The Black Rose Page 28

  From the deck before him came a muffled shout. He swung about, scowling, only to freeze a moment later, his eyes fixed on the slim form clinging precariously to the bowsprit. Her hands were tangled in the forestay and bobstay lines, which crisscrossed the long horizontal beam extending from the front of the ship.

  "She came so quiet we did not see her," the first mate shouted as the captain thundered across the pitching deck.

  "Diaoul," Andre whispered. The devil himself! She would be thrown off any second. She could never hold against such a storm.

  Already his feet were hammering toward the bow. "Get me a line, Padrig!" he shouted over his shoulder. "Then shorten those sails and hold the ship as steady as you can. I'm going after her!"

  Even as he spoke, Andre was inching out onto the wave-washed bowsprit, where the Englishwoman clung to the jibboom, spray flying in her face.

  "Come here to me, bihan," he said hoarsely. "Over here. Put out your hand and I'll help you." All the time Andre spoke, he was edging closer, crawling perilously along the top of the wide beam.

  "Stay away!" Tess cried, a hoarse edge of madness to her voice. "You lied! There will be light, I know it now. If only I can —"

  Just then the Liberte pitched sharply, rising with a steep wave and then plunging low into the trough, its bow submerged.

  For long, terrifying moments, the woman disappeared from sight. Desperately Andre hauled himself toward the end of the bowsprit. Only a few feet more ...

  Without warning the great horizontal beam tore free of the waves, and sheets of spray lashed aft into his face. Frozen with fear, the Frenchman watched one of Tess's hands ripped free. She dangled perilously, her feet dragging the tops of the swells.

  Mother of God, give her strength! As he inched farther and farther out over the water, Andre could hear her choked sobs. Let me be in time.

  Then he was above her, his long fingers gripping her wrists and dragging her up onto the jibboom.

  They had no time to spare. Any minute there would come another wave, and this one might sweep them both away.

  "Don't fight me, bihan," he ordered hoarsely, edging back along the beam, one arm wrapped around her waist. "This is no weather to go inspecting cables. In fairer seas I'll show you my vessel, and with pleasure."

  But even as Andre spoke, his luck ran out. He saw what he most feared — a giant wave sweeping up out of the black waters before them, like the avenging hand of God.

  "Hold on, sea gull! Hold on for me!"

  With a savage roar the wave slammed across the Liberte's decks. A thousand gallons of water swept over its captain, pounding into his nose and mouth, in a fury so fierce, he was nearly ripped from the bowsprit. For an eternity of blackness he fought to hold himself — and her — to their precarious perch.

  Then they were free, the cold wind lashing their faces.

  They must jump, he knew it then. It would be a gamble at best, but the next time he could not hold them. And death would be there waiting.

  "Put your arm around my shoulder," he ordered roughly.

  This time the Englishwoman obeyed.

  Grim-faced with strain, the captain rose to his knees, pressing his calves tightly to the beam. Slowly he pulled the woman up beside him until her chest met his thighs. His body taut, he pulled her choking to her knees, then awaited his moment, hoping his strength would hold.

  Another giant wave began to rear up from the blackness. He felt the boat begin to dip.

  The wind howled in his ears, angry and shrill, the despairing voice of all sailors ever lost at sea. Desperate ghosts, they fought him now, hungry to drag the living down to share their watery grave.

  But they would not have him, Andre swore. Nor would they have the woman locked in his arms!

  Praying to a whole host of Breton saints for one bit of luck, he pried her fingers free of the bowsprit and jumped.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The wind ripped at their clothes, lashing foam and salt spray in their faces. For long, wild heartbeats it seemed that they hung suspended, halfway between ship and sea. Then the Frenchman's sodden boots slapped down against the rough timbers and went skittering over the deck.

  Padrig was there to catch them, his great hands outstretched, hauling them to safety just as another wave crashed over the bow and nearly washed them overboard.

  "Not only is she beautiful, but she is mad, this one," the first mate muttered darkly. "Take care, my friend."

