The Winds of Fate (5 page)

Under the guards’ wary supervision the convicts were examined by a number of planters and merchants. There remained something about the cowed group of rebels, their heads bent low that struck a chord with Claire. “Lily, we are leaving the carriage.”

“But your uncle said not to−”

“I no longer care for my uncle’s dictates,” Claire said as she descended from the carriage. “Governor Stark stands over there and will desire female companionship. Uncle will not dare to challenge the governor.”

Lily gave her a long speculative look. “I should rescue you from your impulsive nature, but I have noted you have our dear governor wrapped around your finger.”

With their availability and lively camaraderie, both girls were often invited to teas, dinner parties and other celebrations at the Governor’s House. Claire and Lily took full opportunity of their open invitation as a way to get out from under her uncle’s roof.

“Good day to you, Governor Stark,” Claire addressed him. “It is a fine day, is it not?”

“Mistress Lily, Madame Hamilton,” he acknowledged, slightly bent over his cane, his regal bearing evident despite his age.

Claire had chosen to keep her maiden name. The islanders did not need to know different. In London, there had been no time to legally change her name to her husband’s surname. Why had her uncle booked their passage the day after she had announced her marriage to the prisoner?

“It is always a bright day when you two are around. But this infernal heat. How I long for my native England.” The governor mopped his
forehead with a lace handkerchief. “It is good you’ve come to keep me company. It will take my mind off my sufferings.”

“Your foot? Is it acting up again?” Claire threaded her arm through the governor’s and patted his hand. “I guarantee your sufferings will be laid to rest while we are here.” Claire maneuvered her cousin to her left to make a united front in case her uncle looked behind.

The formal bidding began. Sir Jarvis took the lead since he held special office as the largest and only titled planter. “Faith, they are a scrawny lot, not to be much value on a plantation.” He moved up and down the line of prisoners. His contempt of them seen in the set of his shoulders and haughty lift of his chin. “They are in terrible condition. Captain Johnson, I wish to have a word with you.” Jarvis poured over lists that the captain produced.

“You have first choice, Baron Jarvis, at your own price. Hurry now so the auction may begin for the rest of the planters.” The governor’s high-pitched voice wheedled.

Her uncle thrust the lists at the Captain and walked the row of rebels-convicts. His cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such tight dealing implied.

Lily moved to Claire’s side, startling her. “I feel so sorry for him. He reminds me of a lost stray I cared for once.”

Claire turned to stare at her cousin. Lily normally repressed her feelings. Claire followed her cousin’s commiseration to a fair-haired, young prisoner, his head bent low. Unremarkable at best, he stood under the scrutiny of her uncle.

“This is awful business,” her cousin whispered. “He doesn’t belong, does he?”

Claire had no reply for her. She resisted the irrational inclination to release the prisoners from their bonds and tell them to flee. The rational side of her mind realized it was the world of men and their means. Wasn’t she just a woman struggling to find her own freedom? What was the difference?

But it was the man next to the slave that Lily had pointed out that caught her attention. He stood there sweaty and dirty, and despite his pathetic state she thought him the most handsome man she’d ever
seen. Without considering the impropriety of it, she cast her eyes over him with the same avid intensity as the other planters. He stood tall with thick wildly unkempt hair, dark in the sunlight, waved to cover his temple, and a straight nose. Then he looked directly at her, catching her staring at him. She felt herself blush as red as the scarlet plume in her hat. He had the most amazing eyes. Green she guessed although she could not really tell at this distance, but green eyes would suit the face. He stared back at her.

The jolt she received from those eyes, made her conscious of what she was doing, and she looked away, willing the wide brim of her hat to conceal from all concerned the burning color of her mortification. She was as brazen as the prostitutes yelling out the windows and could not countenance her behavior. What was the matter with her? There was no excuse for the way she stared at a complete stranger, a felon no less. She puzzled over her interest of the man.

