Till Dawn Tames the Night (35 page)

"He didn't do it as some sort of punishment, did he, Benny?" she asked, terrified. "I mean, I cannot believe Vashon would do such a thing, especially to an innocent child, but since we all know he's a pirate and pirates do such
terrble
deeds—"

"Oh, no, miss. My leg was full of sooty warts."

She looked at him. Her expression turned from pain to disbelief. She'd never heard of any child surviving that evil. Sooty warts were a common sweep's malady, and once the growths started on a boy, she'd never heard of a way to cure him.

"What a miracle you survived," she whispered.

"Yes, miss. That's what Doc
Sovens
said. He didn't want to cut off my leg. He'd taken me for
crowbait
already, but Vashon made him do it."

"You must have been terrified. Only twelve, were you?
Such a brave little man to believe in Vashon so much."
Tears sprang to her eyes.

"Yes, miss," he said quietly. "It's easy to believe in Vashon."

"Is it?" She hid the bitterness in her eyes.

"Aye, miss. When he visited me the morning my leg was to come off, he pulled up to my bedside with a bottle of rum. He poured me a glass, treating me just like I was a fellow man. We drank that whole bottle and I don't remember
nothing
. Doc
Sovens
even said Vashon had to hold me down on that table. But I don't remember.
Too much rum.
And you know, miss, I think he planned it that way. He got me stinking drunk
so's
I wouldn't remember a thing."

"He was right to do it," she said, her voice trembling with emotion for the boy.

"That's why it's easy to believe in Vashon. He always does the right thing."

Not always!
she
wanted to shout, pointing to her kidnapping and her seduction. But when she looked into Benny's expressive blue eyes, she knew she couldn't malign Vashon. If nothing else had been made clear by this entire conversation, it was that Benny's faith was absolute. He wouldn't believe her.

"Thank you for being so candid, Benny," she said, "It was cheeky of me to pry like that. I hope you'll forgive me."

He blushed again,
then
nodded. "If you'll just take care of
Koonga
, I'd be most obliged, miss."

She looked down at
Koonga
. The monkey's chills had ceased, and it was now fast asleep in her arms like a babe at its mother's breast.

A smile touched her lips. A terribly homely babe, she couldn't help thinking. "She'll be all right," she assured him. "She just needs a little care."

"Thank you, miss." Benny gave her a shy smile,
then
nodded his head.

She watched him go, her mind still on the picture of him and Vashon guzzling down a bottle of rum, doing it just so poor Benny, then only twelve, wouldn't remember the rest of that terrible day. It was a very different picture of Vashon. She'd seen Vashon fight and kill and . . . unbidden the memory of the night at the governor's mansion came back to her with heart-stopping clarity . . .
yes,
she'd even seen him make love. But experiencing those facets of his character had only made her want to fight him harder. She wanted her relationship with him to be about as pleasant as a fist slamming into a brick wall. She hated him.

Yet the picture of Vashon making Benny drink himself to oblivion touched her where she didn't want to be touched. She despised the feeling more than she despised him. Yet as much as she hated this man who fought and killed and seduced, she couldn't reconcile it with the picture of the man with Benny.

Because that was a man she could love.

. . .
a
spot inexpressively beautiful.

—Bryan Edwards:

The History of

the
British Colonies

in
the West Indies (1793)

"We're two weeks from Bermuda." Asher's words were nervous yet anticipatory.

Peterborough looked behind him and found Asher standing on the deck of the
Merry Magdalene.
Dismissing him, he turned back to stare at the endless sea. "We should be there by now," he snarled.

"Are you unhappy with our choice of ship? I thought you liked her." Asher walked around to stand next to him along the rail. "After all," he said, rubbing his hand along the polished teak, "the
Magdalene's
swift and expertly handled. Better still, her crew's as ruthless as a vulture after carrion."

"That stupid captain is positive he can find Mirage." Peterborough scowled. His brilliant green eyes searched the horizon as if Mirage would just appear if he looked hard enough.

"He'll find it. We've oiled him with enough gold—he doesn't dare fail."

Peterborough hardly seemed to listen. He just looked out to the horizon like a man obsessed. "He's out there," he said almost to himself. "I can just feel him closing in on the Star. I can feel this noose tightening around my neck."

"The Chronicles
could be wrong, you know. Even if Vashon does get it, the curse, if you will, may just not work. It doesn't pay to be superstitious."

"What do you know, fool?" Peterborough snapped.

Asher pursed his lips, obviously annoyed. "Not much, I'm afraid. Look at me, I'm on a damned pirate ship in the middle of the Atlantic and I haven't eaten anything better than lard and hardtack for days!"

"You've dined well on another course, if the noises from your cabin last night are any indication." Peterborough narrowed his eyes.

"Perhaps, but fool that I am, I still entertain thoughts of another meal altogether."

The viscount looked down at the soft male hand on his shoulder. A jaded smile curved his lips. "Your infatuations are beginning to interfere with our chase, Asher. You know, Worthington's demise can be duplicated in a much more creative manner. A night spent with me and I guarantee you'll be glad I shot you." He gave Asher a promising look. Asher blanched and removed his hand. He quit the deck before Peterborough could make another comment.

