Beyond paradise (30 page)

"You don't say much," observed Jervais, remaining on his feet, clearly enjoying the advantage of height over his sitting prisoner. "I suppose I cannot blame you, for I have captured you thrice now." He smiled victoriously, a goading to which Jacques did not reply. He just stared. "The truth is," Jervais went on, "I've never heard you say a word. Doesn't that seem rather odd?" Again, he did not hear him say a word. "I know you must have spoken more than this to Sylvie," he said, turning sideways, sipping from his wine at profile, as though

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something about the topic had made him suddenly bashful, and he didn't want Jacques to see. "You do know who Sylvie is, don't you?" asked Jervais. "The small, blue-eyed thing you keep capturing?"

All he got in reply was a slow nod and look that said, "Are you finished?"

"What did you say to her?" he asked, and if Jacques could have heard it, he would have noticed a distinct change in his tone of voice. He was asking his question sincerely, not mockingly. He truly wanted to know. What had Jacques said to Sylvie to make her help him?

Jacques just stared.

Now, Jervais was angry. "Look," he said, bracing the arms of Jacques's chair, looming over him, "I have your life in my hands. If I were you, I'd recover from my gentlemanly reserve and start speaking. I asked you a question and I expect it to be answered."

Jacques shifted uncomfortably and leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and looked up at Jervais challeng-ingly. Their eyes met until Jervais lost the contest of wills and stood upright again, freeing the chair's arms. Free of his weight, Jacques tilted back, rocking himself as though he didn't have a care in the world. But his defensive arms and hooded eyes said much about his fury. "What do you want to know?" he asked.

Jervais spat back at him with lightning speed. "How you did it."

"How I did what?"

Jervais threatened to move into him once more, furious that he would evade the question when it was of so much importance to him. But his prisoner looked so calm and relaxed that he felt foolish losing his temper. Instead, he simply answered the question. "How did you get Sylvie to help you escape? Is that what happened?" he added hopefully. "I'm

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just assuming that she took pity on you and helped you. Is that not right? Did you kidnap her again?"

Jacques glanced at the porthole as though checking a clock. He didn't think it was in Sylvie's best interest to be called an accomplice, but Jervais had seen her fighting, so perhaps there was really no sense in lying about it. "No, I didn't kidnap her. Not the second time, anyway."

"Then how?" asked Jervais passionately. "How did you do it?"

Jacques leaned forward. "I think the more interesting question by far is why do you want to know?"

"Because after you're dead and dangling from my mast, I am going to have Sylvie. Do you understand me? She is going to be mine. And I want to know—what happened? How do I. .." He swallowed back the rest of his question. He did not want to show his vulnerability, his last pale trace of uncertainty over whom Sylvie would pick. "I just want to know what you did to . . . persuade her."

Jacques chewed on his cheek and thought hard about that one. "Well, I suppose the secret was telling her the truth about what a pigheaded savage you are."

Jervais spit on him.

Wiping himself, Jacques remarked, "I'm not going to help you if you keep behaving like that." He lifted a corner of his mouth in amusement, making the shadow over his lip go crooked.

"Listen—you."

"No, you listen," Jacques interrupted so confidently that even Jervais had to stop in his tracks. "You already said you're going to hang me. That being the case, why is it to my benefit to tell you anything?"

"I could make it worse for you. I could make you suffer."

"Or," Jacques suggested with a lift of his eyebrow, "you could make it better."

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Jervais leaned against a chest of drawers, facing his captive with both shoulders, striking a pose of great interest. "Explain."

Jacques met his eyes in full earnest. "I don't want you to let her know you've killed me. I want you to tell her you let me go."

So alike were the two men in some ways that Jervais did not even need to ask why. He understood the request as though it had come from his own tongue. And his only response was a quick, dark smile, a look of recognition. "Unfortunately, that can't be arranged," he said callously, "for I plan to have Sylvie watch you hang."

"That will only make her hate you," Jacques assured him.

"It will make her respect me."

"No, it will make her hate you. She covets strength only when it is used for gallantry, not when it is used for cruelty."