Still stamped on her mind remained a picture of him, the poor quality of his attire, worn rags from his long ship voyage and his lean frame from meager food. Despite his deprivations, there arose in his stature a spirit of defiance. His posture spurned the world, his eyes bitterly laughed at its hypocrisy, and his overall attitude claimed to resentfully submit to disrespect. She dared to peek at him again. She marveled at this man, pondering his circumstances. An inner voice warned her of danger. This man was not to be trifled with. Behind his unrevealed mask, she felt lay a creature of great intelligence, and if the opportunity arose, would for certain seek his revenge. The raven cawed above her. Claire shivered under the tropic sun.

“Sixteen pounds for this one,” said her uncle. Claire turned back and watched, embarrassed as her uncle fingered the muscles of the fair-haired man Lily had pointed out. Jarvis commanded him to open his mouth so he could note his teeth.

The Captain bridled but honeyed his voice. “Sixteen pounds. It isn’t half what I expect.”

“It’s double what I should give,” snorted her uncle.

“But he would be cheap at thirty-three pounds, Baron Jarvis,” objected the Captain.

“I can get an African for that. These white animals don’t live. None of these men will last a day in this sun. They aren’t made for the heat. I’ll pay a good sum, and I’ll get nothing for it.”

“Look at his health, his youth, and vigor,” protested the Captain.

Claire looked to Lily, noting her cousin’s pale countenance. They had never witnessed a slave auction. The young prisoner stood silent and inert. Only the waning of color in his cheeks revealed the inner battle by which he retained his self-control. Claire squeezed her cousin’s hand, growing nauseated from the vile haggle as her uncle moved up and down the line then stopped to examine a tall Goliath with a black patch over one of his eyes. “It is not a man they are discussing but a beast of burden.”

Her uncle halted before the dark-haired man who had so disturbed her. “This one’s worthless,” he said. She had made a point to ignore the prisoner. More planters drew near anxious to view Jarvis’s leavings. Claire stood on tiptoes to see over them. The governor motioned to his slave to bring a box for her to stand on. Improper as it was, Claire could not refuse. Curious from the excited murmurs uttered from the buyers, she stepped onto the box. She should have been embarrassed the public display she made, but it was hard to look away from so interesting a performance. A duel of sorts had erupted between the convict and her uncle. Out of spite, she silently cheered the convict. He would never win, but by the snorts of the planters he was close to succeeding. Her uncle would never be made a fool, yet this man was doing his best.

Without warning, the felon turned to face her, and caught her staring for a second time.

He wasn’t merely a devil. He was Lucifer himself. He grinned at her under a thick black beard showing, even white teeth. He held her gaze as if it were some long lost recognition. She could not quell the rioting in her stomach.

His gesture was odd. But significant of what? Not a condemnation, still an indication of something else. A nagging familiarity touched her very soul, but for the life of her, she could not name it. She twirled her parasol and glanced away in confusion. If only counting the crates
piled on the dock would hinder the pounding in her heart. Oh the horrible man.

She dared to look again. Those eyes flashed upon her, flustering her with their directness, and now that he had her attention again, moved over her in that same slow manner that she had done to him− deliberately, she did not doubt to turn the tables on her. And there was not one thing she could say about it. To do so would proclaim to the world that he was returning the compliment. The downside, she knew was no compliment, but the worst insult any man could offer. Good God. Had he assumed she invited his personal attention? He needed to be taught a lesson.

Her uncle whacked his cane against the convict’s thigh, a signal to separate his legs. It was an action that embarrassed her, not for herself, but because it was a humiliating gesture. Why should she care?
Because she had felt the lash of that cane before
. The prisoner hid his anger well and seemed not the least perturbed. He refused to answer any questions. Her uncle forced his cane between his lips to view his teeth. In a flash, she saw a wall of hate emerge. He mimicked her uncle. In a reckless stance, the prisoner held his arms akimbo and viewed her uncle as if buying him. The other planters gasped. Everyone, even the prostitutes were stunned into silence. Despite his dangerous situation, he still mocked the world. In secret admiration, she watched as he met her uncle’s withering glare.

“Bah. This scarecrow would give me nothing but trouble. I’ve had my pick. Let the auction begin.” Her uncle withdrew, his first and final pickings of human merchandise satisfied.

A look of anguish appeared on the blond-haired prisoner beside her hero, as if upset he would be separated from the dark-haired felon. She noted a shifting of chains and downcast eyes from the other prisoners shifting to the man with spirit. She paused to wonder.

