The Winds of Fate (24 page)

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.

A
year passed since that horrible night of the Spanish raid on Port Royale. For Claire, the tides of change reminded her that life was an unknown path marked with its twists and turns.

In a luncheon at Governor House sat three women and a sea captain caught and released by the Black Devil ready to reveal their tale of woe. The Black Devil Pirate went by many names. Some not so nice, sworn by men in the absence of female company, and others, romantic versions regaled by women. Regardless, his exploits rose legendary, heralding him as the most notorious pirate ever to set sail in the West Indies. However, those from Port Royale more familiar with the pirate captain knew him as the escaped slave doctor, Devon Blackmon.

“They have the manners of dogs. We were terribly frightened,” said Lady Morton, the dark-haired older woman, speaking about their brush with danger when Spanish pirates had captured them. Claire turned her attention to Lady Morton, an older and still attractive woman, carrying herself with worldly confidence. She remained the one in control over her two young charges that she guarded like a hen with her chicks folded beneath her wings. Her light gray eyes had a very disconcerting trick, when they encountered another’s eyes, looking as if they could see through all one’s barriers. “Dreadful. Until the Black Devil caught up with us.”

Jane, the prettier of the younger girls spoke next. “He was so handsome and gallant. A chapter out of Sir Lancelot.” The ladies twittering annoyed Claire. She hung on every word.

Claire looked heavenward. The thought of him sharing a bed with the likes of Anne Jensen and others as his reputation grew made her
sick to her stomach. Was love worth the anguish of letting a man close because he desired her then discard her for another? No. She would never be tolerant of sharing him. But maybe what Lily had pointed out the other day was true. Maybe he had nothing to do with the other women. Maybe everything was pure rumor. And maybe, Anne Jensen had thrown herself at Devon that day on the dock.

If time softened feeling then it also unknotted memory, distinguishing the sharp vivid detail of some moments while others faded into nonexistence. With tenderness, she recalled his smile, when he threw back his head and roared with laughter, the flash of his green eyes, and the furrow in his forehead when he frowned in concentration.

With heat coming to her cheeks, she remembered the day they spent together in the cottage. His hands, his lips, his mouth, his hot kisses, and smolderingly, strong embrace. He gave her the sense and power of what it was like to feel like a woman. She had played over the scene in her head countless times. The seasons apart had not dimmed the need one bit.

Grace’s irritating tittering brought Claire back to present. “My heart grew faint with his gallantry. He saved us all from those horrible Spaniards.”

“You are becoming fanciful, concerning Devon, I mean Dr. Blackmon,” snapped Claire. Lady Morton glanced at her sharply.

With him out of her life, she had cleaved to a new passion, becoming a woman possessed to find answers to what Mrs. Bennett had shared. If only she owned the lovely plantation. How often she had combed the house for the deed to no avail. Older islanders she had visited had confirmed her father would have left the estate to his offspring. According to Governor Stark, Claire’s father might have provided a deed known as “entail” or a deeding of the property to his heirs upon his death to keep the property from being sold or otherwise alienated. The otherwise alienated meant to protect the property succession by deeding it only to his children. Governor Stark, an expert in English law, warned her, if she found the papers, she’d have to go to England and hire a barrister to prove her father’s wishes. Without a deed, how did she prove ownership?

Failing to procure any evidence, Claire fell into the routine of island life by employing happier diversions. To help with the children left without parents after the epidemic, she set up a small orphanage and school with funds donated by the islanders. When influential people visited the island, Claire always helped Mary entertain, making the event a bright spot for their guests. They left the island praising her unassuming nature, for she put everyone at ease, and boasted of her wit and beauty. Yet something in her life remained missing and she ached for the very part of her that was gone. Devon.

A thousand times, she wished she could have explained to him about what happened concerning Ames. But her pride had gotten in the way the night of the Spanish raid. Devon sailed off thinking she had betrayed him.

Claire sat torn. Her good sense applauded Devon’s escape, but deep down her moral sense could not forgive him for many things. First of all he was a pirate. He made his living on other people’s misfortune, stealing and plundering. He was a hunted man, making his living with a band of cutthroats and ruthless brigands. They had grown an ocean apart.

That thought brought another. Devon in his last moments with her, promised to get even for a betrayal she was innocent of. He held her in contempt and that proud Irish temper of his would seek retaliation. Claire shivered.

“I for one am quite happy the Black Devil came upon us,” said Captain Smith, the commanding officer of the ship the Spanish had captured. “Taking us by surprise, the Spanish attacked my ship off Rum Cay. The Spanish boarded my vessel, violently beating myself and my crew. I had already revealed where the money and valuables were, despite the fact that there wasn’t much aboard. They didn’t believe me. They dragged my first officer to the bows, bound him hand and foot, and tied him to the bowsprit. As he lay there helpless on his back, the pirates put burning matches to his eyes and the muzzle of a loaded pistol in his mouth, making him confess what money was on board. Since Spain is at an unspoken war with England their behavior started to become crueler. I feared for the ladies. They were ready
to set the ship afire and leaving us to our own desperate fate when Captain Blackmon came upon us. I never saw fear struck in men’s eyes as when the Spaniards viewed the rising of the Black Devil’s flag, and his ship coming down hard upon us. My first thoughts were that we jumped from a teacup into a vat of fire for swinging from the deck of the
Sea Scorpion
onto the Spanish ship swarmed the zeal of a thousand screaming banshees. The ferocity certainly raised the hackles on the back of my neck. Ahead of them all was the Black Devil. He fights like a whirling Dervish. Never have I seen such bravery or sword skill in my entire life. The man is deadly with the sword. What’s more, he has the complete loyalty of his men. They vow to follow him everywhere. After witnessing the spectacle, I’d hate to be on the wrong side of the infamous Captain Blackmon.”

“The rogue,” said Jarvis. A murderous expression disfigured his face. “The evidence of the rest of his activities states he’s no different than any other pirate who embarks on orgies of rape, torture and plunder.”

The women at the table gasped.

“I’ll remind you, Sir Jarvis. There are ladies present,” warned the Governor.

“Everything Captain Smith said is true,” said Lady Morton. “We were invited to take our dinner with the Black Devil. His cabin is amazing and richly appointed. He has a fine cook that would rival the best in Europe.”