By the Bay (8 page)

Mr. Bloody Mac, who unlike his captain seemed to be a backwoodsman from Kentucky, announced his right to perform the marriage as acting captain until the wedding was over when Philippe De Beauvois would once again take over.

He held a Bible in his
thick hands, but he didn’t look anything like a preacher with his deeply scared face which was minus part of an ear and colorful red shirt with ruffles and a silver necklace around his neck. Jillian had no doubt he had dressed in his best for the occasion.

She’d had little time to wonder when she was. Movement in time had always seemed to her as likely as any of the fairy tales Mother had read to her when she was a little girl, but even she knew that Nazis were more likely found in the Gulf in 1942 than pirates.

She was conscious that the men at work on the vessel listened as Mac started his makeshift ceremony.
“
Comrades and friends and lady,” he nodded politely at Jillian, “we have got ourselves together here to do this marriage between Captain
d
e Beauvois, late of San Domingo until the
rebell
ion run
him out . . .” he cracked a smile at his captain before going on, “to this lovely young lady . . .” He paused, waiting for either the bride or the groom to fill in the name.

“Mademoiselle Jillian Blake of Port Isabel, Texas,” Philippe said with a smile at Jillian.

Her mouth was so dry she couldn’t have said a word so Jillian just nodded.

“A
nyhow as it happens, we ain
’t
got no padre to say the words, so that falls to me. Captain, do you want this lady for your wife.”

Philippe nodded. “Most certainly,” he said.

“And you Miss?” He looked at Jillian.

She was tempted to shout ‘no,’ and then run for the rails and leap overboard. The trouble was that she knew very well that there were sharks in that water and though she could swim, no telling how far it was to shore.”

“I guess,” she admitted reluctantly.

“
Then I reckon you’re married good and tight,” Mac announced.

Jillian watched astounded as an extra ration of ale was handed round by way of celebration. Bloody Mac insisted she take a sip,
saying
it was a matter of good will, and then
pronounced
a toast to the happy couple before surrendering his captain’s status. “I like being first mate best anyhow,” he concluded, th
a
n scowled when the closest crew members gave a jeering cheer.

As soon as possible Philippe led her back to his cabin where he settled her with a jug of drinking water and some bread and hard cheese, then handed her a key. “Lock the door when I leave and don’t unlock it again until you hear my voice,” his voice was so grim that she nodded agreement without protest.

“But we’ve things to discuss,” she protested as he started for the door.

“Later,” he said. “It is essential that I show myself on deck.”

“But, Philippe,” she protested. “Why did you say that I was in danger back at home?”

He hesitated. “I could feel it. I could see the shadows hanging over you.”

Something in his voice made her shiver, but still she managed to protest,” And you don’t consider this falling from the frying pan into the fire?” She waved a hand to indicate the ship and its crew.

His frown indicated that he didn’t comprehend. “Pirate ship, dangerous men, locked in the cabin,” she urged.

“That kind of danger I know
and how to prevent it
,” he assured her, smiling as he came back to press a hurried kiss against her lips.

And then he was gone and she locked the door behind him, the touch of his kiss lingering on her mouth.

Chapter Nine

Florence
couldn’t help feeling terribly uneasy. She liked Philippe
d
e Beauvois and felt sure he was to be trusted. Well, fairly sure, but not sure enough to trust her niece with him.

He’d said he wanted to take Jillian out for a nice dinner and the picture show if she would
go over and stay with Christina. W
hen she got to the cottage, she found a note on Chris’ dresser. It
w
as from Philippe and written in the most elegant hand with loops and flourishes such as you hardly ever saw these days. But the contents set her heart fluttering.

He said he and Jillian had gone away for
a few days. H
e said they’d eloped and he was taking her to New Orleans to meet his family. It had long been the most significant hope of her life that her niece would fall in love and marry. She’d even planned the wedding
in
their little church with Jillian wearing a dress especially made for her and with a wedding cake and punch at the restaurant afterwards.

But, if the truth be known, she’
d
hoped Jillian would marry a local boy, one of the sons of her own old friends, so she could settle down here where she had family all around.

It wasn’t like Jillian to run off like this without even telling her closest family. She
could
guess how frantic her mother would be.

Not that she and
Owen
and the several caretakers that had helped them while Jillian was in Kansas weren’t capable of looking after Christine.

Florence
slept but little during that long night and when Chris awakened, asking for her daughter, she
had
to tell her sister about the note saying that Jillian had run off to marry a young man her mother didn’t even know.

Christina’s still lovely face quivered at the news. “Davis won’t like that. She should have waited until he got here and had a proper wedding with her father giving her away.”

Exhausted and frantic with worry,
Florence
closed her eyes. So it was going to be one of those days.

“I’m sure Davis will understand, Chris,” she soothed.

“We were married at the personage back at home,” Christine remembered. “A simple wedding, but very nice. I made my own dress and my sisters baked the cake. Were you there
Florence
?”

“Yes,Chris. I carried the flowers. Remember?”

