Other Oceans: Book Two of the Hook & Jill Saga (76 page)

And the gypsy got his warning. In spite of all his conniving, Jill had surprised him. Everyone could see the shock on his face when she turned the tables on him. She’d done half Smee’s job in one stroke of her quill. Smee, too, felt the power of her pen. He’d kept her story and read it over and again. Its message was clear. He knew what she wanted.
Who
she wanted. Of all the men aboard the
Roger
, only her own Mr. Smee could come close to giving her what she longed for.

He had just one more task to accomplish tonight. It would have to wait. He stepped to his cabin door to snap open the lock and secure the key in his pocket. He stood listening again. The low voice of Yulunga seeped like water through the wall, too softly for Smee to make out. Staying alert in case Jill felt the need to summon him, Smee finished sharpening the rapier and set it on his bed, where he laid his red head down to rest. The lady’s head would rest again, tomorrow night, on a captain’s pillow.

The gypsy’s would be bobbing on the brine.

§ § §

In the deep of the night, Yulunga took his ease on the pallet before the lady’s door. When a hand touched his chest, he startled awake. His instinct kept him quiet as, gripping the little wrist, he stared into Liza’s eyes. The lantern that hung in the corner of the gun deck touched her with a muted light, staining her white skin amber. She was unclothed. Ready. He heaved a breath, and then he yanked her off balance. She tumbled onto his chest. A moment later, he crushed her beneath him. In another moment, he, too, was naked.

Liza couldn’t breathe. She didn’t care. She reached for his neck and, feeling his beads pressing into her palms, pulled his face to her own. But Yulunga didn’t return her kiss. He opened his mouth and encompassed her lips, her tongue, her teeth. Far from kissing Liza, Yulunga devoured her. Shifting his weight to his knees, he lunged. His hot skin rubbed against her, inside and out. She couldn’t scream; he still covered her mouth. After a time she didn’t need to scream. She didn’t need even to breathe.

Yulunga breathed for her. He pushed his air into her lungs, and somewhere beyond her shock, Liza felt her ribs rise with it. The feminine parts of her body had been opened before— but never her lungs. With the force of his breathing, Yulunga dominated her passages until the overdose of oxygen made her dizzy. She had come to him to be loved, violently. Now he ravished her very airway, shoving his breath in her and forcing it out again. Both purged and plundered, she lay dazed beneath this African king, filled physically, mystically— and absolutely entered.

Used beyond her comprehension, Liza surrendered to his black oblivion. Yulunga exercised his rights, taking his ease on the pallet before the lady’s door. Deep into the night.

§ § §

Guillaume clutched the flower petal and pushed the dark door. He hoped he wasn’t too late. But light escaped through the opening crack, and he sighed in relief. Stepping quietly inside, he closed the door again. The cloying fragrance of lotus surrounded him. In spite of Guillaume’s ordeal at Tom’s hands, the smell of the flowers evoked a more pleasant memory as well, and all in all, entering this compartment again gave him a good feeling.

Tom lounged against one of the crates, his jacket open and his shirt loose. “You’re late, Guillaume.”

“Mr. Tom. I came away as soon as I was free.”

“Been on a job, have you?” Tom eyed his new comrade.

“
Oui
, Mr. Tom. Captain’s business.”

“Soggy business, I’d say. You’re hair’s wet.”

Guillaume’s uninjured hand snapped up and worked to smooth his hair. “Wet, yes, and cold. I was hoping you had decided to open that bottle of cognac after all. I am chilled to the bone.”

“Sorry Guillaume. Not tonight. But have some of this.” Tom pulled out his flask.

Nodding his gratitude, Guillaume reached for it.
“Merci
.
”
His hands shook as he tried to open the drink. Tom commandeered it.

“I’ll do it.” He uncorked it and watched, his head to one side, as Guillaume pried his chattering teeth open to swallow the grog. “Drink it all. Looks as if you could use it.”

When Guillaume lowered the flask, his face had regained some color. He passed the grog to Tom, then turned away to cough.

“Don’t tell me you’ve got that weakness of the lungs again. I thought our doctor cured you of that.”

“Yes, Mr. Tom. Doctor Hanover is an excellent surgeon.” Guillaume held up his bandaged hand. “As you can see, I am able to use my fingers again.”

