Lady Vixen (19 page)

For
a few minutes Lafitte and Saber conversed desultorily. Then Saber brought up
the issue that concerned him most—Allen Ballard.

A
frown creased Lafitte's forehead. "How do you wish to dispose of him? He
is, after all, your prisoner, and as long as he is in no position to pass on
more information, I do not greatly care what his fate is. We can turn him over
to the Americans, thereby gaining their guarded goodwill... or we can sell him
back to the British. It makes little difference; we benefit whichever way we
chose." His frown lightened, and flashing a singularly charming smile, he
murmured, "A pleasant state of affairs, no?"

"I
think I should like to keep him prisoner for the present," Saber said
slowly. "I should like a bit more information from him. We can always
dispose of the man . . . but I may have a use for him in the meantime. Do you mind
if I have him transferred from the ship to your calaboose, here on the
island?"

Lafitte
gave his consent readily and at Saber's request summoned a servant to carry a
message to
La Belle Garce
for Allen's removal. The servant gone, Saber
asked idly, "Do you wish to come with me when I question him?"

A
sardonic gleam in the black eyes, Lafitte retorted, "Hardly, and you would
be dismayed if I did. I am not deceived by your casual attitude,
mon ami.
You
wish this man for your own purposes, and for your own reasons you want him in
my so-very-secure calaboose. If it were not for that, you would never have
mentioned his existence to me!"

Saber
grinned, not a bit abashed by Lafitte's correct reading of the situation.
"Well, it did occur to me that there might be a member or two of my ship
that might not agree with my actions," he admitted. "Ballard was very
popular with the crew."

"But
naturally! A spy would be," returned Lafitte dryly. "But, speaking of
spies," Lafitte continued, "word reached me just after you sailed
this last time that there were some very pointed questions being asked about
you on Grand Terre."

Surprised
and showing it, Saber asked, "What kind of questions?"

"Mmmm,
some questions like: What is Captain Saber's true name? Where did he come from?
When?"

Puzzled,
Saber stared at Lafitte. "Why would anyone be that interested in me? Do
you know who it was?"

"That
I do not. Words travel like wildfire on Grand Terre, conveniently losing their
sources in the process. It may be nothing, but I thought it wise to warn you.
Perhaps someone wishes you evil. A jealous husband, no? Or someone who would
benefit if you were to come to grief? Who knows?"

For
a second Saber thought of Robert Saxon in England, but pushed the idea away as
absurd. Even Robert's arm was not that long.

Not
greatly alarmed by Lafitte's news, Saber dismissed the subject with a shrug and
adroitly changed the topic of conversation. Staring out the window at the
glimpse of the bay over the straggling treetops, he asked, "What sort of
price would you give me for
La Belle Garce?"

"Pardon?"
Bewilderment was apparent in Lafitte's voice. "I must have misunderstood
you... I thought you just asked if I would buy your ship."

"Hmm,
I did. I've decided to sell her. I've a mind to become respectable."

If
Saber had stated he wished to become a nun in the Order of Ursuline in New
Orleans, Lafitte could not have been more horrified. In a faint voice he
repeated, "Sell
La Belle Garce
and become respectable!" He
spat out the last word with a great deal of distaste. Staring at Saber's
bearded face with consternation, he cried, "You must be mad! Why?"

At
the moment Lafitte could find no words to express his feelings. It was simply
incomprehensible, and Saber, taking pity on him, said gently, "I've
enjoyed our association, profited by it, but I'm not the wild hotheaded youth
that I was ten years ago. I grow weary of playing the pirate, even if it is
cloaked by the polite term of privateer. Bluntly, I have no more need of
La
Belle Garce.
I've acquired fortune enough to make it unnecessary for me to
continue in the role of privateer, or if you prefer plain speaking—
pirate!"

Recovering
himself somewhat, Lafitte sighed. "So you would leave your friends and
become like the so-proper gentlemen in New Orleans."

