A Pirate's Love (17 page)

T
ry as she might, Bettina couldn't sleep. The disgusting scene with Pierre kept coming back to her, making her more and more angry. Just because she was no longer a virgin did not give him the right to presume she would sleep with him before they were married!

She had heard her mother go to her room a few minutes before. Bettina was so glad that her mother was here. She was not dependent on the Comte de Lambert now, and as her mother said, she didn't have to marry him if she didn't want to.

It was over an hour since Bettina had gone to bed, but she just couldn't seem to fall asleep. It was unusually hot in the room, and she was tempted to remove her shift and sleep naked. Even with the large French windows open, the breeze that she could hear in the trees outside failed to come into the room.

Bettina got up and walked out onto the wide veranda. The entire one-storied house was supported off the ground on short pilings, and the veranda completely surrounded it.

Thick gray clouds covered the entire sky and hid
the full moon. Bettina supposed it would rain soon. Perhaps then her room would be cooler.

She walked a little way down the veranda, seeing the lights of the town in the near distance, but she stopped when she heard voices. Turning, she saw that she was standing just outside the drawing room, and had almost walked in front of the open doors. Very little light spilled out on the veranda, for there was only one candle left burning in the spacious room.

“You are indeed a lucky man, Pierre,” Don Miguel was saying. “If I were ten years younger, I might try to win Bettina Verlaine away from you. But I am too old now to keep such a beautiful young girl happy. Her mother, on the other hand, would make me a suitable wife. It is amazing how young the widow looks, despite the fact that she has a full-grown daughter. But perhaps even Jossel would find me a bit too old to satisfy her.”

“Nonsense, Miguel, you are still as fit as ever,” Pierre replied. “Why not stay here a little longer and try to win the lovely widow. You could do worse.”

“What? Are you trying to get rid of the mother-in-law before the wedding?” Don Miguel laughed.

“There will be no wedding,” Pierre said bitterly.

Bettina gasped, moved closer to the wall, and stood immobile beside the wide-open doors, hearing the conversation as clearly as if she were inside the room.

“You are joking, of course—or are you a fool?”

“If only I were joking,” Pierre said in a voice mixed with rage and regret. “You have been in town. You have heard the talk about Bettina. When the
Windsong
crawled into the harbor and her crew spread the tale, Bettina was quickly called the pi
rate's whore because no attempt had been made to exchange her for ransom. I cannot possibly marry her now.”

“You are indeed a fool if you give her up just because of what your neighbors will say about her.”

“You do not live here, Miguel,” Pierre returned. “This is a small island, and I cannot have continued gossip about my wife. It would cause endless difficulties.”

“So you will just let the pearl slip through your fingers? If I were—”

“I intend to keep the pearl,” Pierre interrupted. “I just have not figured out how to do it yet.”

“You mean you will keep her as your mistress?” Don Miguel asked, surprised.

“Of course. As you said, I would be a fool to give her up.”

“But how do you propose to accomplish this? I was under the impression that Bettina Verlaine expects to be your wife. Her mother also expects this.”

“Yes, well, the mother must go, leaving Bettina in my care. Then it will not take long to bed Bettina, and afterward I shall explain why it is impossible for us to marry.”

“You are a libertine, Pierre,” Don Miguel laughed. “To have all the advantages of a beautiful wife, without the entrapment of marriage.”

“Well, this is not how I wanted it to be. I wanted Bettina for my wife. I could have made her a queen if only—if only this man Tristan had not forced her to be his whore!”

“It is ironic that this same man has affected both of our lives, and yet neither of us has met him,” said Don Miguel.

“Then you truly have no idea why he searches for you?”

“No, I have spent many sleepless nights trying to understand why he looks for me. I have been told he is a young man, with blond coloring, and extremely tall. At first I thought he might be a bastard that I never knew of, but the more I learned of him, the less likely that notion was. I just do not know.”

“You said he is young?”

“This does not suit your ego, eh?” Don Miguel chuckled. “But what does his age matter? I doubt Bettina was treated compassionately by him. Pirates are a ruthless lot. I should know; I was one myself in my youth.”

“You never mentioned this before!” said Pierre, astonished.

“It was a long time ago, and very few people know of it. I fell in with a bad lot, and we took to raiding for the sport of it. And since raiding was also profitable, I continued my—ah—somewhat enjoyable career for quite a few years. But I have mended my ways now—it is best forgotten.”

“Well, your secret is safe with me.”

“That does not worry me, but this Tristan does. Until tonight, I always assumed that he merely wanted to find me to settle some debt or the like. But thanks to your Bettina, I now know that I have a dangerous enemy. That map she spoke of, why did she give it to you?”

