Treasure So Rare (Women of Strength Time Travel Trilogy) (2 page)

Erik blocked the weapon in its downward trajectory. He
pushed back, sucking in his stomach as he twisted sideways. The knife ripped
through his coat and shirt, pulled across his flesh. Erik put out his foot and
swung it in an arc, catching Devanesque's feet and pulling them out from under
him. He had a moment's satisfaction as the man hit his head resoundingly on the
deck but Devanesque shook his head and came back up on all fours.

"I am putting a stop to all your business
dealings," Erik said, lunging forward, "for good."

Devanesque rolled away at the last moment, but the sword
nevertheless found a mark and went deep into his side.

He looked at Erik and then the deep wound where already the
blood soaked through his white shirt and bled onto the deck. He used his arms
to pull himself several feet to port side, pulled his body up and over the rail
and then, amazingly, flung himself over the side.

Erik ran after him, reaching the rail as the man disappeared
beneath the churning sea.

He turned back as the men continued to fight.
"Devanesque is dead!" he shouted. "Your captain is dead. If you
wish to live, cease your fight."

It took several moments and more lives, but finally the men
stopped fighting. "Drop your weapons and move aft." Erik looked for
Jock, then motioned to the man closest to him. "Elisha, see to Jock.

"Men, secure the prisoners." The remaining
Silver Siren
crew were herded and secured in one
area. Hands and feet were bound as they sat on the deck. Erik counted
twenty-nine men. "Dispose of the dead," he said. He sighed. "For
their souls, we shall say a prayer."

"Captain," Markin called out by the prisoners.
"Do ye want me to cover these scoundrels as we found them?"

"Aye, that would be fitting." He paused. "But
leave them be for now. There will be hell to pay when we dock and they are
turned over to the authorities."

Erik looked down at where Devanesque's knife had ripped
through his garments, but luckily he'd only suffered a tiny nick of the skin.

He motioned for several of his crew to follow him.
"Come, let us see what else this ship is hiding." He slowly
approached where he had seen the woman hiding earlier. "Madam?" He
knelt on one knee and extended his hand under the wooden shelving where he had
seen her. "Madam, please come out. It is safe now."

After several moments, a slim white hand connected with his.
Gently, Erik pulled her from the hiding place. "Come, there is no reason
to be afraid."

In actuality, it was no woman, but a young girl of about
fifteen. "Sit here, Ma'am." He indicated a knee-high bench to his
side. Her ankle-length dress which, he surmised, was once a light gray, was
covered with dirt, and her face bore the stain of tears. "We are going to
transfer you to my ship," he told her gently. "Are you alone?"

 She shook her head.

"There are others?"

She nodded.

"Markin, Iszel," he turned toward the younger men.
"Go below and see what you can find. Proceed carefully, and if there are
other women, do not frighten them."

"There are fifteen of us," the young girl suddenly
blurted. She began to cry. "We were promised a new life and work, but he
was taking us to work in the streets." She looked up at him, brown eyes
awash with tears. "I did not leave Ireland to work in the streets or for a
life of slavery. I came for a better life."

Erik nodded. "And so you shall have. What is your
name?" he asked gently, motioning Marten and Iszel back.

"Frances Connor."

"I am Erik Remington, captain of
the
Merry Maiden
.
Frances Connor, when did you leave Ireland?"

"The girls and I traveled six months ago from Ireland.
We settled in New York, and then we heard about opportunities for work, and we
saved our money to sail with Holden Rogers to the islands. He promised many
jobs for skilled dressmakers."

"How did you discover what he planned?"

"The first night aboard we were locked inside the ship
and told to keep quiet. For most of the trip we were kept confined. He wanted
the women weak and compliant, so he did not feed them overmuch." She
looked up at him. "I managed to sneak them food." She ducked her
head. "I did the cooking. That is how I know what they had planned. The
men talked of the money they would make when we were sold. Holden Rogers was
not even his name."