Saber
laughed. "I would never turn my back on a friend and I doubt I shall be
able to become a model of decorum."

Lafitte
allowed a shadow of a smile to cross his handsome face. "I agree."
Then seriously, he asked "You are certain this is what you plan to do? You
will not, six months from now, change your mind?"

All
laughter banished from the gold eyes, Saber regarded his cigar rather somberly.
"Yes, I'm certain and I would offer you a little advice... if you will not
take it amiss."

Lafitte
cocked an eyebrow and looked amused. "You will teach your granny to suck
eggs?"

A
quick grin was flashed to him, but then Saber said carefully, "If I were
you, I would follow my example and disassociate yourself from Grand Terre and
all that it implies."

Lafitte
stiffened, and aware of it, Saber met his angry stare. Softly he said,
"Jean, listen to me. The wild days are almost over. We're in our waning
stages, if you will just read all the signs correctly. The Americans are not
going to stomach you on their doorstep much longer, and what is worse, they're
convincing the old die-hard Creoles that we really are a menace and should be
stamped out. It's only a matter of time until they take definite action."
Deliberately he added, "That small slave rebellion in the Parish of St.
John the Baptist, a few years back, did you little good."

Lafitte
grunted in agreement. That much of what Saber said was true. There had been a
rebellion planned on the order of the bloodbath that had overtaken Haiti many
years ago. And when it was discovered the ringleaders were slaves who had been
smuggled in from Africa by Lafitte, the more respectable portion of the
population had been outraged and frightened. But unlike Saber, Lafitte did not
read into that little contretemps the beginning of the end. He had outraged
others before; it was certainly nothing novel. Without heat he inquired,
"Are you a rat leaving what you think is a sinking ship,
mon ami?"

Saber's
mouth thinned and his hand tightened around the wineglass. "No. If I were,
I would wait six months or a year before leaving." Flatly he said,
"Get out, Jean, before you lose everything."

"Ah,
bah! You annoy me! Feeling as you do, I think it is best that you will no
longer be part of the organization. I have no use for men that doubt me."

Saber
stood up, put down his wineglass, and very,
very
properly bowed. He
turned to leave but Lafitte muttered, "Wait!"

Only
polite curiosity showing on his features, Saber looked at him. Rising from
behind his desk, Lafitte said, "I apologize. We are friends, are we not?
As friends we should be able to speak our thoughts without the other taking
offense. I admit I am vexed, greatly, but I do not wish us to part in
anger."

Saber's
mouth lengthened into a slow, lazy smile, a twinkle glinting in his eyes.
"You were angry, I was not. I merely felt it politic to let you get over
your... ah... sulks before I saw you again."

"Sulks!"
Lafitte was plainly affronted by such a word being applied to himself, but then
realizing Saber was right, he smiled and extended his hand. As the two shook
hands he said, "I will give you a good price for your ship
mon ami.
How
soon do you want all the final details settled?"

Saber
shrugged. "I'm not in a tearing hurry, although now that my mind is made
up, I would prefer to have it finished at the earliest possible date. Shall we
say within the week, the first of December? I should have also decided what to
do with the good Allen by then."

"Very
well. I'm most regretful to lose you as one of my captains, but I hope I shall
retain you as a good and frequent customer in the future. You will, of course,
be staying with me tonight and I shall see you at dinner?"

Saber
nodded and laughed, "Always the businessman, are you not?"

"But
of course,
mon ami.
What else would I be?"

Departing
from Lafitte's a few minutes later, he was glad of the warmth of his greatcoat
against the bite of the chill wind that blew in from the bay as he slowly
walked over to the sturdy brick building that comprised the calaboose. Strange
to think that this part of his life was now ending, but it had served its
purpose and now he was resolved upon another path of life.