“Oh, Claire.”

She heard so much despair in Lily’s hopeless appeal.

A plan sprung into her mind, a daring, and most improper scheme. She was shameless, and the whole world would know it. Wouldn’t it
serve her uncle right for his high-handedness toward her? She lifted her gloved hand and let her voice rise above the crowd.

From the dark bowels of the ship and the grim shadow of Tyburn Tree, the day emerged fantastic. To be bought and sold was a new kind of experience for Devon Blackmon. He noted the fervor and emotionalism of the crowd eager to make a quick bargain. He was in no mood for conversation, so he ignored the foam of white faces that heaved before him in speculation, then passed on. He considered his fortitude, fortunate that in all the circumstances he should still have his sanity. He marveled in the fact that being convicted and innocent, he had cause for thankfulness for he stood beneath the same firmament as
she
.

“What the devil were you thinking?” Ames said beside him. “You have separated us.”

Devon’s eyes gravitated to the cheering doxies as each remaining man was auctioned off. Then his eyes drifted to the gentleman someone had greeted as Governor Stark, a short, stout, red-faced fellow in puce taffetas burdened with an exceeding amount of silver lace. Next to him stood two ladies, one of which had seized his immediate attention. All that luxurious chestnut-colored hair. Memory and emotion surged in his soul like a tempest.

He had caught himself staring at her, fully conscious of his sorry state, and knowing there was no sheet to conceal him from her view. Unwashed with rank and matted hair and a disfiguring black beard upon his face, he must appear a fright. The clothes in which he had been taken prisoner reduced to rags. It was the pity in her eyes he resented.

“Five Pounds.” She pointed to Devon.

Did she recognize him? Everyone turned to her, shocked. Angry murmurs rose and the woman standing next to her gasped. The doxies cheered. Devon realized a woman bidding at a slave auction would create a stir.

“Six pounds,” said another male bidder.

“Ha.” The Governor laughed. “My dear Claire, you better bid higher, or your merchandise will be foisted off to Mr. Cox and his bauxite mines.”

Devon ground his teeth. The months of inhuman, unspeakable imprisonment, pending execution, chained below decks on a voyage where men perished had moved his mind to a cold and deadly hatred of King James and his agents. Worse than the insults and outrages upon his person, there came the final humiliation of being bartered for their amusement.

“Seven pounds,” said the girl with the warm amber eyes. The man who did his best to humiliate Devon forced his ponderous, rolling girth through the crowd to get to her.

Devon’s senses intensified, so aware, so focused. Unbattened sails flapped in the breeze, and a raven cawed overhead. The air rose fragrant, exotic scents unlike any he had ever breathed. Black ragged slaves bargained over bananas, coconut, and strings of black and white striped fish. In the distance, a great fort guarded the harbor, its cannons pointing potently to sea. But beyond all this, his senses stayed intensely focused
on his wife
, the new object of his enmity.

“Eight pounds. Get your niece under control, Baron Jarvis,” cried the mine owner.

Devon’s eyes hardened.
Niece
. So the same blood ran through her veins as the foul beast, and he judged, the evil with it.

“Stand down Claire, this instant.” The baron’s face contorted with malevolent fury.

Claire
. Devon remembered her name well. To imagine he felt pity at one time for this vain creature. Images emerged of that despicable eve in the gaol. Her moving confession dosed with fear and tears. Blood scorched his veins as she looked down on her uncle.

“Nine pounds,” she challenged.

“He’s worth nothing,” spat the baron. “He could not last one day in the fields.”

“Ten pounds,” demanded the owner of the bauxite mines, determined not to allow a woman to beat him.

Captain Johnson stood up on a crate and protested. “He has value. He is a doctor, kept his legs and saved many men aboard the ship. Don’t be fooled by his leanness. He is tough and healthy all right. He has just
what it takes to bear the heat when it comes. The climate will never kill him. I’ll stake my honor on him.”

“Let the lady have her amusement,” Governor Stark chuckled and waited for everyone around him to join his witticism. “She knows a good bargain when she sees one. Jarvis, you’ll own him one way or the other.”