Erik sighed, knowing there was much she was not saying.
"We shall bring you and your companions to shore. Be assured there will be
a trial, though Devanesque, or Holden Rogers as you know him, is now gone. Come
with us then, we will go below."

Mary put a tentative hand on his coat sleeve. "Please
stay your men and let me go ahead."

Erik nodded. "Aye." He followed her down the short
steps into the darkened interior of the ship. A small lantern dimly lit a
narrow entryway. Frances stopped outside a heavy door reinforced with wide iron
straps and reached up to remove a large key from a spike on the wall. She
struggled with the key in the lock and Erik moved forward. "May I?"
he held out his hand, whereupon she placed the key in his palm and stepped
back.

Erik turned the key and the door swung inward. He pulled the
lantern from the wall and cautiously moved into the room, the foul air rushing
out to him like putrid breath. As he lifted the lantern higher there was a blur
of motion and several figures rushed him. Stepping back he ducked his head,
narrowly missed being hit by an iron hook that went sailing past and embedded
itself in the timber behind him.

"Wait," Frances cried, but already Erik found
himself backed into a wall, four women on either side of him. He recognized the
fear and determination tightening their expressions. He remained relaxed,
though his gaze swung warily between the young women armed with pointed pieces
of wood.

"Ladies," he said mildly, "please -- I mean
you no harm." Carefully he placed his lantern on a peg on the wall, then
expertly and carefully blocked a fist aimed for his temple. "Go gently
now," he admonished, pressing the small fist away from his face.
"Surely you have no wish to further disfigure my face." He grinned,
hands now at his side.

"He tells the truth," Frances said quickly,
"he means us no harm. He and his men have overtaken the ship. We are saved.
We are saved," Frances repeated.

"You have come to rescue us?" asked the young
woman who had tried to punch him. Thin and dressed in a tattered white shirt
that once sported ribbon trim and a skirt that now bore dark stains and a
ragged edge, she appeared to be no more than eighteen years of age.

Erik nodded at her. "Not so much rescue, Madam, as to
liberate you," he answered softly, standing still as several more young
ladies exited the room. They too looked sorely in need of a hot bath and clean
clothes. "Come away from here. Let us go up on deck. We will all transfer
to my vessel where food will be made available. I cannot promise you any kind
of luxury, but we will make you as comfortable as possible."

"Clean clothing?" asked a young girl, her dark hair
lank and dirty, hanging in her face. She looked no more than fourteen.

"Aye, we'll see what we can find."

"Sir, there are many dresses on board this ship,"
came another voice, then louder, "and we should make no bones about taking
what is rightfully ours. They have taken so much from us, we deserve surely to
be repaid."

"Then of course you must help yourself to whatever you
find," Erik said. "Although I will admit I am not surprised.
Devanesque has smuggled quite exquisite contraband in the past."

Erik led the way back to the deck, then watched as each
young lady stepped up into the sunlight, shading her eyes as best she could.

"How long have they been below deck?" he asked
Frances.

"They have not seen the sun in a week," she
responded.

A young blonde lady stepped forward, her eyes narrowed
suspiciously and her fists clenched tight. "I am the one who threw the
hook at you, Sir."

Erik bowed to her. "Then I thank you for not maiming
me, Madam."

"How do we know your promises aren't as false as the
other one?" she demanded.

Erik smiled. "A reasonable question." Carefully,
he opened his jacket and pulled out a folded square of paper which he handed to
the blonde woman. She unfolded it, but then handed it to Frances who read it.
Frances looked up at him.

"You work for the government?"

"Aye, but let's keep it a secret between us, eh?"
He retrieved the paper, refolded it and placed it once more in his breast
pocket.

"Frances, have the women gather what they will and then
we will transfer all to my ship."

"What of the rest of his crew?" she asked in a low
voice, darting glances at the men where they sat bound hand and foot on the
deck.

"They will stay on this ship. My men will sail this
vessel alongside as we head for land. Tomorrow should see us in Virginia. Be
assured you will all be taken into a safe house. Following a trial,
arrangements can be made for your return to New York, or for those of you that
wish it, employment can be found in Virginia."

