Beyond paradise (6 page)

"I don't know," answered Sylvie. "Maybe the jailer keeps it"

Chantal thought about that. She would have liked to see a pirate before he was in jail, wearing gold and a plumed hat. She wasn't sure it would be as interesting to see one after he'd been caught and chained up. "Why did you go there?" she asked.

Sylvie said nothing.

"Why did you go there?" she repeated.

Sylvie's voice seemed to echo as she replied, "Because I'm about to be caged, and I wanted to see what I'm being caged from."

"I don't understand," said Chantal.

She hadn't been meant to. Sylvie smiled kindly, knowing that her sister's night vision should be working by now, and enabling her to see it. "I wanted to see something I've never seen before," she stated simply.

"But why a pirate?" asked her sister. "Why not ... an elephant?"

Sylvie chuckled. "Well, the pirate was more convenient. But remember—you're not to tell Maman and Papa"

"I won't."

"Good."

Chantal was still staring at her in the dark. "Sylvie? You're not going back again, are you?"

BEYOND PARADISE

53

Sylvie tensed up. "I, uh . . . no, of course not. Of course not." And that was the first time she had ever lied to her sister. Why she had done it, she did not know.

"Well, Im glad," said Chantal at last. "I would be afraid for you if you went again. But still, I think I am glad you saw a pirate."

"You are?" laughed Sylvie.

"Yes," she said, snuggling into her sister's shoulder, "and I hope some day you will see an elephant."

Sylvie tried not to laugh as she wrapped her arm about her little sister.

The two tried not to speak anymore, in hopes that sleep would emerge from silence. But for Sylvie, it did not. She kept thinking about the fair-haired pirate, and what she had been tempted to do. She kept wondering how he was feeling, lying in that damp cell, bound to the wall like an animal. She kept imagining the way his muscles must be flexing in struggle. Oh, my. What was the matter with her? Before her betrothal, she'd had little or no interest in men. Now all she could think of was lying in bed, being caressed by a stranger in the dark ... well, a stranger other than Etienne. How sweet it would be. And what. . . what would happen after the caressing? She imagined the pirate's rough, bronzed hands moving all over her. How it would feel if he wanted her and grabbed her. If he . . . looked at her longingly and embraced her with rugged force and . . . Oh, dear God. She had reached a new low. She was fantasizing about a man to whom she had not even spoken, a man quite possibly on his way to the gallows. Fortunately, she was too thrilled to be sickened with herself. She forgave herself by calling it a "harmless fantasy" and allowed herself to indulge into the night. She did not sleep quickly, but when slumber found her, it found her well, and she dreamed gently with a sweet smile across her lips.

Seven

She had to go back. She just had to. And this time, she would go alone. In fact, guiltily, she found herself hoping that she would not even so much as bump into Jervais on her way to the jail. Her lonesome venture felt like a betrayal, though it was a vague one. He had taken her there in order to win her affections—she knew that. And now she was using what he'd shown her to pursue a personal curiosity, entirely traitorous to his wishes. It made her smile to recall that her attraction to Jervais had once been the worst scandal of her heart. No more. Her new curiosity was even more dangerous, and much, much more forbidden. Her heart pounded when she stepped into the guard's stone room, like an echoing tower that kept him both safe and isolated from company. "Jervais told me I could return," she announced brightly. "He said he couldn't join me today, but that I should tell you it's quite all right."

It was not the lie that was so convincing, but its excellent delivery. The jailer believed her in full, though he did not un-

Elizabeth Doyle

derstand her presence. "What is it you want?" he asked, furrowing his brows.

"To see the prisoner again," she said cheerfully, "to bring him water." She did not tell him about the fruit she had hidden in her apron. Somehow, she suspected he would not want her to give a prisoner fruit. She wasn't sure why.

"I give them water," he said in a grouchy manner.

"Well, then I want to gawk," she grinned charmingly. "Come now, there's no harm. I'm devilishly curious, and didn't get enough of an eyeful last time. How often does a girl get to see a villainous pirate?"

It was such a charmingly honest display of human curiosity that the guard could not resist a smile. Sylvie thought she heard some bones in his cheek crack. "Well, I don't see the harm," he said. "I'll let you in if it's what you want." He stretched his arm overhead and tilted his head both left and right. It was clear that standing up was going to take an enormous amount of effort.