“That’s not Hanover’s work. You tied that wrapping yourself. Didn’t you?”

“Oui
.
”
Guillaume’s face was wary and his lips closed tight, as if he judged it best not to say any more.

“I wonder what kind of ‘captain’s business’ you were about just now?”

“You may wonder. But I may not say.”

“Took the bandage off to go for a swim, did you?”

Guillaume shivered, but his resolve remained firm.

Tom tossed his head. “Oh, all right. Whatever it was is between you and LeCorbeau. I respect any man’s loyalty to a captain. Even him. Now let me see that.” Taking Guillaume’s damaged hand in his own, he unwrapped it. He turned up the lantern. “Looks to be healing properly. Good thing I keep my knife nice and sharp. It’s a clean wound.” He shook out the bandaging and began to apply it more neatly. “This is the last time I’ll have to do this. Looks as if
L’Ormonde
will keep Doctor Hanover after tonight.”

“Yes. The men are pleased at the prospect of sailing with a surgeon. And also—”

Tom grinned as he tied up the wrapping. “You can say it, Guillaume. They can’t wait to welcome a lady on board. Two ladies, actually.”

“Well, yes, from what I have overheard. I intend no disrespect to your mother, of course.”

“Not at all. Jill’s used to sailors’ attentions. It’s the other one they should look out for.”

“You refer to your…your sister, Mr. Tom?”

Tom’s grin grew ironic. “You know, I never thought of it that way. Miss Liza
will
be my sister, won’t she?” He laughed. “Wait until I tell Nibs! I can just picture the look on his face. We have six other brothers, but I have to say, none of us ever imagined a sister— leastways, not a sister like Miss Liza.”

“Six more brothers, Mr. Tom? You must have been hungry!”

“Not a bit. There was plenty for all of us, there at home.”

“In France, I had too many sisters and not enough to eat.”

“And stowing away to join LeCorbeau got you fed.”

“And educated. It was he who taught me English. Among many other things. You may think it strange, yet in his way, our
commandant
has earned my loyalty. But your other brothers, they do not sail with the
Roger
. Where are they?”

“Three live in London. Learning to be what you don’t think exists— gentlemen. The others…” Tom’s smile faded. “I may never see the others again. They’re on our Island.”

“Island, Mr. Tom? But of course. The same on which your Captain Hook claimed he found your mother.”

“That’s my home. Paradise. One place LeCorbeau is sure never to make port.”

“Why so?”

“There’s only one way to find it. The Island has to be looking out for you.” Tom’s eyebrows lowered. “Even I won’t land there if the Island doesn’t want me.”

Observing the rare regret on Tom’s face, Guillaume was cautious. “You hope to return one day.”

“The best port in the world. Lots of adventure. I already told you about the Indian women. Waterfalls, woods. And the Lagoon— you’d never believe what you’d find there.”

“I would like very much to see your home.”

Tom returned from his visions to study Guillaume. “Come to think of it, it might do you good, Guillaume.” He roused himself. “Now let’s get to business. It’s late, and I have another job for you tomorrow.”

Disappointed, Guillaume let his gaze fall. He shivered again.

Tom sighed and shed his jacket. “All right, Guillaume. Come on over.” He hiked himself up to settle on the crate. He silently commanded and, obeying, Guillaume followed. The sturdy sailor draped his jacket over the mate’s slender shoulders and wrapped his arms around him, rubbing to bring on some heat. “You’re chilled through and through. Sit closer, then.”

Guillaume laid his damp head on Tom’s shoulder and soaked up his camaraderie. He didn’t know how long this attention might last, but he decided to simply enjoy it. This sailor brought him a good feeling. What was the proper word for it? He could find it in French. In English? Warming, Guillaume smiled. Mr. Tom had six other brothers. They had grown up in comfort, with plenty to eat. He and his brothers would all understand the word. Guillaume’s lips moved before he realized it.

“Companionable.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Mr. Tom. Please, tell of this task you would have me perform.”

“I will, Guillaume. And then I’ll return your key for this compartment and tell you where you can find that missing bottle of cognac. That will set you up fine with the
commandant
.”

“You are ready to trust me?”

“
Mais oui
, Guillaume. You’ve made Nibs’ life a lot easier here on
L’Ormonde
. I consider you a friend.”