  Tiredly Andre cracked open one eye, then struggled to his feet. "That you may be certain I will do, Padrig. Directly after I tie her up and give her the soundest beating of her life."

  The giant's green eyes sparkled for a moment. "I wish I could be there to see you try, my captain. But a cable does not exist that will hold this one, I think!"

  Just then a harsh cry exploded from the high rigging. "Reefs, Captain. Dead ahead!"

  Instantly the two men's humor vanished, like smoke on the wind.

  "Take her below, Padrig," the captain ordered tersely, already staggering back to his post at the wheel. "And this time, see that she stays below."

  * * * * *

  "What — what are you doing?" Tess rasped dizzily in French as she was hauled over a broad shoulder and carried across the deck.

  Her body was still numb and frozen, her senses fogged. But one thing she knew: He had not lied. The light was gone from her world, and now all she had left were the nightmares.

  "Padrig Le Braz, first mate, at your service. And what we are doing is going below, Anglaise." The French words rumbled like thunder, deep and guttural, from the chest beneath her ear.

  "Laissez-moi! Leave — leave me alone!" Tess cried wildly, struggling against her jailor. But it was useless, she soon realized, hearing the deep boom of his laughter as his boots hammered down the companionway.

  Once more, Tess was deposited ignominiously on the captain's bed, her shoulder throbbing where Hawkins's ball had savaged it. At least the salt water would have scoured it clean.

  "You're too small too keep and too valuable to throw back, bihan," the seaman said wryly. "For some strange reason the captain seems to want you, so it's here you'll stay. Dieu, but he's waited long enough to have you.

  "W-waited?" Tess stammered. "What — what are you talking about?"

  "You never realized, did you?" There was rough satisfaction in the first mate's voice. "He is a clever one, my captain. Mais oui, for weeks he's tracked you, sea gull. Dieu, the danger he risked! But the madness was upon him and there was no turning him back. And your fat customs inspector soon discovered that our captain is not so easily caught." Padrig's voice grew thoughtful. "Nor were you easily taken, bihan."

  Tess's mind reeled. The Frenchman had followed her to Rye? All the time he had been planning to abduct her?

  "Do they hurt?"

  "Hurt?" Tess repeated blankly, her thoughts still whirling.

  "Your ankles."

  "I — I hardly felt them," she said slowly. "With everything else ..."

  "Yes, it must be a great shock. But life may hold far worse than this, bihan. Andre is a good man, a man who has twice saved your life. Remember that, especially now, when he is so hard. It is only his way of fighting the hold you have over him."

  "But this hold is not of my choosing, don't you see?"

  Tess heard him sigh and could almost see his broad shrug. "As to that, which of us ever chooses love? No, like the moments of our birth and dying, love must find us."

  Tess's breath caught. Love? But how was it possible? This man Andre was a stranger. Yet it seemed he knew her very well.

  "The captain is a man driven, bihan." Once more she heard the first mate sigh; she could almost see him frown, trying to explain. "Still you do not see? Diaoul! I will try to explain it then. For a while it was enough merely to know that you were there. To know that he could catch a glimpse of you once in a while — your face at the window, your outline as you did some errand in the town. Perhaps, in a way, to him you were the isla
nd always just beyond the horizon. The one schooner he always sought, swift and sleek, to outrun all others. Dieu, but it is hard to put in words— " He broke off for a moment. "You were that which Andre could never attain, I think. For a while, just knowing you existed was enough."

  A silence fell. Tess found herself waiting with growing urgency for Padrig to continue, her shoulder, her inn, and even her sightlessness temporarily forgotten. "And then?"

  "Then everything changed. His feelings became something black and demanding. Distraction turned to — obsession."

  Tess heard the creak of the armchair as he lowered his large body down into it. The Breton's voice, when he continued, was grave.

  "Through the narrow streets he walked, waiting beneath your window when the nights were still and moonless. Madness, it was, even for such a man as Andre, who knows no fear of man or beast. And the risks he took —" Padrig broke off then, muttering something in Breton. "Twice he was nearly taken, once by that fat customs officer and another time by the English riding officers. All because of this wild, reckless fever that was upon him. A fever for you, bihan."