Entering
the calaboose, he discovered much to his satisfaction that Allen had arrived
only moments before and was presently chained in one of the cells toward the
rear of the building. The calaboose was not large, consisting of a small main
room and beyond that four tiny cells—there was not much use for one on Grand
Terre. Most disputes were settled by a knife or fists, and the calaboose was
merely Lafitte's token of law and order. But that was not to say that the
calaboose was weak or just an excuse, for it was quite sturdy.

Allen
was in the last cell, and Saber's nose wrinkled with distaste as he walked down
the narrow dark passageway that led there. The stale smell of unwashed bodies
and other even less pleasant odors came to his nostrils, and he wondered
sardonically if his new quarters gave Allen any joy. Evidently not, judging
from his haggard appearance, Saber thought, as he viewed dispassionately the
man manacled to the wall before him. His clothing was torn and bloodstained;
bruises discolored his face. Eyeing a new bruise, Saber asked interestedly,
"Did you try to escape as they were bringing you ashore? I don't remember
you being quite so untidy when last we met."

Allen's
head jerked up at Saber's words and instinctively he pulled against his chains.

"You
bastard!" he snarled, anger darkening his eyes. "What have you done
with Nick?"

"Don't
you mean Nicole?"

Allen
caught his breath. "She told
you?"
he finally croaked
incredulously.

"Let
us say I was able to . . . ah . . . discover it for myself. She was, like you,
not very forthcoming."

Allen
eyed the man across from him. His own danger he took as a matter of fact, he
had always known the risks. Nicole was another story. Grimly he inquired,
"Where is she?"

Saber's
eyebrows rose in disdainful reproof. "Her fate is my concern."

"Saber,
listen to me!" he started earnestly, then throwing caution to the winds,
he blurted out the entire story, telling far more than Nicole had. She had told
Saber nothing beyond her age and first name. But Allen, his very real worry for
Nicole driving all other considerations from his mind, told Saber everything:
her full name, her background, everything! It was only when he faltered to a stop
that he became aware of the curious stillness of the other man, and the cold,
derisive smile on his lips. The smile was a mirthless one, and if Allen could
have known Saber's thoughts he would have been stunned and dismayed.

The
Ashford name was well-known to Saber—he had cursed it for years. It was forever
seared in his mind, associated with disgrace, dishonor, lies, and betrayal.
Saber wondered at the ironic implausibility of it all, that orphaned Nicole
Ashford should fall into his hands.

"Don't
you understand?" Allen demanded, breaking into his thoughts. "Nicole
Ashford is from a good family. She must be returned to her home before she
finds herself in worse trouble."

Recovering
himself, his expression openly skeptical, Saber asked, "Why didn't you say
something earlier? It's a little late to worry about her now!"

Allen
bit his lip, unwilling to confess that he had had his own reasons or that his
motives had been anything less than altruistic. Saber waited silently,
unperturbed, but as Allen offered nothing further, he grew bored. When the
silence became awkward, Allen demanded, "What do you intend to do?"

Carelessly
studying the nails of one finely shaped hand, Saber said coolly, "Do? I
intend to do nothing. I shall find it much more amusing that way. I shall
probably find it diverting to view her antics as she strives to hide the real
facts from me—the real facts that you, her good friend, were so eager to impart
to me."

"Saber,
hasn't a word I've said made sense to you? Are you so completely without scruple
that you will ruin a young and innocent girl?"

His
gold eyes gleaming with mockery, Saber surveyed him pityingly for a moment,
then said bluntly, "Yes, of course I am!"

Allen's
lips drew back in a snarl of helpless rage, but Saber only laughed and walked
away from him. Stopping in the doorway to the cell, he turned and looked back
at his prisoner. "Don't concern yourself with the future of young
Nick," he taunted. "I intend to take her under my protection."
His eyes suddenly shuttered and unreadable he murmured, "And I'm sure you
know what that means."

Furiously
Allen fought against his chains. "Saber, goddamnit! Listen to me!"
But the words fell on uncaring ears, for with a mocking inclination of his
black head Saber had departed.