"I could just let myself in," she said irritably, "if it would make things easier for you."

He seemed to like that idea very much, and tossed her a ring of keys. "Just don't set him free, mind you," he joked, and tried to give her a wink. But his eye just didn't know how to do that, and he wound up contorting his face horribly in his attempt.

"Thank you," she said, and with a sigh of relief, let herself into the dank corridor.

She could smell the salt and the sea. It was strange. The hallway was so dark, and so miserable, and yet it positively reeked of the wild ocean. The smell of freedom in a place of hopeless confinement. How cruel. She opened his cell, causing a creak in the silence and a merciless wave of light in the darkness. The captive squinted painfully and lurched against

T\

BEYOND PARADISE

57

his chains, like a caged animal who had been sprayed with water. When his shock passed, Sylvie could not tell whether he cast her a narrow-eyed look of annoyance, or was merely trying to peer at her through a light that was much too bright for him.

He was as beautiful as she'd remembered. In fact, it was almost as though he had grown more so in the night. Was it her interest in danger superimposed upon his true face which made him so appealing? Or was it simply another night's worth of golden facial stubble which made his bronzed jaw all the more rugged, and bare muscles more refined and sweaty from another night of wrestling with his chains? His shorn hair went every which way, giving him a look both wild and boyish. His torn breeches, cut off at the knee, did nothing to hide his rippled stomach and strong calves. Sylvie felt positively giddy, primarily because she was free to do so; he was a fantasy that could never come true, so the lusting, the yearning was so harmless. "Hello," she said, but she knew there would be no reply, so she shut the door behind her without waiting for one.

She lit a lantern, and settled herself on the moist, stone floor. Her gown would be ruined from water, and her cross-legged posture was uncomfortable, but she didn't much care. Compared to his position, chained day and night to the wall, hers was positively luxurious. "I brought you some fruit," she announced, producing some slices of pineapple from her apron pocket. "It's a little linty from being in there, but I didn't think you would mind." She smiled at him, and found his brown eyes to be reflective, not angry. It must have been the light which had made him squint—not hatred. She held a piece of pineapple, dripping with juice, to his lips, and watched him take of it greedily. There was no suspicion in him anymore. He did not sniff it or nibble cautiously. It seemed he

Elizabeth Doyle

had assessed her, and decided she was safe. He ate so fervently she wished she had brought more. But there was nothing to be done about that now.

"I forgot to tell you my name," she said apologetically. "I am Sylvie. Sylvie Davant. And your name .. . ? Not speaking to me, I gather," she laughed when no reply emerged. "I suppose that's understandable," she said, lifting a ladle of water to his lips, all covered in sweet juice. "You probably think I am a companion to Jervais, and since he captured you, you probably hate him. But you see, you have nothing to fear, because Jervais is not my beau." The pirate drank, and watched her with some interest at the same time. He looked mildly intrigued by her words. "No, no," she assured him, "Jervais and I are only friends. In fact, I am betrothed. Well, he's not... my fiance is not someone special," she confessed. "He's just someone my parents chose. But, well.. ." She locked eyes with those of her captive audience. "Well, I'm sure he'll be a good husband." There was silence between them. The prisoner had taken all the water he wanted, and was now only staring at her. He looked away and then back at her as though he were thinking, but she had no idea of what.

"Actually, that's a silly thing to say, isn't it?" she mused, more to herself than to him. "I really have no reason to say he will be a good husband. He might be the worst husband in the world, for all I know." There was another awkward silence.

"I wonder what you're thinking of," Sylvie said aloud, "while I'm thinking about this marriage of mine. Are you thinking of a secret love, I wonder? Someone you left on another shore? Are you thinking of your family? Your crimes? Or why this silly girl comes into your cell and won't stop talking?" She laughed gaily at herself, and caused the strangest thing to happen. He smiled, too. It was a kind, calm smile

BEYOND PARADISE

59

that made his cocky, chiseled face light up. He had nice cheekbones. And a smart glint in his eye. Sylvie thought she could watch him smile all day.

"Can you forgive me" she asked gently, "for coming in here to offer you water and to appease my curiosity?" She wrinkled her face up in a smile. "I really did want to bring you fruit and water today," she told him, "but I also just wanted to have a look at a pirate. I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry for treating you as an exhibit. Would you like me to leave?"

