Unclaimed Heart (28 page)

Alexandre helped Constance out of the boat and back up the rope to the pearler's deck. She had only a moment to register the warmth of his hands before a shadow fell over them both. She gasped. A large, red-haired man had a pistol cocked and pointed at Alexandre's head.

“Hello, Gilbert,” Alexandre said.

“Who's the girl?” the man asked in French.

“She is a friend,” Alexandre responded.

Constance, whose French was poor but good enough to understand this conversation, piped up in English. “I am Constance Blackchurch. My father is a well-respected merchant seaman and will be most offended and horrified at your treatment of Alexandre. Point that pistol away from him immediately.”

De Locke grinned, turning the pistol on her. “Certainly, Miss Blackchurch,” he said with a heavy accent.

Her heart stopped, her panicky bluster evaporating as pure, cold fear iced her veins.

“You have just given me the most splendid idea,” de Locke continued. “Alexandre, I can't sail this vessel single-handedly. You will do whatever I say, or I will shoot your companion. Do you understand?”

Alexandre nodded wordlessly. He was ashen with fear. Constance had not imagined he could be so afraid, and his fear intensified her own.

“Set the sails for heading south, back to Nagakodi. I have new business with Henry Blackchurch.”

“What do you intend?” Constance cried.

“You will find out in good time. Meanwhile, put your hands together so that I can tie them up.” He smiled cruelly. “You may wish to pray.”

It took forever to get his crew moving. Five of them were ashore, and Henry had little hope of finding them quickly. The others, dismayed by the lack of warning, seemed to have forgotten everything they knew and fumbled their way through tasks so slowly that Henry began to believe he would miss the tide and have to sit here in the harbor and wait for Constance to return on her own.

Finally, finally, they were away, doing their best to catch the reluctant winds. Maitland, who until now had been overflowing with apologies, took the wheel without another word and seemed determined to win back his captain's favor with good work.

Henry walked up and down the poop as they sailed into the heat of the morning, worried not so much about Constance but about what she might find. Was it possible that Faith had settled in Ranumaran? Was she living a simple life, the life of a fisherman's wife? How would such a life etch itself on her beautiful face and hands? He knew now that she would not want to return with him. In truth, she had never really wanted to be with him. Even on their wedding day, she had cried. Not with joy, he knew that. She had been only eighteen, barely older than Constance. The marriage was considered appropriate for her. Her parents had been keen on the match; Henry had been utterly smitten. Faith's own reluctance had never figured in the equation. He had convinced himself she would grow to love him. Within two years, when her eyes seemed to turn constantly elsewhere, he had realized his mistake. But he hadn't been able to stop loving her. Even when she disappeared—when Violet, his close friends, even her family had suggested that she might have left willingly—he hadn't been able to think so ill of her. He had reserved a little piece of himself to trust her, to hope for her return. They'd had Constance, after all. Divinely precious proof of love.

“Sir?” It was the second officer, Hickey, rousing him from his reverie.

“Yes?”

“We've spied a vessel off our starboard bow. It's the
Queen of Pearls
.”

He folded his arms, embarrassed to have his crew see him out chasing his errant daughter. “Good. When she's a good distance to parley, I'll go across and have a word with her new skipper.”

“Do you want us to ready the cannons?”

“That won't be necessary,” he said, the hot flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. “My daughter's on board.”

“Your . . . ?”

“Not another word,” he said sternly.

Hickey nodded and headed off, calling commands to slow down, ready to pull up alongside the schooner.

Constance's hands were tied tightly in front of her. She had been compelled to sit on the deck, while Alexandre had to manage the sheets, which he did quietly and coolly. She wished she could read his thoughts. Her own were in turmoil. She knew only a little about de Locke and didn't know if he was dangerous or merely a fool. She veered from terrified thoughts of Alexandre's death, or her own, to semi-calm acceptance that he would put them ashore soon, then sail off in the vessel he thought belonged to him. Nonetheless, she felt useless just waiting, so she began to work away at the stitches in the hem of her skirt. If she could free the pearl, perhaps she could convince de Locke to leave them be. He was angry at Alexandre; perhaps this was the reason. Perhaps once he had it, he would be satisfied. Her fingernails picked at the cotton, slowly and carefully, stitch by stitch.

But before she had the chance to work it completely free, de Locke called to Alexandre in French, “I see the English pig's ship.”

Constance turned and searched the sea with her eyes. There she was,
Good Bess
, sails set steadfastly, powering through the waves towards them. She sighed inwardly with relief. Never had she been so glad to see her father.

