The Pirate's Witch (3 page)

The women were brought on deck and bound with heavy iron manacles to the fore boom.
 
For hours they hung naked in the hot sun, balancing on the balls of their feet or hanging from their wrists and too tired to offer more than an occasional mewling whimper.
 
By early afternoon, three of the sets of irons hung empty, the girls vanquished mostly from the pirates’ tortures throughout the night.
 
It was agreed by the crew that Barton, Tommy and Richard would not receive the pleasures of the remaining women, because it was their harsh treatment that had led to the waste of three of their treasures thrown over the side.

Throughout the day, Deegan had approached Clarette and swept his hands over her exhausted form, roughly squeezing her bottom and whispering, “Tonight… tonight I will own all of you.”

Just after noon, the pain and terror had become overwhelming and Clarette found herself drifting into the chants and spiral dancing of the mystical women of the island.
 
It was becoming difficult to focus on her current situation, and when Deegan finally approached her to bring her back to his cabin for his promised torment, she once again fell into a trance, pleading with the women on the island to help her… and they answered.

Deegan had stopped a few feet away from his swaying prize when her eyes focused in a blank stare at some vision he could not see.
 
Then, she looked up… up to the foresail… passed that to the fore topsail… and her voice began a singsong chant.
 
Two of the pirates listening crossed themselves as the clouds gathered into a solid mass to block out the sun.
 
The formerly rolling seas around them were now rocking the boat and whitecaps were forming on the tops of the waves.

Clarette’s eyes narrowed and she looked at Deegan… then, through the pirate… and in a calm voice, she said, “Every half century you will sail these seas, forever the pirate.
 
Your crew will number seven, a man’s soul for each of ours, and although you will amass great riches, you will find yourself exiled to a paradise where all your ill gotten treasures are worthless.”
 
Clarette closed her eyes and hung her head.

One of the pirates screamed, and the crew looked towards the bow at a waterspout forming directly in the path of the schooner.
 
Johnny gripped Deegan’s shoulders in terror.
 
“She has cursed us, Captain.
 
The very skies and the seas have turned against us.”

Deegan replied tensely, “Nonsense, Johnny.
 
They are only the words of a frightened girl.”

The schooner listed dangerously to the side and Deegan reached out, grabbing Clarette’s manacles to brace himself.
 
She remained silently facing the deck, and when the ship righted itself, Deegan turned to see water clearing the deck through the scuttles, and fully half of the crew missing from the ship were screaming from where they had been swept into the wild surf.

Immediately the schooner was hit from the other side, and when the boat once again righted itself, Deegan counted the last six pirates who remained.
 
He turned to demand what curse Clarette had summoned, and he found himself hanging onto empty manacles.
 
When his eyes scanned the fore boom, the other empty irons rang thinly in the breeze.

Within minutes the skies cleared and the wind calmed, and the panicked skeleton crew decided to make haste for Tortuga, and forget the two extra days at sea.
 
Try as they might, they sailed the Windward Passage for weeks… and never saw land.

Chapter I

Pirate Week

Monique stretched and reached blindly to the empty pillow beside her.
 
She opened her eyes and struggled to sit up, just as her husband exited the bathroom, cleanly shaven and in his white boxers and tee shirt.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you up,” Frank said, as he made his way to the large walk-in closet.

“I thought maybe we would spend the morning together before you have to take off,” Monique yawned.
 
She slipped her feet over the side of the bed and knew the possibility of any morning hanky panky was out of the question.
 
Frank was already in ‘daytime mode’.

“You know how it is, honey.
 
There are a few last minute crises I have to clear up at the office, and I’ll be leaving to the airport from there.
 
It’s difficult enough breaking away for two weeks for this meeting, and all the partners have to be present.
 
Things are going to be a mess when we get back.”

Monique could picture him standing in front of his many sets of identical navy blue suits with a dozen white shirts, the only non-color Frank wore, hanging beside them with ties smoothed over the shoulders.
 
On the floor were three sets of matching black leather Italian loafers, ensuring Monique would have time to keep a pair polished to a mirrored shine available at all times.
 
Frank was nothing if not efficient.
 
When he exited the closet, he hung his suit coat on the valet and stood before the long mirror to knot his tie.