“All my sisters took part in the wedding and Papa gave me away. That’s what it should be like with the whole family involved and wishing the couple a good life.” Her voice softened almost too low to be heard with the last words. “We didn’t have a good life, did we
Florence
?”

Florence
’s heart raced. She couldn’t deal with this, not now. She needed to focus on this situation with Jillian. Dear Jillian, who had been always both practical and dependable.

Well, she sure as heck had gone off the deep end now!

“Not a good life at all. No happily ever after for us. Thanks to you.”

Florence
straightened indignantly. “I hardly think that what happened
was my fault!”

“You’d like to think that. I wonder what my
Jillian, who thinks so much of her auntie, would feel if I told her the truth.”

The threat in its illogic was a familiar one.
Christine liked to place the responsibility for her husband’s death in other hands than her own.
“Go ahead and tell her, Chris. I don’t care.”

She was relieved when a knock on the door interrupted this painful conversation and she hurried from the room to find a worried looking
Owen
at the door.

She frowned at him. “You should be working the breakfast rush,” she scolded, stepping aside so the big man could come in.

“Ramon’s taking over the cooking this morning,” he said, frowning at her. “I got your message that you were spending the night here, but was worried that Christine was worse.”

She sank into a cushioned chair, ignoring her sister’s voice
calling
her from the other room. “It’s not Chris. It’s Jillian. She’s eloped with Philippe.”

He sat down opposite her. “That was fast. I must admit to being surprised.”

She went into the bedroom, told Chris she would bring her breakfast in a few minutes, and picked up the note Philippe had left
and went back to the living room to show it to
Owen
.

She stood at his side while he read it twice, th
a
n looked up. “And what did Jillian have to say about all this?”

“That’s just it. She didn’t say anything. Philippe asked me to stay with Christine while he took Jillian to the show.”

Owen
frowned. “It’s a cowboy picture. Nothing she would want to see.”

“That’s not the point.” She let her hand rest on his shoulder, allowing his warmth and energy to seep into her own body.
Owen
was the best man she knew. He’d just about saved her sanity when he came
more significantly
into her life after her son died. She’d come to count on him in many ways, but it was not
exactly
a romantic relationship. They didn’t kiss and rarely even touched, but righ
t
now she needed that personal closeness and he was the only person in her life she could ask for that.

Fear rose in her like a sickness as she went on, “When I got here, the door was locked and I let myself in with my key to find Chris sleeping in her room and this note on her dresser. I haven’t seen Jillian since she came by the café yesterday.”

He considered. “Damn,
Florence
, I like that boy. He’s smart and educated and seems like a good guy.”

She nodded, removing her hand from his shoulder and going back to her chair. She didn’t want to collapse in
front
of him and knew her legs wouldn’t hold her up much longer.”

She heard her sister calling more urgently from the bedroom, but was unable to respond to her pleas.

“
Florence
, it’s not that I’m sure this is more than what it seems, a young couple falling madly in love and running off together, but I still think we should go talk to Roy.”

Bile burned in her throat.
His just saying the words made
her own fears into reality. Roy Ezell
was the little town’s chief of the
small
police force and a longtime good friend.

She nodded. “I’ll get one of the girls over here to stay with Christine right away,” she said. “Then well go looking for him.”

He got up and came over, his movements surprisingly graceful for such a heavily built man. He bent over to press his lips against the top of her graying hair. “Jillian would sure laugh at us for sending the police after her for finally taking our advice and finding herself a young man .”

Florence
nodded again, tears coming to her eyes. “No doubt she and Philippe are having the adventure of their lives and will soon come back to tell us about it.”

Chapter Ten

By her second day on board Jillian had fairly well memorized the contents of Philippe’s cabin. He had half a dozen books of what looked like history, but since they were written in French they offered her little in the way of entertainment. Oddly enough he did have one copy of Jane Austin’s
Sense and Sensibility
, in English of course, and she had just finished reading it for the second time since yesterday morning.

Otherwise, the little cabin, while it offered basic amenities like a basin, pitcher , soap and a chamber pot, as well as a bed with comfortable bedding, and one painting, a portrait of what looked like a painting of five people, hung securely on the wall and a trunk in one corner that she’d inspected to find it contained an assortment of clothing of good quality, unfortunately designed for a man and of little use to her though she had selected one of his shirts as last night’s sleeping garment.

A boy who looked like he couldn’t be more than
twelve at the most
had knocked on her door last night and again this morning, bringing fresh water and food. After hearing his timid voice, she let him in in spite of Philippe’s instructions to the contrary. Evidently
her new husband
had forgotten her existence and if left to himself would have let her starve.

The one luxury the cabin did provide was a small porthole that allowed fresh air to enter and allowed her a glimpse of the boiling sea outside.

She only wished it were a little larger so she could try to squeeze through and out onto the deck of the sailing vessel. After more than
twenty four
hours locked in this little cabin, facing a crew of woman
-h
ungry pirates did not seem all that intimidating.

Of course she didn’t entirely m
e
an that or she could have unlocked the door and stepped outside, free to face what lay beyond. She thought of Bloody Mac’s scarred face and decided to give Philippe a little more time to come back.