Alone, Aurora looked across the prow to the crystal blue sea below. The mountainous islands of St. Kitts and Nevis were straight ahead, and though it appeared that there were only two distinct islands, she'd learned that there were really three. What looked like another misted emerald peak on St. Kitts was actually the notorious isle of Mirage.

She'd run out of time. When they arrived at Mirage, Vashon was going to be merciless. He would get her rhyme eventually, just as he'd gotten her. He would win simply because he was the more driven.

Now it was time for her to act. To make sure he did not win. She'd lain awake all night thinking about her plan and the sacrifice she would have to make. But she could see no other way. She had to safeguard her position.

Placing her fingers at her throat, she touched the lizard locket. As long as she had it, there was the strongest of possibilities that it would find its way into Vashon's hands. He already suspected she had the rhyme somewhere. It was only a matter of time before he realized the pendant she wore was in fact a locket with the second verse engraved within it. When he had her locket, he would have taken everything from her; her body, her honor, and her past.

She slipped the necklace over her head and pulled where it caught in a tangle of her hair. Holding it tight, she closed her eyes and thought how bitterly she would miss it. It was the last thread that held her to her father. As a child, it was the only thing truly hers, not given to her by the charity of others. Now it would be lost, gone forever in a graveyard of brilliant blue. But she had to do it. If she had any self-respect left at all, she must.

She held the locket out over the railing. The sun glinted off the emeralds, onto the sea below. She closed her eyes. She couldn't look. It broke her heart that she had to do it, but there was no other choice. She'd rather lose it to the sea than lose it to Vashon.

She let go. That very second her wrist was taken in a clamp and an iron-hard body moved next to her, leaning over the rail. Her eyes flew open and she heard the delicate tinkle of her gold chain as Vashon lunged to catch it. She leaned over the rail, praying that he hadn't retrieved it, but then he straightened, and in his hand, dangling precariously from its gold rope, was her locket.

He stared at her, his gaze punishing and angry. They did not exchange words. He moved his focus to her locket and studied it for a long moment, as if not sure why it was of such value. But soon his thumb found the catch and it sprang open, the second verse there for all to see.

"I hate you," she whispered when he took her arm.

"Obviously," he answered, leading her back to her cabin.

Aurora would always remember the colors of Mirage. They were simple colors—green, blue, yellow, and black —but on Mirage they left her breathless.

The green was the palms that spiked over the island's mountain until they disappeared in a sultry mist of clouds. The blue was the Caribbean that surrounded the island in as many clear tints as there were angels in heaven. The yellow was the sun that bathed everything in a translucent wash of light. And lastly there was black, the glittering jewels of volcanic sand that made up the beaches of this paradise.

Vashon fit in well. Mirage seemed to loosen him, to take the edge off his hard, dark character. When he was on his island, he seemed more savage yet more relaxed. He'd shed his meager attempt at looking civilized and wore only a pair of loose white trousers, not bothering to hide the dragon at all. His servants dressed better. But as his body grew more tan beneath Mirage's sun, he seemed more apt to smile and his laughter was heard more often.

She didn't see him often. After the
Seabravery
made port, she was taken to his house,
Dragonard
, and kept locked in an apartment, well away from Flossie and even from Benny. A series of anonymous servants waited on her, and her only friend in the world was
Koonga
, who was allowed to stay with her while the little monkey recuperated from her strange malady.

Dragonard
was huge, perched on a hill overlooking a glorious, glittering black sand beach. It was shaped in a cross with large hexagonal rooms at the four ends. Her apartment contained one of the hexagonal bedrooms, and one night, across the green velvet lawn, she saw that Vashon possessed the next one over.

Her apartment, like the house, was beautiful. The furniture, from the high melon-shaped headboard of her four-poster bed to the stylish xxx
recamier
near the window, was hewn from dark Santo
Domingan
mahogany. The upholstery was sun-bleached linen, the bed-curtains a pristine
undyed
muslin. The only color was from the five windows that reached from the floor to the high ceiling, and though the louvers were always kept locked, she could see flame-colored hibiscus blooming just beyond the house, lush green banana trees swaying in the relentless breeze, and always the sea that colored everything turquoise, even distant Nevis.

But no prison, no matter how exquisite, is loved by its prisoner, and Aurora often paced the bricked floor, as impatient as
Koonga
with her captivity. This morning was like the others.
Another breathtaking day outside and no way to escape and see it.
Ever since Vashon took possession of her locket, he had placed her under tight restraint. She had ranted and raved to be set free, but he turned a deaf ear to her. Now that she'd lost, she couldn't understand why he wouldn't let her and Flossie go, but she suspected he was having difficulty deciphering the rhyme. She knew it by heart, but still it made no sense to her. Seeping into her more and more each day was the horrible dread that he was not going to set them free until the Star of
Aran
was right in his palm.

Still not resigned to her fate, she tried desperately to think of an escape. But Mirage was little better than the
Seabravery.
St. Kitts and Nevis were not far off, but it would take a ship to get her there. Meanwhile Mirage was Vashon's kingdom. There were no houses on the island except his and those of his servants. There was no town, no one to appeal to for help. Just as on the
Seabravery,
all she could do, day after day, was wait.