“Where did you say your were going?” Monique asked.
 
He had not gotten home until after she was asleep the night before, and he had been ‘considerate’ enough not to disturb her when he woke at dawn.

“We’re going to the Middle East to finalize some more oil contracts.
 
Larry and Bill are going to check out the rigs we have in place, and Lee and I are going to try to work out a way to use their safety standards instead of the States’.
 
It would save us a fortune, though we might have to agree to use more local labor.”

Monique winced.
 
Within the past six months, four men had been injured on what she suspected was substandard rigging, and still the partners were looking at the profit margin first.
 
Frank had put on his dark suit coat and was picking at imaginary lint.

Monique rose and placed herself between him and the mirror.
 
She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest for a moment before looking up at him.
 
“Are you sure you can’t at least spend the morning with me?”
 
She gave her prettiest, full lipped, little French girl pout that sometimes enticed him just enough to think twice.
 
Not this time, though.

Frank kissed the top of her head and gently pushed her away.
 
She watched him pull a strand of long blonde hair off his suit coat, and without looking at her he replied, “I’ll be back before you know it.
 
Besides, didn’t you girls say your were going on a cruise or something?”

“We’re sailing, Frank.
 
We’re taking Hannah’s boat to the Cayman’s for some festival called ‘Pirate’s Week’.”

“That sounds like fun, and the Simmons’s boat is a beauty.
 
Who’s piloting for you?”

Monique was exasperated.
 
She had already discussed this with him four times over the past month, and she knew he was paying just as little attention to her explanations this time.
 
“We’re sailing her ourselves, Frank.
 
Five of us spent every summer through high school in a sailing club, so we’ll be fine.
 
It just might be a little bit difficult to reach us until we get on island.”

Frank gave a quick frown at his reflection in the mirror and then gave a little shrug.
 
“I’m sure you’ll have a good time.”

“Do want some breakfast?”
 
The answer would be ‘no’, and Frank would satisfy himself by filling his commuter cup with the fresh brewed coffee Monique had set on the timer the night before.

“I’ll just grab a cup of Joe.”
 
Frank walked towards the bedroom door with his wife padding barefoot behind him to see him off.
 
His luggage had been sitting in the foyer since yesterday.

Monique watched him drive down their long driveway and through the stone pillars marking the entrance.
 
She sighed and turned back to the living room, taking a long look at the comfortable natural colors.
 
Frank had already called in a decorator to update the scheme they had been living with for two years, and she had no idea what he had planned.
 
The decorator had merely come by to measure the room, and would be discussing all the details with her husband at his office.
 
Frank did not want to bother her with the boring task.
 
Monique wanted to scream.
 
As it was, all she did was either go to the club or sit around her friends’ pools.

Pets were out of the question, as Frank shivered at the thought of their shedding.
 
The discussion of babies still hovered in the distant future until he declared they were on a sound financial path and that the disruption and noise of children would not be such a distraction.
 
He had their lives carefully scheduled and maintained on a ten-year plan to success, but Monique was dubious as to whether any real changes would be forthcoming after so many years of this predictable routine.

She heard a noise out front and peeked through the sheers to see Marsha pulling up the driveway.
 
She opened the door and called out, “Did Lee get off all right?”

Marsha gave her a mock scowl.
 
“The coward took off before I woke up.
 
I swear he puts it in his appointment book.
 
‘Sneak out of house at dawn without fucking wife before leaving for two weeks.’”

“They must have their schedules duplicated for each other at the beginning of the month,” Monique commiserated.
 
“So, what is this thing we’re going to, again?
 
It sounds like some kind of Caribbean Mardi Gras.”

Marsha dug through her purse and pulled out some notes she had downloaded from the Internet.
 
“Pirate’s Week… a week of frolic and festivities featuring the only reenactment of a pirate landing in the tropical paradise of the Caymans.”

Monique smiled at her friend’s satisfied expression.
 
“How in the world did you get Thelma and Patti to agree?”

“I told them they hadn’t had a daiquiri until they had one made with the real fruit of the tropics.”
 
Marsha grinned and added, “You know them; always up for a party.”
 
Marsha followed the smell of the fresh brewed coffee.

