For Her Love (27 page)

“
Señorita
, you say that Geoffrey Hampton is your brother?”

“Aye!” she exclaimed softly, keeping her own voice low so as not to attract the attention of her guards. Subtly, she moved closer to the man who had spoken. His thin face was framed by long dark hair, and he was leaning casually against the side of the pen, looking as if he were merely shopping for a female slave.

The man shook his head. “You will save yourself no trouble by lying. Geoffrey Hampton is an only child.”

Grace looked around self-consciously. Was this a trick? Was Geoff an only child? Faith had said his mother was a prostitute. How could a prostitute have only one child? Still, she decided to play the game a bit differently.

“Actually, he is my brother-in-law. Faith, my sister, is married to him.”

This time the man smiled at her, but it was not unkind. “Faith Cooper has only brothers.”

Grace’s eyes widened. Whoever this man was, he had more than a passing acquaintance with Geoff and Faith. He didn’t seem hateful or bitter, so it seemed unlikely that their relationship was entirely adversarial, despite the fact that the man was obviously a Spaniard.

“You know them well?” she asked.

“Well enough to know that you are a liar.”

“Please, sir, I’ll tell you the truth. Do you know Geoff’s first mate, Giles Courtney?” The man didn’t react; he simply waited for her to continue. “
He
is my husband. I lied because no one’s ever heard of Giles Courtney, they’d not be afraid of him.” She started to say that they should fear Giles, for he’d killed as many Spaniards as Geoff, but then she realized that such a statement would hardly endear her to this man.

“Then what are you doing here?” the man asked.

“I was kidnapped. Please sir, I am a gentlewoman. I should not be here!” She looked around her and felt the same flush of guilt she had felt at home during a slave’s whipping. These other women belonged here no more than she. Still, staying would not serve them, and it would destroy her with them. “Geoff and Giles will pay you! They are successful merchants, now. You have only to buy me yourself, then send word.”
Dear God
, she prayed silently,
let me telling the truth about that.

By now, the slaver caught sight of the two of them in conversation and hurried over. “
Parlez-vous Français?
” he asked. The Spaniard shook his head, and the slaver motioned another man over. Apparently he was a translator, and soon the French and Spanish were flying so rapidly that Grace could only catch a few words.

The Spaniard regarded her narrowly. “They say you are a mulatto.”

She wanted to deny it, denounce the men as liars, but it stuck in her throat. She said the only thing that she knew she would be able to say without choking on her own words. “My mother was a mulatto. Giles doesn’t know. But he hates slavery. He will pay you back to keep me free, I’m sure of it.”

The Spaniard said something to the translator who passed it on, then he disappeared back into the crowd, taking Grace’s last shred of hope with him.

*

A short while later,
Capitán
Diego Montoya Fernandez de Madrid y Delgado Cortes sat at a table in
El Paraíso
. A man of many tastes and moods, he was certainly capable of leading his men into a local
taberno
for a night of hard drinking. But this afternoon, he preferred the relatively quiet atmosphere of this spacious and pricey
posada
. He had rented a room here earlier in the day with every intention of discretely entertaining a lovely, young widow of his acquaintance that evening. Now, he found himself sipping from a goblet of wine and contemplating the auction block, visible through the window of the dining room. The slaver had said that the women would go up for sale in an hour.

He was a merchant sea captain by trade, and spent most of his days on the high seas between Spain, Africa, and the Caribbean, but he stood on solid ground in Havana more often than anywhere else on the globe. With long, slim fingers, he lifted the heavy glass goblet to his lips. Like his hands, his face was narrow and aristocratic. His mahogany hair curled at the ends and fell across the shoulders of his black jacket. He was a handsome man with a fetching
amiga
in each of the cities where he most often made port. Nothing serious with any of them, but satisfying enough friendships that he had no need to purchase a woman from the block or anywhere else. He wouldn’t have noticed the one he had spoken with except that she had called out the name of a man he had known all too well.