"She will think she hates me, but secretly, she will remember that I am not to be crossed. And she will know that she has done you no service by assisting your escape, that you would have been better without her."

"Am I to gather then," asked Jacques without surprise, "that you are not bringing us to trial?"

Jervais smirked. "You've escaped me twice now. It won't happen again. This time," he patted his chest, "I'll do what needs to be done."

Jacques smiled at the announcement of his own death. It took a few moments to absorb the news in full, to believe that it was over already, that his life would end like this after all the years of struggle. But truly, it was what he had expected. And it was only Sylvie he wanted to look after now. "Don't let her watch," he requested of Jervais, "and don't let her know of it."

"In exchange for what?" he asked proudly.

"In exchange for . . ." He cringed a bit, nodding his head

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from side to side as he spat out the words. "In exchange for my helping you . . . win her."

Jervais didn't care for his choice of words. "I don't need your help!" he bellowed, "I did not bring you here to give me advice on how to win the heart of a weak-willed woman."

"Yes, you did."

"I did not," he growled. "I wanted only to learn beyond all doubt that you had bewitched her. I wanted only to hear from your tongue what you had done to persuade her to become a traitor."

"A traitor to what? To you?" Jacques shook his head. "Nay. You brought me here because you want her to love you. And believe me, nothing sickens me more than the image that squirms into my mind. But I agree to help you. I agree to help you do it because I believe you when you say you will wed her. I believe that you are bastard enough to make it so, even against her will. And I would rather she love you than hate you."

"You are a dead man," spat Jervais, hearing only the poison in Jacques's words, and none of the promise.

"You've already made that clear!" he shouted. "We're not talking about me anymore. We're talking about Sylvie. And I am willing to help you if you'll agree to show her some kindness."

"I don't need your help!" he repeated.

"I think you do!"

"Well, then you are sorely mistaken. Why would I need help in winning a lady whose only other option is a lifetime of. .. Etienne?" He could barely speak the name without scowling.

"Because she's in love with me," said Jacques plainly. "That's why."

Jervais laughed openly at that. "You've got to be joking!" he cried. "She isn't in love with you." For truly, he did not

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believe it to be so. "She's a woman. She's just a woman. Somehow, you tricked her into helping you, into pitying you. But women don't love of their own accord. They love what they are taught to love, or what they may be deceived into loving," he added, with a distasteful glance at his prisoner.

Jacques hardly knew how to reply. He supposed it should not have surprised him that Jervais was not only a cruel man who earned his wages by bringing others to their deaths, but also a hater of women. The two things seemed somehow related, now that he gave it thought. But he had to do something. He couldn't let Sylvie watch him hang. He knew what that would do to her. And God help him, he wanted so desperately for Jervais to give her some respect, if he were truly going to become her groom. "Just treat her with tenderness," he begged of him.

Jervais's growl was not promising. "After what she did, I ought to give her a good thrashing first chance I get"

"Please don't." It was the most Jacques dared speak on the subject. He could hardly stand to think of the difference in size between Jervais and the woman he loved. He could hardly bear to imagine what he could do to her in his wrath. "Take out your vengeance on me. If it's true what you say," he struggled to maintain an expression of earnestness, "that Sylvie has no mind of her own, and her emotions are so easily manipulated, then surely you see it isn't her fault." He couldn't even believe he was saying such a thing, but if it would help, he would say anything.

Jervais growled, "Do you know how absurd it is for a pirate to beg mercy on behalf of a woman?" His eyes sparked with a new passion for vengeance. "Do you think I don't know what happens to women aboard your own ships?" Something caused his jaw to twitch visibly and he whispered, "Did you touch her?"

His eyes were so murderous that Jacques found himself a little hesitant in his reply.

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"Did you?" he demanded, shaking his captive's chair. "Did you persuade her to ..." He spoke through violently gritted teeth, ".. . to lie in your bed?"

Jacques's silence and cool stare were all the answer he needed.

"You are a dead man. And Sylvie will watch me take vengeance on her behalf. Tomorrow night, once she's had time to settle in, she will watch you die. Men!" He ran to his door and flung it open, shouting down the hallway, "Take him back to the brig!"