“When did Hannah want to take off?” Monique asked.

“The boat’s already stocked and set to sail.
 
I figured I’d swing by and see if you wanted to ride to the Marina with me,” Marsha answered.

“That sounds good.
 
Pour yourself a cup of coffee while I get dressed and finish packing,” Monique replied, and she turned towards the stairs.

When she got back to the bedroom and finished dressing, she looked around the room for anything she might have forgotten to stash in her duffle bag.
 
Her eyes swept across the oil painting of some ancestor that had been handed down to every other first born girl child in their family for generations.
 
It seemed not only did the ‘chosen one’ get the portrait, but they also were the only members of the family who seemed to inherit the unusual clear turquoise eyes.
 
Monique had asked her grandmother who the captivating young woman was.
 
The limited information she had for Monique was that the figure in the painting had provided the family fortune, and that the trust was only to be dispersed as long as her odd wishes concerning the painting were followed.

Monique felt a little anxious at the thought that Frank might never want a child, and thus there would be no granddaughter to pass the legacy onto.
 
For her own part, Monique had her monthly stipend tucked into safe investments, and she had more than one heated argument with her husband over the years about using her wealth.
 
He had her sign a complicated, explicit agreement when they got married, at a time when Frank had no idea what his new wife’s assets were.
 
She did not live the flighty life of an heiress, and he had not wanted to saddle himself with her future upkeep if the marriage did not work out.
 
Two years into their commitment, he had been going through her desk and had come across a statement listing her fortune.
 
She had brushed off all of his attempts to renege on his agreement, and it remained a touchy subject for them.

He even had the audacity to suggest she should let him manage her funds, and he said that if only the interest from a few months of her inheritance was invested in his firm’s growing business, perhaps her wish for security to begin a family would be realized.
 
Monique replied coldly that she would rather wait for him to succeed on his own, without the future unease that would surely accompany any assistance her finances had offered.
 
In truth, the little Monique had learned about her husband’s business affairs with his six partners made her nervous, and she did not want any financial ties to it if things took a turn for the worse.

All seven men were either college buddies or men who had met as a result of the close connection of their wives, who had been friends since high school.
 
The men were fixated on a ten-year goal, and were obsessed with amassing great fortunes.
 
Although their wives certainly enjoyed some of the benefits, the excesses and boredom were causing fractures in more than one marriage.
 
The women often joked about the ‘Ten Year Plan’, and discussed how they felt as though they were no more than an item checked off some master ‘To Do’ list.
 
After they had a few drinks, at least one of them would mention the inevitable shared thought: that sex must be at the bottom of the list.

Beth, Suzy and Patti would have nothing to fall back on if their marriages fell apart, because one very important item in ‘The Plan’ was a carefully worded prenuptial agreement.
 
That, along with the partners’ insistence that none of their wives demean their status by obtaining a job, locked them all into whatever stagnant financial existence they had before they were married.

Hannah had the proceeds from her parents’ estate invested alongside Monique’s trust.
 
Thelma patiently watched small interest dividends added to the principal of an insurance settlement, and Marsha came from a wealthy family.
 
All of them wondered what happened to the charming, attentive men they had married.
 
The men seemed to turn overnight from fun, impulsive sexual tigers to their apparently more arousing challenge of raising the bottom line of the firm.

After five years, the wives no longer fooled themselves with the thought that things were going to change in the magical tenth year.
 
Monique secretly believed Thelma had already had an affair with a man from the club, and she wondered if that was in the cards for her.
 
Two weeks without Frank, and she knew when he returned it would be another month of late nights and early mornings while he re-organized the office.
 
She was in for one hell of a dry spell.

Monique had been staring at the portrait while she mused, with her eyes locked onto the identical gaze looking back at her.
 
She felt an unreasonable anger towards her husband over the same thoughts that had crossed her mind on many other occasions.
 
Usually, it just left her depressed.
 
Right now, she wanted to rip his neatly hanging wardrobe from the hangers and stomp on them.
 
When she reached onto the bed for her duffle, a wave of dizziness coursed through her, and she had to steady herself with a hand on the heavy wooden bedpost.
 
After it passed, she picked up her canvas bag and headed downstairs.