My Seaswept Heart (34 page)

“Willet d’Porteau is on his way here.”

The silence was so complete, Anne could hear
the pounding of the sugar works on the lee side of the island.

But when the astonishment wore off the
questions began.

“How do you come of this information?”

“What else can he take from us?”

“How many can you squeeze on that sloop in
the harbor?”

Jamie held up his hand, and answered each in
turn. “I know because some of my men heard the Frenchman say he was
coming here. And how they came into his company isn’t important,
except to say he attacked my vessel and took some of the crew
hostage.”

“Did you hear him yourself? What of you, Anne
Cornwall? What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t hear him nor did Mistress Cornwall,
but you can be sure—”

“Be sure of what?” It was Dugald Miller
again. “Rumor has it you’re a pirate yourself. How do we know you
ain’t here to steal what your friend d’Porteau left behind?”

This time Anne did start forward, but the
rapier cut of Jamie’s eyes brought her to a standstill. He then
faced the crowd, the same expression on his face.

“If I was after your riches, this island
would be flattened by now by my cannon. Your gold and women would
be locked in my cabin.” His gaze momentarily caught Anne’s. “And
most of you,” he said, pointing out toward the group, “would be
dead.”

Jamie took a deep breath. “Now, I’m not
saying that won’t happen. I’m just saying it will be d’Porteau who
does it, not me.”

“Then we’ve got to get off Libertia. We’ve
got to leave.”

“No!” Richard stood, shaking his head and
lifting his fists high. “We can’t abandon our ideals. Remember John
Locke. We must prove that his grand design will work. We must—”

“Nothing to be proved by getting us all
killed!”

“Yea, sit down, old man. You haven’t known
what was what for a long time now!”

She couldn’t get to her uncle quickly enough.
The group grew ugly, yelling at the man they once revered, and
jostling Anne around as she tried to make her way to the platform.
Ahead of her she could see her uncle’s stricken expression as he
tried to understand what was happening.

The loud explosion caught everyone off
guard.

All eyes turned on the captain who held a
smoking pistol pointed toward the heavens. “Now we can all try to
run-tail,” he yelled, his voice booming off the palm trees. “But
there be no guarantee we can all get aboard the
Lost Cause
without it sinking to the bottom. And even if we do get her under
sail d’Porteau might attack us on the high seas.”

“What else can we do?”

“Yea, there’s no other choice.”

Jamie lowered the pistol and leaned forward,
fanning the group with his gaze. “Ye can stand up like men, by
damn. Ye can fight for what ye believe in!”

Enthusiasm does not a soldier make.

Jamie sensed the truth of those words often
as he tried to train the Libertia militia. After his call to arms,
which many on the island called stirring, the Libertians
volunteered to a man. Their vehement war cries filled the air,
drifting off to sea on the trade wind.

“Down with tyrants!”

“Long live Libertia!”

“Death to all pirates!”

While this last slogan made Jamie cringe,
Anne seemed to find it amusing. “They don’t know what they’re
saying,” she said with a chuckle as she listed each man’s name
beside the weapon he was given. The pistols and boarding pikes came
from the
Lost Cause
’s arsenal.

“I’m not so sure about that.” Jamie hoisted a
barrel of powder onto his shoulder. “’Tis Dugald Miller I hear
screaming that particular phrase the loudest.” He glanced down as
he passed by. “What are ye writing all that down for?”

“So we’ll have a record.” Anne stared up at
him wide-eyed.

“A record for what?”

“Well for...” Now that he asked Anne wasn’t
sure why she did it. But she always kept records, lists of crops
planted and sugar harvested, and sugar cones shipped. Perhaps it
wasn’t necessary for her to record everything. But it made her feel
useful, and right now Anne needed to perceive herself that way.

With a wave of her hand and a mumbled, “It
needs to be done,” Anne dismissed his inquiry. But before he left
she offered an observation. “Don’t let Dugald bother you. He’s
always been puffed with hot air.”

Jamie’s grin and thoughts of Anne stayed with
him as he started drilling the men in proper use of the
muskets.”

The grin quickly faded. A passion for
defending their freedom didn’t alter the fact that most of the
colonists were tradesmen and farmers. Not a one had been in the
military. Not a one knew more than the rudiments of loading and
firing a musket.

So they drilled. Practicing speed. Wasting
more powder than Jamie thought prudent. But he couldn’t ask these
people to go into battle against d’Porteau unprepared.

And he refused to think this was a lost
cause.

Refused to dwell on the similarities between
this ragtag group facing d’Porteau, and the followers of the Young
Pretender defying the better-equipped army of the Duke of
Cumberland.

“Load.”

“Ram.”

“Fire!”

Over and over they practiced, until their
muscles screamed and Jamie’s voice grew hoarse.

The strategy was simple.

When d’Porteau sailed into the harbor, there
was to be no resistance. “Let him think his task an easy one,”
Jamie told the group. “Lure him into our trap with
acquiescence.”

Only after the Frenchman came ashore would he
know of the settlers hidden behind the blinds that bracketed the
beach—the blinds now being built of toppled palms and underbrush.
Too late to retreat, the pirates would know the carnage of being
caught in a cross fire.

“What of their cannon?” one man, a
wheelwright asked. “Won’t the pirates left on board his ship know
d’Porteau’s distress and fire on us?”

“Which is exactly what they might do,” Jamie
answered the newly appointed sergeant. “Except that by this time
sailors on board will be too busy battling the
Lost Cause
,
which will have sailed around the spit yonder where it hides to
bottle them into the harbor.”

“Do you think it will work?” Anne asked as
evening shaded the island in gentle tones of mauve. She and Jamie
had been on Libertia a sennight, and there had barely been time for
more than a casual word between them. Even now, while most
islanders were eating a simple repast, Anne expected the captain to
be surrounded by people. She was pleased to find him alone,
studying the camouflaged earthworks.