Jacques's head hung low as he was dragged from Jervais's cabin. He had the sinking sensation he had done more harm than good. It didn't matter for himself—he was dead no matter what. But should he have lied about bedding her? He would have if he'd had only another moment's thought. The question had just caught him off guard, made him pause. Could it be that his silence would win her a beating? He couldn't stand it. He winced and stopped cooperating as the men dragged him down the corridor. Jervais was capable of that level of barbarism, he was sure. He himself had taken a pretty serious beating from Jervais during his last capture. He knew what the man was capable of. The worst thing about being tossed back into the pitch-black brig among all of the other men and all of the repulsive smells was that he was left with images of what might be happening to her. Of what that bastard might be doing to her. He slid down the cold wall to the floor and banged the back of his head several times. Damn it! To be helpless in defending the only thing in the world for which he cared was, in truth, a fate far worse than death.

Thirty

It was evening when Sylvie heard a key in her door. She was so anxious for some form of news, some hint that the pirates were still alive, she didn't even care that she was about to face a very bitter Jervais. "Where are they?" she cried, the moment she saw his dark form. "What have you done with them?" She threw herself to the door and demanded an answer with eyes that were both pleading and furious.

"Who?" he asked disinterestedly, just to annoy her. He tugged the key from the lock, moved her gently out of the way, and closed the door behind him.

"You know who!" she cried. "The pirates! Jacques!"

"Oh, them," he said, scratching his darkly stubbled jaw. "They're in the brig." He picked up the pink satin gown that was still laying over a chair. "I ordered you to wear this," he said harshly, refusing to indulge in even one last gaze at the enticing but despicable boyish pirate clothes. "When I tell you to do something, I expect to be obeyed."

Sylvie shook her head at him. "I have no need for your

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gown," she warned. "As far as I am concerned, I am your prisoner here, not your guest. And I refuse to make merry."

He raised an eyebrow and shrugged. "Very well, have it your way. You're my prisoner, then, and as your captor, I'm ordering you to wear the gown."

Sylvie realized she had invited that line of argument, and wanted to hit herself. But instead, she just grabbed the dress from his hands and threw it to the ground. "No."

He looked at the fallen gown with such iciness that she knew she was in a great deal of trouble. When he lifted his condescending eyes to hers once more, she saw fire. "Very well. If you won't obey me willingly, you'll be forced." He reached out and tore her silk shirt, exposing her tender belly, making her gasp and clutch at her breasts.

"Stop it!" she screamed, red-faced and desperate. "Don't you dare! I hate you! I hate you!"

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked, whipping off her sash to show her how easy it was. "Then do as I say. If you want courtesy, then you have to earn it."

She was nearly sobbing, she was so furious. "I hate you," she whispered hoarsely.

That really didn't bother him, for he thought of her as a child having a tantrum. "If I step out of this room, can I trust you to wear the gown?"

She looked down miserably at her nearly exposed chest and knew she would have to comply. "Yes," it pained her to say, "yes, fine, I'll wear the damned gown."

"Don't curse. It's not ladylike." He spun on his heel and left, leaving her with one last thought before closing the door with a bang. "I'll be back in a half-hour. I expect you to be dressed and ready to talk to me in the dining hall. And you will eat," he added. "There won't be any childish hunger strikes on my ship." He slammed the door behind him, leaving Sylvie to buckle over in racking sobs. To patronize her

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so after stealing her life from hen taking the man she loved, was more cruel than she'd known any man was capable of being. It was only the empty, trance-like state that sometimes arises in the midst of agony that enabled her to put on that vile dress.

When Jervais arrived, he granted her a nod of approval. He was well dressed, his black hair tied in a neat pigtail, stretching and exaggerating the masculinity of his face. His doublet and breeches were of fine black velvet, laced with a modest flare of white. Sylvie had not done much with her hair, only retied its braid. But she was wearing the dress, and he decided that was good enough for now. Its pink really contrasted beautifully with her blue eyes. He offered his elbow and led her to the dining hall, which Sylvie was grateful to discover was filled with people. He offered her a seat, then took his own across from her, tilting back his chair and calling out for their supper.