  "I — I never knew," Tess breathed.

  "That, too, was by his choice. He never planned to go so far, I think. Not at first, anyway. And then later —"

  From the deck above came a harsh shout, followed by the muffled thud of pounding feet.

  The first mate smothered an oath. "Ile de l'epouvante," he said flatly.

  "The Isle of Dread," Tess translated. "But what —"

  "The Isle of Ouessant, wrapped half the year in fog and all the rest in wild, snarling seas. And somewhere out there are the black reefs, bihan," Le Braz muttered darkly, a hint of fear in his voice. "Only feet beneath the waves they crouch, baring savage teeth that will claw a man apart before he can voice a terrified scream. Even in clear, fine weather these waters are treacherous." His voice turned hard. "But in such a storm as this, with the captain so distracted ..."

  Trapped in the darkness, Tess found her hearing grown keen and intuitive. "And you feel guilty," she said slowly. "You should be up on deck with him, not here with me." It was a statement, not a question.

  "Oui, that I should, by all that is holy!" Padrig's guttural voice was harsh with anger. "But he told me to stay, and stay I will," he growled.

  "Unless ..."

  "Unless what?"

  "Unless you give me your word you will not run again, bihan."

  In tense silence Tess pondered his question, knowing somehow that the Breton would accept her word as her bond. Aware, too, that if she kept him here they might all die.

  She drew a long breath. "Very well, I give it. Only" — her fingers twisted restlessly in the folds of the cold bed linens — "d-don't lock me in."

  "You give your word? An oath before God?"

  "I — I do."

  "Then there is no need for locks," the first mate said simply.

  Tess blinked, hearing the sound of liquid sloshing against glass.

  "Though I doubt you'll do as I advise," the Liberte's first mate continued, "I've put a jug of St. Brieuc cider here beside you on the table, along with a filled glass. It will warm you a little, and a sweeter drink of bottled sunshine you'll never taste, sea gull."

  "M-merci," Tess said flatly, knowing she could not drink, that the cider would be no more than acid and ash in her mouth.

  The armchair creaked; she heard his boots thump across the wooden floor. The door opened, loosing a fierce gust of frigid wind upon the room, then snapped shut with a sharp bang.

  Leaving Tess alone, once more. But just as Padrig had promised, there was no grating of a key in the lock.

  Even as his boots echoed up the companionway, Tess began to shiver. Around her the darkness shifted, inching closer. At the same moment, the ship groaned and shuddered, tossed like a straw in the storm's fury.

  The shadows grew solid, reaching out for her. Her lips white with strain, Tess pressed cold fingers to her mouth to keep from crying out. Outside, the wind howled shrilly, clawing the sails.

  She would be caught here for the rest of her life, she thought wildly. Trapped forever, just like in the dark tunnels ...

  She froze, feeling the faint prickle of a fat, hairy leg.

  No, she told herself wildly. They could not be here. That was a different darkness, a different dream.

  Near the floor she heard the faint rustle of small bodies. A ragged whimper escaped her lips. Fight it, she told herself. They are only in your mind.

  Ashen-faced, she drew back against the wall, drawing her legs up protectively against her chest. She began to shiver, slightly at first, then in wild, convulsive bursts.

  She tried hard to resist; every shred of reason and willpower went into the struggle. But these were not creatures that could be bested by the force of logic or light.

  These were beings sprung from darkness and imagination; their power was not to be confronted directly.

  Shuddering, Tess found the coverlet and pulled it around her. A moment later she heard the first tiny body thump down upon the linen and whisper across the bed, creeping toward her.

  The last vestige of warmth drained from her face.

  Must — light a candle! she screamed in the silence of her mind.

  Then her slim body froze, as Tess realized this time there would be no reprieve.

  Never again would there be light to free her from her nightmares, for the light was gone from her world.

  This torment would be forever.

  * * * * *

  "Hard a-lee, Le Fur! We're past the worst of it now, I'd say. Just hold her steady till we reach the Morbihan." Wearily, Andre reached up to his temple, raking dark, wet strands of hair from his face.