However, he didn’t appear pleased to see her.
The lengthening shadows didn’t keep Anne from noticing his
expression when he turned to stare at her.

Jamie took a deep breath, feeling compelled
to speak the truth. “Let us pray it does, or we shall all pay
dearly.” Jamie turned away, continuing his inspection, not
surprised that she followed. He should turn back toward the
village. Each step took them farther away from the only protection
he had from her. The protection offered by civilization.

He had to remember they were no longer the
only two people in their world, unfettered by what others thought.
By their histories.

But when he was near her like this, when he
could catch the sweet scent of her on the tropical air, hear her
voice, reality seemed to fade.

“I’ve wanted to talk with you,” Anne began,
wondering how honest she should be about her feelings and finally
settling for a half truth. “To thank you for all you’re doing. It
can’t be easy.” They’d reached the point where the thick growth of
trees met the sea. “I... my uncle and I appreciate—”

“How is he doing?” Jamie stood, his feet
spread, hands clasped behind him, staring out toward the bay and
ocean beyond.

“Fine... at times.” Anne paused. “Actually
he’s confused by all the goings-on, the gunfire. Israel’s with him
now.”

“And does Israel know where ye are? That
you’re here with me?” He turned his head to look at her and Anne
resisted the urge to retreat a step.

“I... I don’t see where that’s any of
Israel’s concern.”

“It should be someone’s care. Damnit, Annie,
’tisn’t right for ye to be down here with me alone.”

“And why not?” Anne was tired of speaking to
his back and stepped in front of him. “Because you’re a
pirate?”

“Aye,” Jamie agreed with a nod of his head.
“’Tis a good enough reason.”

“We spent nearly a month alone together on
our island.”

“A fact I hope you’ve the sense to keep to
yourself.”

Anne lowered her lashes. “I haven’t told
anyone here, no.” Raising her eyes she caught his gaze. “But that,
doesn’t mean it didn’t happen.”

“Ye’d be best off forgetting it did.”

“I can’t.”

Her simple declaration seemed to splinter
Jamie’s resolve. Reaching out he gave in to temptation and grasped
her shoulders. She felt warm and soft beneath the simple dark
bodice. “Ye are making a mistake, Annie Cornwall. One you’ll live
to regret.”

She didn’t have a chance to disagree. His
mouth assaulted hers, driving all but her need for him from Anne’s
mind. With the pounding surf as a backdrop he pulled her body
tightly to his.

His tongue sought hers, deepening the kiss,
till there seemed to be no more Anne, no more pirate, only the
whole they formed together.

He inched them toward the curtain of trees,
reluctant to break the spell of their kiss. Shadows deepened and
the breezes slowed as they stepped beneath the sheltering palms.
But as Jamie pulled his lips from hers he knew they could still be
seen. If someone were to walk onto the beach, there would be no
more question of their relationship.

At first Anne clung to him as he pulled away,
not knowing the reason. Caring only that she was losing him again.
Then she saw his eyes nervously cut toward the beach.

“Come with me.” She took his hand leading him
through the tangle of trees toward the interior of the island.
There was no trail, but Anne knew her way unerringly. When the
pirate questioned where they were going she silenced him with a
fleeting kiss, then twisted away and pulled him along,
laughing.

When they stepped from the overhang of leaves
onto a beach bathed in the last subtle glow of the sun, Anne looked
up at him. “I found this once when I was searching for a new place
to locate the mill. At the time I thought it wasn’t much good for
anything.” Her brown eyes twinkled. “I was wrong. It’s hidden and
no one knows of it but me.”

Jamie glanced around. They stood on a curved
crescent of sand surrounded by thick foliage. To the left and right
coral rocks reached into the sea. The surf splashed over them
noisily, hypnotically. It was a spot for lovers. It reminded him
of—

“I know we no longer are on our island. We
have other things to consider now besides ourselves,” Jamie heard
her say... as if she could read his thoughts. “But for this one
night can’t we just pretend nothing else exists?”

She stepped into his embrace then, smiling
when his arms tightened about her.

“Ye know I want ye.”

But she could still sense his resistance.
“And I want you.” Standing on tiptoe Anne brushed a string of
kisses along his chiseled jaw. His eyes closed, the gold-tipped
lashes fanning his cheekbones, and his body quickened.

“Ah, Annie, I can’t resist ye.” His open
mouth melded with hers.

And Anne was lost.

When he lowered her to the sand, still warm
from its afternoon sunbath, she sighed. Her tongue met his in a
dance as old as time, a thrust and parry, a forecast of what was to
come.

Then his lips trailed hungrily down her neck,
nibbling at her tender skin. “Annie. Annie.” Jamie faced her, knee
to knee, chest to chest. He couldn’t seem to get enough of saying
her name. Of tasting her. Her head fell back giving him greater
access.

Jamie reached up, tangling his fingers in her
curls, dragging the lace cap and pins down into the sand. Pulling
away enough to see her in the ever dimming light, Jamie spread the
tangle of hair over her shoulders, smiling at the picture she made.
“Ye are so lovely,” he whispered as his hands curved around to the
front.

Her breasts strained against the linen fabric
and she moaned when he brought his palms down over her bodice. “So
lovely,” he said again as he slowly unlaced the ties holding her
simple gown shut.

Like peeling away the petals of the most
sensual flower, he pushed aside her gown, then plucked at the
ribbon on her shift. Her breasts were full, thrusting forward,
their crests hard and irresistible. Rarely one to resist
temptation, Jamie leaned forward, flicking his tongue provocatively
over each torrid rose-colored tip.