“Ha—she wants me to go to the island where Tristan took her to rescue her old servant, who is still there, and to kill Tristan.” Pierre laughed contemptuously. “She wants revenge for what he did to her.”

“She is a spirited girl—I would not have guessed
it from our meeting tonight. But why not give me the map, and I will save you the trouble of doing what she asks.”

“I burned it.”

“You what?” Don Miguel exploded.

“I had no intention of going there—my ships are not armed for battle, my crews are not soldiers. I planned to tell Bettina the map was lost, and that would put an end to it. But why do you wish to go there?”

“I am not a man to sit and wait for my enemies to find me. I must find Tristan first.”

“Bettina came here on a merchant ship. The
capitaine
would know where this island is—it was he who gave Bettina the map,” Pierre said.

“Is he here? Is his ship anchored in the harbor?” Don Miguel asked hopefully.

“Bettina was merely put ashore. But I will ask her the name of the
capitaine
and his destination in the morning, if you still wish to find this pirate before he finds you. But in my opinion, it is a foolish venture.”

“It is not you whom this man wants to kill, so find out what you can. I could live out my life without Tristan's ever finding me, but I cannot take that chance.”

Even after the two men had gone to bed, Bettina still stood transfixed outside the drawing room, leaning against the wall. The conversation between the two men kept going through her mind. She felt so cheap and used, and Pierre was despicable! To think that he intended to make her his mistress and was going to lie to her about the map! He planned to get rid of her mother, and then he would force her to
submit to his will or no doubt throw her into the streets!

Bettina shivered despite the warmth of the night and quietly tiptoed back to her room. She was angry. Yes, she was definitely angry. She wanted to tell her mother what she had overheard. She wanted to leave this house right away. But it was late, and her mother was probably asleep already. Bettina would have to wait until morning to put an end to Pierre's loathsome plans.

Were all men so ruthless—taking advantage of women because they were weaker? Bettina hated to think of what would have happened to her if she had not chanced to hear Pierre and Don Miguel talking. But she had, and she and her mother could take lodgings in the town tomorrow.

Bettina suddenly remembered Madeleine. She still had to be rescued before they could return to France. But Don Miguel de Bastida was going to go to Tristan's island. Of course! She would send for him and have her mother commission him to rescue Madeleine. He would kill Tristan on his own, so Bettina need not feel guilty about his death. So Tristan would die, Don Miguel de Bastida would be paid for something he would have done anyway, and Madeleine would be rescued. Yes, it would all work out perfectly.

S
ometime in the middle of the night, Bettina slowly drifted out of sleep. She could hear rain on the veranda and assumed the storm had just started. With reluctance, she crawled out of bed and made her way to the French windows, for the air was quite chilly now and she had left the windows open. The room was completely dark, and the rain muffled all sound.

Luckily, there was no furniture between the bed and the windows to trip over, but before Bettina was halfway across the room, someone grabbed hold of her hair and she was pulled back against a sopping-wet body. She parted her lips to scream but was rewarded with a dry rag shoved in her mouth. Her arms were secured and quickly tied behind her back, and before she could spit the gag out of her mouth, another strip of cloth was placed over her mouth and tied behind her head, pulling her hair in the process. She tried to run forward, but she was pushed to the floor and her feet were secured tightly with rope.

Bettina was sick with terror. It must be Antoine Gautier, though she had done her best to forget him and hadn't imagined he would be crazy enough to
kidnap her from the
comte
's plantation.

He had left her lying on the floor for a moment, but now he was back, leaning over her. A few drops of water fell onto her face from his wet hair, but she couldn't make out his features in the darkness.

“Sorry to have to tie you up, little one, but you've been a bad girl and I'm through taking chances with you. It's raining pretty bad out there, so I'm going to roll you up in a blanket. Though why I should be so considerate after what you've done, I don't know.”

Outrage exploded inside Bettina's head. What was Tristan doing here? He would have to have left the island within a day or two of her escape to appear here now. He should have searched the island for days, weeks—why hadn't he? And why had he come for her—why? He would have brought her to Saint Martin in another month or two anyway.

He rolled her up in a heavy blanket, and after making sure she could breathe, he picked her up and quickly carried her out the French windows. She could hear nothing except the rain as he walked along the veranda and then down some steps. She could feel drops of rain hitting the top of her head, and her feet were getting wet, but when he stopped and set her on her feet, she could no longer feel the rain.

“We will wait here where it's dry until Jules comes. We searched separately for you to save time. We have to get back to the ship before dawn, and I had a hell of a time just trying to find this place.”

Bettina cursed whoever had given him the directions to find her. But when she was found gone in the morning, her mother would realize what had happened and would insist that Pierre come after her.
Her mother would do whatever was necessary to rescue her daughter.

“Tristan, I found her.”