“A friend?” Guillaume felt warmer already.

“Like you said, Guillaume.” Tom rested his head on Guillaume’s. “Companionable.”

“Like brothers?”

Firmly, Tom nodded. “Just like that.
Mon ami
.”

The heavy scent of lotus blossom lay upon them like a blanket. Riding at anchor, the ship rose with every wave, only to settle into the sea again. The grog lent its heat to their bellies.

It gave them a good feeling.

§ § §

The piercing pain in Liza’s ear awakened her, but she couldn’t jerk away. Yulunga lay on her still. He had found the needle she’d set by the pallet, thrust in a white patch of gauze. Now he was pulling it from her earlobe. He clenched a golden ring between his teeth, glimmering in the lanternlight, and he spit it into his hand. She had thought he’d use the gauze to tamp the blood, but his lips sucked Liza’s wound, and she felt the moist balm of his tongue. He pulled away from her ear to press her mouth, not a suffocation this time, nor an overabundance of air, but a kiss. Liza tasted the sharp, rusty flavor of her blood. When he finished kissing her, her lips tingled with it.

Yulunga drew her by the wrists to sit up on his thighs. His fingers stretched her earlobe and the golden ring made love to her flesh. The discomfort was sweet to her. She closed her eyes to feel it better. With his thumb, he toyed with her earring, and his low laughter rolled. The gold was heavy, dangling in an agreeable way. Its partner still hung from Yulunga’s ear.

Now Liza felt the other feelings, the damp and the hurt between her legs. She knew she was bleeding there, too. She had gotten what she came for. Liza was utterly, completely satisfied. She fell back on the pallet, fell back into sleep.

Yulunga set the needle between his teeth, jogging it up and down like a toothpick. He laughed silently as he pushed her body aside to make room for his own. She would do. She would do very nicely. She had responded fittingly to the purification rite, the renewal of her air. This night had been worth the waiting. Now he’d never have to wait for her again.

But next time, he’d make her wash first. Ordinarily he didn’t mind using a girl other men enjoyed. But even after the cleansing ritual, the smell of the surgeon disgusted him.

§ § §

The dawn light cast its rays upon the
Roger
. It filtered through her gunports and cabin windows, driving demons of the nighttime away. Soft sounds of water surrounded her. Within her, on the portside, lay a swarthy man with weary brown eyes, craving a shave. To starboard, a bridegroom tied and retied his cravat. His mistress slept for a few more minutes, until he was satisfied with the knot and bent tenderly to awaken her. At rest in the bunk above lay a sea rogue’s remains. Next door, a lady slept to save herself from waking, while in the cabin beyond, her loyal sailor strapped on a deadly rapier. Before her door, a brutal man born to royalty sat cross-legged on his pallet, squinting in puzzlement at the golden earring between his fingers— the bloody mate of the ring upon his ear.

The day was come. Scenting battle, the
Roger
roused to life.

Chapter 32

The Last Moment

T
he French sailors smiled, full of good humor. Today, a wedding was to take place. Soon they would be celebrating, not only the English marriage, but also their new course— sailing for port, wherever that might be. Ambling up the steps, they balanced the last of the boxes on their blue-tailored shoulders.

Doctor Hanover, dressed formally in his beige suit, dropped his watch in his pocket and followed to ensure that his belongings, and those of his fiancée, were stowed safely aboard
L’Ormonde
. If his sea chest weighed more than it had the day he was forced aboard, these privateers wouldn’t know it. The box of medical books was heavy, too, but he would trust the medicine bag to Liza. It, unfortunately, was much too light.

Ignoring the gypsy stare from the quarterdeck, Hanover acknowledged LeCorbeau’s signal. He then descended, one last time, below decks. Once in his quarters, he tied back his hair and armed himself with his sword. It would please his lady to see him wearing it, he knew. More to the point, it would lend the both of them protection should the captain, at the last moment, prove belligerent. The surgeon’s rapier, after all, had a longer reach than Cecco’s famous knife.

Smirking, Hanover scanned his cabin again. He didn’t bother to glance behind the curtain enclosing the upper bunk. He’d taken his last golden prize this morning, while Liza was attending Jill. A pair of empty black boots stood at the foot of the bed. Liza had polished them until they shone, but Hanover had no use for such apparel.