He didn't look as though he were going to speak, much less ask her to leave. He did, however, seem as though he were thinking of taking a nap. He leaned against the wall a little and rested his head. That's when Sylvie noticed the blood. "Oh my!" she cried. "Your irons are cutting into your arm. Oh no, this is awful" She couldn't imagine having to wear shackles for days and nights on end, much less irons that were cutting. "Oh my .. . can't they be loosened?" He winced in pain as she touched them. It was a short, dramatic wince, possibly overly dramatic.

Sylvie simply had to do something. She looked behind her as though hoping someone would appear out of thin auto help her. She thought about the guard, and what he would say if she went out there and requested he loosen the irons. He would never do it. She looked frantically at the blood, trickling along a riverbed of older dried blood, meandering from his elbow to his strong hand. "Wait a minute." She looked at the ring of keys. "Do you suppose," she asked the pirate, "that one of these opens your irons? Or are they just door keys?" He said nothing. She studied his suffering with angst. He was wincing against the wall, bleeding from the wrists, his ribs grown prominent with hunger. Was it safe to loosen the irons herself if she were able? Eyes closed, he swallowed a lump of pain. He looked too weak to threaten her, particularly if she loosened just one manacle at a time. And she had

Elizabeth Doyle

to, didn't she? How could she bear to do nothing? Sylvie sorted through the keys, looking only at the small ones. She tried one after the other after the other in the lock, while he grimaced dramatically at the pull each attempt made on his wrist. At last, Sylvie broke into an irrepressible grin. "Success!" she announced, and turned the lock.

He grabbed her around the throat. His grip was strong and sure; he'd been feigning his weakness. Sylvie gasped, clutching his bulging arm with both of her small hands. She could barely choke out a breath, let alone ask him to loosen his grip. "Unlock the rest of them," he whispered against her ear. There was something strange about his speech. It wasn't an accent exactly, but a distinctive style of pronunciation. Sylvie nodded, hoping he could feel her agreement as her hair brushed up and down against his bare chest. "Do it now," he whispered gruffly. Sylvie had thought he might let her go first, but he didn't. Instead, she had to fish through her keys, and try to turn her neck within his thick arm, searching for the remaining manacles from the corners of her eyes.

Once he was free, he held her round the neck and waist, and asked, "Have you got a horse?" He peered around at her face so he could watch her lips.

Sylvie wanted to lie. She did not want him to steal Monique. It would be like offering him a friend in exchange for herself. She couldn't do it. "No," she choked out.

He tightened his choke and whispered, "Don't lie to me. I'm not going to hurt you, but don't lie to me."

Sylvie found her eyes tearing from so many seconds of choking rather than breathing. She pried at his arm, hoping to urge him to give her more room, but her efforts were to no avail. "I have a horse," she rasped out, fearing for her life, "but I love her. You have to promise you'll send her home when you reach your destination."

To her astonishment, his reply was gallant. "I won't take

BEYOND PARADISE

61

your horse from you." He released his hold, allowing her to bend over in a fit of desperate, gasping breaths. Then he shoved her into the hallway, then toward the jailer's chamber. Sylvie hadn't quite realized how tall he was until that very moment. Crouched in his chains, he had looked smaller and more approachable somehow. Suddenly, he looked like an impressive figure of a man. He pulled her by the elbow in an insensitive manner such as Sylvie had never known. He gripped her as though he had no sense of her feelings, as though she were not a woman but a rag doll. She wondered stupidly whether he knew they were walking right up to the jailer, unarmed. In the delirium caused by her shortness of breath, she thought this might be the end of this short-lived escape. They would encounter the guard, and all would be well again.

It wasn't until the pirate pushed open the door and awoke the sleeping guard that Sylvie remembered the flaw in her hope. The guard was irresponsibly lazy. "Don't touch your pistol," warned the pirate, wrapping both hands around Sylvie's throat, "I'll break her neck." He applied enough pressure to make Sylvie turn purple. As the guard froze in thought, the pirate inched toward him and snatched a pistol from his desk. "If you follow us," he warned, "you'd best do it from a distance because I'll fire at anything I see behind me." He backed out of the building and into the fresh air, but did not take even a moment to bask in freedom. He spotted Monique and knew this had to be Sylvie's horse.