“I don't know whom you have there, Jules, but it's not Bettina. I have her right here.”

Tristan had his arms wrapped around her, forcing her to lean back against his chest.

“But I lit a candle as you suggested. This one has long white-blond hair,” Jules replied.

“I did the same, and I tell you
this
is Bettina,” Tristan returned with growing impatience.

“Did you see her face?”

“No, but—” He paused, and Bettina could feel his arms tighten around her. “Blast this infernal darkness! We'll take them both. There's no more time to dawdle—I want to be out of these waters before the ship is sighted. Whoever the other one is, one more woman on our island won't make any difference.”

Bettina tried to scream out, but no sound escaped her lips. She knew that Jules had captured her mother, too, but there was nothing she could do about it. Oh, God, now how would she be rescued? Pierre didn't have the map anymore. And Tristan said he was through taking chances with her. What did he mean by that?

Bettina was lifted from the ground, and Tristan threw her over his shoulder. He started walking fast, half-running. Soon, her arms hurt and her feet were cold, and she felt a growing frustration at not being able to move her limbs. Tristan hadn't had to tie her up, she thought resentfully, for his strength had always overpowered hers. He had tied her up like a runaway slave just to humiliate her.

Wet branches and leaves brushed against her bare feet, and the rain still poured down in an angry tor
rent. Her stomach ached from being bounced on Tristan's shoulder, and by the time he finally stopped, the rain had soaked through the blanket.

Tristan bent her legs and laid her down, and she knew from the rolling motion that she was in a small boat. The boat rocked more when Jules climbed in, and she sensed that her mother was laid down beside her. In a very short time they would be aboard the
Spirited Lady
, and once again she would be completely at Tristan's mercy.

Bettina felt a growing sense of dread and desperation, but she was helpless to do anything about it. Her mother must be terrified. Jossel would have overheard the conversation between Tristan and Jules, just as Bettina had, and she would know where they were being taken—and by whom. But Jossel didn't know that Pierre had destroyed the map. She didn't know that there was no one to rescue them.

Bettina was picked up and hoisted over Tristan's shoulder again. She could tell he was climbing, and after another few minutes, she knew that she was in his cabin. He laid her down on the floor and roughly rolled her out of the blanket.

Bettina glared at Tristan as she lay helplessly on her side. Her eyes were the darkest of greens, and if they could have killed, Tristan would have been dead. He studied her critically and then laughed heartily.

“I knew it was you, little one. You have an unmistakable fragrance about you.”

Jules carried her mother into the cabin, bound in a blanket also. He stood her up and gently unwrapped her. Bettina's anger soared even higher, remembering how Tristan had purposefully treated her roughly.

“I see you had the right one, Tristan,” Jules said with a grin as he started to untie Jossel. “This one looks to be my age. Perhaps she won't mind sharing my cabin.”

Bettina tried to protest and struggled to sit up, but she couldn't. Tristan looked at her and grinned mischievously. It was obvious that he didn't intend to untie her quite yet.

Jossel rubbed her arms when they were untied, but otherwise she stood still, even when the gag was removed from her mouth. Bettina could see the fear in her mother's eyes, and she felt sick with misery that she couldn't comfort her.

“Who are you,
madame?
” Tristan asked.

He stood in front of Jossel, his legs astride and his hands on his hips. She was a small woman, and Tristan towered over her like a menacing giant.

“I am Jossel Verlaine, and—”

“Blast it!” Tristan bellowed, making Jossel shrink back from him. “Do you know what you've done, Jules? This woman is the girl's mother!”

“So?”

“I have enough trouble with the vixen. I don't need her mother to contend with!”

“It is your own fault that the wench is difficult to handle,” Jules replied. “I told you long ago what to do with her, but you wouldn't listen. You are too soft with women, Tristan. I see no problem in bringing the mother along.”

Tristan looked at Jossel's pale color and wide green eyes. His face softened considerably, as did his voice when he spoke to her again.

“I'm sorry if I frightened you,
madame
, but it was a surprise to find you here. Bettina has spoken of you before, and I assumed you lived in France.”
When Jossel didn't answer, Tristan continued. “I do not intend to harm either you or your daughter. You may rest easy on that account.”

“Then please untie her,
monsieur
,” Jossel said timidly, not knowing what to think of this big man.

“Not yet.”

“Surely you do not intend to punish her for escaping from you?” Jossel asked.

“So she told you about me, eh?”

“I wager it wasn't a pretty picture she painted,” Jules broke in with a humorous chuckle.

“Haven't you something to do, Jules?” Tristan scowled darkly at him.

“Nothing at the moment,” Jules replied. He sauntered to the table and sat down.

“Bettina told me everything,” Jossel said with a bit more courage.