Diego took a more liberal swallow of wine, relishing the sweetness that lingered in its wake. The flavor brought to mind the mouth of a particular woman. Not one of his casual lovers, of whom he expected nothing permanent and who expected nothing of him but a lovely bauble or two. He closed his eyes and could still recall this particular woman in perfect detail, exquisitely fair, infinitely ingenuous, utterly Protestant.

He opened his eyes again on that thought. So Faith Cooper had chosen Geoffrey Hampton over him; it was all for the better. Diego had even managed to stop thinking of her so much. Only on those nights when Magdalena, his patron saint, neglected her watch over his dreams. Then Faith would slip in and lie willing in Diego’s arms for a while.

He searched his memory for what he knew of Hampton’s first mate. He had not seen much of him. He did, however, recall the man’s kindness to Diego’s cabin boy, Galeno. The lad had rushed the pirate in the heat of a battle, and…what had the woman said her husband’s name was? Courtney? Courtney had scooped the boy up, rendering him powerless, but not hurting the lad. Later, when the boy was under control, he had even patted his head and smiled at him.

Diego set his goblet down on the table and pursed his lips thoughtfully. He owed Hampton and his friend nothing. Less than nothing. In fact, they owed him. Were it not for Diego, Hampton would have hanged in Cartagena over two years ago. Merchant captains now, Hampton and his friend. Merchant captains because of the deal Diego had struck to spare Faith’s lover from the Spanish courts. He shook his head at the memory. ‘Twas water under the bridge now, and he’d never truly regretted the choice he’d made.

And anyway, none of the things that had transpired in Cartagena were the responsibility of the poor woman he’d met outside. Her clothes, her carriage, her accent, all spoke of a woman gently reared. And she was so fair. Likely as not, she had lived her whole life as a White. He thought of his own dear sisters at home. How devastated they would be if they suddenly found themselves up for sale! Even his eldest sister, who could hold her own against anyone, would have rather died than be in that young woman’s position.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes.
Magdalena
, he prayed silently to his patron saint,
I cannot allow a gentlewoman to face such a terrible fate. But would it be so much to ask that you stop sending me Englishwomen in distress? A Spanish maiden would be most welcome.

He paid his bill and sauntered back out to the auction block.

*

To her horror, Grace was to be first at the block. She was grateful to have eaten almost nothing since her last meal in Port Royal, otherwise anything in her stomach would have been instantly expelled as she made the humiliating journey up the steps to the raised platform. She stood with the auctioneer and a translator, surrounded by a crowd of mostly men. Many wore the plain clothes of common laborers and farmers, and they eyed her wistfully for a moment before turning back to scrutinize some of the other women in the pen. This one was too rich for their blood. No hope that an honest man might purchase her to be his wife. If one had, she might have convinced him to return her to Giles for a reward.

The men, and even a handful of women, who jostled forward to bid were well dressed, if a bit garish. They looked her over as if she were a prize heifer and regarded one another with competitive gleams in their eyes. Grace felt like she couldn’t catch her breath, and the harder she fought to breathe, the less air she seemed to take in. The fear she had experienced with Jacques paled in comparison to the stark terror that pumped furiously through her veins. Her hands, still bound behind her, were numb, blood roared in her ears, and black spots began to dance in front of her eyes.

The auctioneer growled something threatening at her in Spanish. The translator snapped, “Do not faint,
estúpida
. Breathe slowly.”

Actually, it occurred to Grace that unconscious would be the best way to endure this whole process, but the abhorrent idea of awaking in a strange place, with no knowledge of what had happened, helped her gain control over her breathing. Slowly the spots faded, but the nausea held fast to her insides.

In Spanish, Dutch, Portuguese, French, and English, her finer points were highlighted by the auctioneer. “A beautiful face, a body made for pleasure, a fiery spirit shown earlier, but obviously able to submit, as you can see by her current, subdued demeanor. Fluent in French and English. Best of all, ladies and gentlemen, a virgin!”

At this final announcement, a collective gasp of approval went up, and the crowd pressed closer, though a few of them fell back shaking their heads. Her value had just risen dramatically.

