comte de Lambert if you do not wish to. We can stay here for a while, and if you find that you love him, then you have my blessing. If not, then we will leave.”

“I have grown so accustomed to thinking of Pierre de Lambert as my future husband, it is hard to think otherwise,” Bettina said with a half-smile.

“Well, at least André chose a young man for you. And he is handsome.”

“Just being young and handsome does not make him a good man,” Bettina said, remembering Tristan's startling good looks. “But as you said, we can stay here for a while. I will need time to know Pierre better.”

They continued talking until the Comte de Lambert came in to escort them to dinner. The dining room was rather cramped with a huge polished mahogany table, which was presently set for four. A tan man who appeared to be in his late forties, with curly black hair and dark-gray eyes, was seated at one end of the table. He rose courteously when they entered the room.

“This is my other guest, the owner of the ship we spoke of, Bettina,” Pierre said. “He has been staying with me for some time now, awaiting the return of his ship.”

The man took Bettina's hand and bowed before her. “Don Miguel de Bastida,
mademoiselle
. It is an honor—”

“Bastida!” Bettina gasped. “You—you are the one Tristan searches for.”

The man turned pale. “Do you know this man Tristan?”

“Yes, unfortunately I do. Can you tell me,
monsieur
, just out of curiosity, why does Tristan want to kill you?” Bettina asked.

“I would have asked you the same question,
mademoiselle
. I have been informed by different people for many years now that a young man called Tristan searches for me, yet no one can tell me why. You say he wants to kill me?”

“That is what I gathered from a conversation I overheard. Tristan mentioned that he had been looking for you for twelve years and that he feared you might die before he could find you. He—ah—called you a murderer.”

“A murderer!” Don Miguel laughed. “The man must surely have me mistaken for someone else. But I would like to meet this Tristan. Do you know where he is now,
mademoiselle?
”

“I gave the Comte de Lambert a map that shows Tristan's island hideaway.”

“Don Miguel, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to have over dinner,” the Comte de Lambert said quickly.

“I am sorry, Pierre. You are right, of course. You must forgive me, ladies, for it is not often that I dine with such charming company. I forgot my manners.”

“That is quite all right, Monsieur Bastida,” Jossel replied, glad that the
comte
had interrupted the conversation, though Bettina did not seem to be upset.

“You are Spanish, Monsieur Bastida. How is it that you speak French so fluently?” Bettina inquired.

“I have been to France many times in my travels. Also, I have dealings with many of the French set
tlements here in the New World. It was necessary to learn your language.”

“I must compliment you,
monsieur
. You have learned it well.”

The conversation continued with small talk throughout dinner and afterward, when they retired to the drawing room. Don Miguel de Bastida was a charming man, and he seemed quite taken with Jossel. Bettina noticed how different her mother looked from the last time she had seen her in France. Then Jossel had been under the strain of her daughter's leaving home. But now she looked much younger and very beautiful with her silky white-blond hair braided about her head, wearing a green velvet dress that set off her dark-green eyes.

The Comte de Lambert seemed preoccupied every time that Bettina glanced at him. She twice noticed a worried frown on his face, but he hid this quickly with a lazy smile when he saw her watching him. He was a handsome man, though not nearly as handsome as Tristan. Even with the scar Tristan bore on his cheek, he was still—Why did she keep thinking about Tristan?

As it grew late, Bettina tactfully excused herself. She was not really tired, but she wanted to be alone. Pierre insisted on escorting her to her room, and when they reached it, he followed her in and closed the door.

“Is the room satisfactory?” he asked, coming up behind her.

“Yes,” Bettina said, glancing around at the luxurious furnishings. “Your house is quite beautiful, from what I have seen of it.”

“I had it completely refurnished when I decided to marry you. You can see the rest of it tomorrow.
Ah, Bettina, I have waited so long for you to come.” He turned her around and crushed her to him, covering her mouth with his hard, demanding lips.

“Please, Pierre, it is late and—”

“Do not send me away, Bettina,” he cut her off, still holding her close. “We will be married soon, and—and I want you so.”

“Pierre!” Bettina gasped, pushing him away.

His face turned angry, almost cruel. “I cannot stand the thought that he had you first!” Pierre said heatedly. Then his face softened and he continued to plead with her. “Please, Bettina, I will be gentle, I will make you forget this Tristan.”

Bettina was shaken by Pierre's behavior, but she was also angry that he would assume she would jump into bed with him before they were married.

“Do you intend to rape me, too?” she asked in a cutting voice.

“Of course not,” he replied.

“Then leave my room, Pierre. It is late and I am tired.”

“Forgive me, Bettina. You have had an exhausting day, and I was thinking only of myself.”

She permitted him to kiss her again, softly this time, then he left the room.