“Everything?” Tristan asked, an amused expression on his face now.

“Yes.”

“Well, I can assure you, Madame Verlaine, that I am not the monstrous pirate she would have you believe.”

“Then if you are an honorable man, you will let us go. You will also release Madeleine Daudet.”

“
Madame
, I said I was not a monster, I did not say I was an honorable man,” Tristan said. “Bettina belongs to me. I warned her against trying to escape, and since she didn't heed my words, I will deal with her as I see fit.”

“Monsieur—”

“I'm not finished,” Tristan cut her off. “I will not tolerate any interference from you. If you wish to remain with your daughter, I suggest you heed my
words. What I do with Bettina is my affair. Have I made myself clear?”

“Quite clear,” Jossel whispered.

“Good. You may sleep in Jules's cabin. He will vacate it for you, I'm sure, since he wouldn't want his wife hearing of any dalliance.”

“I suppose I must,” Jules replied grudgingly.

Tristan walked to the door with them, and then whispered to Jossel out of Bettina's hearing, “I won't harm her,
madame
, so don't fear for her.”

Jossel was utterly astonished by Tristan's gentle words, but she smiled at him hopefully before Jules pulled her along to his cabin.

Bettina watched Tristan as he closed the door, leaned back against it, and grinned. His hair was sopping wet, and his clothes were plastered to his body, displaying the bulging muscles on his arms and chest. He was still clean-shaven, but she could hardly see the scar anymore, for his face was completely bronzed by the sun.

“Your mother is a striking woman; quite beautiful, in fact. It is easy to see that you are her daughter,” Tristan said. He pushed himself away from the door and sauntered to the washstand by the bed.

He removed his shirt and tossed it on top of the two wet blankets piled on the floor. He then took a towel from the washstand and began to rub his hair briskly. Damn it, when would he untie her?

“Ah, Bettina, what am I going to do with you?” He stood before her now, rubbing the towel across his chest. “I will admit I was furious when I discovered you'd left the house. You're lucky I didn't find you that morning, or I probably would have given you a sound beating, as Jules thinks you need. But I've had time to calm down.”

As Tristan walked to the table and poured a tankard of rum, Bettina began to fear that he was going to leave her trussed up on the floor. He had told her mother that he would deal with her as he saw fit. What was he going to do?

He looked at her, his powder-blue eyes alight.

“What punishment would fit your crime, Bettina? I told you I would keep you prisoner if you tried to escape me, and that I will do. But you not only tried to escape, you succeeded—for a little while. Your one mistake was in letting the horses out of the corral, for one of those beasts came running across the backyard and woke me. And when I started out after you, the white stallion came charging out of the forest as if the Devil were after him. Were you bruised by the fall? I doubt you were, for your luck held that morning. I reached the shore just as you boarded that blasted ship. I would have been here the day before, but I encountered a storm that took me off course.”

So that was how he'd found her so soon. She should have closed the corral; she should have known the horses wouldn't wander far.

“So what punishment shall it be, little one?” He crossed to her again and crouched down beside her, lifting her chin with his finger. “I could still beat you. Jules seems to think that would do the trick.”

She jerked her head away. But then she felt his hand on her breast, and it was like fire, even through the material of her shift.

“Why did you run away from me? Because of this?” he asked in a deep, teasing voice.

He moved his hand lower. She tried to move away from him, but she was already pressed against the built-in bed and could move no farther. She was afraid now. How would he punish her?

Untie me, she wanted to scream at him. And then her eyes widened in terror when he drew his knife. She tried to scream, but little sound escaped through the gag. He smiled at her, though his eyes showed no warmth.

“Relax and accept your fate, Bettina, for I've decided on a fitting punishment for you.”

She stared in horror as Tristan drew the knife up the front of her shift. He cut the material at her shoulders and tore the ruined cloth away from her. He stood up, tossed the shift and the knife aside, and stared down at her nakedness. His eyes examined every inch of her body, and she could feel the heat rise to her face.

He moved to a chair, sat down facing her, and continued to look at her silently. She could read no emotion on his face, not even lust. She wanted to die—no, she didn't. She wished
he
were dead! If only she could scream her hate at him. She would tear his eyes out when he untied her.

She closed her eyes, for she couldn't bear to watch him staring at her unclad body. But after a few minutes, Tristan crossed to her with the silence of a cat. He picked her up and laid her gently on the bed, then sat down on the edge beside her. She looked at him, and his eyes were soft again. He was no longer angry, but she knew what he was determined to do.

“For once I can do as I like, without having to hold you down or listen to your insults,” he murmured. He began to stroke her tender flesh, using both hands to caress her, scorching her skin with his touch. “This is what you ran away from, Bettina. This is what you fight to deny yourself.”