There was a commotion to Grace’s left, and the Spaniard she had met earlier waded through the mass of potential bidders. He spoke to the auctioneer in rapid, challenging Spanish, and the crowd began to mumble discontentedly. The auctioneer responded defensively, shouting at the man.

“
¿Qu’est-ce que c’est?
” drawled a detestably familiar voice from the edge of the circle.

The Spaniard turned and addressed Jacques, first in Spanish, then English. “I speak no French. Do you speak Spanish or English?”

“Aye, English,” Jacques answered.

“I spoke with this woman earlier. She told me that she had been married. How can it be that she is a virgin?”

One of the women in the group shouted back in a heavy Spanish accent. “If I am to sell this
puta’s
maidenhead tonight, she had better damned well have one!”

Bile rose and scalded the back of Grace’s throat. These people were
all
procurers! Even the women!

Jacques, his usual confident self, shrugged carelessly. “She lies, of course.” He glared venomously at Grace, although he addressed his next words to the auctioneer. “If you wish,
monsieur
, examine her for yourself right now. I assure you, she is intact.”

Grace shook her head violently. “Nay, nay! Do not touch me! I swear he speaks the truth!” She turned back to the Spaniard, desperation making her voice shrill. “But I did not lie to you,
Señor
. I am married to Giles Courtney, just as I said. Surely in Spain a gentleman is patient with a new wife if they were not well acquainted when they married.”

He gave her a doubtful look. “Your stories do not hold together well,
Señora
.”

“Please!” She sounded hysterical now, but she couldn’t help herself. “Please, you must believe me!”

Jacques laughed harshly. “You see, a consummate liar and a brilliant actress. Think of how she will delight your customers with such a cry. Please! Please!” he imitated her in a falsetto voice, but he made it sound carnal, and the company around him laughed in appreciation.

She might have fallen apart completely but for the pure, strong hatred of her uncle that filled her. Shamelessly she fell to her knees and looked straight into the Spaniard’s deep brown eyes. “I swear upon my soul, upon my body that I am telling you the truth. If I am not, if you send for Giles and he disavows our union or refuses to ransom me, I will do anything you wish. You may auction me yourself and make the money back.”

The man looked at the people around him and the block before him with undisguised revulsion.

The auctioneer yanked her to her feet and began speaking again. Once more, in a variety of languages, Grace listened to him hawk her more valuable assets, including now her skill at performance. The bidding came fast and furious at first, then slowly dwindled to three men in loud silks and lace. The Spaniard shrugged apologetically at Grace, lifting his purse and shaking his head. Her price had outstripped his means.

The one word that was now being repeated in several languages by the auctioneer and translator washed over Grace until the translator reached English. “Sold!”

She looked back at the trio that had been competing for her, and one of them, a stout man with thick, dirty blond hair, mounted the steps to claim her. He spoke to the translator who obligingly repeated the message in his many tongues.

“The wench’s virginity will go up for auction tonight at
El Jardín de Placer
. Bidding begins at ten o’clock.
Don
Ramon promises to have her biddable and eager to please by that time.”

“Don’t mark ‘er, though! Leave all that pretty golden skin fer me!” called a man from the back. He wore an expensive jacket and fine linen shirt, but the shirt was stained and unfastened, the jacket crusty. He had with him a motley assortment of men—a pirate captain and his crew no doubt. He leered at her and actually wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as though he were salivating in anticipation.

After receiving a translation, the procurer smiled and said, “
¡No, no! No cardenal.
No bruise. Perfect for you,
Señor
.”

He took her by the arm, and Grace acted purely from instinct. She brought her heel down hard on his foot and bolted for the stairs. Once there, a half dozen pairs of hands pushed her back up where the auctioneer and translator grabbed her and held fast until the procurer stopped hopping around. She didn’t know any Spanish curse words, but she was fairly certain that she was being regaled with quite an assortment from her purchaser. Nonetheless, he doled out the gold that he had agreed to pay.

“On second thought, mate,” called the pirate, “leave ‘er as she is! I likes a wench with some fight in ‘er!” His men laughed.