“Hove to,” de Locke said to Alexandre. “I will speak with him.”

The pearler slowed, then stopped moving forward. She waited on the motion of the waves, as
Good Bess
loomed closer.

“It would be best if they don't see me,” de Locke said to Alexandre, indicating with a tilt of his head the hatch that led below deck. “But you can be sure, I will come up to talk to Blackchurch when I am ready, and any attempts by you to escape will mean certain death for his daughter. Do you understand?”

Alexandre nodded mutely. De Locke pulled Constance to her feet and arranged her so she stood beside Alexandre, hanging his coat over her hands so that her bonds could not be seen. “Come now, child. Smile for Papa.” Then he turned and went down the first three steps to the cabin, waiting in the dark.

Good Bess
was close enough now that Constance could see her father on the poop deck high above them. She couldn't make out his expression, but suspected he was frowning. She tried to smile, but couldn't. She wanted to sob, but didn't.

His voice came over the speaking trumpet. “Constance, I am coming over in a boat. You are to climb into it immediately. Maitland will assist Alexandre in sailing the ship back to Nagakodi.”

She nodded that she had heard. De Locke snickered in his hole. Now Constance grew terrified. Of what was this man capable? Would he hurt Father? She realized, suddenly and clearly, that she wouldn't feel safe in the world if she lost Father.

Over on
Good Bess
, the boat was lowered into the water, with Father, Maitland and Hickey inside. They began to row across the narrow space between the ships. De Locke waited until they were only twenty feet away, then uncoiled from his hiding place, brandishing his pistol. “Good afternoon, Captain Blackchurch,” he shouted over the wind.

Father scrambled to his feet, nearly capsizing the boat. Maitland pulled him back to his seat. “De Locke! What are you doing with my daughter?”

She didn't see it, but she knew that the pistol was once again pointed at her head, because Father's face was panicked.

“I am interested to know how much her life is worth to you.”

Father held up both his hands. “Stop. Do not hurt her. She is worth everything to me. You may keep the
Queen of Pearls
; just let me have my daughter.”

De Locke began to laugh so wildly that Constance feared he would fire the pistol by accident. “The pearler? But you said she is worth everything. Much more than this wretched vessel.”

Moments passed with no words spoken. Constance could see Father's face working, as realization was upon him.

“Yes, that's right, Blackchurch. You hand over
Good Bess
or Miss Blackchurch is no more.”

Constance wanted to call out to him not to listen to de Locke, that she had brought this on herself with her impulsiveness, that he must keep his livelihood. But she was afraid, so afraid. She wanted to cling to life at any cost.

De Locke was beckoning Father's boat grandly. “Come, come, do not delay. You may take possession of this fine vessel, and I shall take your little boat back to my new ship.”

“Are these your only terms, de Locke?” Father asked.

“My only terms.”

“Then so be it.” He gave the order to continue rowing. Constance's stomach hollowed out with despair.

De Locke laughed, giving Alexandre a companionable punch on the shoulder. “Well done, lad,” he said in French. “You've brought me another great success. I was going to kill you, but now I think I'll take you over to
Good Bess
with me.”

“I'd rather rot in hell.”

De Locke waved the pistol. “Be careful, lad. I can grant such a wish, if you please.”

Constance closed her eyes. The world was falling apart around her, and there was nothing she could do. Then she felt a slip, a tickle at her bare ankles as the seam on her hem gave way. The pearl dropped to the deck, and began to roll towards the water.

De Locke's eyes were on it immediately. “What's that? A pearl?” Instinct governing him, he leapt on it, trying to catch it before it plunged into the sea. He was bent over in front of her, his head below the railing. If she kicked him hard enough, there wasn't anything to stop him going straight into the water.

But did she have the courage?

There wasn't time to debate it. She stepped forward and planted her foot in his behind. He sprawled forward, discharging his gun in the air, reaching around with his free hand to grab her ankle. The ship heeled, they both fell.

Into the water.

Bubbles fizzed around her. Her hands were tied; she had no way of making her way towards the surface. She struggled, frantic. De Locke was nearby, kicking towards sunlight, but she was spinning further and further away from light and air.

“Constance!” Henry clambered to the side of the boat, leaning over so far he nearly overbalanced.

“Sir, be careful,” Maitland said.

Henry pulled off his jacket, readying himself to jump in the water, when he heard a splash near the pearler. Alexandre had gone in. Could he trust the lad? Probably. But de Locke was still under there somewhere, so he dived in as well, while his two officers sat as though their behinds were glued in the boat.