Frances nodded, and a small smile relaxed her lips.
"Thank you, Erik Remington. You have indeed saved us."

¤¤

Erik drew the salty air into his lungs. The sea, like a
contented wife, was calm today, her depths a translucent deep green.

It had been a productive week, helping the young women get
safely to shore, notifying the authorities and aiding them in obtaining gainful
employment. Each of them would have to testify at trial to the treatment
received at the hands of the crew of
the
Silver Siren
. Erik just wished
Devanesque had been brought to answer for his part in the molestation of those
young women, and other women in the past. The man was a slaver, no way in
getting around it. And by drowning he'd taken the easy way out. Erik ran his
fingers over the scar on his neck. Aye, the man had gotten off way too easily.

Squinting his eyes against the sun, Erik pondered the unrest
he felt within. He had lived most of his life side by side with the many moods
of the sea. He knew it as well as his own face, yet now, staring into her
depths, he felt shadowed by an inexplicable uneasiness.

With a wry grimace, Erik admitted the danger he faced daily
would encourage many a man to seek a simpler livelihood, yet he’d been a seaman
too many years to regret the happenstance which had landed him in this life.

The sea was where he had always belonged, his own captain,
away from the avarice and greed of men tied to the land. Could there be a more
beautiful day? The air was fragrantly warm, the sky void of any clouds. Erik
was not a man who welcomed restrictions. Life was of too short a duration to be
wasted on such. He was wealthy beyond most men's dreams, possessed of many
riches. There was neither man nor woman to bring him to port, although he
admitted without conceit that many a woman had tried. As owner and captain of
the
Merry Maiden
,
he had free license to sail where he chose. His ship was well stocked with
provisions, and if need be, he could remain at sea for an additional two years
without a soul to mourn his absence.

"Aye, not a soul." He was truly his father's son.
Erik leaned both elbows on the smooth wood rail, eyes half closed as the
afternoon sun played its brilliance across his face. He clenched his teeth
around a slim black cigar and his own thoughts mocked him. The truth of the
matter was he was hard pressed to find his usual verve for life with his
brother gone this last year. He laughed aloud, knowing Darien would shake his
head if he knew he'd reverted back to the name their philandering father had
bestowed upon him. Because old history had come looking for him, his usual ports
of call were becoming too dangerous for him. Hence, Rufus LaTour, his former
moniker, no longer existed.

The seas had served him well, aye, very well indeed, but a
devil at his back was prodding him to move on. Erik narrowed his eyes on the
empty horizon, then looked at the rolling swells of aquamarine waters. The
Sargasso Sea lay south east, thought by some to be a death knell to ships that
ventured too close. But Erik harbored no such superstition. An image intruded
in his mind's eye, that of a black-haired witch with deep, blue eyes. Her lips
drew him, he remembered them well, slim fingers beckoning, a woman with fire
and promise in her eyes that could make even a sea captain give up the sea.

 The black-haired witch had come to him as they sailed into the
Sargasso. His ship had been vulnerable after an attack, sustained damage, and
he'd deliberately sailed into the Sargasso to evade the two ships intent on
taking
the
Merry Maiden
. He'd known, and was proven right, that the superstitious
captains would not follow. They had virtually drifted for seven days in the
calm waters, but it had allowed the crew to make repairs as best they could
until they made their way back to the warm islands along the coast.

Seven nights they had explored each other; the laughter, the
gentle and fierce kisses, and when she'd vanished, he'd felt as if his soul had
been ripped from him. At times he still felt her, imagined he tasted the sweet
rose scent of her skin as they'd made love again and again. And she a woman
with no name.

Erik blinked to clear the vision that even after three years
still played in his head, knowing full well there was no chance in hell of
meeting that one again. He had seen thirty-eight years, yet the witchery of the
sea sirens enthralled him as if he were a lad of eighteen and wet behind the
ears. The dark-haired witch was the worst, and sometimes he had to remind
himself that although haunting, she was not real, merely an apparition conjured
of the Sargasso.