  He was tired, by the devil, weary to the very bone. He was also near to freezing in these sodden garments.

  But they had made it! he thought triumphantly. The black teeth of Ouessant's reef and rock were behind them.

  As he motioned for the short, wiry Le Fur to relieve him at the wheel, Andre's gaze fell upon the giant form of his first mate, who was standing at the base of the mizzenmast, haranguing two crewmen on the proper way to shorten a topgallant sail.

  A raw curse exploded from Andre's lips.

  "What the devil are you doing up here, Le Braz?" Already the captain was pounding toward the companionway. "I told you to stay below with her!"

  Padrig's expression turned dark; only with a fierce effort at control did he manage to keep the fury from his face. "I was needed here, Captain. And the woman gave her word she would not bolt again. I believed it would be enough —"

  "Well you were wrong, damn you!" Grim-faced, Andre thundered past the frowning first mate, feeling the cold breath of fear. She slept by candlelight; he had seen it often enough as he stood in the shadows beneath her window at the Angel. How could he have forgotten?

  Especially now, when she was trapped sightless in a world of cruel shadows.

  He plunged down the narrow stairs. Behind him Padrig ground out a hoarse curse, but Andre did not even hear. His whole being was focused on the cabin at the end of the passage.

  With cold fingers he flung open the door.

  "Bihan," he whispered, his eyes darkening. "In the name of God, what have I done?"

  Her body was rigid where she pressed against the wall, her face stark with pain and fear. Tears streaked her ashen cheeks, and welts lined her lips where she had bit down to keep from screaming.

  But worst of all were her eyes. Huge and fixed, they stared blindly into empty space, dark wells reflecting an infinity of pain.

  "Mamm de Zoue," the first mate breathed as he entered the room behind Andre.

  "Rum, Padrig!" the captain snapped. "And bring me that chest from our last crossing." As he moved toward his bedraggled captive, the bearded Frenchman knew a moment of raw fear. Fear greater than any he had known in the fury of the storm. "I'm here, bihan," he whispered slowly in English, his voice still rough from the pressure of the line that had wrapped aro
und his throat. "You are alone no more, mon coeur."

  His face locked in hard lines, Andre touched her rigid knee, which was wedged against her chest.

  What if she did not respond? What if he had come too late?

  "Talk to me, sea gull," he said urgently, switching to rapid-fire French "Tell me what you see in your darkness. In the telling, dreams may sometimes lose their power."

  Did her slim frame quiver slightly?

  "Come, little tigress, where is your fight?" he urged relentlessly. "Yes, it's a fight I want from you now. Scream at me! Swear and bite, even! Anything but this, for this is not the woman I dragged from the sea."

  Did another spasm shake her? His face dark with worry, Andre sat down on the bed; cupping her shoulders in his hard hands, he drew her against his chest.

  She did not speak. Her white fingers lay clenched and unmoving in her lap.

  They were still sitting that way when Padrig returned with a jug of rum a few minutes later. Silently, Andre tilted some of the fiery liquid between Tess's taut lips.

  She coughed and tried to twist her head away.

  "Come, me kalon. Drink for me, my heart. It will warm you, and bring you light in your suffocating darkness." Once again Andre raised the glass to Tess's mouth. This time when she tried to strain away, he caught her face and held her still until she choked down the fiery spirits.

  Her eyes flickered closed, and when again they opened, fury blazed in their gray-green depths.

  Relief flooded through the Liberte's captain. This was a beginning at least. Now, if only he could make her a bit angrier ...

  "Come, sea gull, you are slighting good rum, and that I will not tolerate, not when I and my crew have gone to such trouble to acquire it." Catching Tess's cold cheeks beneath his fingers, he forced her to swallow another mouthful. "Drink all of it!"

  Tess's slim fingers shook as she tried to shove him away. Her right hand curled into a fist and she struck out wildly.

  Her aim, Andre discovered to his chagrin, proved far too good. Shards of pain shot through his jaw where her blow struck home.